Dan Lake - Man of Kent
Antique Furniture Restorer and Cabinet Maker
A September Morn
“September morn”, a lovely song sang by a balladeer,
Reflects my thought this morning, and my heart is in good cheer.
The air is fresh and crisp, as the frost melts on the grass,
The gentle sun brings warmth and life to all who care to pass.
The leaves as if by magic turn a thousand shades of reds,
Late blossoms huddle closely in their chilly flower beds,
While buzzards search for thermals to carry them on high,
And silver birds leave vapour trails, to scar the clear blue sky.
The Yew tree starts to bear its fruit of berries firm and red,
While Mistle Thrushes eat their fill as though they‘d ne’re been fed.
Squirrels in the Walnut trees, gather their bounty in,
And blackthorns bears the sloe that waits for man to mix with Gin.
The last of towering hops are picked to make the seasons beer,
So man may raise a glass to man, and wish him Christmas cheer.
As the cycle goes the heat of summer drifts away,
And leaves a glorious scene for all to see this autumn day….
Dan Lake
Dear Mother
For twenty years or more now I’ve been looking at this stone,
Weather-beaten, worn, and turning green.
I’ve washed it, planted flowers that have eventually grown,
Trimmed the grass and cleared up all I’ve seen.
But I’d give everything dear mother to have you back again,
And I’d never nag again about the time,
Your smoking finally took you and left me in such pain,
I was proud to call you mother, you were mine.
I’ve stumbled through this lifetime, of more than sixty years
Admit it Mum I’ve acted like a kid,
Crisis upon crisis was your legacy of tears,
It’s a shame I sort of behaved like I did.
But you were there whatever, you helped me to feel free,
You tried to help me see the things I done,
But the saying about blindness, and those that just won’t see,
Was written for this man you call your son.
You knew that I was better than the gossip in the street,
You knew the boy, you knew the lad, the man.
You’d proudly introduce me to everyone you’d meet,
I’d hear you say this is my son my Dan.
He’s a little sod at times but he really loves his mum,
And I would colour up so bloody red,
I wish you’d introduce me once again your loving son,
Who’s still missing you, so much here in my head……………..
Dan Lake
Doug the Milkman
Over thirty years ago, a young man knocked my door,
And asked if he could bring the milk to me,
Ruddy faced and cheerful, he said his name was Doug
He said no charge was for delivery…
Well I said yes and shut the door, and waited for my wares,
And Doug turned up at six as years rolled past,
No matter what the weather, he was there with his milk float,
Never late with milk for our breakfast…
I was the only house along a half a mile lane,
It was just a dead end lonely country track,
But Doug would drive down to me, and leave his milk for us,
Two bottles, and then drive the whole way back…
I mentioned to my cheery chap my milk was getting warm,
One morning as he called to get his money,
He said that that’s no problem and to leave it up to him,
And later left, a real old chimney…
He’d put the milk inside, to keep it fairly chilled,
And in the winter it would never freeze,
Even on the worst of days, he’d have his cheery smile,
His customers were his alone to please…
Nowt was too much trouble for this ruddy faced milkman,
For thirty years two bottles every day.
One bad snowstorm caused him not to come along the lane,
But he left our milk at neighbours up the way..
One day I went to get the milk, it sat beside the chimney,
Not in the pot as Doug would always do.
Then every other day our milk had started to arrive,
Was this it? Our daily pint was through…
What was wrong with Doug we asked around the neighbourhood?
Where was our man who’d become part of us,
Who’d toiled for us daily for year upon long year,
Who’d brought our milk and never made a fuss…
When I met the new chap, again a pleasant man,
And asked with baited breath where was our friend,
He rustled in his bag for my small change, and said,
He’d had a heart attack, it was the end…
Doug had died, our milkman, he was almost family,
I watched the new chap walk away with dread,
Tears ran down my face as I choked and caught my breath,
And in my hand a note that simply said…
I’m sorry that my Doug can’t bring you milk today,
My children and myself will find it hard,
He loved his job and customers and was a caring man,
We’ll miss him, “Pat”, was written on the card…
You never know how much you miss those things, until their gone,
Those things’s we take for granted day by day,
A milkman or a partner, life goes on, it’s very sad.
We miss them, only when they’ve gone away…
Edward John Albert’s War (My Dad)
I joined the Army in forty one, I had to do my bit
They trained and strained to make us hard and mean
Route marches here manoeuvres there to make us strong and fit
Yes sergeant, we’re part of this machine
In forty two I married Betty, the girl who stole my heart
We’d met, two years earlier at the hop.
When going back from leave, we couldn’t bear to part
But go I did but hoped this war would stop
In April forty four I’m told “well Edward you’re a Dad”
A bonny bouncing son of seven pounds
Take leave to see your wife and child “I’m sure you must be glad”
Forty eight hours of leave to do the rounds
I sit here in this landing craft and wonder what I’ve done
No longer sure of anything today
My rifle in my arms instead of Betty and my son
A tiny part of what is called D Day
I’m on the beach, I’m lucky, please spare me lord
Keep me safe and free from harm I pray
Death is all around me as the reaper swings his sword
Carnage reigns where children used to play
My role was in a half track attached to the Scots Grey’s
A tank battalion that formed at Pierre-Pont
Eleventh Armoured division is where I’d spend my days
The sky was our Cathedral, steel our font
Madness was our saviour fear our only friend
As action after action we’d sustain
Camilly, then Gavrus, to Putot-en-Bessin,
Where we fought and died in pouring rain
We cross the river Odon to Haut-du Bosq-Mouen
Every day a new fear to be faced
We’d watch our friends who’d die, and sweat and swear and moan
La Butte then to Falaise, on we raced
Young men’s haggard faces looked out with stolen eyes
Deprived of sleep and clean clothes we fought on
Montsroge, to Bonoeil, we laughed at all our lies
Afraid of showing fear, compassion gone
Hedgerow after village after hedgerow we crossed France
We crossed the River Seine to old Gormay,
September we’re in Walrus, then Brugge, to Beveren Waes,
The 13th, were in Brussels hip hooray
At night we drink our mugs of tea and sit and dream of home
Where we can walk in sunshine or in rain
Awoken from our thoughts by shellfire as we roamed
Could we go back, be normal, we’re insane!
