When the strong tides lift, and the cables strain

I can't believe it's nearly been four years.

When Nunk died; it was the worst of times.

Strangely it was also the best of times.

For all the tears, there was as much laughing. The nurses said they had never witness such a gathering. We sat, and told stories, crocheted, visited the canteen, we laughed endlessly at Nant's stories of the woman who used to live in the Nissen huts - and how rough they were.

And afterward, when we planned the funeral, we discussed songs.

Nant knew which one she wanted, it was a Boys Brigade or Anchor Boys song; we just couldn't get the name. I knew it as "Will your Trousers Swing in the big strong winds... "

When the chords struck up at the crematoria I smiled, knowing that Nunk was up on the mother ship shaking his head at my complete daftness.