Where I go to write...

This little section of the website will house a small, but expanding collection of my own writings. These may be poetry, stories, or just general musings.


The Red Hat by Anthony John Sargeant


At last at last released

From staid respectability

She wore a hat of red

And a dress of purple-ility


(September 2005 on seeing a group of ladies in Rye High Street

Tony Sargeant with apologies to Jenny Joseph)



The Bathroom Sink by Anthony Sargeant



What he had done

he did not know.

He just felt 

the unexpected blow.


In place of love and kisses

he bled,

bright red,

onto white porcelain.


Tony Sargeant 2013

Killing Love by Anthony John Sargeant


Love is killed

by deafness

which blinds

and blindness 

which deafens

and our lips

are stilled.


Tony Sargeant



Kellie Castle, 4th August 2004 with Eileen and Patricia

by Tony Sargeant


In a corner of the garden

full of straggling roses

scumbled through moss

embedded trees –

a quiet corner

a wondrous sea

of cornflower blue

gently lapping 

in the summer breeze

against a lichened rock

crowned by a chevron

carved stone bowl

overflowing with

wayward  flowers

from long forgot

childhood, unkempt,

wild, unnamed,

bringing peace.






Anthony Sargeant revised 2013




A reflection on the use of ‘story’ to tell the truth. 


My Grandmother used to say “are you telling me a story?”

meaning “are you telling me a lie?”


“Telling stories” has a bad press!

And yet there are true stories and there are stories that tell the truth


In a novel “Mourning Roby” by Helen Dunmore, Rebecca the young mother who has lost an only child is told, “sometimes the real story doesn’t tell you the truth.”



Anthony J Sargeant

How strange you are God



How strange you are God.

A god of Love ….. we say.

And yet,

such cruelty, such pain

inflicted, in your name

through history, we should feel shame

for Crusades, and Jewish persecutions,

the Slave Trade, and women oppressed,

and suicides, and marriages that died,

and all the rest, in your name,

shown no compassion, God.


The God of Love  ….. we say.

And yet,

such cruelty, such pain

inflicted, in your name

by Christians past, yes,

but still we hear the angry voices shout


“Heretic, rebel, deviant!”


Your female gender is not fit

    to minister the sacraments to US.

(because the Bible tells us so.

Jesus loves US – this we know)


And gays and lesbians need not apply

to minister the sacraments, and why?

(because three verses tells us so.

Jesus loves US – this we know)


And other paths to the Divine?

are null and void, not true like mine.

(because the Bible tells us so.

Jesus loves US – this we know)”




The God of Love ….. so we say!


And We, God?

We stand by and remain too silent.

Collaborators in the abuse

of the persecuted and the oppressed

and the abuse of You, God.

For surely you are the God which is Love,

Unconditional, insane, sublime, mysterious Love.

…….. Or Nothing.


Help us God.

If you can.



Tony Sargeant 2002

My First Car



My first car was bought from the brother of a friend of mine for £30. It was a 1936 Ford 10.




I completely overhauled the 4 cylinder side valve engine, grinding in the valves, replacing piston rings, big ends, and on two occasions stripping down the rear axle to replace broken crown and pinion gears in the differential.


My car was repainted by hand in maroon with black mudguards which looked very smart.


For an 18 year old it was great to have a car and to be mobile. I had passed my driving test first time within 6 months of my 18th birthday. I had actually learnt to drive on my fathers 1953 Ford Zephyr which was a big beast of a car but it was thought prudent to take the test on something more modest and so a sit-up-and beg 1949 Ford Popular was borrowed from a friend.


At that time annual MOT tests had started to check basic safety including brakes and lighting of older cars. The only way the Ford 10 would get through such a test was by taking it to a somewhat shady garage underneath the arches in Peckham where the testing standards were less rigorous than perhaps they should have been (also it was run by somebody my father knew).

Nevertheless the Ford did sterling service. Taking four us to North Wales climbing on one occasion and more domestically getting me to rugby matches and even home again in pre-breathalyser days, as well as other social occasions.


With four of us in the car the trip to North Wales and back to London was uneventful except for a number of punctures – perhaps five or six. These were caused by the pinching of the inner tube in the repaired split wall of the outer tyres. In those days it was common practice to glue a reinforced rubber and canvas patch on the inside of the tyre to cover such splits – today you are not allowed to repair even a small nail hole if it is in the side wall. It side wall repair sounds incredibly dangerous but then cars were much slower. Even if a tyre burst you were unlikely to be going very fast and even in those pre-seat belt days you might survive.


The major safety problem with the car was the brakes. The hub brakes were controlled by four steel rods radiating from a central position under the chassis connected directly to the pedal (no hydraulics). It was however extremely difficult to balance this mechanical arrangement and as a consequence the car would veer to one side or the other on braking, which tendency was more serious if the veering was to the off-side and into the face of oncoming traffic. 


The handbrake which only operated on the rear wheels was also ‘difficult’ and on occasions when parking on hills I was forced to ‘lean’ the car against a lamppost so that it did no run away.


Like all Fords up until the 1960s it only had three forward gears which made for less than nippy performance. Then there were mechanical trafficators which popped out from the door pillar when activated …. sometimes, but sometimes didn’t, leaving one to make flailing hand signals.


Instead of an electric motor the windscreen wipers were driven by the suction created in the inlet manifold – all very well until the engine was labouring to climb a hill when the suction fell and with it the speed of the wipers to dead slow – giving little visible on a dark rainy night. 


Then of course there was an electric starter motor which would occasionally get the engine going if the manual choke was carefully adjusted – but more often than not would not and so it was out with the manual starting handle inserted through a slotted hole in the radiator grill.


On two occasions I damaged the crown and pinion in the differential in the rear axle and had to strip this down and replace them with units bought from car scrap yards. 


The first time was the consequence of taking a right hand bend at the bottom of Beckenham Place Park on an autumn day when there were wet leaves on the road. The car spun 360 degrees in front of an oncoming truck but fortunately spun back to the left eventually hitting the nearside kerb. The side impact on the rear wheel broke the crown-wheel inside the differential.

The second time was when on my way back from a seven-a-side rugby tournament in Gravesend I failed to stop at a junction and was hit sideways on by a Mini driven by a young possibly uninsured driver whose father agreed to accept some money – not too much – rather than go through insurance. I had a car full of friends and we were lucky not to be seriously injured. So another trip to the scrap yard for replacement parts.


When I owned the Ford 10 I was playing 1st team rugby every week during the season and would drive to the more local games - which was fine. What was less ‘fine’ was driving home afterwards. Rugby was a very social sport in those days and we would often consume a lot of beer (perhaps 8 to 10 pints of bitter) in the club house after matches and still drive home. It was in the days before breathalysers and real awareness of the dangers of drink-driving. Looking back it is amazing and lucky that we survived unscathed – not to mention innocent third parties – the alcohol compounding the effect of the car’s poor brakes, lights, windscreen wipers and trafficators. Oh Dear – the folly and irresponsibility of youth!