My wife, Alison, passed away after a two year battle with cancer. She took photos of early singers at the Troubadour in London, 1963, including icon pics of Martin Carthusian, Louis Killen, Bob Davenport, Davey Graham and Bob Dylan. I intend scattering her ashes in the woods behind our house here in North London and wrote the following song for her:

We woke up together and shared the dawn chorus
I still smell your hair as you snuggled up close.
Another new day and our life stretched before us
No thought for the future and blind to its woes.

Now sadly I wander alone in the woodland
Tracing our footsteps and thinking of you.
How slowly we’d strolled with my hand clasping your hand
No words passed between us, the silence was true.

We smiled at the flowers, when springtime was kinder,
Bluebells and daffodils, wild in their prime
The breeze on my cheek is a painful reminder,
How soft were your lips as they brushed against mine.

So Alison, sweetheart, you’re leaving me never.
When daffodils tell us that springtime is near
Though birdsong is silent, and sleep is forever,
You lie among flowers which come back each year.
You lie among flowers which come back each year.