Things you mean to do and don't
May. 15th, 2008 09:21 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sheenaghpugh--- until it's too late. I always meant to get back in touch with Robert Greacen, with whom I'd had a bit of correspondence around when his Collected Poems (a surprisingly slim volume) was published. He'd sent me a copy and I'd replied, enthusing about the Captain Fox poems, which I was mighty fond of. But after then, others crept up on me (he was a slow-burn poet rather than an immediately striking one) and I'd always meant to write again. Moral: don't put it off when the person in question is getting on. He sounded a nice man too, with a lovely sense of humour.
I think there were two reasons I put off writing again. One was something that now seems really silly: if it had ever come to a meeting, I would have been at a loss how to pronounce his surname (and still am). Grecian? Grayson? The other reason: he was only a year older than my father and shared some of the same WW2 history. This tends to make me superstitious, as Humph's death did - he was my father's age to the day. Wish I'd kept it up though. Here's a rather apposite poem of his:
HERO
Billy came to my wedding in Royal Navy rig,
Young veteran of the Archangel convoys.
He electrified the girls with his unruly hair,
His shy silences, the wild stare in his eyes.
To the men he spoke of war-games, U-boats,
Ice-breakers, how Churchill swore at an admiral.
Billy was a big fellow, everyone's hero.
I remember the day he climbed up on the school roof,
Ate a banana there, threw down the skin,
Faced the headmaster with a cold smile.
Sometimes he'd race me to Bradbury Place
And I'd come panting, yards behind.
We'd break our teeth on Highland Cream toffee,
Talk of Astaire & Rogers, Blackpool's lights,
His plan to push the First XV to victory.
I tried to interest him in Aldous Huxley
But Billy preferred Three Men in a Boat.
After I married, my wife phased him out,
Said he was phoney, a B-movie type.
I heard he left the Navy, took to selling cars,
Was doing well in Downpatrick
But drinking too much Scotch.
I vowed to look him up, but never did.
Robert Greacen, 1920-2008
I think there were two reasons I put off writing again. One was something that now seems really silly: if it had ever come to a meeting, I would have been at a loss how to pronounce his surname (and still am). Grecian? Grayson? The other reason: he was only a year older than my father and shared some of the same WW2 history. This tends to make me superstitious, as Humph's death did - he was my father's age to the day. Wish I'd kept it up though. Here's a rather apposite poem of his:
HERO
Billy came to my wedding in Royal Navy rig,
Young veteran of the Archangel convoys.
He electrified the girls with his unruly hair,
His shy silences, the wild stare in his eyes.
To the men he spoke of war-games, U-boats,
Ice-breakers, how Churchill swore at an admiral.
Billy was a big fellow, everyone's hero.
I remember the day he climbed up on the school roof,
Ate a banana there, threw down the skin,
Faced the headmaster with a cold smile.
Sometimes he'd race me to Bradbury Place
And I'd come panting, yards behind.
We'd break our teeth on Highland Cream toffee,
Talk of Astaire & Rogers, Blackpool's lights,
His plan to push the First XV to victory.
I tried to interest him in Aldous Huxley
But Billy preferred Three Men in a Boat.
After I married, my wife phased him out,
Said he was phoney, a B-movie type.
I heard he left the Navy, took to selling cars,
Was doing well in Downpatrick
But drinking too much Scotch.
I vowed to look him up, but never did.
Robert Greacen, 1920-2008
