A tribute to my grandfather, James Broadbent Haigh
* * *
Banjo Bill
Banjo Bill
Playing for fun
But showing his skill
A man with music in his veins
Singing songs to ease your pains
All the neighbours know him well
They love the tales he has to tell
Stories set to melodies
Listen freely if you please
Banjo Bill
Banjo Bill
His fingers fly
And he's singing still!
-RH-
* * *
I never knew my paternal grandfather, James Broadbent Haigh,
as he died long before I was born. He worked as a golf club
groundsman before becoming a chauffeur and gardener for a
local businessman. I have just one photograph of him, dressed
in his chauffeur's uniform. He was also a skilled banjo player,
well-known locally as "Banjo Bill." Obviously I never heard
him play, but word of mouth accounts say he was a very good
musician. I guess that is where I inherited my musical skills
from, as did other musicians in my family, including my two
sons. I wrote this poem as a tribute to James Broadbent Haigh,
AKA "Banjo Bill." I don't know how he acquired his nickname. I
guess someone once called him that and it stuck.