In memoriam

To speed, or not to speed — that is the question.

Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer

The bad law of outrageous government,

Or to take arms against damn-fool restriction.

And, by opposing, end it. To cruise,to drive

No more: For by this rule enforced soon

Ere Christmas comes, our days of motoring

Are gone. And desolation fills the soul:

And every sports-car worthy of the name

Doth seize its bearings, never use top cog.

Or even third — for seventy’s not fast —

To drive, as one should drive — aye there’s the rub;

For this crawl-speed, which Noddy-boys agree

Is all too fast, brings death to b.h.p., developed

By Aston, Lotus and GT saloon.

Frustration, that foul killer, sallies forth.

Near every corner, every brow of hill,

On every motorway, in every lane,

Frustration, cause of many accidents,

Will seep into the mind, will goad the foot,

And cause the sane to lose his sanity.

Evil law! What then must the true Motorist do?

The chap who drives for driving’s sake, and not

To go in fastest time from A to B

In tin box with lamentable top speed

That’s no-where near the reading on his dial.

Should we employ once more a man with flag

To warn of the maniacal approach

Of furious lethal motorist? Seventy’s NOT FAST,

Tis barely cruising speed in proper cars

We drive and love to drive as best we know.

Cry havoc! Show disapproval and disgust

At foul legislation. Watch your mirror well.

And never get caught or cautioned. And don’t brake!

And prove the scheme to be unworkable

Dear motorists — there’s but one other way,

Await the next Emancipation Day.

(For best effect recite Olivier-fashion.)

B.F., LEICESTER