09/05/2018
Although it was never our intention when Lost Glasgow began, we know from your comments and stories that many of you use the pictures and stories to help older relatives or friends who suffer from Alzheimer's or dementia.
That's why I was so touched by this poem, written by LG Group member Lesley Rance, about her dear old dad.
Lesley says: "Admin, please delete if not relevant to the group.
"It kinda is though. An old BB photo put up recently generated a lot of lovely comments that my Dad would have thoroughly enjoyed reading but unfortunately, he has Alzheimer’s and isn’t really aware of anything anymore.
"The last two memories to stay with him were of his time doing National Service and his years in the BB as a boy in Partick and although he doesn’t remember the BB any more, he does still remember the music and I often catch him “fingering” away to tunes I wouldn’t even have thought he knew! He learned cornet, then trombone and trumpet and has (had😞) fond memories of all the big BB marches he took part in, him and thousands of other lads stomping the streets of Glasgow in the 50’s
"Anyway, relevance is that I’m sure there are lots of ex-BB boys out there with whom it’ll strike a chord *and* also, sadly, I’m sure there are lots of people having to deal with all the heartache that comes with Alzheimer’s.
"I’ve written a lot of poetry about it but this one remains my favourite. It’s not about 'Lost Glasgow' but it is about a lost Glasgow boy.
"Apologies for the long back story but hope you enjoy..."
The Brigade Boy
- - - - - - - - - - -
He couldn't tell you what he had for dinner
He can't remember how he likes his tea
He doesn't have a clue that this is Winter
Has no idea what's playing on TV
He argues when I tell him that he's 80
Denies that he had children or a wife
His pace of life proceeds much more sedately
His motor function fails at fork and knife
He's not aware that all around are others
Exhibiting the symptoms of decline
Some crying out for comfort from their Mothers
Some sit, immobile, silent all the time
Yet -
Let him hear an old hymn, or Beethoven
Or almost any classic music wrote
The boy who learned his brass growing up in Govan
Will 'tum-te-tum' along with every note
His wrinkled fingers thumping down the pistons
Lips semi-pursed, attempting embouchure
Expelling old man's breath into the distance
And in his head, he's marching, that's for sure
Marching and defiant of the illness
That means he can remember bu**er all
And briefly, he's removed from all this madness
A boy, parading up and down a hall.
Picture: BB members at Glasgow University (Herald and Times Group)