Bob Towey passed away on June 1st, 2012
after a short illness in Cambridge, England.
He was 88. Hailing from Roscommon, Ireland,
Bob emigrated to England after the war
and ‘built the train tracks’. He met his wife
Susan in London in 1949. Working as a labourer,
later a farmer, then a father in the fifties (repeatedly),
Bob moved his growing clan to the flatlands
of Cambridgeshire to fulfil his life’s dream
of having some peace. He had occasional victories
until after one night of madness he was interrupted
by a murder conviction. This was 1982.
In prison he retrieved his childhood love
of verse and started writing the poems here.
Post-release he rediscovered his teenage love
of drinking, beating the shit out of everything.
I am required by the terms of his will
to publish his doggerel in some form
so I can receive the money I’m owed.
Fuck you Grandad.