21 MARCH 1992, Page 35

Going On

Scotch and water, warm, Medicinal, two tablets On a little tray, his Times Tucked underarm, a dignified But frail ascent, prolonged Undressing measured out By heavy footsteps, coughing Gently not to worry us, as if A mere polite reminder, then The silence of the grave.

And why must I recall this now As half-way up the stairs I hear my grown son calling Going on, then, Dad ? An early night? Sleep well.

John Mole