‘Timothy Winters’ by Charles Causley

It was a joy to be able to join the Reader Leader Shared Reading group in The Courtyard Theatre cafe this morning. We heard reports from the groups in Hereford and Abergavenny, talked business for a bit, then (those who wanted to) brought a selection of poems to the table.

As always, people read aloud, contributed, or listened as they wished. We shared:

‘Encounter’ by Czesław Miłosz https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/49457/encounter-56d22b901521b,

‘Homage to My Hips’ by Lucille Clifton https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/49487/homage-to-my-hips,

‘Pheasant’ by Sylvia Plath https://www.poetryverse.com/sylvia-plath-poems/pheasant,

‘This Moment’ by Eavan Boland https://readalittlepoetry.com/2005/12/11/this-moment-by-eavan-boland/.

I sat soaking in the poetry and conversation. I’d forgotten how richly uplifting these times could be.

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I shared a poem, which I had discovered on Twitter as the schools returned for the new academic year. I had found the verses deeply moving and the words had evoked memories of too many children over my 30 years as a teacher.

Finding myself thinking about Timothy Winters this morning.

In the midst of all *this* children are slowly going on growing up.
💔 pic.twitter.com/umimb9Eizr

— Sinéad (@shinpad1) September 2, 2022

Timothy Winters

Timothy Winters comes to school
With eyes as wide as a football pool,
Ears like bombs and teeth like splinters:
A blitz of a boy is Timothy Winters.

His belly is white, his neck is dark,
And his hair is an exclamation mark.
His clothes are enough to scare a crow
And through his britches the blue winds blow.

When teacher talks he won’t hear a word
And he shoots down dead the arithmetic-bird,
He licks the patterns off his plate
And he’s not even heard of the Welfare State.

Timothy Winters has bloody feet
And he lives in a house on Suez Street,
He sleeps in a sack on the kitchen floor
And they say there aren’t boys like him any more.

Old man Winters likes his beer
And his missus ran off with a bombardier.
Grandma sits in the grate with a gin
And Timothy’s dosed with an aspirin.

The Welfare Worker lies awake
But the law’s as tricky as a ten-foot snake,
So Timothy Winters drinks his cup
And slowly goes on growing up.

At Morning Prayers the Master helves
For children less fortunate than ourselves,
And the loudest response in the room is when
Timothy Winters roars “Amen!”

So come one angel, come on ten:
Timothy Winters says “Amen
Amen amen amen amen.”
Timothy Winters, Lord.
                 

Amen!

by Charles Causley

To hear Charles Causley reading his own poem and telling us more about the inspiration behind his words, click on the link below:

Timothy Winters

I was interested to hear the responses from other members of today’s Shared Reading group and the lines that had left their mark:

A blitz of a boy is Timothy Winters.

And his hair is an exclamation mark

The Welfare Worker lies awake
But the law’s as tricky as a ten-foot snake,

And the loudest response in the room is when
Timothy Winters roars “Amen!”

We wondered if Timothy’s “Amen!” was because he recognised himself as being one of the ‘less fortunate’ – or was he mindful of others he knew, who were less fortunate than he was?

There were retired teachers in the group and a retired social worker. All shared memories. Names of children were recalled. Stories were recounted. Tears were shed.

The line, ‘He licks the pattern off his plate,’ took me back to K, who I taught when I was in my early twenties. In the morning, she was as quiet as a lamb, docile and still – but her fun, fiery and feisty personality came alive in the afternoons (after a school lunch). To my shame, I was too inexperienced and ignorant to see the part hunger played in this equation.

We found it sobering to consider the increasing reality behind the line:

And they say there aren’t boys like him any more.

The heartfelt prayer at the end gets me every time I read the poem, and stirs me to do more for the Timothy Winters of today…