Fearne Cotton

Fearne Cotton

Those Dressed in Blue

Phil and Sylvia Savage, the most wonderfully spirited pair,

Sylvia with her raspy laugh and Phil with his lack of hair.

He was a real practical joker, always talking to shop mannequins,

Or picking me up unexpectedly to plop me in a shopping cart bin.

We’d roll our eyes and laugh till we ached, yet he always laughed the most,

His florist was full of rainbow and scent, his blooms his biggest boast.

She was comfort and the biggest hug, with a catalogue always in hand,

They’d theatrically bicker for our pleasure, yet side by side they’d stand.

Phil adored being her husband and Sylvia thrived being his wife,

My maternal grandparents, the Savages, such an important part of my life.

Sylvia was first to be held by those loyally dressed in blue,

They cared and helped and bathed and spoke and did all they could do.

Her lungs drew shallow, clattering breaths and her hair came loose in hands,

Refusing a wig, a turban preferred to cover the last few strands.

Her laugh remained as comforting, and her nails still lacquered red,

Even during those last precious days, lying in her hospital bed.

Stories came thick and fast from the past, was she here or was she there?

Conflated narratives crossing paths, and then an empty wide-eyed stare.

Then once again recalling detail in a letter she would never send,

Yet those in blue came and went, right to the bitter end.

Phil’s heart broke along with ours, but his was split in two,

To watch dear Sylv fade by his side, stood along with the rows of blue.

We tried to comfort, we bought him cats, but nothing could take her place,

His beautiful, cheeky, mischievous smile would rarely appear on his face.

His lungs started to mimic his dear lost wife’s, which made him cough and wheeze,

He tried fishing for tiddlers and painting again but nothing would quite appease.

It was Christmas Day and those in blue had left us to give Phil a kiss,

They dealt well with his jokes and unusual ways and the odd acerbic hiss.

Much like Sylv his mind wandered and waved, stories rearing up from the past,

Glossed-over eyes and a fading smile yet his mischief till the end would last.

He left stories for us to laugh about and pretty paintings of oceans deep,

His last days peacefully lived out and then a surrender, he slipped away in his sleep.

Laughs never forgotten and shiny blue eyes, that are held in the heart so tight,

Thankful memories of those who cared and helped lead them both to the light.

Let the clapping never end for them, it is the least we can do,

To show our gratitude and love to all those loyally dressed in blue.