GERRY-ATRICKSby John McMenamin "Gerry, I wrote this poem after hearing you and Mr Coyle discuss what songs you would sing in the old folks home...."
The scene, a run down rest home
For old d-jays from the past
The glittering celebrities go there
When they're put out to grass.
They shamble round in slippers
Wrapped in a dressing gown
Long ago, these men were stars
The biggest names in town.
Now, they're all forgotten
Their feeble minds have gone
Who's that mumbling in the corner?
It's Mr Coyle, it's little Sean.
Is this derelict really Mr Coyle
Eating soup with shaking hand
And why does he keep mumbling
"There's a one for you - on man" And who's that lofty figure
Watching cartoons on T.V?
Could that drooling fool be Bennett?
The walking diction'ree. He doesn't even know his name
He's just a relic from the past
Sitting watching Daffy Duck
striped pyjamas at half mast. Can that be Jackie Fullerton?
My God, he's lost his hair
He runs a comb across his dome
In his eyes, a vacant stare. A stick like figure then appears
Don't they feed them in these homes?
Sadie! Sadie! cries the wretch
My God, it's old Geroge Jones A nurse puts on a record
Old George he tries to dance
The nurse gently leads old George away
To change his incontinence pants. And who's that shrunken figure
Sitting in the rocking chair
Can that be Gerry Anderson?
Sitting there with vacant stare. He sits there in a stupor
A legend from the past
His teeth float in a tumbler
His mind is going fast.
Last night, at their dinner
Sean Coyle ate lots of beans
And now I hear him crying out
"Matron quick the screens!"
Gerry's on his feet now
Zimmer frame in hand
"I used to play guitar", he croaked
"In a big Showband." And look, it's Uncle Hugo
Face wrinkled now with age
It's hard to believe he danced and sang
On many a showband stage. The nurse says, "eat your dinner,
Come on dear, eat your fill"
"I'm sick!" cried Uncle Hugo
"I'm ill, I'm ill, I'm ill." And there's not a piece of jewellery
On the wee man from Strabane
Just a name tag, and a number
Above the wrinkled, pudgy hand.
George stumbles over Jackie
Jackie says, "take care"
Then runs a comb across his dome
Combs the hair, that is'nt there.
Sean Coyle sits there drooling
Dead eyes staring at the floor
Swings wildly with a puny arm
And weakly calls out, "Four". A nurse takes Gerry by the hand
To lead him to the loo
Gerry doesn't make it
Hear the squelching in his shoe. George Jones and wee Hugo
Race on zimmer frames
Down the floor they toddle
Just like two little wains. I turn away, can't take no more
And curse the BBC
Is this the way to treat a star?
A glittering celebrit'ee I pity these old relics
Who live here night and day
These men brought so much happiness
For very little pay. Now, they shamble round like zombies
Once these men were stars
Now they're treated just like criminals
And watch the world through iron bars. Now they gather for a sing-song
It would draw tears from a stone
To hear the shambling relics croak
"You'll Never Walk Alone". As the old piano tinkles
I turn and walk away
Can life hold any more suffering
For these stars of yesterday. Then the door bursts open
And a figure is dragged in
His old face wrinkled like a prune
His body, gaunt and thin. His eyes are wild and staring
His mouth is flecked with foam
"Hi, Come 'ere Hi" shrieks the figure
My children put me in a home. I close the door behind me
It's time for me to go
"I was a star" a small voice cries
A long, long time ago.
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