photography courtesy of {oddsendsandinbetween}


Our love of vintage-styled cycling has taken us on many an odd journey this past few years, both geographically and ‘virtually’, and we’ve spent way too many hours doing ‘research’ in front of a screen when we should have been out on two wheels.  The upside, however,  has been the sheer volume of bike-minded souls we have come across and a wealth of inspiring material.

Here’s one such find… and we think it captures the spirit of Beg whole-heartedly.    Ahhhhh… nothing like a bit of Betjeman for evoking summer evenings, suburbia, English churches and tennis tournaments on grass courts. This ones a bit, ummm, cheeky too… you fortunate bicycle!



Kind o’er the kinderbank leans my Myfanwy,
White o’er the playpen the sheen of her dress,
Fresh from the bathroom and soft in the nursery
Soap scented fingers I long to caress.

Were you a prefect and head of your dormit’ry?
Were you a hockey girl, tennis or gym?
Who was your favourite? Who had a crush on you?
Which were the baths where they taught you to swim?

Smooth down the Avenue glitters the bicycle,
Black-stockinged legs under navy blue serge,
Home and Colonial, Star, International,
Balancing bicycle leant on the verge.

Trace me your wheel-tracks, you fortunate bicycle,
Out of the shopping and into the dark,
Back down the avenue, back to the potting shed,
Back to the house on the fringe of the park.

Golden the light on the locks of Myfanwy,
Golden the light on the book on her knee,
Finger marked pages of Rackham’s Hans Anderson,
Time for the children to come down to tea.

Oh! Fullers angel-cake, Robertson’s marmalade,
Liberty lampshade, come shine on us all,
My! what a spread for the friends of Myfanwy,
Some in the alcove and some in the hall.

Then what sardines in half-lighted passages!
Locking of fingers in long hide-and-seek.
You will protect me, my silken Myfanwy,
Ring leader, tom-boy, and chum to the weak.