MR GILLESPIE
Over thirty two years at the helm he has had, a century of festival days…that’s not bad
A Citadel built and way out on its own; this man we now honor, should like Dolly, be cloned
For Edward Gillespie has laid down a marker, he’s left us a template, a sport’s Magna Carta
He’s charmed us, disarmed us; with deeds, he’s becalmed us,
He’s shown how it’s done; and he walks, never runs
Never fusses, no favour, no old school behavior; with Sam, what a team
And he’s made every one of us feel it’s our dream,
Which it’s been; when you take a good look down the years and remember those memories
The blood, sweat and tears of the heroes, the stories the heartache, the glories
The hopes and the fears, it’s all happened here
And under the watch of a man with no graces, no airs, no two faces,
Or meaningless cares
Inclusion his mantra, you’re as good as your neighbor; Shabby or Chic, Tory or Labour
You’re one of the punters, you’ve come for the jumpers and nothing else matters but you
He’s taken the sails from the winds and rescheduled, he’s put foot and mouth out to pasture
He’s dealt with the sadness, the bomb threats, the gladness; he’s dealt with before and with after
And never a moment has panic decided to cross swords with Edward to knock down his door
If it had, he’d have handled dear panic with manners, a sensitive nod to the fore
Unbridled ability is lined with humility; he finds time for any that need
A pint for the sad, a ticket for dad, a jig for a crowd and an ear for the mad
A plaster for all those who bleed.
So thanks E. Gillespie, what balance you’ve shown us, what wisdom, what guidance, what style
This place where we sit, owes you much for your bit; you made Cheltenham the top of the pile
©Henry Birtles