‘He could speak. He could. Really speak.
When he stood up, raised himself,
raised his voice, he was King
of the Castle. He was Bard
of the Battlements. Poetry it was.
And musical. He had a musical voice.
His voice rang out. Sang out. He
proclaimed. And named names.
He didn’t refuse to deal with
the issues. No, no, no.
And once he was in full flow
he couldn’t be stopped. The crowd
would grow and grow. Oh boyo,
it was a sight and sound to behold.
You’d stand there, in the cold, unaware
of your frozen toes and your frost-bitten nose.
He’d be firing (as they say now)
on all cylinders. Inspiring he was.
He could talk. Really talk. He was an orator.
He’d orate, declaim, preach, pontificate,
sermonise, tantalise. He spoke. He really spoke.’
‘But what did he speak about?’
‘I was coming to that.’