I was washing glasses in our pub, hidden away in the ‘still
room’ on my regular Friday night and Saturday night stint during the busy
Illuminations, singing along to the music that drifted in.
There was a song on the jukebox in the front bar, a haunting
melody that forced me to listen and beautiful, poetic lyrics that reached out
to me. Any meaning in those words was lost on me, but being an impressionable
hippy-ish rock-chick in my mid-teens, I’m proud to say that I learnt it off by
heart. It is still up there with my favourites, sung by Noel Harrison.
The Windmills of Your Mind
Round like a circle in a spiral, like a wheel
within a wheel
Never ending or beginning on an ever spinning reel
Like a snowball down a mountain, or a carnival balloon
Like a carousel that's turning running rings around the moon
Like a clock whose hands are sweeping past the minutes of its face
And the world is like an apple whirling silently in space
Like the circles that you find in the windmills of your mind.
Like a tunnel that you follow to a tunnel of its
own
Down a hollow to a cavern where the sun has never shone
Like a door that keeps revolving in a half forgotten dream
Or the ripples from a pebble someone tosses in a stream
Like a clock whose hands are sweeping past the minutes of its face
And the world is like an apple whirling silently in space
Like the circles that you find in the windmills of your mind.
Keys that jingle in your pocket, words that jangle
in your head
Why did summer go so quickly, was it something that you said?
Lovers walking along a shore and leave their footprints in the sand
Is the sound of distant drumming just the fingers of your hand?
Pictures hanging in a hallway and the fragment of a song
Half remembered names and faces, but to whom do they belong?
When you knew that it was over you were suddenly aware
That the autumn leaves were turning to the color of her hair!
Like a circle in a spiral, like a wheel within a wheel
Never ending or beginning on an ever spinning reel
As the images unwind, like the circles that you find
In the windmills of your mind.
Songwriters: Marilyn Bergman / Michel Legrand /
Alan Bergman
It was the theme song to The Thomas Crown Affair, a major
film at that time, and I wonder if the lyrics might make more sense to me if I
actually saw the film, or the more recent remake? It will be something else to
do in my retirement.
There’s always fun to be found in doing new things. I’ve
lived in Blackpool since 1965, a long time in South Shore, but never travelled
on a train from Blackpool South until this year. That rail adventure with my
friend took us to Lytham for lunch and a pleasant stroll along the front to the
fabulous, white windmill which holds centre stage on the green. Another first.
The closest I’d previously been to Lytham Windmill was the main road.
I found this poem,
The Windmill
Behold! a giant am
I!
Aloft here in my tower,
With my granite jaws I devour
The maize, and the wheat, and the rye,
And grind them into flour.
I look down over the farms;
In the fields of grain I see
The harvest that is to be,
And I fling to the air my arms,
For I know it is all for me.
I hear the sound of flails
Far off, from the threshing-floors
In barns, with their open doors,
And the wind, the wind in my sails,
Louder and louder roars.
I stand here in my place,
With my foot on the rock below,
And whichever way it may blow,
I meet it face to face,
As a brave man meets his foe.
And while we wrestle and strive,
My master, the miller, stands
And feeds me with his hands;
For he knows who makes him thrive,
Who makes him lord of lands.
On Sundays I take my rest;
Church-going bells begin
Their low, melodious din;
I cross my arms on my breast,
And all is peace within.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807 - 1882)
Thanks for reading, Pam x
