When I walked into work today

I switched on the radio and it started to play

Ave Maria

It took me straight back to that time

When a memory was made that will always be mine

You, me and Cath went into town

Our mission to buy my own wedding gown

I wasn’t keen about the whole thing

But the music comes on a voice starts to sing

Ave Maria

We both looked at you and then at each other

Amazed to see tears in the eyes of our Mother

Cath gave you a hug, I stood there feeling silly

In a dress that I thought was too white and too frilly

The memory is strong, I can picture it clear

You, me and Cath and the song we could hear

Ave Maria

The world of remembrance
A world set apart
A world we first visit with tears
The cost of admission is one broken heart
How painful that world first appears
The world of remembrance
A world of recall
A world full of people who care
With portals of love that are open to all
Built on the memories we share
The world of remembrance
A world full of love
A world with no room for regret
As endless and bright as the sky up above
As long as we never forget
When the wonder and beauty of this world has passed
And life’s tribulations are gone
As long as our love and our memories last
The world of remembrance lives on

http://www.worldofremembrance.com/index.php

The little town of Banjo Bay sits proudly in the cove,

Welcoming her sons home from their toil,

Her harbor filled with laughter, her streets bedecked with love,

A place for growing up and growing old.

The morning sun shines down upon the busy little forge,

Sidney Armstrong at the anvil stands,

The mighty bellows suck and blow, the fiery furnace roars,

The hammer rings within his tattooed hands.

Not only on the work-worn hands the inky pictures rest,

But 5 and 30 do they count in all,

Decked along his muscled arms and o’er his rippling chest,

One for every year he has been born.

The sacred cross of Jesus, a ship ‘neath stormy skies,

A crouching leopard snarling on his back,

An eagle in ascendance on his shoulder gaily flies,

A heart of deepest red upon his neck.

No family does Sidney have, every soul passed on,

Taken when the fever stalked the town,

The sparks that burned his father’s hands now fall upon his own,

The forge, in perpetuity passed down.

The citizens of Banjo Bay treat Sidney with respect,

Not a one his wrath would care to see,

The hand that bends the chain could just as surely bend a neck,

So none would wish to be his enemy.

No foe has he to fight and yet no friend with which to bide,

No loving wife to claim as kith and kin,

None to know the caring heart that Sidney Armstrong hides,

The gentle giant ‘neath the tattooed skin.

No daughter born of Banjo Bay would Sidney care to charm,

Not one could bring a twinkle to his eyes,

Except for she who milks the cows upon her father’s farm,

She who he has worshipped all her life.

Sweet 16 and never kissed is beautiful Claudette,

A-dreaming as she goes about the farm,

By day she cuts the creamy curds that keep the family fed,

By night she weaves the cloth that keeps them warm.

“A blessing” say her family. ‘The best in all the world,

Never has she missed one day of work”,

“A credit” say the wagging tongues “A simple, modest girl,

Not one to wear the paint or twirl the skirt”.

And she, the beautiful Claudette, whose eyes know only good,

Sees the gentle giant ‘neath the skin,

Only Sidney Armstrong, no other would she choose,

Only he, to slip the wedding ring.

To spare her from the wagging tongues in secret have they met,

Strolling on the ever shifting sand,

But no longer can he live without the beautiful Claudette,

And now he comes to ask the milk-maid’s hand.

But sad to say, for such as they, no happy ending waits,

‘Too young” the farmer says, “to be a wife”,

As Sidney leaves she watches, beside the rusty gate,

Thinking on her simple, empty life.

Now hands that gently cradled, her shoulders roughly grasp,

“Away lass, to the loom” the farmer cries,

But she, with every dream of happiness so cruelly dashed,

Turns on him with hatred in her eyes.

“All my life, devotedly I laboured at your side,

And never have I asked for praise or pay,

But always have I dreamed that I would one day be the bride

Of he who works the forge in Banjo Bay”.

“No more will I cut the creamy curds or weave the cloth,

Away am I to seek my lover spurned”,

Then, cutting of the apron strings that keep her from her love,

She leaves the farmhouse, never to return.

