Luke Sheveland Leaving The Hurst.jpg

Leaving The Hurst

Poet: Bill Holloway

It’s time to go, but first 

I have to take Dad back. 

                      “I’m sorry, Son!” he says, 

                        for the third time

                                                 “It’s nothing,

                        really. Nothing at all.” 

“Can we go home now?”

“Sorry, Dad. There’s no-one there

to look after you. We’ll go to Rita’s now.

I’ll come for you as soon as I can –


                 I feel his matchstick arm

squeeze mine through the woollen

overcoat. And off we go.


Yesterday, I climbed to the top

of Bury Ditches. My wife, 

a hill-walker to reckon with

back in the day, would have been

proud of me.

                    Early this morning,


my father, fifty years dead,

somehow found me here.


Bill Holloway was born in Feltham, Middlesex,

in 1937. On leaving the R.A.F in 1977, he became

a professional gardener. He began writing seriously 

in the early nineties and has been published widely 

in magazines and on-line. His first collection, 

“Natural Causes – Poetry and Prose (1994-2019),

Is available from Amazon or from The Suffolk 

Anthology, Suffolk Parade, Cheltenham.