HE FROZE IN THE ATTIC

High camp and splendidly nasty good fun!
Grandfather disappeared, a model of the doomed.
Said goodnight twice-there were distances in that iron-man!
Inching between chair and makeshift bed.
He was stagestruck in Watlington, a nerdy insecure writer.

Disturbing to watch, your ill-fated setting
a starry cast, a fire by which you could sit.
Playing surrogate mother you never returned.

Out of the white dress, to the Channel Islands.
He defied industry gossip, gone is the grim realism
of endless winter evenings. He was a sex-crazed -
washed-up-medallion-man
who fancied the commander,
and was shot in crisp secret.
A soldier all and proud of it.