Showing posts with label Heritage. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Heritage. Show all posts

Saturday, 30 April 2022

Fulfillment Center

Where mines stood, there are now many things. One of which is an Amazon fulfilment centre that sits within view of my bedroom window, on the site of the former Barlborough Colliery.

This was one of a number of poems written as part of a poetic conversation with Paul Brookes.

It was published by The Morning Star newspaper in July 2022

Fulfillment Center

After work he liked to walk the muddy paths
around the lake and up the man-made hill.
Survey the scene. The sprawling warehouse
where he earned his pay squatting on land
where once the wheels had spun, conveyors
rolled and great buckets of black rock
were lifted from miles below the ground.

Where his dad and grandad, and his dad before,
had earned their pay. And he had too,
a flash of time before it was all cleared
away, cleansed and sanitized. The days
when he was married, when they worked
in heat and dust, watched each others' backs.
Now he was just a robot with skin and flesh,
waiting to be replaced by one that didn't
need to sleep. That wouldn't feel the wind
at the top of this hill, that had no memories.


One that fulfilled orders and never needed

to be fulfilled. 

Tim Fellows 2020 

Sunday, 6 December 2020

Saturday Afternoon, 1971

I wrote this at a Poetry Business workshop in March 2019. I've been revisiting old drafts and decided to tidy this up and give it an airing.

This photograph (from 1970) was published in the Derby Telegraph courtesy of local photographer Terry Fletcher. It's not the Stonebroom team of 1971 but it could be. The haircuts and kit have exactly the style I remember.   




Saturday Afternoon, 1971

I head towards the slanting field
through the village
past the pub.
The players burst out of the changing room,
propelled by smoke,
tangerine shirts pristine.
Laughing and swearing, fake fighting.
I hang back and follow,
             captivated by camaraderie
             beguiled by bravado.

Number 7 is small and bald,
leader of the pack through wit and guile.
5 is huge, the one who never smiles.
8 throws a heavy leather ball at 6,
it hits him on the head.
6 is unamused, and a chase ensues.
He unleashes a volley with the ball
and a volley of new and interesting words
for my memory bank.

Later they defend the honour of the village
against the Miners Welfare
from over the border.
Blood is spilled on an orange shirt
and the ref is called a wanker.
After the whistle 7 is hoisted
on 5's shoulders to unhook the nets.
I go home, they go to the pub.

I know that I will never wear the Three Lions
but I think that, one day,
the tangerine shirt could be mine.

Tim Fellows 2020

Sunday, 25 October 2020

Long Rows

Written after a workshop on Imtiaz Dharker examining the subject of childhood and poverty.

The Long Rows in Clay Cross were where my mum grew up.

Click here to hear about the Long Rows

 


 



Long Rows

Here they come, ragged pullovers
smeared with dirt, snotty-sleeved,
pushing and fighting. 

Basin haircuts, running from the rain,
scrapping for playthings. Old boxes,
a burst casey, metal rods.

Always hungry, wanting to play
but wanting mam's tea more. Gulping
it down like dogs. 

Waiting for their dads to come home
from the pit. Some with joy,
some with fear.

And it'll be them too, after the grubby days
on the crumbling roads, doors open,
in and out.

Here they'll come, booted and black,
smeared with dust, throats on fire,
shattered.

Tim Fellows 2020

Monday, 8 June 2020

Fellows Park

This recalls my one and only visit to the old home of Walsall FC on 11th March 1978 to watch the 2-2 draw with Chesterfield. The stadium was demolished in May 1990.

My great great-grandmother Mary Elizabeth Fellows came from the Black Country to Stonebroom, Derbyshire, in 1878 when she was 8 years old. She married Joseph Smith when pregnant with her son, William Edward Fellows-Smith (who became Fellows). Joseph and William died within a month of each other in 1931. Mary died in 1933.



Fellows Park

I once went to a place and time
that drifts only in memories;
in dreams of Black Country
Saturday crowds
and floodlit nights.

Named like me, it was old
when I was young. Where our name
was familiar, when pubs filled
with smoke and hate ran
in silent currents.

I had come from there, before
the concrete was laid, before the
ragged stands were built.
But now my accent jarred,
all around was red and I was blue.

Connections were lost in
a century of exile and change.
The bulldozers moved in, smashed
the glass panes, brought down
everything they had built.

Tim Fellows May 2020

Friday, 11 October 2019

Greenhouse

This memory was revived by entering a greenhouse at Dobbie's Garden Centre, where they were using some tomato plants to help sell it. The smell was very vivid.



