Comments and opinions from folkies on the crisis facing the Sidmouth Festival.
A poem posted on the Internet
The sun and the cliffs and the sea and the shingle,
The jingle of bells, and the beating of feet.
The ringing of voices that join in a chorus,
The cry of the seagulls, the shout in the street.
I dreamed of Sidmouth in black December,
And woke and knew where I longed to be.
There's so many summers now, I can't remember,
I've gone there to Sidmouth, to dance by the sea.
The dancing at night, and the quiet in the morning,
The friends whom you meet once again, once a year,
The sights that surprise you, the sounds that amaze you,
Can wake you and shake you, can move you to tears.
I dreamed of Sidmouth in black December,
And woke and knew where I longed to be.
There's so many summers now, I can't remember,
I've gone there to Sidmouth, to dance by the sea.
The dancing goes on, and the music gets louder,
But from high on a hill it is distant and faint,
As you look through the leaves to the dancers below you,
As they move through their motions so solemn and quaint.
I dreamed of Sidmouth in black December,
And woke and knew where I longed to be.
There's so many summers now, I can't remember,
I've gone there to Sidmouth, to dance by the sea.
"Come back once too often, and you'll come back for ever"
Well, perhaps those are true words, in more ways than one,
And the ghosts of the dancers who came here before you
Still join in the dance every summer that comes.
I dreamed of Sidmouth in black December,
And woke and knew where I longed to be.
There's so many summers now, I can't remember,
I've gone there to Sidmouth, to dance by the sea.
If the unknown poet would like acknowledgement, please email me.