Mint grew near the fence
Among blue daisies.
Did you plant it
Or was it already there?

You would say to me.
“Pick some mint,”
I always breathed in the scent
And tasted the bitter
coarse leaves on my tongue.

When the mint was chopped fine
You sprinkled it among
new potatoes.
A minty aroma filled the air
A fragrance that today
evokes childhood times
When we were happy.



When you went
Into the morning sun,
Handsome, young and clean.
It seemed as though
For you life had begun
While we were shadows on
an ancient screen.

When you went
It was with gratitude,
But then our home has
always been, a place where
you could come regardless
of your mood
To eat, to wash and leave
refreshed and clean.

When you went
There was relief
For you seemed to have survived
the street.
Strengthening a strong belief
That Jesus guards your
every heart beat.


Jean saw a bluebell
Then the rain fell.
She walked home alone.
Jean had ignored you
Sure she bored you.
This she found hard to own.
There was a bluebell
In the garden,
Then the rain fell on her cheek.
Jean wanted to beg
Your pardon
For the fact that she
did not speak.

There was music.
There were children.
What could be a better scene?
And her husband looking gorgeous.
What could this confusion mean?
Jean saw a bluebell
Then more rain fell
And her heart felt sad
She was walking home
In April wondering why
She felt so bad.

Then she realised
Herself she despised.
Something inside must change.
She would pray more.
And her marriage rearrange.
Then the bluebell
As the rain fell
Quivered in the soft Spring air.
And a short-lived
infatuation suddenly
Wasn’t there.


Waiting in air that’s still.
Small noises fill
The long afternoon
Near evening.

Where are you?
Why did you not come?
The night deepens outside.
She is numb
With damaged pride.

Her dress is new.
The table is set for two.
Now she won’t cook,
But go to bed.
The phone is off the hook
She has finished
The bottle of red!


Jane climbed fences and trees;
Came home covered in mud
With a dog.

The blonde girl next door
Wasn’t allowed to get dirty.
Her father called her through his nose,

“Pamela! Get off the mould!”
As he tested sheets for dryness
To mother’s scorn.
“He even likes knitting!”

Pamela conceived on the fireside rug
While her parents were at church.
But she got married
And had many children.

Jane married twice
And didn’t have any.


He passed, that gallant spirit, to his last rest
With the combers crashing on the shattered deck.
As he always faced life smiling, so he met his last grim test
Mid the chaos of that ghastly midnight wreck.

We had laughed at life together at the dockside and the ball,
We had shared what good or ill the Fates might send;
But the darkness and the thunder of the surges brought his call
And sleep beneath the rollers is the end.

The end? No! Not the finish! Far beyond the scattered stars
We shall meet amid the sunset’s rose and gold;
I shall feel his steady handclasp, when my soul has burst the bars,
I shall see his grey eyes smiling as of old.

By My father: Donald Ian McGregor 1908 -1985


He is not in his usual place.
Now he has gone there leaves a space
For her private grief to fill,
But then he was very ill.

We treasure things he left behind:
Wood work and the deeds so kind,
The laughter and his teasing ways.
Farewell brave soul from happier days.

In memory of Colin Spencer
Who died yesterday at 7.30 p.m 25th January 2018
He was a dearly loved brother- in-law