Please excuse my blowing my own trumpet, but I had to go back into the old forum to copy the originals onto my hard drive as the new computer hasn't got the same word program, so my own copies were illegible.
These were written 11 years ago, before LWW was released. The first was inspired by a comment by Colin Duriez, suggesting a different way Lewis might have told some of the story - by a less central character such as Alberta telling the story. The second poem followed when it was ready, after friends on both this forum and Into The Wardrobe asked for it. There is a third, for Susan, who is the third survivor - for, as you can see, these are set after the events of The Last Battle.
Alberta
At times I think a sound has touched his ear -
Eyes glint, a tiny smile moves his mouth
I start to move, in shreds of hope, then halt;
For Harold’s mind, gone seven summers back,
Sees light and joy upon our child’s face
Where only bored conceit had sat before.
His private journal, often re-read now,
Abandoned petty tiffs and classroom scores,
And spoke of valour, noble quests and truth,
(Bizarrely) dragons, swords and magic powers.
Oh, this was not the Eustace we had raised,
The level-headed pragmatist we’d trained -
This changeling smiled in place of sullen scowls,
Played chess with no complaining when it rained!
When scandal closed his school (Head “had a breakdown”),
He pleaded that his cousin’s was the best;
All holidays they talked of lamps and lions,
And visited old Kirke with all the rest.
These seven pleasant years were an enigma -
The Nature/Nurture question goes unsolved;
The Train Crash question “WHY?” - we dare not utter,
Lest Someone UnTame leaps into our world.
HAROLD
She thinks I do not notice reddened eyes
Or hear the muffled weeping from her bed,
She keeps an air of calm control by day.
I catch her little glances, covert, scared.
I wonder that Alberta cheats this way -
Her sister would be grieving honestly
If we were gone and she were left behind;
But long ago we chose divergent paths.
Our boy was freed from out of date conventions,
Learned sciences, geography and facts,
Competitive and cool, no false emotions,
Preparing for success in adult life.
I daily run the film of younger Eustace
Across my mental screen. The pictures fade,
Replaced by images of someone altered,
I cannot tell which one I miss the most.
My son is gone, with all he could have taught me,
In dreams each night he speaks of faith and hope.
The Lion beside him looks into my memory.
I wake, alone and shaking, as he roars.
There, shining in the sunrise, larger than they had seen him before, shaking his mane (for it had apparently grown again) stood Aslan himself.
"...when a willing victim who had committed no treachery was killed in a traitor's stead, the Table would crack and Death itself would start working backwards."
Topic starter
Posted : November 9, 2016 10:07 pm
High King Pete The Magnificent and Lu_valient liked
I didn't know you wrote poetry, coracle! That's very good. I had never really considered how Harold and Alberta must have reacted to losing their son and other relatives... I've always wondered how Susan coped, but hadn't given much thought to her aunt and uncle. This poem definitely offers a unique and moving perspective! 
If you find the "Survivor" poem for Susan, I'd like to read it. 
Posted : December 7, 2016 9:18 am
The Susan poem is rather fan-fictiony, which I disapprove of! (I incorporated her imagined life into the lives of my parents, who were the same age as Susan) The idea sprang from an apple tree I had planted in my old Narnia-themed garden, a few years before the earthquakes here.
However I will consult with other mods.
EDIT: We decided it was better not to post it.
There, shining in the sunrise, larger than they had seen him before, shaking his mane (for it had apparently grown again) stood Aslan himself.
"...when a willing victim who had committed no treachery was killed in a traitor's stead, the Table would crack and Death itself would start working backwards."
Topic starter
Posted : December 9, 2016 11:21 am
I certainly hope the mods do agree though with your reposting of your Susan entry. I don't stray into this sort of thread very often at all, due to being totally inartistic and graphically challenged. 
But I do appreciate your poems, especially your observations about Mrs Alberta Scrubb, and her husband's tragic dashing of his hopes for Eustace's success in life.
Posted : January 29, 2017 3:45 pm
Your poems give an interesting insight to the minds of Alberta and Harold. It is so easy to either forget them or think they are similar, but they come across as individuals in these. The end is very impressive - "I wake, alone and shaking, as he roars" - as if the reader wakes also up from the dream/poem to the real world.
My art blog (both in Finnish and in English) http://mehinen.wordpress.com/
Posted : March 16, 2017 6:35 am
These are awesome. Never once thought of how these characters felt after losing Eustace. These poems make them very human.
Posted : May 19, 2017 4:15 pm
That's so cool, very emotional
Posted : September 19, 2018 9:17 pm
Thank you for your kind comments.
There, shining in the sunrise, larger than they had seen him before, shaking his mane (for it had apparently grown again) stood Aslan himself.
"...when a willing victim who had committed no treachery was killed in a traitor's stead, the Table would crack and Death itself would start working backwards."
Topic starter
Posted : September 21, 2018 10:24 am
I was looking in old files and found this - words written to "Bridge Over Troubled Waters". It was a tribute to my forum friends on Into The Wardrobe, whose friendship and support had been a real help to me back in 2000.
BRIDGE SONG FOR MY FRIENDS HERE (ON I.T.W.)
When I'm weary, feeling small,
When tears are in my eyes I come to you all.
You're on my side....when loneliness comes,
And no-one's here with me.
Like a door leading to the Wardrobe,
You will welcome me.
When I'm so worn out, slouching on my seat,
You call me “kind' and “sweet”, it's so comforting.
You take my part, oh, even when I'm wrong,
And I'm aware of sin.
Like a doorway that leads to Narnia
You will take me in.
Love on, Sons of Adam,
And Daughters of Eve.
Your time has come to shine.
All the Beasts give you their love,
And you have mine.
Oh, if I need a friend,
I only need to call,
And like the Lion on the cold Stone Table
You will give your all............................
There, shining in the sunrise, larger than they had seen him before, shaking his mane (for it had apparently grown again) stood Aslan himself.
"...when a willing victim who had committed no treachery was killed in a traitor's stead, the Table would crack and Death itself would start working backwards."
Topic starter
Posted : March 8, 2019 10:55 am
Lu_valient liked
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