Stansted

My dad used to work
For the Civil Aviation Authority
In a round building off High Holborn
And whilst he was there he worked on the planning permission
For the control tower at Stansted

This was the most tangible of his achievements
And for years when ‘dads’ were mentioned I’d say:
My Dad was pretty involved with the “Stansted Project”
I’d say: My Dad was one of the Stansted big-wigs
And only very occasionally,
When proud freckled faced boys needed to be silenced:
My Dad designed Stansted.

I never really knew what he did there
I just needed a four word phrase
For boasting rights

I didn’t know it like I knew
His mahogany trouser-press / suit-stand
The brass bowl for his change,
The way his cheek felt cold
When in came back from work in the rain
Smelling of trains
and the morning’s aftershave

Or how his jumper would show
At the neck of his workshop overalls
The silver popper at the top undone

And I’ve never asked.

I just see him out on a flat field
That is not yet a run-way
Clipboard in hand
Directing other men
Wind sock blowing in the breeze.