My grandfather had a fiddle
Though I never heard him play
An old man when I knew him
I guess he’d had his day
But I heard the story told
How a lady would not dance
Unless my granddad played for her
He had the rhythm for romance
I remember waistcoat whiskers
Pocket watch in place
White silk scarf around his neck
Flat cap too to grace
Gentle quiet way with him
Power packed dynamo
Miner at the coalface
Hard as nails you know
In demand for dances
In the days of youth
Played his fiddle everywhere
No lie it’s the truth
His mother wouldn’t let him play
Anywhere in the home
The music made her cry she said
Would melt a heart of stone
Had I been at home those times
I would have taken him for a beer
And maybe learned his stories
About his yesteryear
About the places where he played
And made a merry tune
Those days are gone and he is too
All gone all gone too soon
Brian Fahy
26 April 2022
+ I see on obituary today that speaks about a man who was a great musician, and very witty and a great storyteller. It brought to mind my grandfather whose hands worked hard but who had the gift of music in them.
Erris Poetry 