A nicer chap it’s hard to find,
Usually on the bus Sheffield bound he doesn’t mind,
All aboard the Stagecoach line,
50, 53 dependent on’t time,
He’d travel to town to have his lunch,
Returning from pond street pleased as punch,
Ask him a question and you’d get a reply,
His local knowledge you couldn’t deny,
Aye he were a rum un! to a photo he’d say,
Were a poacher made gamekeeper,
To ease Landlords fears they’d pray,
See them breeches he’d. say! yes them!,
My dad gave em him revealing his latest gem,
How at Fred’s age its a mystery you know,
His pictures neatly labelled and filed,
Adobe printed he’d proudly show,
Many a local has saved local stuff,
And Fred’s contribution isn’t a bluff.
Written by Philip Staton
January 2018
