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Peter I knew since our childhood
though as a youth he wasn’t good,
but then Joan cured him of all that,
two babies in a two roomed flat.
 
Now Frank came later to my life,
by when, like him, I had a wife,
so here we were all at the door
of what the future had in store.

This in an age seems foreign now,
our common link was Mereston Brow
converted into “flats for rent,”
mock Tudor, here our lives were spent.

The grounds were large and had a man
brought his lawnmower in a van, 
then round in circles he would drone
so the big lawn was neatly mown.

And Frank would shout, “come on you chumps,
a practice hour, then we’ll draw the stumps
and take the girls down to the pub”,
Frank fast bowled for the cricket club !

With sinking spirits Pete and I
would lace two pillows to our thighs
and on the lawn try to act brave
like *Brylcreem boy” who was the rave.

Then, often bruised, to end the grief
the babysitter brought relief,
so we’d limp off for wine and ale,
with our sports prowess all regale.

And whilst  we boys bragged at the bar
the girls our reputation marred, 
I wish I’d known the worried frowns
were talk of lesions bloody brown

For in two months Frank’s life detached,
skin cancer was his final match
and his wife went back to her mum 
to make a life without our chum.

Our cricket suffered on the lawn
the captain of our sport was gone
the pillows now back on the bed
was hearts and not our thighs that bled 

Then Peter, never to enlight ,
murdered his children one hell's night
whilst we slept soundly in our bed
not knowing that our world was dead.

These friends they came and life it goes,
you can’t predict from what you know,
for what you know is in lights gleam,
death the assassin stalks unseen.

*.Dennis Compton, famous cricketer advertised "Brylcreem" on UK postwar TV.
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