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Poem of the Week: ‘The Whitsun Weddings’ by Philip Larkin

7 Jul 2025

This week, our Poem of the Week is ‘The Whitsun Weddings’ by Philip Larkin, the title poem from his much-loved first collection with Faber.
The Whitsun Weddings That Whitsun, I was late getting away: Not till about One-twenty on the sunlit Saturday Did my three-quarters-empty train pull out, All windows down, all cushions hot, all sense Of being in a hurry gone. We ran Behind the backs of houses, crossed a street Of blinding windscreens, smelt the fish-dock; thence The river’s level drifting breadth began, Where sky and Lincolnshire and water meet. All afternoon, through the tall heat that slept For miles inland, A slow and stopping curve southwards we kept. Wide farms went by, short-shadowed cattle, and Canals with floatings of industrial froth; A hothouse flashed uniquely: hedges dipped And rose: and now and then a smell of grass Displaced the reek of buttoned carriage-cloth Until the next town, new and nondescript, Approached with acres of dismantled cars. At first, I didn’t notice what a noise The weddings made Each station that we stopped at: sun destroys The interest of what’s happening in the shade, And down the long cool platforms whoops and skirls I took for porters larking with the mails, And went on reading. Once we started, though, We passed them, grinning and pomaded, girls In parodies of fashion, heels and veils, All posed irresolutely, watching us go, As if out on the end of an event Waving goodbye To something that survived it. Struck, I leant More promptly out next time, more curiously, And saw it all again in different terms: The fathers with broad belts under their suits And seamy foreheads; mothers loud and fat; An uncle shouting smut; and then the perms, The nylon gloves and jewellery-substitutes, the lemons, mauves, and olive-ochres that Marked off the girls unreally from the rest. Yes, from cafe´ s And banquet-halls upyards, and bunting-dressed Coach-party annexes, the wedding-days Were coming to an end. All down the line Fresh couples climbed aboard: the rest stood round; The last confetti and advice were thrown, And, as we moved, each face seemed to define Just what it saw departing: children frowned At something dull; fathers had never known Success so huge and wholly farcical; The women shared The secret like a happy funeral; While girls, gripping their handbags tighter, stared At a religious wounding. Free at last, And loaded with the sum of all they saw, We hurried towards London, shuffling gouts of steam.

Copyright © Philip Larkin, 1964. Used by permission of Faber & Faber Ltd. All rights reserved.

Read all our poems of the week.

Buy the Book

The Whitsun Weddings (Members Heritage Edition)
The Whitsun Weddings (Members Heritage Edition)
Philip Larkin
£14.99

This centenary edition of Philip Larkin’s much-loved first collection with Faber has been specially designed for Faber Members, recreating the iconic first edition. Available exclusively from faber.co.uk.

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