But without the farmer’s blessing she can never be a bride,

So to the forge no entry does she gain,

She knocks the heavy door again, the blacksmith stays inside,

He loves the girl too much to bring her shame.

The cord is cut, the die is cast, and now we find the girl

Wandering a dark and stormy night,

Cast adrift is she upon an unforgiving world,

Will no-one here take pity on her plight?

Curtains twitch at casements, but ne’er a welcome here,

Only at the Inn is succour given,

To the swell of raucous laughter and the reek of foaming beer,

An arm around her shoulders leads her in.

And so the seasons turn upon the restless, rolling tide,

Another weaves the cloth and fills the pail,

Sidney Armstrong sits alone and tends his wounded pride,

The girl, deserted, hurtles from the rails.

Now in the little Inn we see the girl about her work,

All eyes upon her undulating hips,

And ne’er a sailor there who has not turned the twirling skirt,

Or smudged the scarlet on the pouting lips.

The chilling mist creeps in upon the narrow, cobbled streets,

As Sidney Armstrong takes his evening stroll,

And now, a moaning terrible as of a wounded beast

Echoes from an alley, damp and cold.

There upon the cobbles, ‘neath a pile of bloodied clothes,

Sidney finds the beautiful Claudette,

Tossed aside to meet her fate by hand of heartless rogue,

Lingering is she twixt life and death.

Sidney in his agony seeks a helping hand,

Every door in Banjo Bay is knocked,

But ne’er a hand is offered to the fearsome, tattooed man,

Every door in Banjo Bay stays locked.

So now into the quiet forge he brings the dying lass,

But at the door the sickened reaper waits,

Now beautiful Claudette into a kinder world must pass,

For hands that bend the chain cannot bend fate.

‘”Parted for eternity” you say. Well, maybe not,

The blame is his; the damage has been done,

Sidney Armstrong draws the blind and turns the heavy lock,

Even now, the happy ending comes.

For there we see, within the tattooed hand, a gleaming knife,

That splits in two the heart of deepest red,

Now joined are they in death as they could never be in life,

The blacksmith and his beautiful Claudette.

But souls in torment cannot rest and so it is with they,

Cursed are they to wander evermore,

Arm in arm together through the streets of Banjo Bay,

Their ghostly fingers tapping at the door.

Maybe their quest is over. Maybe they rest in peace,

Maybe they found an answer to their knock,

And maybe it is just a dream that wakens you from sleep,

And just the wind a-rattling the lock.

I walked around a corner

and there she was,

a prisoner.

Bound in chains invisible

not physical, ethereal.

Yet strong like all deception,

trapped with false devotion.

A prisoner, I left her

and she became my jailer.

Bound to her forever

with love of purest nature,

I turned around a corner      

the first time that I met her.

Today as I went off to work on the bus

I started to think about Mother and us

Of the way that she’d died and her funeral when

We all went together and stood in the Crem

Then, as I remembered that horrible day

I started imagining what she would say

If she rose from her coffin and hovered above

To look down on the family she’d blessed with her love

“Just look at our Cath, she’s standing down there

Bursting forth all the hymns like she hadn’t a care

With her head held up high and looking so proud

Belting The Old Rugged Cross out so loud

While not even needing to glance at the page

Just look at our Cath, she should be on the stage.”

“Just look at our Chris, just along from Cath

with her tears splashing down onto Job’s photograph

We started together when she took her first breath

And it ended the same on the night of my death

I wish I could stop her from feeling so sad

Just look at our Chris, just like her Dad.”

“Just look at our Roy, my baby, my son,

No Mother could have a more wonderful one

Of all of my memories he brings me the best

Who’ll fetch his chocolate now I’m laid to rest?

Who’ll bake the bread puddings and fresh apple pies?

Just look at our Roy with tears in his eyes.”

“Just look at you three crying out for your Mother

But time will bring smiles if you cling to each other

Forget all the bad times, remember the good

Count your blessings like I always told you you should

Make your happiness as strong as the pain it replaces

Just look at you three; I love the sight of your faces.”

