THE PROBUS ‘87 CLUB OF DROITWICH SPA

From Allan Roberts

Wandering through Droitwich on salt day, I stumbled across a stall demonstrating the properties of “brine”, the salt water that Droitwich is so famous for and why Droitwich Spa grew into a town originally.

After a great explanation of how the Romans mined the salt, and many more questions, I eventually discovered that the purpose of the stall was actually to promote a club for retired, professional and business men known as Probus 87.

Having searched Droitwich for a year, looking for something to occupy my daytime, I had finally found something of interest. A weekly opportunity to escape from my flat, a few jokes, a bit of conversation and a range of varied and interesting talks by club members and other experts in their fields.

With members of the club always willing to collect me from home, take me to the club and other events that individual club members attend, my life has been transformed from a life of isolation and darkness.

 With legs too weak to walk safely and eyes unable to even recognise myself in a mirror; I can now look forward to meeting and chatting with new friends, sharing information, knowledge and memories whilst learning about a whole new range of interesting subjects.

  I can definitely recommend joining  PROBUS 87


 COMMUNITY CONTRIBUTION  PROBUS'87  BY Mike Russell

Most Thursday mornings in the year

A group of men will meet,

No longer in the flush of youth

A bit dodgy on their feet.

Where hearing aids are commonplace,

With `specs the usual wear,

And should you see their craniums

You will not find much hair.

But up above the fires still glow,

Their minds are quite well oiled,

Though memory plays some wicked tricks

These men are not half boiled.

They love to chat among themselves

Before the meeting starts.

They drink a cup of coffee

To warm their nether parts.

Then Stan the gaveller strikes a blow

That echoes round the hall.

The hum of conversation ebbs

And quiet cloaks us all.

Up springs Jim, a merry soul,

Our chairman for the year.

His eyes they twinkle cheekily,

He bids us all good cheer.

He reads a list of absent friends

Who cannot make the meet,

Because they have to see the doc'

Or have treatment for their feet.

He says the sick and wounded

Are getting better all the time,

Though Gentleman Jim is suffering

From too much French red wine.

Brian Boon then bids us all to raise

Our knife, fork, spoon and glass,

To exercise our dental kit

Until our waists say "Pass".

Then Bernard lopes up to the front,

A clipboard in one hand,

Asking us to join him on

A trip to far flung foreign lands.

But Bernard hasn't finished yet,

He is a naughty chap.

Some jokes, quite blue, he

likes to tell

Which make us laugh and clap.

At last the presentation starts

And it might be anything

From travels in a foreign land

To vintage cars or ancient kings.

At 12 midday, or thereabout,

We mostly head for home

To waiting partner, cat or dog,

We should not be alone.

But for some the house is bare

Of any sentient form.

No word of welcome or loving kiss,

No slippers by a fire so warm,

Only echoes from a distant past

Of loved ones now long gone.

So open up a pre-cooked meal

And eat it all alone.

But somewhere, not far away,

There are many friends to hand

From Droitwich Probus `87
A caring, sharing band.

So on with eating, drinking, breathing.

On with doctor, dentist, sleep

Life can't really be too bad


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