GRANDFATHER'S LOT

Tradition says precocious at times a tiresome child,
The apple of his mother's eye, she somewhat beguiled,
He teased his younger siblings, he played the odd joke,
The perfect little gentleman to neighbourhood folk,
A twinkle in his eye and laughter in his heart,
As he held old Charlie's reins on the old dog cart,
The fate that was in store for him, best he did not know,
I now begin my story of grandfather's tale of woe.

At seventeen, he went to war, so family legend told,
1914, fought the fight, with Britain's brave and bold,
At nineteen he lost a leg, he needed treatment all his life,
Then he met my grandmother and took her for his wife.
Margaret, she had a child, this did not make him happy,
In later years, with that son, he sometimes could be snappy.
But then came little George, both parent's pride and joy,
He was the sweetest little child, that darling little boy.

Audrey was then born, when George was five years old,
This was daddies little girl, welcomed to the fold,
Jonathan was a farm hand, working at the farm each day,
George's seventh birthday was just two weeks away,
When one day he came from school with a photo in his hand,
It was a present for his mother, she said it was real grand.
George was so excited, he asked to take it to the farm,
Margaret, who was making tea, thought there was no harm.

There on a Wallsend High Street, George crossed the road,
But tragically poor little George, forgot his highway code.
It was a bus that hit him, that poor child lost his head,
Jonathan saw the accident, he was going home it's said,
The photograph lay in the road, where the accident took place,
The reason for this tragedy and the smile on that child's face,
There at the scene of the accident, on the following day,
He picked up the photo of his son, from the road wherein it lay.

This horror changed Jonathan, he tried to drown his sorrow,
He felt his life was over and he could not face tomorrow,
Margaret's heart was broken for her darling little boy,
She never ever could let go, of George her pride and joy.
For Margaret's first born son, more problems this presented,
Jonathan was not cruel to him, but the child felt so resented,
Ronny, aged thirteen, went to live with Margaret's brother,
As a part of that family, like their sons, he was another.

The marriage soon was on the rocks, it did not stand the test,
They stayed together for Audrey's sake, thought it for the best,
When Audrey was married and had left the family home,
Jonathan and Margaret went their seperate ways, alone,
Jonathan met Josephine, he made her his second wife,
They went to live in Gainsford, where he made a new life,
I know so little of that life, in time I shall now travel,
To events which even to this day, I wish I could unravel.

The year was nineteen seventy five, in hospital once more,
In Darlington Memorial, I'm not quite sure what for!
In a psychiatric unit! Mum said he was quite sane,
I don't know why he was in there, this was not made plain,
On the twenty third of August, Jonathan Longstaff met his death,
It was in the most horrific way, that he drew his last breath,
Grandfather was sedated, while his bed was set on fire,
That poor man was still alive, when he became a funeral pyre.

A tract from an open bible lay close by the awful scene,
"And they shall be destroyed by fire," What did all this mean?
It was said that surgical spirit stood on a locker, quite nearby,
This wasn't brought up at the inquest, I can only wonder why,
To Winterton's psychiatric unit in the middle of that same night.
They took a patient with a history of fire, this cannot be right!
They tried to say a cigarette gave ignition to the fire,
My grandfather only smoked a pipe, Was someone a liar?

No one could see my grandfather, he was in a dreadful state,
They said his ward was always staffed, Then why was it too late?
However could this happen, if the ward was always staffed,
If this was not so terrible, I think we would have laughed,
My grandfather died by accident, is what the Coroner said,
He was not given all the facts, I believe he was mislead,
Negligence or murder, perhaps the truth we'll never know,
Grandfather, "Rest In Peace" while I end your tale of woe.