The sentiments in this poem probably need no explanation; most of us have sailed down a steep hill on a bicycle, whooping and shrieking with a mixture of fear and exhilaration. If you haven’t, I suggest you do it immediately. It’s a nice day – do it now. My own children regularly fly down a local hill with their father on a scooter, whilst I favour the swooping slope at Church Langton on my solid, basketed cycle.
It also reminds me of a BBC film called ”The Combination’ in which a young boy attempts to get to The Festival of Britain on a cobbled-together bicycle and there are lots of scenes of him flying down hills and sitting in hedgerows eating sandwiches. Incidentally, if anyone knows where one can obtain a copy of this film, please let me know.
I spend a huge amount of time in my car and I confess now, that confronted with a steep slope and nothing behind me, I slip the clutch into neutral and coast down with the windows open. Close, but no banana.
Going Down Hill on a Bicycle: A Boy’s Song – by Henry Charles Beeching (1859-1919)
With lifted feet, hands still,
I am poised, and down the hill
Dart, with heedful mind;
The air goes by in a wind.
Swifter and yet more swift,
Till the heart with a mighty lift
Makes the lungs laugh, the throat cry: –
‘O bird, see; see, bird, I fly.
‘Is this, is this your joy?
O bird, then I, though a boy,
For a golden moment share
Your feathery life in air!’
Say, heart, is there aught like this
In a world that is full of bliss?
‘Tis more than skating, bound
Steel-shod to the level ground.
Speed slackens now, I float
Awhile in my airy boat;
Till, when the wheels scarce crawl,
My feet to the treadles fall.
Alas, that the longest hill
Must end in a vale; but still,
Who climbs with toil, whereso’er,
Shall find wings waiting there.
Wartime Housewife 