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Loss of a Legend

It’s with a heavy heart that we have to post about my Dad’s passing on the 18th of August 2022. As many of you gleaned from his daily dose of poems he was a man with a wicked sense of humour, who loved his dogs and his family. The following poems written by us, his sons are a small tribute to him and though he’d have the rhyming dictionary out tutting at the prose (we are claiming Yorkshire rhyming – if it worked for him, it’d work for us). Finally just to say thank you to everyone who read/ enjoyed his work on here. If it made one person smile then that would have meant the world to him. – Love James and John


Born in Bradford, the eldest of five,
A policeman for most of his life.
Married to Dot, the best of the lot,
He lived for his kids, cricket, and wife.

Forty-five years, happily married,
Two sons that he frequently carried.
A favourite grandson, in whom he lives on,
He was immensely proud of his tribe.

A new adventure in France was a thrill,
This man was never one to stand still.
Cycling, dog grooming, degrees, poems, reading, fishing and golf, to name but a few,
How he fit it all in, no one knew.

Like me he loved dogs more than folk,
A definite Labrador bloke.
Perfect days spent walking his hounds,
A curry, a pint, homeward bound.

He knew the Beatles and Stones are the best,
Watched the Open, Test matches, all the rest.
America, Canada, and Australia are part of his history,
A humble, straight-up-and-down man, no mystery.

Troubles he took in his stride,
And rudeness he could not abide.
A kind, polite, generous man,
Always actioning the plan.

Although we are sad that you’re gone,

Through us you will always live on.
For having known you we’ll always be glad.
Thank you, love you, Dad.


So the final Hobbo has fallen to us

Though if you had it your way they’d be no bloody fuss

Just get it over, then go have a pint 

I’m up here with the dogs, I’m doing allright

But seriously Dad you know we can’t let it go

We loved you so much  and need you to know

So here’s a few words to our father, our friend

The story of a life, we never wanted to end

Born in the fifties 

To Derek and Margaret’s delight and applause 

Though when you cut your head open

Nan made you change your drawers 

The eldest of five 

It fell to you to set the way

So you shouldn’t have come home from school

After an hour of the first day

Still you were quite the scholar

Attracted the moniker Snobby

Though you lost that in time

And just became our Hobby

Following in familiar footsteps

You became PC 2518

Earmarked for the top

Until asked,  what periodicals you take 

Still wasn’t all bad, 

you met your Dot

Of all your achievements

She topped the lot 

But How to impress her

First date, make a dish?

Bugger that Hobbo, you’re from Yorkshire

Take her to fish

A month you courted

You knew a good thing

Get up Bolton Abbey

And get out that ring

Though you took a detour

To Ma Wartons to beg

For her daughters hand to marriage

Yes, obviously Stephen,  now, is it bacon with that egg

The wedding duly followed

Held all Warton in a thrawl

Not so much for the dress

As to see, your car in the wall

2 years elapsed 

Then James  came along 

You never learnt your lesson

As, 18 month later, here was our John

You gave us the best childhood

That boys ever had

Everything was magical

Because you were our Dad

When Ben was born

He was already blest 

His life had the groondude

Who he thought was the best

Retirement beckoned

You hung up your pips 

See you later England

Dot? Are these french fries my chips

And what a few years it was  

To auvoir from tally ho

Not without hiccups

Dot? Are all bridges this low

You missed our Ben, so

Enough is enough

And  you came back to Burnley 

And drive the kids in a bus

We never told you 

But we were glad you were here

Golf, walks in the park

Creating memories we’ll hold so dear

Not that it stopped your travels

Jetting off to foreign ports

Even Claridges for tea

Though we won’t mention the shorts

Then we had the poetry

The cult of Hobbo

A daily dose to uplift us

From a man we were lucky to know

Your passing was too quick

It left us all reeling

But your three dogs were in heaven

And Dauphie needed feeding

But we’re down here 

And we look to the sky

Saying goodbye to the greatest

A smile for the memories, yet a tear in eye

As a father, husband, grandad

Thanks for everything you did

We’ll love you forever

In our hearts you’ll always live

Royal Privates

Photo by Samuel Wu00f6lfl on
Royal privates

Some disappoint, so very small;
They are but human after all.
Those on parade, as in the forces,
Are rumoured hung like royal horses.

Female ones are rarely seen,
Particularly, of course, the queen's.
Should you sneak a peak, a waiter
Will pounce, denounce you as a traitor.

Private viewings need consent,
Royal Privates, Royal Assent.
Rest assured, when in the showers
Their naughty bits are much like ours.
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