Is there life without wi-fi?

You never miss the water till the well runs dry

That's how the old saying goes

Our wifi is crumbling around us

How will we manage?....no one knows

The fuse is blown in our router box

The electric sockets have died

What will this disaster mean to us?

We've no wi-fi my wife replied.

I'm not bothered about the internet

I can watch some TV instead

The TV works from the roof aerial

Yes, and also the wi-fi she said

I can watch TV on my tablet, I think

A big screen is not required

But how will it get to my tablet?

Without any wi-fi she enquired

So, Alexa, just play me some music

I'll listed to that instead

Alexa....are you listening to me?

No 'cos the wi-fi is stone dead

The man can't come out till tomorrow

So what shall we do till then?

Just sit and talk like the old days

Or go to bed early instead

 

An Ode to Agie

I remember meeting Agnes [Agie] Bailey in the late 1960's when she came into our garage looking to borrow, of all things, a crow-bar!

This was an old lady, looking older than her years, because of the hard life she had lead, dressed in old cloths, tramp like, with a beret on her head cocked to the side and a cigarette hanging from the side of her mouth as she spoke in a roughYorkshire accent.

Who would have known that she had been an accomplished pianist and violinist in her younger days, giving concerts and lessons to children.

She had for many years run the family business as a Monumental Mason from a yard next to the Utley Cemetery in Keighley.

She was well known locally, and took up running the business single-handed, after other family members passed away, and being a skillful Sculptress, who as well as being able to cut the words into a gravestone was able to carve Angels and other figures required.

Agie also liked a drink and the bar staff at the local pub, The Roebuck, tell the stories of her comming in and ordering four pints at last orders, and then drinking them all before chucking out time!....and then getting in her van and driving the short distance home!

She was also well known for going through the local newspaper's obituaries and then going knocking on the bereaved families door to try and sell them a gravestone!

Stories of her on particular day walking around Keighley, dressed in a really smart red trouser suit, pill box hat and matching scarf and handbag, and telling observers, who did not recognise her, that she was off to t' “Paris Fashions” and would be staying with the daughter of a local industrialist whilst there.

She died in November 1981, age 70 yrs and when the piece of land that had been the site of her masonry business was developed into a small housing estate, it was named “Bailey Close”, a reminder of this local character.

Here are my respectful thought about her.

January 2023

 

Utley Cemetery.....possibly some of Agies handy work?

Who's the dishevelled figure shuffling along

Making her regular journey daily

A sad and lonely woman passing by

This solitary person, Agnes Bailey

This well known lady,long departed

Gone nearly fifty or more

Yet her legend still lives on locally

As we still talk about her fondly

Weary old cloths and side cocked beret

And the cig from the side of her mouth

We would guess the secrets of her life

As she wanders past on her way out

Those hands, gnarled and worn

Like hands of a working man

From years of chiselling gravestones

As she climbs back in her van

Who'd have realise that she had a talent

An accomplished violinist when younger

Giving concerts and teaching children

A practice not used any longer

Long live Agie in our History

As her ghost wanders Utley Cemetery

That long lost wandering soul

Still remembered in our memory

The Old Kissing Gate

 

 

 

The Old Kissing Gate

I often walk through an old rusty iron gate near my home, and because it is very old and an unusual design, I always wonder about its history....what tales it could tell if it could talk.

Here are my thoughts

October 2022

Its just an old kissing gate with the paint peeling off

Past its best after 100 years or so

No longer shiny with a fresh coat of paint

Just resting now, as the seasons turn a page

Keeping secrets of times long gone

When it was all shiny and new

With a lifetime of stories to tell

Standing proud in the morning dew

Battered by time and now hardly fits

All the paint gone as it squeaks in the wind

With all its early elegance now forgotten

As it creaks and squeaks on its hinge

Stories of children passing through

Swinging on it as they go to school

Laughing and joking as they skip along

Not worrying much as a rule

The sound of those clogs clattering by

As workers wind their way up the hill

Chattering away to all their workmates

Going home after their shift at the mill

Lovers leaning on it long after dark

As they say goodnight with one last kiss

Alone together, holding hands in the moonlight

With that lingering feeling of bliss

So will it get replaced at some future date

With something not so good

Something that doesn't need painting

A new one just made of wood

A walk on the lane

As I write this, we find the whole world in the middle of the corona virus….the biggest challenge to the human race in modern times and this is a small diversion to the everyday issues. Slaymaker Lane is where I walk most days and here's my thoughts.

