All proceeds from the sale of these songs will go to 'Shelter'.

Thousands sleep rough on our City’s and Town’s streets every night of the year; a disgrace to the Nation.

No one, especially Ex-Military (though everyone is special), should be sleeping rough. Everyone deserves a safe place of shelter, to meet their basic needs, a warm bed, a meal, a hot shower and in many cases professional support and advice on mental and health issues and addiction. Remember, their shoes are not the ones you were fortunate enough to wear.

I hope you enjoy the music and will give generously to this cause.

Background:

I met a man, down on his priorities. “Spare some change?”, he asked. “For an old soldier, ex-marine”, he said lightly, though with left-over pride.

Confused with his own situation, all his wounds not visible, all scars though, I couldn’t see, carried in his head and heart, a weight so heavy, sure we couldn’t imagine.

An American, I thought, Canadian maybe, roughing down amongst the doors and alleyways of Soho Town.

“Sure bud, no problem”. I didn’t do so bad, so I pass it on, some dollars for an out stretched hand, not to collect but shake mine.

“I’m Daniel”, he said. “Sorry to ask, Dan for short, thank you”.

“John”, I replied.

“God bless you John, Irish?”

“Yes, Dan.”

“My buddy’s Irish, I take care of him, I stay faithful, Semper Fidelis”

“What was that? Where is he, also sleeping rough?”

He just nodded and repeated ‘Semper Fidelis’

“I used to like photography and writing”, Dan spoke. “In the Philippines, I was creating amazing photographs, the camera shutter speed set so fast that those night shots, when processed, were just incredible, light was “borrowed”, beautiful pictures they were”. He stopped for a moment, to reminisce I guess, the moment like a photo, frozen.

From out of nowhere, “Nam was nasty, John”.

“How did you get to this, Dan?”

“Who knows? A woman, my bad dreams, I do drink John, I do”

I heard, somewhere or maybe nowhere ‘Walk a Mile in My Shoes’ by Joe South – “before you abuse, criticise and accuse, walk a mile in my shoes”.

“If you cried me a tear, I’d hold it for a year”, Dan said. “I’m a street poet, you may have seen some of my pavement writing, John?”

“I’ve not seen or read any round here, Dan. Though I have seen and read some in other towns, competitor of yours maybe?” We laughed.

“A Street Poet stops to tell me, that he’s lost his way
There was a time when the words came easy, but now they’ve gone astray
He sleeps the city doorways, cries and ponders why
They’re but for the Grace of God it could be you or I”

“Were you in Vietnam, Dan?”

“Did my tours, served my country, thank you, John. God bless”

“Where you sleeping tonight, Dan?”

"I’ll be fine, John”

He turned to go and I noticed his shoes, the state of them, a thousand miles travelled

“Take care, Dan”

I reached in my pocket for my wallet, he shook his head, smiled and said “No! Plenty for today, thank you, John” as he gathered up his belongings.

“Dan, what do those words mean?”

“What words?”

“Sempted? something you said?”

“Semper Fidelis?” Dan replied

“Yes, that’s it, Semper Fidelis”

He stopped, his height seemed to grow, his back a bit straighter, he spoke “Always Faithful, Always Loyal”

The tear of all his years seemed to well up in his grey eyes.

“I’ve tried to live by the motto, John” “Its Latin”, he called back.

And then he was gone, just another poor soul lost to the streets, and there but for the Grace ……….