Let’s all wig out on the Un­der­ground

Scottish Daily Mail - - Television - G. Cope, Lon­don E14.

They’re rarer than curves on a six-sided cube, But be­fore I die, I know I’ll see a smile on the Tube. I know they ex­ist, ’cos in the Sev­en­ties Dad saw one — From a girl sit­ting op­po­site, he man­aged to draw one.

He’d been wait­ing for years, for that mo­ment to come, And tears filled his eyes, now his long search was done. As he rose to leave the train, the girl smiled once more And Dad’s back­ward glance brought a fur­ther en­core.

From the sta­tion to home, Dad was walk­ing on air, How priv­i­leged he felt to wit­ness some­thing so rare. All those sad, sullen faces, for years he’d de­plored Now that smile saw his faith in hu­man­ity re­stored.

He told Mum, but she re­mained strangely sub­dued, Un­de­terred, Dad waxed lyri­cal, with ela­tion im­bued. ‘But she ac­tu­ally smiled!’ he said. Mum gave a slight cough, ‘The thing is,’ she said, ‘your toupee’s half hang­ing off.’

Dad rushed to the mir­ror and was filled with dis­may, His wig was slanted at an an­gle, like some hairy beret. He was ut­terly dis­traught, it re­ally messed with his head That the benev­o­lent smile was a mickey-take in­stead.

Mum tried to ex­plain it was merely a fol­li­cle mishap, Even fit­ted his toupee with a cam­ou­flaged chin-strap. But it was all to no avail, he never once put it on, He passed away with all his faith in hu­man­ity gone.

So now the task falls to me to carry on Dad’s quest, To find a smile born of kind­ness, not one given in jest. But life is so fraught, is­lands of angst we’ve be­come And we all suf­fer alone, when we should suf­fer as one.

The truth is, my friends, we’re all in the same boat, Yet we all of us re­treat be­hind our per­sonal moat. The moat guards our cas­tle, but we’re the pris­on­ers within, Yet we can raise the portcullis, with just a smile or a grin.

So this is a plea to you all, let not Dad’s death be in vain, Please smile at some­body on this morn­ing’s Tube train. Just lower your news­pa­per, and look across the aisle, Make eye con­tact first, then grasp the net­tle and smile.

It’ll make you feel bet­ter, and make some­one else’s day, You may find they smile back, and meet you half­way. One day I’ll stand at Dad’s grave­side, to tell him: ‘We’ve won! ‘Peo­ple are smil­ing on the Tube, thanks to you and your son.

If I should smile at you to­day, it truly comes from the heart, The world won’t change overnight, but let’s all make a start. Dad was sure that mankind was on a slip­pery slope, The war by mal­ice on good­will now lost be­yond hope.

He lost his faith in hu­man­ity, now Dad’s dead and gone, But he’d be proud if you folk can now prove him wrong. As I lay flow­ers on his grave, his dis­en­chant­ment re­mem­bered, Help me write a card from us all . . . ‘To­day mal­ice sur­ren­dered.’

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