Who is this man who ne’er retires
For whom this decade fled so fast
A small man but persistent, ninety now
And yet the fruit doth flow and flow
And Harold sees it come and go.
A decade since I wrote a piece
Recalling fifty years of fruit
In two great orchards based round here
The joys, the progress and the woes
Bags, crates and boxes changing go.
But Harold soldiers nobly on
While many funerals he has seen
Now Tuesdays off and Sundays too
And snoozes in the afternoon
But otherwise it’s still all go.
The family and the faithful staff
Maintain the orchard and the shop
The bins arrive, work never stops
But when the noisy grader rolls
The Harold hands are on the job.
The customers drive in and out
Collecting bags and bottles both
But most will never ever know
The labour which creates those bags
Of perfect, matched delicious fruit.
So may the years move gently on
With Harold there to welcome me
A man for hugs and beaming smiles
And newsy catchups twice a week
A Happy Birthday man is he.
by Sue Edmonds (June 2015)