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Thursday, 27 October 2011

Thursday blog hop.  Please pop along and look at all the other contributors.

It is my youngest sons 35th birthday today and I have been reflecting on his life.  The happy go-lucky child and teenager who was mad keen on music and football, not as a spectator but taking part. The many friends who always seemed to be at the house at mealtimes.  The fun, the laughter.   When did it all begin to go wrong? When did the loves of his life cease to be football, music, family, friends and when did heroine become his mistress?
Eventually he became homeless and lived among the many, many homeless on the city streets. I became a familiar figure as I travelled to Coventry to walk the streets asking Big Issue sellers, buskers and other homeless if they knew where he was.  I heard so many sad stories from so many, young and old alike. 
Socks.  Always buy them woolly socks.  Remembering that they live 24/7 in their socks and only take them off when they rot so they are grateful for a continual supply.  I used to beg them off the markets for 6 pair for £1 and take them along to Jesus Army who distributed them.
This was one particular young lady....

She sat on the step,
Cold and wet,
but couldn't let
Anyone know her plight.

With brave face,
And luck makes haste,
 To a place
With a roof and a bed for one night.

Anger and strife,
This is her life
Poverty is rife
At the end of the tunnel, no light.

A sad truth,
Positive proof,
Humanity's goofed
These souls have lost the fight.

As a postscript.  He did survive it, we were so lucky.  So many others were not.


  1. Oh Carol this is so sad, lovely poem and thank goodness your son survived.

  2. Oh Carol this was a very brave and poignant post for you to write, a real thought provoker with, thankfully, a happy postscript x