Dernier souffle

One year after my feelings are still the same:

Dernier souffle

Etendue contre ton corps
J’ai essuyé tes dernières sueurs,
Mon visage tout près du tien
Entendu ton dernier soupir
Et aussi le médecin
Prononcer le mot mourir
J’ai caressé ton torse
Senti une dernière fois ton coeur

Mes yeus posés sur tes paupières
Saisi ton dernier regard
Je t’ai embrassé une dernière fois
Penchée sur ton cercueil
Puis accompagné au cimetière
Pour le dernier au revoir
Pourtant pas un instant je ne crois
Que de la mort tu ais franchi le seuil
Même si tu aurais dû protester un peu
Quand j’ai coupé une mèche de tes cheveux

Love XXXXXXX
Your sister

Life on the line

I remember the future
Riding the dragon’s back
Father’s unseen shadow
Mother’s clothed in sorrow
All is black
Waiting for final rapture

Thirty nine
Number of death
Two barrels of a gun
Nowhere to run
Is it my last breath
Life on the line

Gérard Macé

(The poem refers to the time he was robbed at the Free Trade at the same age (39) our father died)

Brother

Brother

Not much time left

Your body is thinner
And your eyes look bigger

Your hours are numbered
And your words murmured

You are out of breath
Here is the death

Behind I am left


Marie-Christine Macé

Our Frenchman

A Breton by birth
A Geordie by choice
Who could forget that
Sultry French voice

With a smile for the ladies
And a nod to the men
A greeting for all, no matter
Who, where, or when

We were lucky to count him
As a very good friend,
It saddened us all
That his life had to end

But – now he’s passed on
And times may get hard
But we’ll never forget
‘Our Frenchman’ – Gerard

By Ross

My Farewell

So Gerard
You’ve gone
But no more removed
Than you were over recent years

I feel I was prepared
For your departure
Like you made it that way

But it hurts me
That you felt me a strain
‘cos I always looked out for you
And I hope you knew

People have their moments
We shared great times
Threads in the same carpet
That now feels bare

You play on my mind
A lot of the time
Let’s meet up again
We were like family

Emily Haskell
03/09/05

Closing Time

I thought, I would drink with him
Late in to a Newcastle night
Smoking our troubles
Chewing the fat on steak and rumours
Telling tales of Gallic footballers
Firing brickbats across the bar
He, understanding my language
Better than I did
Me, responding by accusing the French
Of high jacking our nouns and adjectives
He had the chance to order another pint
But, for reasons I will never understand
He waited too long
And by then…
Closing time had been called

Jeff Price
17/08/2005

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