Gerard Mace 1955 - 2005

Gerard was a man who loved good food
Washed down with a Stella
When he was in the mood
He’d order the finest cognac he could
To accompany his fillet mignon
Or his boeuf Bourguinon
After all he was French
To be precise Breton

He liked the crack
With his mates in the pub
He was usually down early
He didn’t like the hubbub
Sometimes he’d phone
And suggest you meet up
Other times you’d walk in
He’d be there on his own
He also enjoyed time quiet, alone
After all he was a Breton
From Brittany you see

Saturday morning’s he’d be at Blake’s in town
Scrambled eggs, smoked salmon
Strong coffee to wash it down
When he didn’t want to gallivant
He’d stay peacefully at home
Watering his plants
Reading, writing,
Just thinking on the bench
After all he was French
Our very own Breton
How we wish he hadn’t gone

Gerard didn’t do furniture
For years he only had one chair
He didn’t do barbers
He was proud of his long hair
He wasn’t materialistic
But you could always depend
On him when you needed a friend

Everyone left behind
Has memories of him
Thoughts we can share with Marie Christine
Stories for her to take home to mum
About the Geordie years when her son
Shared our lives, was a part of all of us
And how we consider that time such a plus

31/7/05 Annie Moir

Gerard's Poem

Don’t give me a lecture
Or read me a scripture
Don’t tell me what to believe
For as long as I live

Don’t try to play with my mind
You might not like what you find
Don’t give me your words of wisdom
That you pick at random

Tell me what you feel
Tell me what you will
Tell me of yourself
Not from the book on the shelf

Tell me that you faith
Has shaken doubt’s wraith
But no scripture
No lecture

Gerard Mace