A fundraising page has been set up to help fund the funeral for a Tenby man affectionately known as ‘Homeless Paul’ who sadly passed away last month.

A JustGiving page (https://www.justgiving.com/crowdfunding/pauldyerfuneral) has been set up to pay towards the funeral of Paul Dyer which will take place at Parc Gwyn Crematorium, Narberth, on Tuesday, January 24 at 10 am.

A friend to many, Paul aka ‘Homeless Paul’ or ‘Guinness Paul’ or ‘Midlands Paul’ as he was affectionately known roamed our beautiful town of Tenby greeting and chatting to everyone, is already sorely missed.

Paul was widely known across the seaside town and many had great affection for him, and are distressed that he might not have a suitable funeral where his many friends would be able to say farewell - so this fundraising page has been set up to fund the costs (with any money to spare given to Tenby Salvation Army, where Paul spent many a day).

Paul for many years lived rough in and around Tenby and was most frequently seen sitting on South Parade chatting to friends and many people in the community who always offered a kind and considerate check on his welfare.

He had only been housed relatively recently having previously been a resident in The Albany Hotel in Tenby, which is currently a homeless hostel.

Following the funeral, teas and coffees will be served at the Old Chapel, Lower Frog Street, Tenby, with all welcome to attend.

FG Rees and Son Funeral Directors are conducting the funeral proceedings (which have been co-cordinated with the help of Maria Battle chair of Hywel Dda University Health Board; and Cllr Michael Williams county councillor for Tenby’s North Ward).

 The following is a fitting tribute from well-known Tenby resident and poet Nicky Lloyd...

 “Some considerable time ago I heard, inaccurately as it turned out, of the very sad passing of Paul and I posted this poem that I wrote about him several years previously and subsequently shared with him over a beer.

“Within hours of that post Paul was seen alive and well! 

“I hear now though that Paul has passed and, remembering the outpouring of love, support and friendship, when we all previously feared the news, I imagine most people in Tenby will feel the sadness I currently feel for this lovely fella who was a constant in our lives and around our town.

“So, unless my poem can once again bring you back from the dead my friend, fly high Paul...”

‘Fall’

I saw him today

and I feared it might be the last time.

I saw him yesterday

when I feared the very same,

and every empty yesterday

since his fall.

I saw the chill of Winter,

frowning in a hollow space,

where I remembered his smile,

and his planate Black-Country patter,

purposeful, he was a working man,

with summer and spring in his

once upon a steadfast stride.

I didn’t truly know him, but I liked him,

and his memories of places I knew,

evoked at but a handful of happenings,

over a shared penchant for the demon drink,

when I was a welcome periphery to his

 erstwhile company,

the same penchant he’d succumb to,

when loss scarred his soul with

unhealable wounds

in the place where he placated his demons.

Turning his collar to an unforgiving dawn sky,

that stands nobly over the scurrying

surrender of night,

averting his eyes from the morning “Hellos”,

so though I feign to offer ill-thought pleasantries

his stare feasts, perhaps, on Christmases past.

And I pass unsure if his cursory nod

was for me or a proffered memory.

I lament my disposable “Alright Mate”

long after he fades behind my shoulder,

for everything that is palpably not alright,

his lips cracked and lifeless,

grey blue and wordless,

his gait arched and chary,

and his path pained and ponderous,

lie limpid behind the closing of my eyes.

For he is there, storm bound,

exposed to her puissance,

bare to her cruelty and cudgel,

while I lie awake

at the precipice of

a fine line.

Copyright © Nicky Lloyd

Tenby resident and poet Nicky Lloyd who paid tribute to Paul in last week’s Observer, has written a new poem in memory, as follows:

‘Run’

From here, at

his always place,

other worlds and

other lives, would

move, like chess

pieces, across his

black and white

parade, passing,

sometimes pausing,

always greeting,

never thinking to

thank him, but

always thankful,

that his being here,

on another day, was

the warm blanket

of assurance in the

face of a cold coming

of night, that some

things never change, in

an ever-changing world.

Steps and stories, meander

and slow the current of a

racing world, to pull breaths

to the banks, here at his

rest, at his baton passing

best, he knows his race is...

Run.

Copyright © Nicky Lloyd