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Fellow Cornish Nomads, a few words I’d like to say.

Of the good times that we share, in our special way.

On the course we laugh & banter, show frustration too.

Our precious game of golf, it’s what we like to do.

The characters I’ve met, in my time, as a Nomad.

Lot’s I’ve lost already, which really makes me sad.

John Rich, Derek White, Ivan Harris, just to name a few.

Friendships even love, as time went, grew & grew.

The friendships that we make, they mean so much to me.

Golf, beer, & laughter, the camaraderie.

My 1st trip to France, I roomed with Charles Uren.

On the last night I sat & cried, thinking of you top men.

I said to Charles “this can’t carry on”, looking at the average age.

He said to me “Yes it will Clive, you’ll take centre stage”.

“With the likes of Staggers & Jim McKenzie too”.

“and then you’ll bring guests in, that is what we do”

Charles was right, this can never end.

Cos as times go by, we introduce another friend.

We travel the County, Cape to Launceston town.

Where them bloody trees, can really get you down.

But when we leave that course, & we sit down to eat.

With such special men, what a lovely treat.

The golf is forgotten, within a minute or two.

That’s what, as Nomads, we always do.

I look round the room & see nothing but smiles.

Even captain Goldie, although that could be piles.

Maybe a grimace or maybe trapped wind.

No, it’s definitely a smile, I love his seldom grin.

A cuddle from Bill, a shake of Bob Marlands hand.

A “Hear Hear” from Pops, what a lovely man.

Our President Mike Richards, & Mr Doug Richards too.

Such special, precious men, gentlemen through & through.

Bish & Mal Dickenson, their friendship so great.

My 1st trip away them, we became great mates.

I must mention Popey, he probably can’t hear this.

Such a special friend, I love him to bits.

So lucky to spend, such precious times with my Dad.

& My best mate Nige, the best I’ve ever had.

Art, Planty & Marti, just to name some more.

There really isn’t a Nomad, that I don’t adore.

I’d like to raise a glass, to every-one of you.

For being good friends, doing what Nomads do.

Now if I could ask you Gentlemen, if you would kindly stand.

With Mr John Rich’s, glass of Port, firmly in your hand.

Now let’s all raise a glass, as my poem ends.

We will never forget you! All our absent friends!