A lot of us are very aware of that.
Dont get me wrong, I love Michigan. Some of the best hunting and fishing anywhere and people are still very American. That may be part of the plan.
But then Tombs is the quintessential English bluffer, so I doubt he reads much - if any - Kipling. Since I linked to our show on Recessional, many readers have emailed to suggest we do this one next. Perhaps Robert Tombs could teach it to the covered women:
The Stranger within my gate,
He may be true or kind,
But he does not talk my talk—
I cannot feel his mind.
I see the face and the eyes and the mouth,
But not the soul behind.
The men of my own stock
They may do ill or well,
But they tell the lies I am wonted to,
They are used to the lies I tell.
And we do not need interpreters
When we go to buy and sell.
The Stranger within my gates,
He may be evil or good,
But I cannot tell what powers control—
What reasons sway his mood;
Nor when the Gods of his far-off land
Shall repossess his blood.
The men of my own stock,
Bitter bad they may be,
But, at least, they hear the things I hear,
And see the things I see;
And whatever I think of them and their likes
They think of the likes of me.
This was my father’s belief
And this is also mine:
Let the corn be all one sheaf—
And the grapes be all one vine,
Ere our children’s teeth are set on edge
By bitter bread and wine.
Right now across England the great-grandchildren’s teeth are set on edge, and yet the loser right still can’t hear the grinding. They have nothing useful to contribute, alas.
The picture above is my second favourite photograph of the great Leilani D