Greenhouse

It's the smell that lingers
longest in the memory.
Opening the sliding bolt
to a deep, rich, earth scent
of Solanum lycopersicum
stealing through the creaking door.
The visceral urge to pluck the shiny
fruit from its slender stem.
To rip through the outer layer
and let the juice flow. Consume
it all; seeds, flesh and skin.
Just to smell the richness
of the fruit, close-up,
the mustiness of leaves, vine, soil
was reward enough.
It had been a long wait, from the first
tiny fruits, through green to ripe red.

Scattered around the jungle of plants;
pruning shears, a small trowel,
a larger trowel, screws and nails,
nuts and bolts, a metal watering can.
An old cracked pane of glass
propped against the guinea pig cage.
The pair of scrabbling creatures,
protected from the northern
chill in colder months,
chirping approval as I feed them.

One day, as I stopped to say hello
on the way to school
I found one lying, unmoving,
eyes glazed.

Grandad added his tobacco smell
to the mix; leaning over
to confirm that it was dead.
He told me not to worry and to go to school.
When I came back, it was gone.

Tim Fellows 2019

Image by Irini Adler from Pixabay



Friday, 23 August 2019

Forþfæderas



I wrote this as part of our Read To Write study of Beowulf.

It's an Anglo-Saxon form but in modern English - the break in the middle
of the line is marked with the vertical line. The key elements of Anglo-Saxon poetry
are alliteration and, common in the language itself, compound words.

The Anglo-Saxon culture came from the Vikings, where bravery in battle was seen as
honourable and poetry was used to tell tales around bravery of forefathers, which is
what the title of the poem means. The þ is a "th" sound.

For comparison, here are some lines from Beowulf:

Gewát ðá néosian | syþðan niht becóm
héän húses | hú hit Hring-Dene
æfter béorþege | gebún hæfdon
fand þá ðaér inne | æþelinga gedriht
swefan æfter symble | sorge ne cúðon
wonsceaft wera | wiht unhaélo
grim ond graédig | gearo sóna wæs
réoc ond réþe | ond on ræste genam
þrítig þegna | þanon eft gewát
húðe hrémig | tó hám faran
mid þaére wælfylle | wíca néosan

I performed it at the National Coal Mining Museum in June 2019. I thought that my forefathers deserved commemorating as the Vikings would have. 

Forþfæderas

In olden days | those darkest times
Forefathers came | from many lands
wend from the West | where work was failing
breaking bridges | to bide in brick-homes
lads of land-craft | who learned the new ways
cutting coal | by candle-flicker
soon to settle | as strangers to
their northern neighbours | nights and days
of weary working | wives at home
as men are mining | their muscles pound
and sweat is sliding | sinews creaking
in the dust-dirt of | the Devil's homestead.

Where lamps are lit | and leather strapping
wraps the warriors | who wield their axes
hack and hew | and heed no fear
despite the danger | in the darkness
gas and groaning | of great wood-cages
black-rock bearing | in brutish nightmare
roof-rock falling | red blood flowing
a widow is walking | while in death-tears
black in binding | bitter her burden
comrades carry | the coffin onward
and lower her lover | his life-force rising
to heaven's heartland  | helmet shining.

Dust to dust | in Derby's county
songs of sorrow | sung in honour
of men who marched | in merciless worm-tracks
in throes of thunder | thirst and hardship
their form is fading | fast to past-times
the lives they led | in legendary yore-days
recalled in reverence | rightly cherished
our kith and kin | our kings and queens
blood that binds us | bound forever.

Tim Fellows 2019


Image by Arthur_ASCII from Pixabay

Friday, 29 March 2019

Spirit

 I wrote this one a while ago now as an exercise at Read To Write when we were looking at the poetry of Thomas Hardy. It's based on a real incident that happened a few days after my dad died in 2005.



Spirit

1

I knew at once that he was there
"Hello Dad", I said, even though
 in the mirror I could see behind
nothing at all but light and air

2

I felt a soothing in my soul
Tortured by such knotting pain
in lonely hours, the darkest days
when there was no-one could console

3

A shaft of light broke through the grey
As his presence drifted off
"It'll be OK Dad", I said at last
 Though I wished so much for it to stay


Tim Fellows 2019

Thursday, 4 October 2018

Where The Pit Was

This is a follow-on from the 3 Miners' Sonnets that I published as a sequence earlier this year. I've had it in draft for a while.

