• Vol. 07
  • Chapter 08

In Search of Conall Fulton

There it was at the bottom of the box,
The face of a man I had thought lost,
A face, staring back at me, a face I had longed to see,
This ancestor, of long, long ago
A man the family felt they had to let go,
                                   Go, they said to this man from the past,
                                   The choices you’ve made bring the family shame
                                   You’ve risked drawing darkness down on our name,
Our name, such a thing you’d not think of now,
What were we named for I wondered aloud,
                                   We were once top breeders of feline lines,
                                   Stocking royal households with pedigrees throughout time,
                                   These fur clad rat catchers do not offend the eye,
                                   But this man, I shudder to give him a name,
                                   This man he brought this family shame
And what was his crime I asked aloud,
                                   His crime he dared to stand aside from our crowd,
                                   He thought felines the lesser breed,
                                   Spending instead both his eye and time
                                   Breeding dogs, hounds of the day
                                   Selling these to hunters, men without shame,
                                   But the greatest crime he committed of all
                                   Was to cage those wondrous creatures
                                   Given the gifts of flight by nature,
                                   When he caged birds the family disowned him,
                                   Vowing never again to speak his name,


In Search of Conall Fulton

His name is different from the family I know,
                                   A name he changed to long ago,
                                   Born Earnest Tree, an old honourable name,
                                   He became Conall Fulton would you believe,
                                   Representing what he lived to breed,
                                   Naming himself a fancier of Birds and Dogs,
                                   He caged the cats, sending them off
                                   Away to the family who refused them all,
                                   Cutting him from our hearth and brood,
                                   Now that you’ve found him and his shame
                                   What will you do?
                                   Remember, our name,
I will search out this family, I need to see
What his future came to be,
The dogs in this photo are named on the back,
Displaying his humour and a gift of self mock,
A bloodhound called Veg,
A greyhound called Snail,
The third, Allsorts, was a variety of breeds
I want to meet his offspring,
To do this, I have a strong need,
                                   You’ll do this, risking the family name,
                                   Listen, don’t follow this path of shame
                                   Walk forward in life, make your own mark,
And if my mark is dog bound, or in feathers I take delight?
                                   Then you will, in far distant times
                                   Be found by another buried deep in a box,
                                   Underneath everything, nameless and lost,
This I will risk, this family needs to see
There is room for all colours on our family tree,
Space for a variety of creatures in everyone's life,
There should be no more fighting, no bitterness, nor strife,
Instead we should meet, standing on level ground
There should be no more peering upward,
As others distantly look down,
I will pack my life in the box that fits me best,
Happy am I to stand apart from the rest.