'To Whomever Doth Find Me:' Cursed Wordsmiths and Derelict Cottages

A fairly gorgeous derelict cottage in the village of Bintree, Norfolk. Good light and cool paint-splashed walls, and, upstairs, an unusual find - held in place by a glass jar, a sealed envelope marked with the words 'To Whomever Doth Find Me' in flowery lettering. Naturally curious - and, I admit, glancing round me for signs of a body swinging from a noose - I tore it open.

Inside was a poem. Written by a figure calling him/herself The Cursed Wordsmith, there was also a note asking the finder to visit the author's Facebook page and there enter details of the poem - content, location found, etc - with the hope that others will be able to piece together the clues and find other poems left around similar locations in Norfolk. A literary treasure hunt, basically, and an undeniably cute idea. (According to said Facebook page, another poem has been found in a nearby ROC post, so perhaps the author is local to the Bintree / Twyford area with urbexy interests?).

Anyhow. Eyes peeled, people.

Keep Calm and Carry On Demolishing the Local Landmarks: the Bintree and Twyford Village Hall

Village halls always feel anachronistic to me, harking back as they do to notions of nationality and community that barely seems relevant these days. Although, in the current climate - a visual hyper-patriotism on the eve of the Jubilee, the Olympics, Euro 2012, with British flags and 'Keep Calm and Carry On' merchandise plastered across everything - the image of tea and cake at the traditional village hall summer fete feels bafflingly 'in.' No small poetry in the image of a pair of Union Jack underpants dumped behind the to-be-demolished Bintree and Twyford Village Hall, then.