I don't agree with the sentiments in this poem, but I understand them.

Shirebook Colliery - healeyhero.co.uk


Where the Pit Was

The village has changed in so many ways
where we hung around and played all our games
I cast my mind back to my childhood days
saw in my mind's eye two Meccano frames.

Where the Pit was a new monument stands
but not to the men who worked down the mine -
a symbol of all that's gone from our land,
an emblem of greed for slick modern times.

Minimum wage for overseas labour,
turn up at work more in hope than in cheer.
Can't understand your new foreign neighbour?
Don't worry they say - you've nothing to fear.

That work was hard but I want the Pit back!
This vote's my chance to give you lot the sack

Tim Fellows 2017

Friday, 21 September 2018

Frying Ham

In memory of my grandma Rita Fellows (1913-1978) 

I have clear memories of one particular morning, but I'm sure it happened many times. She would look after us when my Mum and Dad were at work. 




Frying Ham

The thick pan, blackened by its constant use,
spits with fat; hot from the blistering flame
I stand, expectant, watching while it
hisses, crackling as the sallow winter
sun peers in to see the gravid slice of
frying ham dropped; carefully, quickly
leaving my grandma's work-worn tender hands.

She asks me to stand guard but not to touch
as, attending to other household tasks,
she bustles to another room and I,
with salivating mouth, observe pink flesh
turn slowly darker as the shrinking meat
releases scents that on my brain imprint
the loving memory of my days with her.

The ham is turned and soon it will be mine,
resting in sliced brown bread that magically
appears, absorbing salty, pungent juice.
From the plate expectant hands lift slowly
to the open mouth, closed eyes, the easy bite
through sodden bread, teeth tear the supple ham.

I lift my eyelids and I sadly know
that fifty years have passed me by since then
and I will never eat such tender meat
or feel my grandma's special love again. 

Tim Fellows 2018

This work started as a piece of prose written at Ian Duhig's workshop at Stones Barn in April 2018. I then changed it to a blank verse format as part of a Read to Write exercise based on Wordsworth's "spots of time". 
 

Monday, 30 July 2018

A Day Like Any Other

This is my second poem dedicated to the men who died and were seriously injured in the disaster at Markham Colliery in Derbyshire on July 30th 1973. They included Joseph (Joe) Birkin, who lived in our village and whose twin daughters Lynn and Sadie were regulars at our chapel and were only 21 when their dad died.

 A Day Like Any Other

It was a day like any other -
dawn's sunlight split the blue-black sky.
It glinted on the pit-head wheel
and lit the dusty roads in layers of gold.
Dreams escaped from sleeping heads
and drifted round silent rooms,
disturbed by gently ticking clocks
that marked the time before

the fractured metal, screaming rope
and broken hearts. The silence explodes.

A shattering of memories.

Tim Fellows 2018



Here's a link to the first one - Markham 1973


Full details are really well described here.


Friday, 27 July 2018

Poem of the North - 821 Challenge - "Legacy"

This was my unsuccessful entry to the "Poem of the North" competition. The format is 8-2-1, 8 lines, 2 lines and 1 line, 821 being the classification for English Poetry in the Dewey Decimal system. The theme is "The North" and it must have a turn ("volta") before the couplet.





You can find the winners (including at some point those by my friends Mick Jenkinson and Ian Parks) on the Poetry of the North website



Legacy

The further south I go the more I feel
the warmth around me feeds
the cold within.
The memory of bleak, wind hardened hills
tugs and spins like thread upon a wheel.
A legacy of factories, mines and mills,
harsh injustices galvanized by greed
and the angry cries of my ancestral kin.

Though history informs our common bond
the future can't be smothered by the past.

The time has come to hone our northern steel.

Tim Fellows 2018


Friday, 22 June 2018

The Boys of 49



Parkhouse Colliery FC competed at the same level that their modern equivalents Clay Cross Town FC do today. In 1949-50 they took part in the premilinary rounds of the FA Cup, beating Jump before losing to Rawmarsh (1).

The Boys of '49

Heavy boots, caked with mud
churn the windswept Clay Cross field.
Hard men, forged when the game was tough,
would laugh if they could only see
these moneyed, preening superstars
who never knew a real day's work
in factories or down the mine -
they'd wonder at our changing times
would the Boys of '49.

