Ian Anderson Follow

After battle, with wounds to lick and
beaus and belles all reuniting.
Rationing, austerity: it did us
good after the fighting.
Now, time to bid some fond farewells and
walk away from empires crumbling.
Post-war baby-boom to fuel with post-
Victorian half-dressed fumbling.

I see a screen, grey cathode tube in
walnut cabinet, pride of place
in holy family living room. Clipped-
tone announcer, powdered face.
And now to mould public opinion,
sanctify the good and great.
Lordly over his dominion, brash
Television seals our fate.

After these wars, when gentler winds were blowing.
After these wars, when stocking tops were showing.
When the Co-op gave us daily bread
and penicillin raised the dead
and combine harvesters kept
us fed, after these wars.

We thanked the Yank and thanked the
Lord for sparing us from dark invasion.
Now to liberate, rebuild and balance
Europe's new equation.
Spooky spies in from the cold with
lies and secrets to be sold
to bigger brothers, bigger bombs,
le Carré thrillers to be told.

We take our place amongst those others
who would punch above their weight.
Divest ourselves of glowing mantle,
mantle of old Britain Great.
Bit part cast in Hollywood, ripe
old thespian, tolerated.
World-weary ham upon the stage,
evergreen but over-rated.

After these wars, when gentler winds were blowing.
After these wars, when stocking tops were showing.
When the Co-op gave us daily bread
and penicillin raised the dead
and combine harvesters kept
us fed, after these wars.