UNSUNG

First met Bill delivering by van and bike

for a greengrocer. Needed to keep busy.

Newly retired from top management

in a firm tied up with North Sea Oil.

But why the collared neck? ‘Cricked on the fairway,’

he said. Rumour was he’d mucked in

on the factory floor to dispatch a contract.

He’d nursed his wife into Alzheimer’s,

resolved to keep her home at all costs.

When they caravanned in places coloured

with best memories, she’d wander off.

Police returned her wrapped in a blanket over

muddy pyjamas she’d fought to keep on

with snarls, bared teeth and clawing hands.

‘Day Beth was taken in we’d been married

53 years. She scored 2 from a 30

aggregate of memory and response.’

Straight talk in a street encounter

while he looked beyond me as if to say

the broader picture must be seen, and added:

‘Sense of humour’s seen me through the worst.’

He’s just over a heart valve transplant

and a ward infection that walled him in

for two months. Twice weekly he tees off

at 8 a.m. on the toughest local course.

And he’s bought a compact caravan

to tour the coast of Scotland solo:

Stranraer, Durness, John O’Groats, Berwick.

I’m in open fields to lift the spirit

above self-created fret, and there he is,

striding out like a prospector,

his wilful little Scottie on a long leash.

Always one to seize the moment, this is

his bird day, delighting in rare flickers

of pairs and flocks in their spring passage.