Growing up
with Grandpa
Poems by J.W.W. Forsyth
Before we Begin
Neil had always hoped to have his father’s poems in one place and to create a collection of memories. Growing up with Grandpa takes the reader on a journey through Joseph Forsyth’s grandchildren’s early years to a place where he viewed his own life.
Joseph loved nature, music and the English language and his humour and loving patience led him to notice even the smallest of details. He wrote about the politics of despair and unrest of 1984, the importance of time, and the loss of loved ones. Also he wrote of his own advancing life, and here we see his personal experience as darkness slowly descended.
In his poems, Joseph’s words give us an insight into his life, his family and his last years. Below are a select few verses from this beautiful book.
Cecil the Citroen
Cecil the Citroen was sad and forlorn
He’d been parked in the road outside 21.
His mistress was in there having some supper
and had left poor Cecil alone in the gutter.
He yawned and he stretched
And he thought “What a bore”,
And he grinned and he giggled
At the sight that he saw.
The handbrake was on
But not quite tight,
So he crept away quietly
Off into the night.
Billy
My name is Billy –
I’m a drop of rain
Please don’t think it silly
For me to have a name.
Next time you look
At the clouds in the sky
Shout “Hello, Billy”
I’m sure to reply.
I might kiss you on the cheek
Or tickle your nose
Or run down your neck
And splash on your toes.
I might plop in your ear
Or swish in your eye
Or ride on a rainbow
Way up in the sky.
Next time it’s raining
And you’re going to school
Wearing your mac
And wearing your hat
Don’t jump in the puddles
You might squash me flat.
At night when it’s dark
And you’re tucked up in bed
I’ll tap on your window
Just for a lark.
I’ll splash on the glass
And run down the pane
Into the gutter
And off down the drain.
I’ll play in your garden
And have a great time
My slide – your new roof
My swing – your clothes line.
My climbing frame a spider’s web
hanging on the tree.
My roundabout a toadstool
just right for me.
I’ll play in your garden
from morning till night
Then crawl in a rosebud
and cuddle up tight.
Nightie night
Apologies to Tiny Tim
I have a little granddaughter
Her name is Nicola.
I put her in the bath one day
But she swam a bit too far.
She swam down the plug hole
And out through the drain
And d’you know wot,
I’ve never seen her again.
Mumps
Grandma and Grandpa
Are down in the dumps
’Cos Andrew, our grandson,
Is in bed with mumps.
His neck will be swollen
And feeling sore
But do stay in bed –
A terrible bore.
There is one cure
I can recommend –
Take a pair of Daddy’s socks
And an old clothes peg.
Put the socks round your neck
And the peg on your nose –
It may not be nice
But the mumps soon goes.
First Accident at School
Yesterday at school was not a nice day.
I was running in the corridor
To go out to play
When my left foot went out
And my right foot went in
And I fell on the floor
And bumped my chin.
A great big cut and blood everywhere
Oh, what shall we do?
We can’t leave her there.
Ring for Tracey, she’ll come and fetch her
And take her home on the school stretcher.
Now when Tracey got me home
And looked at my chin
She said, “I’d better use the phone
And give Mummy a ring.”
Our Fifth Birthdays
When I was five in twenty-three
I’d travelled as far as Pity Me.
From George’s seat to Chester-le-Street
Then on by Westward to Ciss and Edward.
From Washington’s place where his parents were born
Past Fatfield-on-Wear and the
Lambton Worm.
Penshaw Monument and Finchale Abbey
Sailor suit now looking a little shabby.
Eight miles away and an hour on the bus,
A ‘run out’ with parents – oh, what a fuss.
Reply to an Invitation
Thank you for your invitation
To see your room
On the second of April
In the afternoon.
It will be nice to see the place
Where you do your sums
And say your grace
Where you sit and paint and
do your writing
I hope in this place there is
no fighting.
It will be nice to see the place
Where you hang your coat
And wash your face.
Where you eat your din-din
And even the place
Where you cut your chin-chin.
Can we see the place
Where your exercises are done?
Skipping and jumping –
It will be fun.
We shall see all these places –
Grandma and me
And we hope at the end
There’s a nice cup of tea.
Grandma will come and that’s
for sure
But please don’t be sad if
Grandpa can’t
make it
The bone in his leg
May not be fit.
So on the second of April
He may stay at home and sit.
December 1985
Have a lovely holiday
In dear old Agadir
Look after Mum
Look after Dad
Look after Richard, dear.
Have fun in the sand
And have fun in the sea
And don’t forget
To think of me.
Bring me back a present
A baby camel will do
Play all day
And sleep all night
And have a dance or two.
Hope the sun keeps shining
And do have lots of fun
Hope you find a little friend
To play with in the sun.
Grandma and I will be waiting
To see you on your return
Have a really lovely, glorious time
And don’t catch silly sunburn.
In Search of Ugliness
Search as I may
Along the length of the Rhinns
I can find no ugliness
In God’s creation there.
Man has not ventured
Across these sands of time
With his towers of
Glass and concrete –
All remains sublime.
Beauty is paramount
The braes, the lochs,
The glens as they were
Since the first day
God’s hand fused the world.
No ugliness there.
Death of an Elm
Farewell, Ellerker, whose entrance I have guarded
These two centuries past. I have served thee well.
Conceived as one, I your father served,
And lived to tell
How both withstood the ravages of time –
Confounded
Those upstarts Buonaparte and Adolf
Who pounded our fair city.
The pinnacled tower of the ‘King’ whose bell
Sings to me across the Wold –
The boarded arms of the windmill high on
Skidby dyke will tell of my devotion.
Nature, more gentle than those evil men,
Forced kinder men to raze thee to the ground,
My sorrow to joy turned when like a Phoenix burned
You rose again, grander than the first.
Since then,
Though maimed by that marauding mite,
I’ve guarded thee, Ellerker,
Till manhood you have gained. Factum est. Farewell.
The Queen’s Award
For services rendered
And by Royal decree
Joseph Forsyth – the OAP.
Obstipation, aches and pains,
Paramnesia and varicose veins.
Gone the seven ages
As Shakespeare did tell,
Now Youth, Middle-age
And, “Oh, you do look well.”
A Freeman of London
For six hours a day,
On the Underground and buses
You don’t have to pay.
The Freedom of the State
Goes with the citation –
Dentures and glasses
And free medication.
Half price at the zoo,
The cinema, too,
But you still have to pay
If you go to the loo.
A Minor Dispute?
Big Brother is here
The all pervading state –
Though not the State
That Orwell saw –
Not the State that he conceived,
But the state of muscle, envy and greed.
Not the totalitarian State
That he envisaged on Jura,
But the state of mobocrity
Triviality and furore.
Big Brother is here, in ’84, George,
Paid up member of the miner’s lodge.
What’s happened then, in ’84?
What restraining influence can
we now look for?
Revolution’s the solution and might is right –
Don’t bother with reason, get in there and fight.
If you can’t use language use your boot –
If you can’t use reason get in there and shoot.
Where did we go wrong, George, in ’84? –
What restraining influence can we
now look for?
Restraints are off, the reins are loose.
Mass your pickets, shout abuse.
Bear the teeth and twist the jaw –
Is this the face of ’84?
