The smell of honest work (2015)
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By Parson Thru
- 1538 reads
I recall machinery
Heavy steel
Hot grease
and movement
Engineered and precise
I recall the thrum and clatter
of machines set to the task
Room-filling din
Presence
The shouts of men
Heat on skin
Oil, blood, sweat and spit
Getting out what you put in
I recall shadows
in blue overalls
Donkey jackets, hats
Tool-bags
Studded boots
Knowledge
Wisdom
and application
Arguments and jokes
I recall pools of tungsten light
falling vertically
from rough concrete standards
Dark corners
Yards with soot
and cinders underfoot
Walls of flaking brick
Leaking hoses
Wood-barns filled
with rats and cats
I recall intrinsic strength
Components cast and forged
from iron, steel
and phosphor-bronze
Wheels and levers
spinning with the grace
of prima ballerinas
Boilers, oilers
Turned shafts in plain bearings
Metal shaped and shaved
by eye and hand
I recall proud names
like Firth-Brown
Armstrong-Whitworth
Castings stamped with pride
“Made in Sheffield”
“Clyde”
“Tyneside”
“Built 1936”
Maintained by men
with names like Arthur,
Bert and Stan
But now the machinery
and men are gone
Craftsmen
whose patience, humility
and pride made things work
Their skills and trades all lost
What’s left?
“Heritage”
A fig leaf
for loss of meaning
Casual work in call-centres,
restaurants and retail
Tourism
Tell me they’re a substitute
for what’s real
It’s alienation
And somewhere in the darkness
comes a barking cough
A hundred tons
of long redundant scrap
Rheumy yellow eye
fixed steadily on its path
Mildly curious heads
glance up from screens
and see a dinosaur drift past
Within the fire's glow
conscientious men
wipe honest sweat
from tired eyes
Skilled hands
bring machinery to life
with water, fire and oil
And empathy
I close my eyes,
recalling engineering
And the smell of honest work
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Comments
I've just been putting on
I've just been putting on Fred Dibnah's programmes for my mother-in-law of an evening. I don't know how many times she's watched them (she's 96) but those and steam train videos seem the favourite. Hard labour must have had its problems, but also the satisfaction of physical tiredness and seeing what has been created, and joint work and friendship. Rhiannon
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hi Fred, we're reduced to
hi Fred, we're reduced to this, whil of the whisp, where meaning should be, call-centre jobs whoops and whistles don't convince me. What's left? A hate-filled cleft where those that have mock and we're the joke.
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