Gill Goodridge 1926-2022

There should be words, there should be words, are there?
A third of Europe’s wading birds, a mew.
Saving a pool, a battered wife, so many things she’d do
Pots, women’s lives, and poetry, and friends from everywhere.
Opening doors for everyone she met, extending reach
Even when memory betrayed her range
Acting in tiny ways to make great change
Uncounted lives she touched, to help, to teach.

We swam to Moscow once, together, slowly, length by length
Up, turn around, and down the swimming pool
To raise some cash for some good cause by will.
Each tiny stroke pushed forward made our weakness into strength
Amounting to a victory. Not cool,
Not monumental, but real change, real aid. That’s Gill.

24th February 2022