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  • When I was a teenager, a neighbour handed me a ream of her brother's poems written during his time in the British Army. She knew I liked to write and wanted to share them with me. I read them and handed them back.

    I should have copied them.

    And passed them on to others.

    Years later, after her funeral, I thought back to those poems and wondered where they had ended up. I tracked them down to Australia where they were in the safe-keeping of the poet's daughter. We exchanged letters and wrote of our mutual love and respect for my neighbour, my 'Aunty' May.

    Then I received a parcel. All the poems copied for me. This time I didn't send them back. I created a blog at and shared them, finally passing on the gift I'd been given more than twenty years before.
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