Joan


She was born in 1918, took after her father,

Caused her family a whole lot of bother,

Loved tennis and hockey, could be really naughty,

Became a high achiever, then she lost her brother.


She was a picture in the 30’s, some tried to court her,

She did a lot of stuff she shouldn’t ought to,

Looked like Ingrid Bergman, wore Elizabeth Arden,

Trained as a teacher, wore fur coats in the summer.


She got wed in the 40’s , a moustachioed flyer,

He didn’t know what he’d let himself in for.

Had time on her hands made grandiose plans,

Went to the doctors and painted pretty flowers.


She had kids by the 50’s, loved them in her way.

Sometimes daddy said she had to go away,

Fifty five quid a week, made the best fairy cakes.

Got in the papers smoked sixty fags a day.


She moved in the 60’s, made her a real lady,

Looking back it was probably foolhardy,

Nearly a country manner, went shooting for her dinner,

She got embarrassing drinking Mateus Rose.


She grieved in the 70’s, her boyfriend was gone,

Number one son too number two son then.

Turned to her local vicar, went AWOL in South Africa,

Kept up her appearance, invited friends for cheese and wine.


She gave up after that, needed her family near,

She tried to restart her old career.

Made them really laugh, washed their hair in the bath,

Had a violent episode, the hospital made it very clear.


She left in the 80’s, had a spot of electricity,

Excercised her, well honed antipathy,

Held court with the nurses and taught drama classes,

Had trouble with her lipstick but was always witty.


She died in 1997, and had a stylish send off,

Quite an amazing woman, she took enough,

Gladly remembered , now unencumbered. 

Very sadly missed, the vicar got pissed.


Blu ones, white ones, round ones, is it Librium or Lithium? Small ones, big ones and probably valium? A rare and beautiful life naffed up by deep and profound depression. Put a brave face on it and leave some impression, go back to the hospital for another session.



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