Dear editor,

With an innings of close on three centuries, I thought this ought not to pass unmarked.

Here is my modest tribute.

Last night I dreamed of Boswells and the dreaming spires,

Lamenting all those years since seventeen-thirty-eight,

All suspended in a requiem of ghostly choirs,

With flowing tears of sadness at such cruel fate.

In happier times I do recall with mother shopping there,

Seeking a special present for her birthday boy – I was but eight,

The counter piled with treats galore and tempting fare,

Unable to choose, just stand and smile and stare.

The dream now shifts into a much, much later phase,

With prescriptions now to fill – all in a daze,

Four score and thirteen years have passed,

Still in and out of Boswells 'til the last...

With special salutes to Mr Mr Cowan's pharmacy and the dedicated medical practice at 27 Beaumont Street.

William Gowing

Ex-Oxford NHS