"Two games a week, it's all too much!",
cries the coach, explains his loss
by how their poor tired bodies fail,
try telling post-war Clay Cross
folk where men worked shifts before they played
in rationed times they never made
the same complaints; they just ploughed on
did the Boys of '49.

Rain soaked leaden leather ball
encased and laced to match their boots
meets a resilient, determined head
or waits while Tommy aims and shoots.
No high tech swerving perfect sphere,
feather-like, caressed by priceless
technicolor foot
insured beyond their lifetime's pay -
a million miles from football's roots
and the Boys of '49.

No Ferraris for these blokes,
no image rights or Nike ads.
Just the pride of the red and white,
the bond they had with the other lads.
Woodger, Brazell, Wragg, Dooley, and Lunn -
the whistle goes, the game is won.
Connaughton, Bradbury, Simms and Baker -
they won't dive, no simulation faker.
Bernard Bowen and Tommy Churm -
my uncles, faces proud and firm
stare from this ancient photograph
this timeless, epic epitaph
to the Boys of '49.

Tim Fellows 2018
 


(1) Information courtesy of the Football Club History Database



Friday, 8 June 2018

Lifted

Yesterday evening I had the privilege once again of reading one of my poems at the commemoration event at the National Coal Mining Museum for England. The one I chose was "Walking Home" about the 1938 Disaster at Markham. This one was inspired by those events, by memories of my family and by my visits to the memorial at the NCMM. We were discussing last night that many poems about the industry dwell on the difficulty and danger that was involved - I hope this one carries a more positive message.



Lifted

They carry me easily
those blue-scarred men
From decades in the burrowed earth
lifting the black rock

They lift me up
Through exams they never sat
they carry me
Through the halls of academe
in which they never walked
they carry me
In journeys to the ends of the earth
they never took
they carry me.

From out of the darkness
they lift me into the sunlight
while they must stay
under the ground
until the day that I join them
I am lifted.

Tim Fellows 2018

Thursday, 10 May 2018

Markham 1938 - Walking Home

On May 10th 1938 79 miners lost their lives and 40 were seriously injured in an explosion at Markham Colliery in Derbyshire. This poem is dedicated to them.

The photo is of the ongoing "Walking Together" memorial representing each of the 106 miners killed in 1938, in an explosion in 1937 and in the overwind disaster of 1973 (see here for my poem about that)




Walking Home

A long day working in the pit
Knowing that we've done our bit
Cough and spit, cough and spit
As we are walking home

We're tired but we've done our job
We've done it all for just five bob
Don't cry, my children, don't you sob
'Cos we are walking home

Blackened like the dark of night
A bath waits by the warm fire light
Once that's done we'll feel alright
When we've done walking home

Seems ages since I've eaten owt
It's like sandpaper on me throat
A beer or two'll get me vote
But we're still walking home

Just one spark; that's all it took
All the mine and village shook
We escaped by pure blind luck
Now we are walking home

Where are Herbert and his lads?
All those kids without their dads
It's well beyond just feeling sad
'Cos they're not walking home

Choked by firedamp, blown to bits;
Burnt and charred in a fiery blitz
It's enough to make you lose your wits
But we're still walking home

Thinking of our brothers, lost,
into their fate casually tossed
By owners that don't know the cost
For they are driving home

Their mining life came to an end
Husband, father, brother, friend
And now their weary way they wend
Forever walking home

Tim Fellows May 10th 2018

Friday, 20 April 2018

Heritage Walk

I wrote this as a response poem to my own attack on England's cultural failings in "Back To Blighty" - the walk was from Pleasley Pit to Hardwick Hall last August.


Heritage Walk

England, when your sky clears
and the warm August sun melts our sorrow
there is nowhere so beautiful.
To take a walk and be reminded
of your careless elegance;
where the constant duality of your heritage
is laid bare.

Opening where miners once plied their trade
Energy expended and conveyed
upwards and outwards;
now no signs remain underfoot
of that feverish endeavour.
Just the crunch of shoe on gravel
and clip and clop of iron hoof.

To the path once laid with rail and sleeper
engine hauling, dark cargo, clanging,
steam blowing through cutting and 
trailing along high embankment;
now replete with cyclists and walkers, riders,
hounds and owners of different sizes.
A flurry of hellos and good mornings,
or is it afternoon? Smiles abounding
in the rarest of clement days
where the black dog sniffs,
is called, and runs with lolling tongue
flailing in its wake.

The country lane, winding, quiet with
occasional unwelcome interruption
of four wheel drive or disorientated hatchback;
Blackberries, teasing but not ready
for plucking - two weeks or maybe less
for the plump flesh to be ours.

