The Vagabond's House ... from "Monty" Blandford's Radio Programme

The following was quoted from . . ."Philosopher's Scrapbook" ... printed in 1950, an anthology of prose and verse compiled by Monty Blandford( Jeremy & Michael's grandfather) ,and from the writings used in the sessions he broadcast in the '30s and '40s from Radio 3DB, Melbourne. The piece was wriiten by Don Blanding

Some Lines Scrawled on the Door of Vagabond's House . . .

West of the sunset stands my house
There . . and east of the dawn
South to the Pole, my lawn;
Seven seas are to sail my ships
To the ends of the earth . . . beyond;
Drifter's gold is for me to spend -
For I am a vagabond.

Fabulous cities are mine to loot;
Queens of the earth to wed;
Fruits of the world are mine to eat;
The couch of a king, my bed;
All that I see is mine to keep;
Foolish the fancy seems,
But I am rich with the wealth of Sight
The coin of the realm of dreams

VAGABOND'S HOUSE
When I have a house . . . as I sometimes may . . .I
'll suit my fancy in every way.
I'll fill it with things that have caught my eye
In drifting from Iceland to Molokai.I
t won't be correct or in period style,
But . . . oh, I've thought for a long, long while
Of all the corners and all the nooks,
Of all the bookshelves and all the books,
The great big table, the deep soft chairs,
And the Chinese rug at the foot of the stairs
(It's an old, old rug from far Chow Wan
That a Chinese princess once walked on).

My house will stand on the side of a hill
By a slow, broad river, deep and still,
With a tall lone pine on guard nearby
Where the birds can sing and the storm winds cry.
A flagstone walk, with lazy curves,
Will lead to the door where a Pan's head serves
As a knocker there, like a vibrant drum,
To let me know that a friend has come,
And the door will squeak as I swing it wide
To welcome you to the cheer inside.

For I’ll have good friends who can sit and chat
Or simply sit, when it comes to that,
By the fireplace where the fir logs blaze
And the smoke rolls up in a weaving haze.
I’ll want a woodbox, scarred and rough
For leaves and bark and odorous stuff,
Like resinous knots and cones and gums,
To toss on the flames when winter comes.A
nd I hope a cricket will stay around,
For I love it’s creaky lonesome sound.

FYI ... The full version can be found on www.vianet.net.au/~croft/vagabond/vagabond/html

. . . A little more info on Don Blanding ... by Monty Blandford:

The house is his ideal expression of that imaginaryretreat which each man builds and furnishes according to his heart's desire.His wanderings and wishings brought him sufficient successto realize his dream and he built his 'Dream House'.As you will hear, he filled it with all the beautiful things his heart had longed for. He lived in it and his door was always open to the guest or wayfarer.The tragedy came some years later when, during one of his nomadic absences, the dream house was destroyed by fire. With his experience and philosophies he would have made a wonderful 'dinner guest', eh? Unfortunately, he is probably not around any more .