Nurse Mary Poem by Owen Cullimore

Mary is a district nurse
She travels round each day
To see her patients, give them the care they need
As she wends her merry way
She has her trusty bicycle
Which is nearly as old as she?
But it lets her peddle for miles and miles
So she is as fit as fit can be
In her basket which fits upon the front
She carries all she may need
And she can be seen by every one
Travelling around at her own speed
There’s Mrs Maguire at Appleton Court
A saintly woman of means
But her health is not what it should be
And when Mary calls her face just gleams
To see someone so caring
Who looks after all her needs?
And to while away the time and make some tea
And bring happiness, she always succeeds
Old Mr Partridge at Apple Road
Who lives alone now his wife has passed away
Who is a miserable old so and so
But who Mary still calls on every day
She cooks and cleans but he still moans
The world need’s putting to right
He complains he needs more money from the state
To pay for his television and his heat and light
Saint Mary listens, but has problems of her own
Which intermingles with her own woes?
Being recently diagnosed with cancer
But she feels that’s the way it goes
So she must grin and bear it
Still thinks of others before herself
Has no one at home to turn to
She is a spinster left on the shelf
Married to her profession
Always putting others first
And as usual in life for caring people
They always come off worst
But Old Molly Catapult
A name to conjure with its true
Said it must have been a shot in the dark
Because her family were a motley crew
But Molly loved her garden
Where flowers bloomed all year
And Mary used to help her weed it
They enjoyed doing it together never fear
But as time went by Mary’s health became worse
She began to get tired more quickly than before
And when twilight time is near at hand
She is glad just to get through her own front door
But this particular morning she never arrived at all
No smile for Mrs Maguire, or any of the others too
Mrs Catapult felt so all alone
She did not know what to do
But she contacted the local policeman
Who called to see if Mary was all right?
And after breaking into her cottage
Found she had passed away that night
All her friends were saddened by the news
Her patients most of all
But they all knew how ill she was
And the reaper would someday call
And now in the memorial garden
Just away up the road from the infant school
They have erected a memorial garden
With a Plaque and ornamental pool
Because Mary was the person
On whom all the village could rely
And would be remembered by all that knew her
And even those who passed it by
The work that someone like Mary does
Is sometimes never really appreciated to the fullest extent
Until the day they are no longer there, then it becomes so evident