House fire 1

By Dave Goulder 



What was in his head

entering a neighbour’s home to spread

the fluid, then strike the match and watch 

the classical guitar, melodion and flute

blister up and burn

destroying mandolin and lute,

paintings, records, books; was it pleasing just to see the flame

devour the trappings of a fellow man who chose

to play a different lifestyle game?

And how could he consider

the cherished photographs and letters

from long-dead family and friends,
all transformed to windblown ashes in the end?

Then in defence, the lies and slander. 

The mutilation of the victim’s name;

but crime, conviction, sentence served
did not deter the prejudice of some who claimed,

“Both got what they deserved.”


House fire 2


By Dave Goulder 



i hate them bloody hippies see their life style they don’t work not like me at the quarry musicians isn’t work buggering off for a couple of weeks and coming back with enough money to keep ‘em scruffy beards and long hair and too many bloody friends just like them coming and going past my caravan and they’ve got a house on good land not like me camped on bog and he rebuilt it they say talk to them are you daft only met him a couple of times never spoke to her my wife hates them too watches ‘em all day i got her some binoculars and when i come home from work she tells me what they’ve been up to even before i’ve had my tea she gets hysterical what to do they were here first but so what i’m off to the pub tonight my mate will be there he’ll back me up burn ‘em out yeah parasites have another one jim yeah a large one come on back to the caravan we’ll have a few more oh them they’re away again somewhere could go and have a closer look

Explanation of House Fire

It is now nearly 2026. Next year (2027) it will be fifty years since my rebuilt croft house on the west coast was burned to the ground by my jealous new neighbour arsonist. 
I was working at the Royal Highland Show and returned home to the same pile of stones that I had started with three years before. The destroyer of my past life went to prison. The Press and Journal and the West Highland Free Press recorded all the details. I had a contract to finish in Rosehall and returned to honour the agreement. It seemed like a good place to stay. 
Thirty-odd years after the event I wrote these verses. One poem as the victim and one as the fire-raiser. The second one is written in the ‘stream of consciousness’ style with no pauses or punctuation.