V.
Oh, for grapes a-growing
In Ludgate and the Fleet!
Cauliflowers blowing
Down Regent's Street!
Oranges and Lemons
Clustered by St. Clemen's,
And Sea Kale careering past the kerb on London Wall!
And oh, for private Mushroom beds rolling down the Mall!
Motor engines, motor engines, do not wear a bonnet!
You have artificial heat—grow something on it!
Precious artificial heat, costly to instal;
Turn it into a hot-bed, growing food for all!
Must you have a superstructure? Let it be a hot-house
Forcing (say) some early peas—the only decent pot-house;
Oh, if I could only see in walking down the street
No unpatriotic waste of all that lovely heat!
Motor lorries for Marrows!
Taxis for Nectarines!
No more coster-barrows,
But lemon-house Limousines!
Oh, to see Tomaties
Skidding by Frascati's!
Grand heads of Celery passing the Carlton Grill,
And fine forced Strawberries—forced up Denmark Hill!
Hard's the fight with Nature in our uncongenial climate,
Cuddling plants and coaxing 'em, and oh, the weary time it
Takes to get a slender crop—we toil the Summer through;
England, needing quick returns, is looking now to you!
Food that comes from tropic lands, needing heat upon it,
You could grow without a thought, if you'd doff your bonnet;
Thousands of you, growing food on your daily trips,
Helping to economise the tonnage of our ships.
Oh, to count the numbers
Of Cabbages on the march,
Jostling with Cucumbers
Just at the Marble Arch!
Oh, for Piccadilly's
Capsicums and Chilies!
Oh, for Peckham's Peaches (not the sort that's canned),
And oh, for ripe Bananas roaring down the Strand!
"A reaper and binder was destroyed, also a foster mother incubator with 43 young children."—Chester Chronicle.
The paragraph is headed "Fire at a Farm"—a baby-farm, we fear.