CHRIS SEARLE recommends a work of love and deep admiration for a great musician
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Sorry to miss my last column. It was my brother’s funeral. He was 29 years older than me, elder son of our father, who was born in 1899. I wrote this poem for his funeral and decided to share it with you.
My Brother, Uncle Don
End of an era. Goodbye ‘Uncle Don’.
I’ve known you all my life, and now you’re gone.
My parents said that’s what I should call you
When I was three and you were thirty-two
But soon I said, ‘Mum, “Uncle’s” just polite.
Don’s not my uncle. He’s my brother, right?’
So this precocious kid just called you Don —
For over fifty years, and now you’re gone.
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