Grandfather Was A Man Of Simple Tastes Poem by Mark Heathcote

Grandfather was a man of simple tastes
Cold braised gammon, boiled white cabbage
and new potatoes with lashings of salted butter.
My grandfather had himself a cooked breakfast
Every day of his life; with HP Brown Sauce
He'd have smoked back bacon and eggs.
He'd have sausages with beans and fried bread.

My grandfather was a man of simple tastes
He loved an Irish stew with a suet dumpling or two.
The crust of a loaf sliced fresh from the baker's oven.
With gallons of piping hot tea that came with
Collectible cards he'd saved, especially for me.
He'd the sports-page open on his left knee.
In the evening, his tea would be whisky laced-

To keep away any coughs and nasty colds.
He was a man of honest tastes who enjoyed
a nutmeg custard tart or a slice of toasted fruit loaf?
It was with these simplicities he touched my soul.
And I noted his ease and his effervescent charm.
His chuckles warmed my heart like a log on the fire
He'd tickle with the poker, just-to-see it sparkles.