Tunes of vigour soar in that chapel

in the Simple Round-Headed style

raised by your great grandfathers

in a confluence of overworked meadows

and sparse whitewashed settlement

the Word and its compositions

its words verses and choruses

among friends and familiar worshippers

joining in with your sister at the organ

as Mrs Angel falls to her knees in her fervour

praying as tears escape down her face

while outside the minstrelling of blackbirds

the hymns of wind

the sighs of boughs

and the symphony of waves approaching

then breaking do their bit

as a tailor you earned your wages

in nearby towns and villages

while your mother wove quilts for her neighbours

and your aunts fashioned hats and dresses

your carpenter-joiner father

furnished the interior of his home

with the plane and saw of his craft

in that cottage you thrilled to listen

to the great composers and dance bands

on a wind-up gramophone

the endless devotion to arranged sound

the enjoyment of private moments

in a community way of living

you died of TB aged 27 in 1935