I'll blame at least part of it on my parents who, although born and raised in West Virginia and loving the music of the mountains, still managed to also raise me on Gilbert and Sullivan operettas and the comedy music of Flanders and Swann. What can I say, we're a family with eclectic tastes.
So it should come as no surprise that a very particular song came to mind when, while recently vacationing at a lovely Bed and Breakfast in the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia, I came upon this sight:
That's right, it was a song by Flanders and Swann entitled "The Bedstead Men." It starts off:
"When you're walking in the country
Far from villages or towns,
When you're seven miles from nowhere and beyond,
In some dark deserted forest
Or a hollow of the Downs,
You may come across a lonely pool, or pond.
And you'll always find a big, brass, broken bedstead by the bank:
There's one in every loch and mere and fen.
Don't think it's there by accident,
It's us you have to thank:
The Society of British Bedstead Men."
Who knew that bedstead litter was such a problem in 1950s England?
We were just standing there marveling over this "flower bed" (LOL!) when another couple pulled up to the B&B for the evening, and guess what, they were British! A lovely couple too, and we had several chats together over the next two days, on the porch and over breakfast.
But they had never heard of Flanders and Swann. Go figure.
