The Gentle Giant chronicler of wry has gone
But has a bigger canvas now to draw upon;
On Heaven’s foibles he trains his wit,
And on puffed angelic vanity makes the hit;
That mildly wicked streak and glinting eye
Finding all the humour in infinity.
Even paradise has its funny side: he’ll show
The jumped up Cherubs, lampooned to go.
Through all his years, despite life’s late trials
He remains the Gentleman of Droll, the King of Smiles.

And in our hearts, his art does yet extend
So in this we know, there is no Audley End.

A Lexicon of JSA- for his birthday

A       The Andrew Scholar of Canterbury Quad

B       The Castellan of Blackroot

C       The Colonel of Cadets

D       The Denizen of D2

E        A Fully Paid Up Member of The British Empire

F        Fingers in Pies (Lots of)

G       Little Green Books (Essential Reading Matter)

H       The History Man who married his History Woman

I        The Inspiration of our Enthusiasms

J        The Jovial Master of Connections

K       The Keeper of the Archives

L        The Lichfield Street Archaeologist

M       The Governor of Mayfield

N       Naseby’s New Model Neighbour in the Saab

O       The Catalyst of Equal Opportunity

P       The President of Pipes

Q       The Distiller of News from all Quarters

R       The Clubbable Rotarian

S        The Commissioner of Scouts

T       The Merchant Taylorian

U       The Unsurpassed of Self Deviating Narratives

V       The Vade-Mecum of Marian Life

W       The Walsall Observer

X       The Defining Standard for EXtra Mural Activities

Y       The Serial Yomper of Cader Idris

Z       The Very Zest of Men

For Andy and for all who loved him and his music.

It’s just like when someone

Leaves the party before you,

And bereft you stand, the words

You’ve always wanted to say,

Rehearsed but still enveloped,

Inside your head.

Or when that friend who joined

Your trip to manhood, and you

Choose diverging roads,

And as he leaves, you hear

That minor third, and fear

What-if you’ll lose sight

Across the miles or years

of forever?

But more for me it’s like

A loop that never ends,

Of Paradise Lost and Found but Lost again

As he who made your words soar

And touch the sweet spot of tragic happiness

Has left us,

Has left us,

Has left us with that music.

The chance gifts of friendship are like milestones

Of content in life’s fleeting walkabout;

And all the more welcome to tired bones,

When they give warmth and never cause for doubt

Such is to me that darling Flicky Mead,

The elegantly cheerful mother earth,

Whose gentle smile and optimistic creed

Touched all -and me- with happiness and worth

The Dame of Prospect with the common touch

Had one last gift to share with all she knew,

In how to leave the one’s you love so much

By facing up to what’s in front of you

So why could we yet think her time has run?

In us live all the genes of what she’s done!

Staccato but elegantly so,

All buttoned down,

Crisp and proper annunciation

Like a breakfast tea parade:

An epitome of courtesy,

You present your bow,

The gown, neat, straight, majestic;

An exhibition of precision and control,

The visage, stern – beyond irony –

Or so it seemed to Moss Close little men.

But there was another Ken

We grown ups saw:

The stiletto grin, the satirical brow,

The punctuated nod or expleted oui,

That wickedly gentle smile.

Or heard those breathless expressions of hilarity

That sixth form banter brought on

The stream of improper nouns:

Smashdom and grabbery.

The news of rum goings on in Mayfield

Or read the acute but never grave critiques

Of the cultural stuff that someone had to write…..

The patient farmer of young minds:

The Duty Master of La Comedie Humaine:

“Le milieu explique l’homme!”