R.B reading poems by Marvell, Byron and Causley

R.B. Reads Poems 

R.B. Reads Poems II

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'Jack' Lewis' Lament for Mrs. Minty Moor

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Today is the anniversary of the death of my friend R.B. and to mark the occasion here is one of the many poems he sent me over the years,. It's to do with C.S.Lewis, who is not a favourite with me and it is in manuscript form so I may have misread the odd word. I know that C.S.Lewis was known as 'Jack' and his brother 'Warnie' and I remember being told by Richard that Lewis' dog was called 'Mr Papworth' but I am not at all sure about the reference to 'Barboes'  at the end. If you can correct or add anything please do. When Richard was at Oxford he did briefly to tear himself away from the steam trains to hear C.S.Lewis lecture and I know he was an admirer, even managing to smuggle a copy of The Screwtape Letters  (which he knew I detested) into my house, via my wife. The poem has its weaknesses but is laced with the sadness that, as a lifelong bachelor himself, Richard shared with his subject. He signed the poem 'T' which he often used as...
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Richard Barttelot, by Stephen Carroll

  I first set eyes on Richard Barttelot nearly forty years ago when I moved into Stopham House, a rambling country house formerly the seat of the Barttelot family who claimed they had come over with the Conqueror. His cousin, the local baronet, had sold a leasehold interest to developers and the house had been converted into eleven flats. There were two entrances: the main entrance where the grand apartments were, and the servant's entrance (named by estate agents as 'the North Entrance') where the humbler flats were situated. Mine was round the back on the top floor and had once been the nursery. There was a fire escape leading from the bedroom which looked out on several acres of parkland and gardens and on summer evenings I liked to open the door and sit out on this when I got home from work. I noticed that regularly at dusk, a slight, nervous-looking man in late middle-age in a white shirt, cloth cap and gloves would hurry over the grass and make his way to some out...
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