Down in Cornwall for the funeral of my lovely niece Sally, just a year younger than me, who passed away last week after a long illness borne with cheerfulness and optimism. I wrote this growing up poem for her last Christmas and am reading it at the funeral today. We both always loved creepy crawlies :) THE DAYS ON BURROW HILL (For Sally, with much love, Xmas 2013) Now it’s two days before Christmas Winter wind roars wild and cold And I’m thinking of you, Sally, And those memories of old Fifty years have been and gone now But my mind it lingers still On those happy times in Plymstock - Summer days on Burrow Hill. I would always so look forward To those yearly trips down West Mum and Poppy off together For a short, much-needed rest While their stroppy little offspring With a voice both loud and shrill Went to stay with ‘Auntie’ Audrey - Right next door to Burrow Hill. Sue and Dave were eight or nine then You and I were six or seven When we first slipped out the back door And ran off to slow worm heaven….. Lifting stones and bits of metal Catching lizards with great skill Cabbage whites were ten a penny On those days on Burrow Hill. Then the older ones stopped coming And it was just you and me With our box of scaly trophies Running back home for our tea Summer melted into summer - Each year we went back, until Puberty and land developers Saw the end of Burrow Hill. But I still have three pet corn snakes Staring at me beady-eyed And I still lift up old tree trunks Wife Robina by my side And two newts, bought from your pet shop, Years ago, remind me still Of those happy days of childhood - Summer days on Burrow Hill.
Posted on: Wed, 30 Apr 2014 08:46:24 +0000