Tracy's piece about Kennedy, triggered a recollection of my own.
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The Day Donald Died
(Coniston Water, January 4th, 1967)
When Bluebird flipped on Lake Coniston,
and stopped his life,
his relentless pursuit of world records,
it seemed impossible.
I remember seeing a picture,
his wife stood on the jetty,
watching the search boats,
slowly accepting that this time
there would be no recovery.
This was a man who, as a child,
drilled holes into his bicycle frame,
convinced it would make it faster.
He broke his father's world records,
and set his own, many times.
The next day at school I was subdued,
another schoolboy hero defeated.
"What's up?" I was asked,
and answered, "Campbell's dead."
"So what? It always happens,
to people who don't know when to stop."
Gyppo
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The Day Donald Died
The Day Donald Died
I've been writing ever since I realised I could. Storytelling since I started talking. Poetry however comes and goes
- Tracy Mitchell
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- Joined: Sun Jan 07, 2018 3:58 pm
Re: The Day Donald Died
Ooh. Crass ending -- I can imagine how those words would be received by one who venerated Mr. Campbell. Childhood heroes, especially for guys, were not lightly chosen or discarded.
Not having a scooby who Donald Campbell was, I scrambled to google and had a fine trip through the stacks. I can see how he would be a man to follow through years of exploits. Taking speed records from 160 to 360? incredible life. Clearly an adrenalin junkie.
Nice writing memorializes the day.
Cheers.
T
Not having a scooby who Donald Campbell was, I scrambled to google and had a fine trip through the stacks. I can see how he would be a man to follow through years of exploits. Taking speed records from 160 to 360? incredible life. Clearly an adrenalin junkie.
Nice writing memorializes the day.
Cheers.
T