Charitable musings and memories of an 'old codger'

Back in December 2020, the octogenarian published a book of poems based around his life and observations of the modern world.

Amusingly titled Poems by an Old Codger, the collection features a range of topics, while any profits will go to Age Connects North East Wales.

The charity, of which Neil is a Board of Trustees member, provides help and support to the elderly across Flintshire and Wrexham.

Of his book, Neil, from Rhosnesni, said: "I grew up in the then relatively new mining village of Llay.

"My Taid was killed in the Gresford Pit disaster. My book includes a poem on that fateful night.

"In early 2019, I was referred to my local hospital for an operation, which was eventually carried out in January 2020.

"I was unable to go far over that year and began to write a series of reflective poems on my late family, my own life through the Second World War, growing up in a mining village, the Cold War, 1960s and the Beatles.

"No sooner was I back to full health, than Covid-19 had me 'confined to barracks' again.

"To the series of reflective poems, I added a further series of observational poems on modern life.

"Together, the book provides an insight on my life for future generations and a contribution to social history over this period.

"The book has over 60 poems, with touches of Pam Ayers and Victor Meldrew."

The former organist and choirmaster now has plans for a second book of poems.

• To purchase a copy of Poems by an Old Codger (£7.99 plus P&P £2) by Neil Davies, visit www.oldcodgersbook.co.uk, or email Neil direct on tomneil937@gmail.com

Neil Davies' Nain and Taid, the subject of his poem, The Taid I Never Knew.

THE TAID I NEVER KNEW

Miner John Robert Jones of Ffynnongroew,

Made a move we all since rue.

He took my Nain and children too,

To the Welsh border where coal seams grew.

He settled above the Alyn valley so steep,

To hew out coal two thousand feet deep,

At Gresford colliery across the green valley

Where near two thousand men had an underground tally.

They came from villages old and new,

For other jobs were rare and few.

The Dennis shaft took fresh air down for men to suck

As each one filled a two wheeled truck.

My mother learnt from Taid of their unbearable state,

They knew the risks and their possible fate.

Machinery noise and dust and fumes,

The growing smell of death that would consume.

This pit so hot they sweated in thin pants or less,

Or worked waist high in water of a dirty mess.

They strained their eyes in the dust and dark,

Their conditions were brutal and quite stark.

The ultimate happened on a September Saturday morning,

At two o'clock a wave of flame swept through so alarming,

Two hundred and sixty-two men and boys were burnt to death,

They didn't even have time to catch their breath.

Too many men were working that Dennis patch,

As some had swapped their day shift, to watch

The Carnival and 'Derby Match' in town that day.

We should remember all their souls and pray.

Three of the rescue team were killed by gas,

And one surface worker died by an unexpected blast.

The final toll was two hundred and sixty-six souls,

Needless deaths as a village church bell tolls.

That torrid day the land stood still, as death hovers

Over wives and mothers, friends and brothers,

Sons and daughters and many more

Frozen in shock, despair and sore.

The pit was sealed, evidence gathered that none would survive,

No bodies to bury, just memories of when they were alive.

Funds were raised and tributes paid; questions asked and inquires made,

But we cannot let the sacrifice by those honest miners' fade.

The skylarks sang that Saturday morn,

High above the valley and fields of corn.

I heard those larks sing as there I grew

Over the grave of the Taid I never knew.

WORKING FROM HOME

'Working from home' is the new office dimension,

'Working at home' is to avoid any office tension,

'Working in the home' is a job with no pension,

Working at all is the new level of apprehension.

Attics have been cleared of forgotten gear,

That's hung around up there for many a year.

Flooring laid and stud walls constructed,

Ladders dropped down and wiring extended.

Garages emptied, no longer takes the car,

Desk and chair installed, internet to talk near and far.

Zooming reveals many telling background scenes,

Distracting the viewers with their 'office' décor themes.

Garden offices for those who can pay,

Or Dad's shed has had to make way,

Wrapped in blankets and finger mitts too,

It's fingers, not language, that are turning blue.

That morning and evening traffic nightmare,

A thing of the past commuters had to share.

No need for tie and shirt, blouse and skirt,

Set the alarm, you cannot be late for the office date.

Just slip out of bed and toast some bread,

They will only see the top of your head,

Don't worry what's lying down below,

Stand up, and promotion you'll never know.

Know the code of conference Zooming,

Meetings online are really blooming.

To speak, raise your hand up like a post,

But beware, not with it full of toast.

Do not lean in and get too close

To show the hairs growing in your nose.

One would never stand so near,

Except that office guy who likes to leer.

Don't reveal your mug of coffee,

Or latest gin for all to see,

The dog or cat sitting on your knee,

It's Zooming etiquette you see.

Office life is a thing of the past,

No corridor chats, no gossip cast.

A devious stroll, empty file in hand,

No gathering together of your lunchtime band.

Your office block now stands all alone,

With other shops and stores all forlorn.

Amazon will rent the building stock,

I guess we're all in for a commercial shock.