Always held in high regard
Like the parson and the priest—
Of all the village avant-garde
Was the one we saw the least.
Seated in his swivel chair
Much obscured by plumes of smoke,
Bespectacled, with little hair—
Busy, unobtrusive bloke.
An expert on the world of sport;
Gave the weather and the news,
Of births and deaths he gave report,
And editorial reviews.
Contact with the world unseen
In the times before T V;
Product of his print machine
Opened worlds across the sea.
But in the ‘letters’ section
That was where he most excelled—
With skills of near perfection
Counselled, coaxed and oft’ compelled.
“Dear Sir”, each letter started;
Then the problems would pour forth;
But the wisdom he imparted
Showed the measure of his worth.
Had kind words for the hurting,
And correction for the wrong,
Sometimes in wit cavorting
With a limerick or song.
He shaped their world perspective
Though most likely never knew;
In moments retrospective
They recall his points of view.
With integrity to spare
Left a legacy behind—
Heart and soul of ‘Local Times’.
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