The next day were at Dorne, then on to Oppoten,
We speed our way from Bree, to Lankleer,
We take the bridge at Weert, where we lose many friends
The fruits of our Great Britain buried here
Were moving on to Afferdon, and deprived of our sleep
Where every shadow seems to be a threat
The next day see us move again, the take over complete
And spend a quiet night in small Druet
Battalion moves through Nijmegan, to Grave, to Eindhoven,
The 18th of October were in Weelde,
The Church tower in Tourhout rings loudly as we govern
This old town square rejoices in it’s freedom
The 20th of October finds us sleeping in the rain
In woodland where the halftracks couldn’t go
When Patrick Dean was asked to take us on patrol again
To gather information from the foe
We set off in the dark and captured several men
We sent them to the rear then pressing on
The terrifying darkness saw us weak with fear again
Where every second seemed an hour long
A Spandau opened fire and I fell in shock and pain
Corporal Green shouts "Eddy are you sound”
He and Patrick Dean were wounded, they’d go home again
But me I’d end up buried in this ground
Men replaced the fallen and machine replaced machine,
Who’d replace me now that I was gone
Some other fresh faced youngster, who’s fit and strong and lean
This war conveyor ever going on
Burgen Op Zoom’s where I lay with many men who fell
Never to grow old or fade away
We gave our all that you may live, and hope that you might tell
Those things we done for you, long yesterday
Think of us from time to time, don’t dwell or linger on
But wonder when our generations past
We had no choice of what to do or what was
right or wrong
As years fade into sunsets... Peace at last…..
Greying hair
How silly can an old man be who writes with greying hair.
A pink patch on my head to see, and nasal hair to spare.
What happens twixt that time in life where functions are full bore,
When a smile got an erection, but now bending downs a chore.
I try to say the cool things but then grandkids laugh out loud.
I’m called to boot by young men, when once I was tall and proud.
I’m nothing more than someone who now takes a vacant chair,
Who has to think a second fore he walks out on the stair.
The mirror and the seasons tell the truth just who I am,
I’m no longer Jack the Lad, or a Rolling Stone young fan.
I try to see young logic but I haven’t got a clue,
The madness of a daft old man who’s so in love with you…….
Dan Lake
Hello Mrs Frost
Hello Mrs Frost, Mum said how are you today,
I’m going to the shop and she said while I’m on my way,
Just to tap your door and ask, there’s anything you’d like,
It’s really little trouble 'cause I’m going on my bike..
Hello Mrs Frost, you’ll never guess what’s just occurred,
Mrs Blundell’s passed away and Mum said have you heard,
I know she was a gooden and she always gave a sweet
To all the kids who’d run an errand for her in the street.
Hello Mrs Frost we’ve come to plant your spuds,
Dad said to do a good job or he’d clip us round the lug,
Gotta tell you Mrs Frost, those cakes smell awful nice,
We’ll have these rows of taters planted neatly in a thrice.
Hello Mrs Frost, the horses dropped this lot,
Mum said to shovel it all up and spread it round your plot,
To help those taters grow, and to put some round your vine,
Dad laughed and said please don’t forget his odd bottle of wine.
“Hello” Mrs Frost! Can you hear, its Danny Lake,
Mums sent me back to thank you for that lovely cherry cake.
“Oh” Mrs Frost I wish I hadn’t opened your back door,
To find you in the kitchen, lying poorly on the floor.
Mrs Doggett, Mrs Blundell, and old Miss Malaine,
I see you in the churchyard now at peace and free from pain,
And wonder as you lie there if you think of times of yore,
As I do now of all us kids, who knocked at your front door…
Dan Lake
In These Fields of Passchendaele
In these fields of Passchendaele skylarks sing and cattle graze,
On these fields of Passchendaele, where lives were lost in far off days.
There’s no hint of what went on here, no sign of blood and bones,
But sixty thousand souls lie here, beneath the white headstones,
On these fields of Passchendaele, where graze the silent sheep.
The only sound is wailing wind, the mothers who still weep,
On these fields of Passchendaele…..
On these fields of Passchendaele, lions bent against the fire,
Of lead and splinters like the rain, and torn with bloody wire,
They prayed to God almighty, that this day they might get through,
But Gods not listening Tommy son, he hasn’t time for you,
On these fields of Passchendaele, where donkey’s planned their war,
Far from the filthy trenches, they were spared what lion’s saw,
On these fields of Passchendaele…
On these fields of Passchendaele, I stand without a clue,
Of what you poor men suffered, and what you had to do.
But I can feel the pain as this vice within my chest,
Crushes breath within me, till tears run down my face
For men who died so bloodily, from gas or lead and shell,
Who drowned in blood and mud, in this place of utter hell.
In these fields of Passchendaele….
Dan Lake