This is a poem I wrote several years ago based on a real life Prime Minister of the UK from 1964 to 1970. 1974 and 1976
He sensationally resigned shortly after his 60th birthday. It has been suggested he was in the early stages of Altzheimers disease when he resigned and some recent tests seem to bear this out.
He died in 1995 aged 79 of colon cancer and Altzheimers disease.
He was buried in St Mary’s in the Isles of Scilly.
His wife Mary Wilson was an accomplished published poet.
Mary Wilson’s poem on Harold’s death….
My love you have stumbled slowly
On the quiet way to death
And you lie where the wind blows strongly
With a salty spray on its breath.
For this men of the island bore you
Down paths where the branches meet
And the only sounds were the crunching grind
Of the gravel beneath their feet
And the sighing slide of the ebbing tide
On the beach where the breakers meet
Lady Mary Wilson lived to be 102 passing away on 7th June 2018 in London and her ashes are buried in St Mary’s in the Isle of Scilly.
Mrs Green was odd, she lived alone without any human companionship, just her canary and some goldfish.
The cottage that was her home was a very small cottage with a thatched roof. China ducks flew on the wall, visible through the front room window, behind an aspidistra plant on the window sill.
Mrs Green was very aged, some said she was in her nineties, nobody knew for sure, she always kept herself to herself. We had never seen any visitors to her home except for the doctor or a nurse if ever she was taken poorly, or tradesmen delivering milk, bread or groceries.
Then came the fire that suddenly erupted in the kitchen and burnt the cottage to the ground, Mrs Green, sadly was consumed in the flames and passed away.
The cottage stood derelict for some years until it was explored, with a view to building on the land. There was a brick-built folly in the garden, that looked crumbling and derelict, but somehow had remained intact over the years. When the door was broken down and entry gained a treasure trove of clues to the background and lifestyle of the eminent scientist and author, Felicity Green was revealed. There were many books lining the walls, and piled in heaps on the floor. Many hand-written books of scientific remedies for curing warts to a revolutionary new cure for some forms of cancer. There were notebooks full of her copper-plate handwriting and poetical works with pressed flowers.
On a very dusty ornate antique desk, littered with articles for her work and many dried herbs, lay a handwritten volume of the most beautiful poetry I have ever read.
We preserved her wonderful folly as a permanent memorial to Felicity Green. Many millions of pounds in revenue have been accumulated from her scientific discoveries, and her amazing poetical works will live forever alongside, William Shakespeare and many talented writers down through the ages.
