A mysterious scrapbook filled with poignant poems penned by an elderly man, who describes his life journey and paints a painful picture of aging and loneliness, has turned up in the rental property of a woman who now wants to ensure his message is heard.

The scrapbook, titled Odes of Owen, was found by Vanessa Macdonald when tenants moved out of her rental house a few weeks ago.

The loose papers in the scrapbook include typed out poems, signed by a certain Frederick Bert Owen, who has since passed away, as well as documents and photographs.

Several poems deal with aging and loneliness and talk about being forgotten by loved ones, including on his 86th birthday.

In one poem titled Old Age – Wakeup Call, Owen writes: “Our armchair is our comfort zone, with slippers on our feet; Maybe the children will come around, take dad out for a treat. Alas it’s time for bed the day has been and gone; Confined to my wheelchair no phone calls from our son. Maybe he forgot my birthday, but one day he’ll be old; It happens to most of us to be left out in the cold.”

His poem about the loneliness of growing old moved me to tears

This touched a chord with Macdonald who now wants to ensure that the words of a man she never met do not remain unheard.

“His poem about the loneliness of growing old moved me to tears. Even if the scrapbook does not find a new home, I hope that in some way his legacy can live on through social media,” she says.

Macdonald posted one of the poems on Facebook asking if anyone knew anything about Owen. Meanwhile, she contacted her tenants to ask where the scrapbook came from.

“It was so unexpected to find the scrapbook, which is such a rich testimony to his life as well as his poetry. It seems that when he passed, no one knew what to do with the scrapbook and it ended up in a cupboard in a house that was until recently rented out. My former tenants said it was given to them by someone that had ‘looked after’ him while he was in hospital before he died, as he had no family or friends to pass it on to... I’m hoping someone will remember this gentleman and know how to get it to his family or friends,” she says.

As she leafed through the scrapbook, she started piecing together a tragic story of a man with a difficult childhood of abuse and neglect. This left her wondering whether the facts were real, or if there was an element of poetic licence.

Frederick Owen’s life story

In a poem titled My Life Story to Date, Owen talks about being born in the Welsh town of Carmarthen, in a house for unmarried mothers. “You see I’m the result of a one Saturday night stand; The soldier was drafted to a far distant lend,” he writes before going on to say: “I lived with a family until I was three; They then had children so didn’t want me.”

In 1985 Frederick Owen says he had a dramatic encounter with Jesus – travelling the world as an evangelist. Is that what brought him to Malta?

He then lived in a residential home and talks about rebelling as he grew older, turning to a criminal life and robbing shops until he was caught by the police and ended up facing more abuse “with four boys in a cell”.

In 1943 he was given the opportunity to enlist in the army and start over.

“With thanks to the governor I signed on the line; Much better for me than serving my time.” Then, he says that after five years in the army he found a job in the oil business.

“Working in oil for 37 years brought many disasters, heartaches and tears. But also find trust again in mankind; Forgetting your past life where mine was unkind.” He ends the poem by saying he is happy.

In another poem called Absentee more details emerge as he talks about travelling the world and ending up in Malta.

“But one thing is certain where he be; The island of Malta could just hold the key,” he says adding: “In passing through life he had only once chance; one unfaithful woman and one lovely romance.”

It is not clear if he actually had a family, but in some poems, he mentions a son and daughter.

Several poems focus on aging. In one penned in 2015 he writes: “Old age is golden I’ve heard it’s been said; But sometimes I wonder as I get into bed. With my ears in the drawer and my teeth in a cup; My eyes on the table until I wake up.”

“I get up each morning and gather my wits; And pick up my paper and read the obits. If my name is still missing I know I’m not dead; So I have a good breakfast and go back to bed.”

Could this life story all be true? Photographs and documents suggest there is truth in his rhymes – such as a BP oil exploration document and a letter sent from the Falkirk Stirling Chapter to its members about a talk from a guest speaker who was abused as a youngster “unloved, rejected, placed in a foster home and growing up with anger in his life.”

The letter says he joined the army at 17 and spent 37 years as an oilman. In 1985 he says he had a dramatic encounter with Jesus – travelling the world as an evangelist. Possibly that’s why he came to Malta.

But did he want to be found? In one of his poems he writes: “So stop searching the islands from coast to coast; For the canny wee laddy is now an invisible ghost.”