In the cooling arms of the woodland path
where the sunlight probes the thick canopy
and casts dappled light onto dusty forest floor.
Flickering dart of Cabbage White,
lazy drunken weave of bumble bee;
hornet hovering as if observing
the orange fungus, splattered like paint
on the thick fallen branch;
leaves, roots, twigs, and stones
distract us from the impending neatness
of Bess's Vanity.

Stepping through the pastel blue gate;
manicured lawns are legally trespassed
by those who once
would only be permitted there
as workers.
Families play - small bat, small stumps;
small boy, long run-up; releases the ball
but without the required accuracy;
Picnics, ice-creams under the eye of the mighty hall,
its glassed walls rising as rose the engine house
less than three miles distant.

Yet these two places that are so different
are so intrinsically woven into
each others and England's fabric;
We, the commoners, have them in common;
we hold them in our English heart and embrace,
along with them, our contrary heritage.

Oh England, if only on every day
could your warmth so melt our sorrow.

Tim Fellows August 2017

Thursday, 22 February 2018

Gedling



1899

Beneath the earth of Nottingham
Lies our future, to be claimed,
The hole is sunk, the men are drawn
towards a dark and deadly flame

1915

Nine men fall down the hungry shaft
and come back up without their breath
just nine more on the tally chart
of all the men who met their death

In Gedling's pit, where thousands worked
the rich, deep sedimentary seam
from all the world the miners came -
Jamaican beach to Sherwood's dream

1991

The Pit of Nations is no more.
Struck down; an easy callous swipe
of the blue-edged capital sword,
ignoring what remained behind.

Was it worth it? Those six years?
Working on while others starved?
The end was coming sure enough
when unity was rent in half

Ninety years and more of toil
torn to a pile of dust and scrap
leaving a silent open grave
mighty holes filled in and capped

2018 

The pounding of 700 feet
on the crushed and stony tracks
give birth to yet another year
as the distant, lonely sun 
washes gently on our backs

We climb the hills, embrace the dips
accept the cold upon our face
we pass the embryonic homes
as an uncertain future looms
behind our gathering pace

(c) Tim Fellows 2018


Gedling Colliery, which was the life-blood of Gedling and many of the surrounding villages, opened in 1899 and was closed in 1991. 128 men died at the colliery, which produced over a million tonnes of coal per year in the 1960s. It developed a reputation as the "pit of all nations" because of the diversity of foreign miners who worked there: in the 1960s, ten per cent of the colliery's workforce of 1,400 were originally from the Caribbean.
The site was opened as Gedling Country Park on 28 March 2015 and is the location of Gedling parkrun

Facts courtesy of Wikipedia.

Friday, 19 January 2018

Another year (JE Fellows)

Written, and illustrated, by my dad in 1980



1

Another year is past and gone
Another waits unused
A Calendar of daybreaks new
Unsullied, unabused

2

And while the azure Earth rotates
And day proceeds each day
The populace survive in hope
Whilst politicians play

3

They play the game of Human Chess
Mere men and women Pawns
 Whilst Bishops totter in dismay
On Monarchs, no light dawns.

4

The hopes of Nations "Peace on Earth"
are Castles in the air
The only piece, (the warlike beast)
The Knight, they move with care

5

And so with Earth their checker board
The game of life is played
They'll make the moves and counter moves
Unless their hand is stayed

6

So far results are stale mate
The victims are the Pawns
Is this, then, what the future holds
'Till the day of judgement dawns

7

Let man continue, games to play
Till Christ the Judge shall come
"Check Mate" is called, the Kings lie down
The game of life is done

John Edward Fellows


Friday, 29 December 2017

Bedtime Stories (for David)

This was written for my grandson David, born 31-Dec-2014 and published to celebrate his 3rd birthday.



Bedtime Stories

He really likes his post-bath bedtime stories
before he shuts his eyes
My grandson and I, in the big soft bed
His face bright with wonder
as we rediscover the delights
of the tale of the three little pigs
and the Big Bad Wolf
of whom he, at least, does not appear to be afraid.

He really likes the Big Bad Wolf;
He mimes the hurricane destruction
of the inferior domiciles
of the pathetic younger pigs;
the straw and the wood no match
for David's lupine huffing.

He laughs at the wolf's scorched arse
as the eldest pig turns the tables
His brain is alive with words
that dance around the illustrations.

