Today is not only day 28 of National Poetry Writing Month, it is also 25 years to the day that my Uncle Martin died. He was just 39 years old. He was playing cricket for the Avorians in Cobham, Surrey, as he did on a regular basis when he was taken ill and rushed to hospital. We were at home and my mum and dad got called away to the hospital whilst I stayed behind and looked after my brothers and sisters. I had a bad feeling that day. Mum and dad came home but then they got called back again. When they arrived back later that evening I opened the door and my mum just shook her head. I was 19 and it was the first time that someone I really knew really well had died. The last proper time I had spent with Martin was that previous Christmas and I will forever feel bad that I didn’t let him join in with the jigsaw puzzle that I was completing – he is probably laughing somewhere at me saying this! I will always feel sad that he never had a family. He would have made a wonderful husband and father. He was always so kind. The photo is of him and the flowers that my sister and I chose for his funeral on 7th May 1991. This poem is for him today. 

Memories of Martin

Kind eyes and a good heart
Why did you leave so soon
The eve of your life dawned
Swiftly, too fast

Inquest opened and concluded
Yet still mystery remains
Why you were taken
That late spring day

So much more to offer
Somewhere, a family loses out
If only time had played
A different hand

A sportsman through and through
Christmas’ spent, too scarce
If I had only let you in
On that missing piece

Discos and guitars
All treasured recollections now
Time may have forgotten
But your memories live on

Victoria Welton 28th April 2016