Mist rises over
the dark quiet water.
A century of dreams;
A shipbuilder’s heaven!
I see them again,
rows of marching men
overalls and bunnets as uniform
warding off the drizzling rain.
They climb the stairs
to a skeletal ship.
Talk is muted now;
condensation rises up
against the black steel,
shimmering in the wet.
Below decks now, we
find a dry howf, and
the first flask of tea
or coffee is opened.
The ship is now alive!
Her daily ration complete.
Sounds fill the air;
Hammers and caulking tools
assault the senses.
No earmuffs in those days!
Another day begins in
John Brown’s Shipyard.
Now the mist clears
as a heron flaps
over the still water
to the Renfrew shore.
Time to leave now;
my memories still secure!
Colin L Scott, Parkhall 13.3.02