Fallen Comrade - written and read by Andrew Elms

Fallen Comrade (A tribute to the ‘Thomas Hardy Tree.’)

The night watchman is toppled. Encircled by death, he now lies himself devoid of breath, a lone stump staring up to his heaven.

I realise never again will he hear those bells peal nor rattle his leaves to the wind’s playful fight.

His bowers have bent to shelter whispering lovers and rain-drowned wanderers; to peer; to overhear; to keep wise counsel. To nod his approval at knee-bent hopefuls and shield office lunchers from their urban hotchpotch; to exhale; to snatch up the gale; to offer solace; an arm hooked round the solitary mourner, claws of gnarl knitted together with clenched grief.

Rings shot through with echoes. Never spoken. Who weeps for you, old guard?

And St Pancras sits, thoughtfully, silently, aching for his comrade whilst Hardy tuts from the churchyard corner.

He knows this is the way of things.