SUCH everyday occurrences as a ship docking neatly, or a sash window being repaired, are the inspiration of Sheila Templeton’s gentle celebration of craftsmanship and the men who wield it in their working lives. The poem comes from Gaitherin, Templeton’s latest collection (Red Squirrel Press, £10). She writes with equal ease and humanity in both the Scots of her childhood and in English, as here.

DOCKING

The ferry engines stop, allowing

only momentum to edge it in.

I hang over the railing, watching

as each fender is matched

to its squashy maroon twin

close as a kiss.

Such exquisite precision.

And here comes the gang-way,

easing up slowly, slowly

until two giant hooks

can be wrestled, clunked into place.

Boat and land bridged again.

Cal-Mac workers just doing their job.

Seven more times today

they’ll bring her home, find their mark

like my grandfather once

fixing a broken sash.

Look here, he said. Once I take that out

we’ll see the joiner’s mark. He’ll have left his mark.

And there, over a century old

Clear inside the window frame – a pencil line.

Conversation between two masters.