FULLY BOOKED

This poem is not about G B Edwards, the Guernsey-born author of what has been described as one of the greatest novels of the Twentieth Century, but was inspired by GBE's latter days spent in exile in Weymouth. 

The Book of Ebenezer Le Page, Gerald Edwards' masterpiece, is a true classic. 

The life of its author, too, is an amazing one and can be explored in a fascinating biography, Genius Friend, by Professor Edward Chaney. 

Edwards completed his great novel shortly before his death and it was published posthumously. 

The Washington Post had this to say about it:

"Imagine a weekend spent in deep conversation with a superb old man, a crusty, intelligent, passionate and individualistic character at the peak of his powers as a raconteur, and you will have a very good ideas of the impact of The Book of Ebenezer Le Page...It amuses, it entertains, it moves us...” 

THE LODGER   

He could be short-tempered and cold.

He’d say, too dear at seven quid,

and other times she would be told,

I’m leaving. But he never did.

At times he seemed to rule the house.

Lodger from Hell, she’d tell her spouse.

An old man, elderly, she’d say

a writer, something of that sort, 

with scribbled pages all in disarray.

My bloody masterpiece! He’d snort.

The manuscript on ruled foolscap,

some days he’d call a load of crap.

He was an inconsistent man:

one moment charmer, next a boor:

companionless, without a clan,

with old-school manners, but piss-poor.

He’d leave his light on half the night,

brew pots of tea and write and write.

He looked the educated type, 

authoritarian and stern, 

tweed jacket and a filthy pipe 

he’d empty in the potted fern. 

Perhaps he’d been a teacher once 

and saw her as the classroom dunce.

But all of that was years ago.

He’s dead and scattered with his debts.

His book is in the shops, although

it doesn’t sell well, she regrets.

A book’s no substitute for life.

He’d have been better with a wife.