It comes to something when religious figures
As high as Bishops, and of various different hues,
Expose themselves as not able to trigger
Change in hearts and minds, just citing ‘No can do’s

You ask for help to scatter loved ones’ ashes
At the site where they first met, in 1950;
Though they are on the ‘Board’, they’ve claimed, sorry, this clashes
With no legal remit properly to assist me

Outnumbered, by nineteen to three, I’d guess
These clerics mightn’t have said ‘No’, and so I sensed it
Was a possibility they’d voted ‘Yes’;
But they won’t say ‘Yes, we didn’t vote against it’

No one asked if you could actually enforce matters,
But through your status, perhaps, prompt reconsideration
Of a refusal that’s left long standing plans in tatters,
And seemed inexplicable, for all their ‘commiseration’

For other people were the actual concoctors
Of this rejection, before the ‘Board’ had rubber stamped it;
This included four Professors, and a Doctor –
The ‘Strategic Executive Team’ (with its ‘property management’ ambit)

Which organisation would refuse to help me out, and thereby mars
This cathartic, religious rite with their perversity?
Who fails the community, won’t facilitate, won’t help out, and just debars?
Well, I’ll tell you – it was Chester University

Fifteen such colleges united, now they make up
The so called, quote, ‘Cathedral Group of Universities’;
Perhaps their byword, ‘Christian ethos’, needs a shake-up –
They’re certainly lacking in the way of afforded courtesies

I’d written to them, August, in my grief,
Explained my wish, what it was we wanted when they died;
Read their response, but I was shocked beyond belief –
‘Find somewhere else’, was all they’d unfeelingly replied

I’m by no means a ‘go-getter’, but followed up my original letter;
From the Charity Commission? Nowt, no help or guidance;
I’d perchance have fared much better had I emblazoned it ‘cross a sweater,
As from the Chancellor – one Gyles Brandreth – ‘radio silence’

My mother was from Chester, Vicar’s Cross,
Don’t think she’d welcome this clear snub, she’d have them sussed;
I’m sure most Cestrians themselves are at a loss
At such an uncharitable stance from a so called ‘charitable trust’

Mom and Dad met there, they told me, in the NAAFI
(For which, read – the wartime Forces’ own canteen);
What you and I would nowadays just call ‘the cafe’),
On a site they didn’t acquire till 2014

When we’d lost family, Mom would still visit her home town,
I’d take their picture, by the gate, on holidays;
We’d walk all day, right from the Cross, up, to the Dee, down,
We’d stay at Barbara’s, right next door, the ‘Tentry Heys’

It’s a place out of the way, this is what rankles,
It’s not as if it’s Wembley, or Anfield –
Where ashes might well build, perhaps up to the ankles
Of players, as they lay, fell, sprawled, ran, kneeled

I keep wondering why it is they’d get so hot
Under the collar – why’s this an issue not to yield on?
If they did so, what would really be the upshot?
They’d have one tiny piece of land less for to build on…

Well, that’s my story, and I’m really at wits’ end
As to what occurs when it’s now my turn to die;
For all three of us, this was what I’d had as penned;
I’ve aged, 20 years, in the face, just since July

So I’m left an as yet unfulfilled requester;
Made my request, but had it firmly shoved
Where the sun don’t shine; I know this isn’t the Chester
Where they fell in love, and then, forever, loved…

” One day I pray you will come across to me in the NAAFI and

smile and say ‘Will you come out with me?’ again ” –

what my Mom would write to my Dad after he passed away