Roscoe Bevington: Tenth Tattersby

Posted by ractrose on 26 Jan 2019 in Art, Poems

Charcoal and pastel drawing of brothers with no resemblance airplane in background



The Folly






Roscoe Bevington


I feel cheated. Yes, cheated, in a profound and unexpected way

You won’t like crediting Roscoe Bevington with profundity

Not least because, educated as you’ve been

You no doubt cherish philosophy as franchise

Don’t much take to it, a wrong’un like myself

Waxing Aristotelian on the theme of man’s demise

I missed the war. As, of course, did you…ergo, sirrah, you understand me

When I say those boys of Kitchener’s brigade

Had the easier time of it

How I’d have thrived as a flying ace

What reward for ramming Tattersby mid-air

What medal pinned upon my breast?

Or such as filled my casket

His precious Tiger Moth, you know

Ha, ha! That also his unimaginative pet name for Lucille

Handy little aviatrix, our Lady Gimple


Now, I am a rather blunt-looking chap

Not one of your equine aristocracy

Makes one cynical of one’s elders, a bit

This inconstant family visage

And what is my brother Anselm today? A plodder

Embalmed behind a company desk

You don’t know, do you…you can’t tell me, my young squire

If he sent his man Walker in the dear old Chickadee

to carry it up to Morpeth

I mean that neatly severed hand of mine

The papers were all so kind as to mention




Roscoe Bevington
Charcoal and pastel drawing of woman staring past her lover at her boyfriend

Awful Rivalry: Eleventh Tattersby












(2017, Stephanie Foster)




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