Below is a poem "The Lobby Press", given to me by a fellow patient at Westren General Hospital Ward 5 clinic.

THE LOBBY PRESS

By James Henderson

Ye may live in a mansion or a lowley Cooncil flat,

Bit everybody hiz wan, ye kin be shair o' that.

Ye may cry it yer lumber store, or box room tae impress

Bit mine's jist plain and simple: it's ca'd ma lobby press.

O whit a haven o' delight! Ah kin only staun and stare

At the years o' memories that lie afore me there

There's a pair o' wally dugs that yer dad got in a sale,

They only cost him wan an six, fur wan had lost it's tail.

There's jam jars fu' or buttons, and a cup wi Granny's teeth

And a braw hauf set of cheeny that ah got in Cowdenbeath.

There's crochet hooks and knitting pins an' ba's o tousled wool

An shoe boxes o' photos when the bairns were at the school.

Here's a cutting fae the paper at the start o' World War Two

Ma man he winna working then, he'd just signed on the Broo

Oh, he wisna idle very lang, they stuck him in a tank,

Ah never saw ma man again: ah've got the war tae thank

The bairns a' hae left me noo Ah sit here on mae ain,

Ah try tae keep cheery, it's sae easy tae complain

They sometimes send a postcard frae some exotic place

It's nice to get a postcard, but Ah'd sooner see their face

The three score years an' ten hae long since passed me by

Ye canna turn the clock back, nae maiter how ye try

The days are long an' lonely, ma pains a ha' tae thole,

But ah'll hae tae bide ma time, until the final goal

They sit me in mae fireside chair, wi' a book a canna read

An on ma wee side-table are a' the things ah'll need

Ma meals come in a Cooncil van, ma peels come in a box.

Ma carers come tae see me, but nae neighbour ever knocks.

They talk aboot computers and whit's been on TV

Bit whit the lot o' them forget – a canna really see

An' as they keep on talking, ah really must confess,

Ma mind's no in the room wi' them, it's in ma lobby press

Copyright © 2003 (Broadcast on Radio Scotland by Robbie Shepherd, Reel Blend).

leisure

What is this life,if full of care,

We have no time to stand or stare

No time to stand beneath the boughs

And stare as long as sheep or cows.

No time to see, when woods we pass,

Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass.

No time to see, in broad daylight,

Streams full of stars, like skies at night.

No time to turn at Beauty's glance,

And watch her feet, how they can dance.

No time to wait till her mouth can

Enrich that smile her eyes began.

A poor life this if, full of care,

We have no time to stand and stare.

by

William Henry Davies

1871-1940