I found an old Christmas Treasure hunt poem as was clearing the loft. You may remember it. I've put it up as I can't think of much to write just now.
Tracey Warren Pt 1.
Tracey Warren Pt 1.
He was waiting on the bridge when I arrived.
The way he used to when
Martin, Jane and I and all the rest
would meet
before we went out for the night
to a party or a pub,
Only four years ago;
four summers past.
But so much has changed since then.
I stood beside him for a while
my arms resting on the parapet; gazing
at the wild brown water
rushing past
below.
Saying nothing as we watched the litter
of broken branches, logs
and some dead animal,
A sheep or dog,
sweep by.
Sometimes they caught against the bridge and held
until the jealous river tore them back
and carried them away.
He broke the silence first.
I heard that you’ve been doing well.
If it’s true I’m not surprised,
We always thought you would.
I glanced at him but his head was turned,
looking down into the water.
Had he learned the trick of irony?
Why should I think that?
No, James would never change;
he meant exactly what he said,
but I could not resist replying,
Yes, I suppose some might
Say I have. Though I see it only
as a start.
Now, you I’ve heard have not done well.
But I never thought you would.
He looked up.
Our eyes met
And we both laughed.
Well, you haven’t changed.
You always spoke your mind.
He said.
No. No, not always,
It all depends upon the person.
And the time.
So, how’s Martin?
Have you seen him?
Yes, Six months ago.
And you would not believe
a man could change so much.
He’s married now, and dull.
Dull beyond description.
All the fire’s gone out.
But Jane, now that’s
a different story.
She took her bleeding heart,
some Elastoplast and aspirin,
and went to Africa.
To help the poor unfortunates
you find in millions there.
No doubt she’ll be back
in a year or two,
to preach
at us, and show us all
the error of our ways.
That’s Jane. And the others…
Let’s see. There’s Bill.
You remember him?
The one to whom nothing
Ever happened?
Well, this will amuse you.
One summer he went
To Amsterdam…..
I talked on.
And told who’d done what
and where they were
and who they’d met.
Some were only casual friends,
some he hardly knew.
Much of the time he’d spent away
at school or university,
returning in the holidays
back to his parent’s house.
But we, the others, lived in town
and saw each other
all the year round.
Well, that’s my report.
I’ve covered everyone
I think.
Everyone? Let’s see.
There’s the landlord
Of The Plough… no wait.
That young woman.
Tall… short dark hair.
I only met her once or twice.
Tracey something.
Tracey Warren.
Oh her! I don’t know.
But wasn’t she…?
Weren’t you?
Oh, we went out for a while
after you all had gone
and there was no one
else around.
But she was such a pain.
And so intense
it was embarrassing.
All she’d want to do
Was talk of art and painters,
or some weird foreign film she’d seen.
I’m no Philistine.
I like to know what’s going on,
But this was all too much.
She thought she could draw, you know.
Went on about Goldsmiths and The Slade.
But you should have seen her stuff!
Childish semi-abstract things.
It was not just bad,
It was laughable.
In the end I told her so
and I’ve not seen her since.
But I’ve said enough.
It’s your turn now.
What have you been doing?
Very little – as you know.
I’m out of work and on my own
and live outside Carlisle.
I’ve not done much
but write for jobs
and walk the hills
this last year or two.
You would find my life is dull.
Dull beyond description.
Except for something
that happened
just around six moths ago.
We’ve got time,
I’ll tell you.
If you like.
The way he used to when
Martin, Jane and I and all the rest
would meet
before we went out for the night
to a party or a pub,
Only four years ago;
four summers past.
But so much has changed since then.
I stood beside him for a while
my arms resting on the parapet; gazing
at the wild brown water
rushing past
below.
Saying nothing as we watched the litter
of broken branches, logs
and some dead animal,
A sheep or dog,
sweep by.
Sometimes they caught against the bridge and held
until the jealous river tore them back
and carried them away.
He broke the silence first.
I heard that you’ve been doing well.
If it’s true I’m not surprised,
We always thought you would.
I glanced at him but his head was turned,
looking down into the water.
Had he learned the trick of irony?
Why should I think that?
No, James would never change;
he meant exactly what he said,
but I could not resist replying,
Yes, I suppose some might
Say I have. Though I see it only
as a start.
Now, you I’ve heard have not done well.
But I never thought you would.
He looked up.
Our eyes met
And we both laughed.
Well, you haven’t changed.
You always spoke your mind.
He said.
No. No, not always,
It all depends upon the person.
And the time.
So, how’s Martin?
Have you seen him?
Yes, Six months ago.
And you would not believe
a man could change so much.
He’s married now, and dull.
Dull beyond description.
All the fire’s gone out.
But Jane, now that’s
a different story.
She took her bleeding heart,
some Elastoplast and aspirin,
and went to Africa.
To help the poor unfortunates
you find in millions there.
No doubt she’ll be back
in a year or two,
to preach
at us, and show us all
the error of our ways.
That’s Jane. And the others…
Let’s see. There’s Bill.
You remember him?
The one to whom nothing
Ever happened?
Well, this will amuse you.
One summer he went
To Amsterdam…..
I talked on.
And told who’d done what
and where they were
and who they’d met.
Some were only casual friends,
some he hardly knew.
Much of the time he’d spent away
at school or university,
returning in the holidays
back to his parent’s house.
But we, the others, lived in town
and saw each other
all the year round.
Well, that’s my report.
I’ve covered everyone
I think.
Everyone? Let’s see.
There’s the landlord
Of The Plough… no wait.
That young woman.
Tall… short dark hair.
I only met her once or twice.
Tracey something.
Tracey Warren.
Oh her! I don’t know.
But wasn’t she…?
Weren’t you?
Oh, we went out for a while
after you all had gone
and there was no one
else around.
But she was such a pain.
And so intense
it was embarrassing.
All she’d want to do
Was talk of art and painters,
or some weird foreign film she’d seen.
I’m no Philistine.
I like to know what’s going on,
But this was all too much.
She thought she could draw, you know.
Went on about Goldsmiths and The Slade.
But you should have seen her stuff!
Childish semi-abstract things.
It was not just bad,
It was laughable.
In the end I told her so
and I’ve not seen her since.
But I’ve said enough.
It’s your turn now.
What have you been doing?
Very little – as you know.
I’m out of work and on my own
and live outside Carlisle.
I’ve not done much
but write for jobs
and walk the hills
this last year or two.
You would find my life is dull.
Dull beyond description.
Except for something
that happened
just around six moths ago.
We’ve got time,
I’ll tell you.
If you like.