                                                                                                                                         August 2020

In all these dark days, when things look so tough

When the sky looks so clear and blue

                                                I go for a wander on Slaymaker Lane

And all my daydreams come true

I go for a stroll on my leafy lane

And things never seem quite so bad

The first sight of a primrose in springtime

What’s better than that to make you feel glad

Reflections of the sun on the water’s edge

Showing glints of all the fish below

And a heron standing there motionless

 Waiting to have a go

That duck on the pond with it’s ducklings

Paddling as fast as they can

As I stand there talking to others

Watching water flow over the dam

The sight of the cows all grazing

Chewing cud in the midday sun

As I stop to talk to a jogger

Out for his morning run

This leafy lane in autumn

With a wind blowing all the leaves

And the distance hill on the skyline

Such a pleasant sight to see

Even the snow in winter

Can’t dampen my love for this lane

New and different sights every day

Just hope it can all remain

 

Why can’t a woman be more like a man?

Sorry Girls, I just had to write this one.....only kidding though!

Why can’t women be more understanding?

When they know we’re not set-up like them?

Can’t they understand we’re wired up different?

When will they realise…oh when, when, when!

Why do they moan when we thumb through a car mag?

Or settle on down with a beer to watch sport

Does the hooving need doing at that very moment?

So come on girls….make us a bite!

Why do they like to do so much shopping?

Trying on cloths for hours on end

When we need something, we just go and buy it

Or order on line, and just get it sent

Why don’t they give us a bit more sympathy?

When we go down with that dreaded man-flu

Its not that were weedy, or just like complaining

So just mop our brow, and make us a brew

So come on girls, be more understanding

Don’t treat us like some awful disease

Deep down you know you really love us

‘Cos we’re simple, straightforward and easy to please.

Reflections

In my children’s eyes I can see 

Both the future and the past looking at me

That enthusiasm of youth, no one can ever stifle 

The hope that comes from innocence, in this never ending cycle

No sign of any failure here, with all this youthful vision 

Just endless days of pleasure, not burdened with derision

Enjoy it for a while my boys, and make progress while you can 

For tomorrow is a mystery, just waiting to be had

The Old Man's Allotment

A day on the allotment is never a wasted day!

My Allotment

I’ve got m’iself an allotment 

‘Cos I like to grow m’i own 

Eat five a day, that’s what they say 

Better hurry up and get some seeds sown

We’re all old pals at the allotment 

Swapping produce to keep us all fed 

We gather together in all sorts of weather 

When it rains, we sit n'talk in the shed

As a child, I listened to m'i mother

When she said "eat up all y'r greens"

The temperature's rising, better get  more planted

Along with the sprouts and the peas 

I’m going on down to m’i allotment 

‘Cos I’m worried about m’i spuds 

No sign of them yet, not a leaf or a shoot 

On account of the rain and the floods

Time to sow more seeds at the allotment 

Put some canes up to support all the beans 

Beetroot and peas are bound to taste sweet 

Along with the sprouts and the greens

I’m spending more time at the allotment 

Now the sun has come out full blast 

I’ve done all m’i sowing, m’i seeds are all growing 

And m’i spuds are now sprouting at last

Now all’s not just right at the allotment 

With an influx of those dreaded moles 

I’ve done all I can to get rid of the pests

Now just need to repair all the holes

I spend so much time at m’i allotment 

People think it’s a love affair 

But I’m only keen on growing m’i veg 

Not women with long blond hair

I’m going every day to m’i allotment 

With m’i tools, ready for the next task 

Then I sit on m’i seat, in the sun and the heat 

What more can any man ask!

The Button Pusher

Have you ever been kept on hold on the phone while waiting to speak to someone in one of those large faceless organisations?…...I have, and look what happened


I’m in this queue, getting nowhere at all
On the phone, pressing buttons when asked
I only want to query my last phone bill
Oh how long will this torment last


That music, and then a computer voice
Assuring my turn will come soon
This machine doesn’t understand I need a human voice
It just keeps playing that damned tune


Ten minutes pass and I’m wondering what to do
Make some tea, or just read a book?
As I’m told again that my custom is important
I could do the crossword if I get stuck


More options, more buttons and then a real voice
Trouble is I don’t know what he’s saying
But in sheer desperation, I dare not let him go
After waiting half an hour, I’m just praying


Praying he’ll understand exactly what I need
As I sit here quietly going mad
I’m tempted to try and put him on hold
Would a naughty trick like that be so bad?


