When our group went to The Ken Dodd Show in Bolton Ken was told by a carer that her husband had played trombone with him years ago at the Grand Theatre. Ken very kindly wrote to her husband, who has memory difficulties, saying that he remembered him and wishing him all the best. Although her husband would not normally have remembered, he tells every one he meets that" I got a letter from Ken Dodd"
Incidentally:the trombone was a Boosey&Hawkes, it was his 21st birthday present and cost £54.12.9d.which was a good deal of money in those days.

This was a verse written by one
of our members when his beloved
wife passed on. Sadly,he too has
left us but not before he gave us
permission to use it if we should
decide to...We think it is very
poignant.

          The Empty Chair.
 
   I sit beside your empty chair,
   And wish that you were sitting there,
   I miss your voice so soft and low,
   I miss your face in firelight glow,
   I miss the jokes we used to share,
   I miss the scent of laquered hair,
   I miss your smile and cuddles too,
   But most of all I'm missing you,
   I sit beside your empty chair,
   And wish and wish that you were there....
   
             
 
  

Walter watched his vibrant,fun-loving wife change dramatically over the last two years as dementia has taken a strangle hold.The couple worked together on their farm. His wife's christian names were Ada May Wembley, so called because she was born in May 1923 when Bolton Wanderers were playing in the FA cup,had led a full life. She would think nothing of getting up at the crack of dawn to tend to the animals,milk the cows and drive the tractor. She wrote endless excellent poems mainly humerous dialect poems many of which were published. About the time when she was diagnosed with dementia she wrote this poignant poem.
 
MELANCHOLIA
 
I take my sorrow to the woods
There clasped to her deep voluptuous bosom
I can weep unashamed
I can sully the tranquil peace
With the outpourings of my tortured soul
With the bitterness of my past failures
And the futility of my hopeless dreams
 
She listens,with a silent wisdom borne of her thousand winters
She does not chide
There are no recriminations only solace
And when the grief is spent
She gathers up my tears
And hides them away in her damp mosses
 
My secret is safe
I am not yet healed but I can face the world again
And as I leave, I hear only the whispered sympathy
Of her sighing leaves
 
  (copyright 1999).