On we move to the three skeletons
whose voices I must mimic, and so does he
Their adventures in the night
(scaring the town)
like an endless loop
but this does not concern David.

He really likes the skeletons;
he appreciates the certainties of their routine
and he predicts the next page
with unerring accuracy;
How weird would it be if, one night,
the skeletons stayed at home?

Finally the fairy who's hard of hearing.
There's a moral to this one
that is presently lost on the boy
but he really likes the rhymes;
carrot,parrot;
mouse,louse;
cat,bat;
Keep with those rhymes son,
keep with the rhythm of words;
Let them seep into your senses
and chant them to Morpheus;
the skeletons, the wolf, the pigs
and the fairy's misheard rhymes.

He really likes this, and so do I.

(c) Tim Fellows 2017


 



Friday, 8 December 2017

The Miner (for my grandad Ted)

This poem is written in memory of my grandad William Edward "Ted" Fellows (1913-1978). I had the honour of reading it for the first time at the National Coal Mining Museum's commemoration event on 2nd December 2017.

Commemorative disc

"Lives lived, lives lost"



Reading of the poem

Reading the disc inscriptions

The Miner

He used to take the boy for walks
along rutted lanes;
aside thick-grassed fields.
On baked mud tracks
dappled with life and colour
yet close to the grey
man-made towers
and black hills where,
in his daily work,
he would ride the cage
into the darkest hell.
Birds identified
by their song and shape;
He knew the ground
on which we walked
and below which he toiled.
He smiles, in his head the
words and music of Handel.
His hands, holding the boy,
skilled on the trombone,
tending his greenhouse plants,
conducting the choir,
working the coal.

In giving lives and bodies
to the cause - the nation's energy
was safe in the miners' hands
yet they were so much more.
Fathers, brothers, sons, granddads -
Poets, singers, artists, craftsmen;
Hands and hearts
held in perfect time.

(c) Tim Fellows 2017

Friday, 1 December 2017

Gilbert Daykin - the miner artist


This blog entry contains my poem "A Special Light" about Gilbert Daykin, a miner who created very striking paintings of mines and colliers, perhaps the most striking being “Symbolic: the Miner Enslaved” (1938) reminiscent of images of Christ and of the chained Prometheus.

https://smgco-images.s3.amazonaws.com/media/W/P/A/large_1978_0538.jpg
Symbolic: A Miner Enslaved (1938)



Perhaps the most poignant one for me is "The Tub: At the end of the coalface" (1934) which was painted the year before my Great Uncle Jim Hooper was killed doing exactly what this miner is doing:

The Tub: At the end of the coalface (1934)


These are in the permanent collection at the Science Museum along with several others donated by a relative in 1978.

Daykin was born in Barnsley but later moved to Derbyshire and worked in pits around the Notts/Derby border. His other work included paintings of the Welbeck Estate which brought him to the attention of the family there and helped raise his profile. He was never able to leave the mines and was in constant fear of the danger it brought - in the end this proved justified and he was killed at Warsop Colliery in December 1939.

You can read more about Gilbert Daykin here.


A Special Light

Home from the mine -
back-breaking, hard and dirty shift;
fireside tub to rinse the dust
while in your memory
the images remain
imprinted, burnt,
as the blackness is washed away.
Impatient for your paints and brushes,
memories transferred
from brain to canvas.

Yellow-white glow of lamp
shines on blackened muscle,
straining in its labour,
heavy boot on stony floor.

You, a miner, and miner's son,
spat out of school at just thirteen
imagine with both eyes and soul.
Dignitaries laud you
and a duchess receives but
you are never allowed to fly the
fearful pull of the grim black hole.

A miner enslaved but
with a burning desire for art;
bending to his work
with shovel and brush;
breathing in dust then
breathing life into
inanimate oil and colour.

As war clouds gathered and
the skies thundered above
a roof was falling below
and you, Gilbert Daykin,
would daub no more.
A special light, illuminating the
pitch-black of mining history,
dimmed that night
but the shining talent
will never be extinguished.

Gilbert Daykin 1886-1939

(c) Tim Fellows 2017

All images are owned by the Science Museum and are published under the Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 Licence

"Symbolic: A Miner Enslaved" at the Science Museum 

 "The Tub - at the end of the coalface" at the Science Museum

 

The Colours of Her Skirt

Based on a memory, which may be unreliable, from some time in the 1960s.  With thanks to Sarah Wimbush and Ian Parks for editing and for the...