Critical Perspectives on Accounting (1997) 8 , 189

Henry Jones , from Wales

It was quiet at night , and I ’ d wake to the sounds of sheep and the birds singin ’ . The shops was shut tight at five.

When I was eight they sent me to the south — a trainful of kids — away from them buzzbombs.

When the war ended , they sent me home. Me mum had enough kids and sent me back.

A Lady at the orphanage taught me how to read. I learnt in one year and got me a job fixing lorries.

My wife ’ s American — her father sent for us , bought tickets to the U.S. Back home I was a engineer.

Here , all I could get was this — he leans on his broom , then sweeps it down the long hall .

He turns , and cuts another swathe as if he were cutting hay . My name ’ s what you write in motels so nobody knows who you are —

But my first name ’ s Henry , like all them kings — he nods at my book as he passes , Henry IV , Parts I and II .

B . B . Adams

(pa960128)

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