Then he promises to ring me back
And I say yes please, with a cheer
Now he’ll understand what its like to be on hold
As I tear my hair out sitting here.

Early Morning Dreams

Everyone tells me I should write a love poem.....something romantic....so here goes!


I lay and watch you sleeping

 The morning light on your hair

 Dreaming away, sleeping softly

 Breathing slowly, without a care


Your smooth skin so soft and tender

 Your soft skin touching me

 Your face, like the sun’s gentle rising

 Such a pleasant sight to see


Your hand reaches out instinctive

 Holding on gently to mine

 Your breath so warm and fragrant

 Then that gentle kiss...that’s just fine.

 

That kiss, and I'm young again

Like the first time we met

Then all these years together

How could I ever forget

 

I wonder just what you are dreaming

 As you lay in your gentle sleep

 Are they about our happy times

 Do they come from somewhere deep

 

You stir and then wake for a moment

  Then snuggle on down once more

 Your body is warm and inviting

 Just making me want you more

When I was a young Lad

You know you are getting old, when you start thinking about things like this!


When I was a young lad, roads were all straight and long
The skies always blue, and we knew right from wrong
And those distant hills looked greener

Now I am older and look back at my life
It’s been pretty good, much pleasure, some strife
And I have fond memories to share

When I was a young lad, jobs were a plenty
People had respect….everyone was thrifty
And I had the confidence of youth

Now I look back…before computers or gameboys
Just football in the street….not a houseful of toys
And wonder where it all went wrong

When I was a young lad, all the girls were so pretty
They always dressed nice….they were gentle and witty
And there were good times a plenty

Now I look at the young girls today
With tatoos on their arm, and purple hair
And I think they looked better back then

When I was a young lad, I’d the world at my feet
We were told that technology was the new white heat
And I believed it all back then

Now I take note of different comments
I no longer work, and have time for my friends
And try to put something back for others

When I was a young lad, people were all so polite
We walked without fear…could go out every night
And I had enjoyment unbounded

Now I just wonder if the worlds’ a better place
Wonder what will become of the whole human race
And I’m glad I’m not a young lad today

People Watching

I was sitting in a station, waiting for a train and watching all the people coming and going. Just watching everyone made me wonder what they were doing there.


Sitting in the station on a hot afternoon
Watching all these people passing bye
Looking at them all, going on their way
No time to stop…nothing much to say

That young man with his bicycle
Running for his train
I wonder where he’s going
Hobbling with a sprain

The old tramp alone and begging
Carrying his backpack of life
Looking so sad and dishevelled
Fed up with all this strife

A mother with her baby
Screaming for all its worth
Both getting all hot and bothered
Looks like it’s screamed since birth

The young couple holding hands
Waiting for their train
Then one long lingering kiss
Before they part again

People just meeting… just passing through
Wonder where they’re going…wonder what they do
Some young, some old, some big, some small
Where are they going….nobody knows

Poor Rebecca Town

I came across this story about a grave in our town graveyard of a poor lady called Rebecca Town.
The inscription on the flat tabletop stone said that she died in her 43rd year, after having thirty children.
Only two of the children are mentioned by name on the gravestone, and they both died as infants. One can only assume that the other twenty-eight children must have either been stillborn or died soon after birth, although there are parish records of many of the children being baptised.
Rebecca herself was a twin, so its fair to assume that many of the births were multiple and there was possibly some medical problems with her pregnancies.
What a sad life of unbelievable misery this poor woman must have had.
The only one glint of happiness in this terrible story is that her husband, Benjamin Town, remarried after Rebecca's death, and went on to have two children with his second wife.

There’s a corner in Keighley Graveyard

Where a sad soul lays….not alone

Buried with her thirty poor children

Her memorial…just this lowly stone

What a tale of suffering endured by her

Bearing thirty children…none whom survived

Her life full of toil and childbirth

And not a single one thrived

Never able to see a child grow up

This continuing story of misery

Just one false hope on another

Then one by one she had to bury

To never hear the sound of her child

Having fun as they run and play

Just a continual test of trying again

For the hope of a child someday

Her life ending in notoriety

Stalked by death and disease throughout

Thirty children born in twenty-three years

Then at forty-three, her body worn out

And what now remains of her memory

Just this stone in a cold, damp corner

Not a flower or a word of kindness

And no one here to mourn her