I
didn’t know old Willoughby played golf -
It’s
here in his obituary: “A keen amateur golfer,
Willoughby
played off a very creditable handicap of eight.”
I
don’t know what that means
And
frankly, I don’t want to know.
We
expect an obituary to confirm what we do
know
And
cast it in a favourable light - after all,
There’s
nothing we (or Willoughby) can do about it now.
An
obituary is no place for investigative journalism –
The
unburied dead deserve a moment’s grace.
Everyone
knew he beat his wife, of course –
He
made no secret of that. Used to do it quite openly, in fact.
I
often used to see him bashing dear old Daphne about.
It
wouldn’t have occurred to him to deny it
And
to his credit he never did.
And
we knew where Willoughby’s money came from.
“Nobody
ever became wealthy by stealing people’s money” –
That’s
what he said; and Willoughby was wealthy.
“Do
muggers knock you down and lend you money?”
A
lot of people owed Willoughby money.
A
moment when nothing is unforgivable
And
the great two-handed engine pauses in mid-arc,
Nothing
is decided, judgment is deferred,
Things
hitherto unknown are left unsaid -
But
I for one am glad the golfer’s dead.
Willoughby’s Secret Wilderness
I didn’t know old Willoughby played golf.
It’s here in his obituary: Keen amateur golfer...
Very decent handicap of eight.
I don’t know golfing terminology
And since the game disgusts me, never will.
An obituary should tell us what we know
And cast it in a favourable light.
There will be no more golf for Willoughby
And as far as I'm concerned there never was.
The unburied dead deserve a moment’s grace.
You don’t get rich by stealing people’s money,
Said Willoughby – and Willoughby was rich.
Do muggers knock you down and lend you money?
He very rarely had to raise a hand
And lots of people were in debt to him.
But everybody knew he beat his wife.
It was something he preferred to do in public.
Dear old Daphne suffered dreadfully,
But this obituarist ignores her pain
In favour of a stranger who played golf.
The great two-handed engine pauses in mid-arc,
For a moment nothing’s unforgivable;
Nothing’s decided, judgment is deferred,
Things hitherto unknown are best unsaid.
I mourn my friend. I'm glad the golfer’s dead.
