Grandad

 

Everyone in the hamlet called him Grandad

I remember him well as I was only a lad

He lived alone in the very end house

with no water or electricity like a church mouse

 

He smoked a home made briar

and often romanced, so some called him a liar

In his darkened kitchen he would his baccy chew

and if I turned up he´d say, O it´s only you

 

A black kettle whistled on a blackened range

a few library books on the table were for exchange

He had fought in the Boer and Great Wars

and never came to hear of those bloody Star Wars

 

In his allotment stood a water pump and bucket

and beyond his vegetables there was a dense thicket

He smoked black twist which he cut with a knife

a habit he had cultivated all his long life

 

Grandad was an oddity but also revered

for he was a gentleman and soldier who in war had persevered

He showed visitors his many medals and awards

and then tea was served straight afterwards

 

Some whispered that he was ninety plus 

as he walked everywhere and never caught a bus

He lived for King and Country and of course his black baccy

dressed in plus fours he could not be described as snappy

 

He owned very little yet was as content as could be

and one day in secret he told me he was ninety three

I held him in awe above all the others

and despite our age difference we were like brothers