Granny Betty Rogers (later Granny Betty Richards)

Dear readers,

I’ve just drafted a little poem for my granny. I suppose this is something of a belated obitury. She died a good 12 years ago, but happy memories still flood the family and I whenever we think of her. A mighty little lady she was, who had curly black locks, eyes do wide and sharp and cunning, and a little body that could barely contain her massive personality. She could tell stories like no other, and make a quite trivial or boring topic quite entertaining; her marvel bargins in QVC come to mind. She had a furiously active mind that always needed to be up to something every second she was awake, even up to the moment she died. I remember how she wanted to nose into every private conversation my dad had with the nurse while she was in hospital, getting all frustrated when she couldn’t hear clearly. She used to giggle at us when we would snooze throughout the afternoons on holidays in Cornwall.  “These Brummies can’t handle the Cornish air, can they!” she’d snort. She managed to live out two husbands, have the street closed off for when Sebastian Coe came to visit her and when we were young, she would take the family to eat at the Conservative Club (when Thatcher was in power) which would wind up my dad (who was snd still is against the Tories) but it would give my granny something to chuckle about.

I’m going to Cornwall in July with Pamela. It will be interesting to show her the Celtic county. She’s looking forward to it. Me too. Without further ado, here is the poem. Enjoy.

A Poem for Granny

You’re still there,
In the armchair of my thoughts,
Watching QVC with your grabbing stick near,
Your snorting chuckles bringing smiles to happy tears, still.

There’s not a day that I forget about you,  
With your Cornish wisdom and your naughty grin.
Giving me that rise everyday,
Telling me “patience will pay its way”, Someday.          

You were the toast of Cambourne’s bowling club,
With your cheeky gossip and sweet charm and sharp wit,
Your fame brought many people to your door,
From Land’s End to Bodmin Moor,

You knew the best places to buy pasties,
And I loved how you would look out at Godrevy with deep pensive smiles,     
“Life has been good to me,” you said,
“It’s okay if a little success goes to your head.”
And you’re right.
I never, ever thought you died,
Even though we sat so solemn at your funeral,
You’ll be with me forever more,
With your chuckle that never bores,
I love you dear old granny.


About Nicholas Rogers

I am an English journalist/copywriter living in Tegucigalpa, Honduras, and I have been here since 2011. I originally came to work with Casa Alianza, which supports street kids and vulnerable youths. I then stayed on, after meeting Pamela Cruz Lozano, who calls me her adopted Catracho. I work freelance journalism and I have my own translation business. Why did I come here? For the challenge, to open my mind and get out of my comfort zone. I love literature and I've written a book with street kids. I write novels, short stories and poetry, all of which you will find on this blog, as well as a lot of information about Honduras. View all posts by Nicholas Rogers

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