This engaging portrait by Alison Barr is of her father’s uncle who lived in Coatbridge and “after he came down from the cranes moved into one of the high-rise flats!”

The writer herself lives in Wigton and has just published her first collection of poems, Honey and Stone.

 

UNCLE JOHN

 

Studded boots chink on metal stairs,

one step after another, in constant rhythm.

At the top, by the railing, John pauses,

gazes at orange lights around the Clyde,

first slit of pink sun glinting to the East.

 

Door closed, he hangs up his bunnet

and takes the metal piece box

out of his World War I satchel.

He spoons tea and sugar

into a chipped enamel mug.

Steam curls rise in cold air.

 

All day, one hundred feet above the earth,

he waits for jobs to start,

reads westerns to while away the time.

Up in the cab, showdowns take place,

gun fights over ringletted, busty molls.

Saloon doors blim blam back and forth,

stetsoned cowboys join him for tea breaks.

 

When cargo loading starts John moves levers,

handles shaped to his hands, responsive.

He becomes the Man of the West,

high on his leather saddle, lasso held tight.

The crane judders, luffs, rumbles,

hook dangling over docklands.

 

At sixty, with forty years’ service,

he trudges to work as usual with no special plan.

In the afternoon he climbs down from the cab,

walks away and daunders home, leaving a copy

of Big Sky and True Grit on the worn vinyl seat.

“Yer early”, says his sister. “Aye” says John.