My dear old friend has closed her eyes
Her friends have said their last goodbyes
Now all that's left are tears and sighs
And happy memories.
We poor mortals that are left
E'en though we'll always feel bereft
With minds and hearts so sorely cleft
Have happy memories.
Each one of us who passed her way
Knew she would brighten up our day
She cheered us all and we may say
What happy memories.
Her life was not a bed of roses
Though man proposes, God disposes
But now, pain gone, our friend reposes
In God's hands.
She would not want her friends to mourn,
And so her passing must be borne
So even though we are forlorn,
Treasure -- these happy memories.
By William Cathro - April 22, 1993Another one of my great friends in the sixties was Jimmy Sloan, who was an "expediter" in Harland's and was treasurer of the club. He and his wife, May, did a bit of touring with us and we always had a great time as a foursome. In 1962, I spent part of the holidays with them at McDuff, a town on the Moray Firth, where Jimmy's mother lived. That was the disastrous year when Bessie and Wilma went to the U.S. to visit with Joe, Helen and Margaret. They were booked on a BOAC flight from Prestwick to New York, which, by this time, was a jet flight with about seven hours' flying time. On that Friday afternoon, Bessie had a hairdressing appointment at Tony's place at Blawarthill. I picked her up there at about 5:00 and went straight home.