The Storyteller

One of the most unique storytellers by words and art, Raymond Briggs has recently died, and this poem is a tribute to him. Often tinged with sadness - even the snowman melts at the end of that lovely story - he created worlds for adults and children alike. When the Wind blows was an extraordinary look at hour a nuclear holocaust affects an ordinary couple. 

Perhaps his masterpiece, Ethel and Ernest, is also tinged with sorrow, when the doctor tells the father they can have no more children, or the undignified treatment of death at that time. And yet that story also has joy, laughter, social history, wartime history, all told through the eyes of Raymond Briggs in telling his parents story - small, intimate, unique, and yet a glimpse of the universal human experience told honestly with all the joy and sorrow, the hopes and despairs.

Ironically, for tales of snowmen, nuclear winters, I write this during a heatwave. I'd have liked to see Raymond Briggs write about climate change, and how small ordinary people manage, but alas that is not to be.

The Storyteller

Snow is falling softly, a gentle breeze
Walking in the air, the snowman flies
Magic in the sky, only a child sees
But a thaw comes, the snowman dies

When the wind blows, fire in the sky
A shockwave as all the bombs erupt
Government falsehood: protect and die
Nuclear winter, an ending abrupt

Ethel and Ernest, a whole life story told
The world war, a cold wind blowing
And then we see them growing old
Death at the end, and it is snowing

It is very hot, and all snowmen would melt
Farewell, Raymond Briggs, loss deeply felt