“Just look at them leaving, and I’m left alone

Goodbye my two lovely daughters and son

Now two loving arms I feel slipped round my waist

As two tender lips kiss the tears from my face

With those eyes of blue I recall from the past

Just look at us Job…… together… at last.”

The Innkeeper sat listening
To the shepherd as he spoke
He thought the story so bizarre
It surely was a joke
The shepherds told of angels,
Of stars and mighty kings
A baby born to rule the world
And other mystic things
He said the child was sent from God
To save the world from sin
That Princes, Pharaohs, Queens and Kings
Would bow their knee to him
The lame would walk, the blind would see
All men would know his grace
And where had all this happened?
Why! At this very place
The Innkeeper went quickly
To tell his wife the tale
And both agreed the shepherd
Must have taken too much ale

Later, when the inn was closed
He tidied round the tables
And picking up his sturdy broom
Went out to sweep the stables
A carpenter from Nazareth
Had stayed there overnight
His wife was near her time
He’d taken pity on their plight
He knew she’d been delivered
For he heard a baby’s cry
How brilliant the sky had been
How sweet her lullaby

He fed the donkey, milked the cow
And brushed the dusty floor
Then something shiny caught his eye
In amongst the straw
Picking up the golden piece
He turned it in his palm
And wondered where on Earth
A treasure such as this came from
A carpenter could never own
A jewel of such worth
Then he thought about the shepherd
And the little baby’s birth
Suddenly he realised he stood on Holy ground
And rushed inside to show his wife
The token he had found
They thought at first to keep it
Then agreed that would be wrong
The treasure should be taken
To the child, where it belonged
If mighty kings would come this far
The baby to behold
What vengeance would his father wreak
On those who stole his gold
The Innkeeper pulled on his cloak
To follow in their wake
Wondering which road
The blessed carpenter would take
His wife went to the stable
She sat awhile and wept
Then prayed beside the manger
Where the newborn babe had slept

Carrying his bundle
He hurried through the night
Back towards the cosy Inn
To calm his worried wife
Then, in the early morning
As the sleepy village stirred
The Innkeeper informed his wife
Of all that had occurred
Sitting close beside her
On the corner of their bed
In no more than a whisper
This is what he said…

“We met at the oasis
They seemed to know I’d come
The carpenter sat watching
As the mother nursed her son
I asked him of the baby’s name
The Son Of Man, said he
I asked their destination
He told me…. Calvary
I asked how long the road,
He said, The end will mark the start
I asked to see the baby
He said, Look to your heart
I asked if I should follow
He said to wait and pray
I asked which path to take
He said a cross would show the way
I offered him the golden piece
He looked towards the child
Then I heard an angel singing
And I swear the baby smiled”

The wife embraced her husband
And held his trembling hand
For though he spoke in riddles
She seemed to understand
Then, opening the bundle
He had carried on his back
Twenty thousand golden pieces
Fell into her lap

I want to see my mother’s eyes of blue

I want to see some happy memories too

But though I try and try with all my might

all I ever see is red and white

I want to smell the hops and see the green

I want to conjure up what childhoods mean

but every time I shut my eyes up tight

all I ever see is red and white

How long will it be before I see

some pictures that will bring relief to me

How long before my heart will let it go

and set me free to let my feelings flow

Oh how I wish I could erase that sight

Of blood, blood red and pure cotton white

Although your age in months
Is but a meagre minus three

I’m writing this to let you know
You mean the world to me

Just thinking of the joy you’ll bring
In all the years to come

Replaces all my winter moans
With glorious summer sun

I want to introduce myself
I’m your Uncle G

And tell you that you’ll always have
A friend right here in me

I cannot give you Frankincense
And Myrrh is far too rare

And as for gold I doubt I’ll have
A single copper spare

But head and heart and life and soul
I’ll pledge to you with joy

‘cause even though you’re not yet born
You’re my favourite girl/boy

I walked a mile with Pleasure
She chattered all the way
But left me none the wiser
For all she had to say
I walked a mile with Sorrow
And ne’er a word said she
But oh, the things
I learned from her
When Sorrow walked with me