Over a pint

I was the one who saw him first

Not the archaeologists, historians or forensics

I spotted the leather toe cap

Old leather. Taut. Tight as you’d expect

Hang on! Hang on! I hollered

Mr. Clegg took charge then

Work stopped for the day

I hung around outside the cathedral

Picked up the evening paper

Archaeologists had moved in

Identified a Headless Body!

Proper quality boots, double soles

Toe caps, the ones I’d spotted

Walker for certain.

 

They dug up his old body

Woollen tunic, purple stained staff

Took him down to the DNA lab

Not respectful I say

Let him rest in peace

He was crippled with arthritis

The experts reckoned he was a pilgrim

Entombed with the monks

Pronged ash stick, iron tipped they say

Knee-length boots

Gotta’ be a walker

The miracles of science

Male. Sixty. Rich

I could have told them that-

Buried in a cathedral.

 

We couldn’t finish the job

They brought in excavators from down South

I slipped in for the reburial

Organ filling the roof

Incense choking my chest

Hundreds of candles like stars

All in honour of those toe caps

I spotted on the Worcester walker.

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