Your thoughts ran deep by the Wear.
You were the only one
who brought Franz Kafka to the writers’ group meeting.
The Durham mines were your veins
and you took your genuine heritage onto the Horden bus.
Many’s the drink we poured over
our thoughts and dreams of Socialism.
In lots of ways, our hopes were cruelly dashed
but you strode on
with that serious chuckle of yours,
nobly bearing your ideals
for all the passengers to see
on your daring journey
through this dangerous life.
You took your reading abroad
to share with others
in worlds as far apart
as Poland, Oman and Kurdistan.
Teaching was your calling
and you had divine patience for it,
a love of times of being together
like those golden days I remember with you
listening to Dollar Brand in a Bremen concert,
washing down the day with apfelkorn,
talking cricket with you in Chester-le-Street
and laughing at NewcastleGateshead on a tourist bus
as the sun set on a New Town
and another Empire died.
Gary, I wish
I’d got to see you again
before your sweet smile left our streets and avenues.
One thing I know though:
when I googled you today,
all I found was kindness.
KEITH ARMSTRONG
