the air was thick with pipe'd tobacco
swirls o' smoke twixt mahogany panels,
an lending aura, an ancient glow,
wisps that whisper'd o' secret annals

one eye peered behind thick glass,
the other hidden by black patch,
a vague reminder of a past
ascent o' hell, young life to ******

his voice was hoarse, his voice was gentle,
his skin was coarse but kind,
his frame was firm, his frame was feeble,
his words spoke of strong mind

on the wall, in gilted frame,
in cloak of ermine 'n crimson
he stood enrobed with mayor's chain
as twice times mayor of Hendon

of a black box, to me, he spoke,
though maybe 'twas a joke
he said 'twas handed to him as mayor,
and gave him awesome, titanic power

i thought he'd fought in trenches,
on the blood-filled fields of war,
i thought he'd seen 'em fall like wenches
before the canon roar

but he'd received an MBE
for services as postal sorter
under special difficulty
during the First World War