it wouldn't be for fancy cars or jewels or something swish.
My request you see is special a gift money cannot buy,
I'd rescue back from Heaven a very precious guy.
It's over 10 years now since he was cruelly taken,
and if I said I was used to it then I would just be faking.
Every day I think of him and wish he was still here,
and although I smile at memories I often shed a tear.
A more amazing gent you couldn't wish to meet,
as lovely Uncles go you'd find him hard to beat.
We were a lucky family to have him in our tree,
I hope he knew before he died how much he meant to me.
Ever since I was a baby he'd come to visit us,
I'd always get excited though he didn't like a fuss.
And once or twice a year I'd travel to his place,
whenever I spent time with him I'd have a smile upon my face.
My Dad and him were cousins but they felt more like close bros,
they supported one another through hard times and through woes.
He understood my Papa more than anyone we knew,
and was always there to turn to when my Pa felt sad and blue.
They would sit up til the early hours and talk til they were hoarse,
until whispers were the only sounds the two could barely force.
And when discussions ended they headed to their beds,
to soothe their overactive tongues and rest their aching heads.
And come the morning after a big breakfast would be made,
and I would take great pride in the neat table I had laid.
We'd sit around and munch on a mound of tasty food,
then the gassing would begin again ejecting my good mood.
I'd quickly tire of listening and leave them to keep chatting,
the topics covered by the pair ranged from motorbikes to latin.
And when they'd finished yapping he'd take me for a walk,
and finally I had him to myself and that's when we would talk.
I'd tell him about my school work, my stories and my poems,
and as an English teacher he'd tell me of great tomes.
He'd help me with my homework, play games and sometimes paint,
I knew from quite an early age my Uncle was a saint.
Sundays were my favourite as it was the day he phoned,
and he'd never tire of listening as I whined and whinged and moaned.
He'd offer up great guidance and would act as my advisor,
you'd be hard pushed to find a guy as patient or someone any wiser.
He loved visiting America with Gill, his lovely wife,
and during a stay in Chicago his warning saved my life.
He stopped my plans to travel and meet a virtual stranger,
his friends had asked him to tell me they thought I was in danger.
And from that day to this one I've not stopped feeling so relieved,
that he acted in such a hurry and my safety was achieved.
Thank God he had those wonderful pals who knew of such a scam,
I don't think they will ever know how grateful to them I am.
As life went on his visits were the highlight of my years,
and from his travels he often brought me such delightful wares.
Whether we went down to Sleaford or up here he came to stay,
we'd eat Chinese then him and Dad would fight over who would pay.
He loved nothing more than DIY using tools he made by hand,
he even made a barbecue with a washing up bowl for a stand.
He knew everything there is to know about engines, speed & torque
and loved working on and caring for his Whizzer and Nighthawk.
In October of 2001 we felt our world had ended,
he found out he was very ill but thought he could be mended.
He had an op and doctors said he'd be as right as rain,
but pretty soon he found he was in quite a lot of pain.
I never thought for one minute he wouldn't stick around,
but the weaker and more sick he got the worse the news did sound.
And in July of 2002 my life and soul were shattered,
with nothing left but an aching heart and ashes to be scattered.
I got to tell him I loved him the last time that we hugged,
I'm so glad he heard me as at affection he usually shrugged.
So time has passed but it doesn't heal and the pain I'll always carry,
my life will never been the same without my Uncle Barry.
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