Archive for the ‘People’ Category


In this field of positivity, there is a stone. It cannot be moved by the plough of knowledge, it cannot be moved by the pneumatic drill of progress, and on  it letters have faded to braille or have sharply chiselled serifs. Not Buddha, Jesus or Mohammed’s words, but text only understood by who finds it. The greatest obstacle to this throne stone?

Singularity.

There are many productive meadows, in which to create, re-model, re-design the future, but there are no roads to this fertile grassland and there are no paths on the range , only chest high harvests of realisation. Drifting so far from belief, logic or reason means many miles of life walking and  if we find the field the best one can do is cling to the perimeter fence.

Some do not have fences as natural clustering or gathering together helps in the climbing search. Assists in the struggles with daytime movement and fights off the nightmare with mutual security. Civility is draining away, helping without gain is not fashionable. If you are not in the now you are no one. Rather group in a dark pool of street corner limelight, in the new team, the new faith, the new circle, as natural gregariousness will persist. These will never find the field, their feet never leave, in all its irony, street stone.

Difficult enough to find in a swaying harvest,  one’s  stone has to be uncovered,  is cracked granite, or perhaps  polished marble, but heavily compressed  needs no test and will always be a cornerstone. That is our conscience or the still small voice.

dwk


throw rocks of knowledge,
not pebbles of cursing.

dwk


2004
"Well what do you make of that?"
Amazing, a coincidental collision extraordinaire!
I am hurriedly walking home, staggering actually from the supermarket really weighed down, when I spot the ‘suits’. Not difficult really as half a dozen ‘off the pegs’, look a little out of place on my pre-WW2 Council estate. They are obviously having a good look around and I recognise the Borough’s Housing Director in the lead with a stranger, to whom the Director is obviously being very attentive and supplying answers to specific questions. The stranger has a cord and tag around his neck in Corporation colours, so definitely a special visitor. Behind them struggling up the gradient of our hill I recognise the Neighbourhood Housing Manager, the Contracts Manager and another face that I know from meetings. To make their visitor happy, comfortable or even impressed they have worn their best threads today!

Watching them climb through the enclosed forecourts I dawdle, pondering and I think……Why the hell not! This is my manor too, and rudely whistle at the Housing Director as I pass near the steps, see the suits are very sharp and ignoring the expensive fabric say to the Contracts Manager as he is about to climb the stairs, “how many more times are you going to walk this estate Mr. Brown”. Then quickly pass him and go down the steps to shake Paul’s hand and say hello as welcome. He has recently returned to our Neighbourhood Office now promoted to Manager, of this inadequate housing stock, in this now politically labelled "deprived area" a couple of miles from a set of private schools, but that’s London?
I could always rely on this guy to help with anything for my neighbours. A friendly man with a happy face. He was previously deputy manager to Susan, one of the most competent, active and clever managers of our homes, within budget of course. Paul quickly lays a heavy hint on me, there has been some organising of who the "Inspector" should or should not talk to round here. His smile explains everything when he suggests that I should give the Inspector "a wider point of view"? The Inspector is a Councillor from Portsmouth City Council they say! Pompey !!!! I say loudly in sheer astonishment. He is about 20 yards away now with the Director but his pirouette tells me he is a little worried. "I grew up there" I explain to the group in introduction and I get to take over from the Director of Housing who also nods and smiles.
The Inspector immediately asks "is opposition to some demolition here to assist in the funding of improvement to the majority of the homes, as strong as I have been told by your neighbours?" – a tester! I surprise myself how quickly I slip into committee mode. I reply "are you here because 3 public consultations and 3 sets of proposals have produced nothing? Nothing has happened to improve this estate since 1999”? He doesn’t explain exactly what he is "inspecting" but I am encouraged it was HIS idea to come and see the 770 household estate in need of “Regeneration”.
I tell him the majority of my neighbours have just had enough. The estate completed in 1939 just in time to have bombs dropped on it (I say pointing at the concrete air raid shelter entrances still visible in the grass), is frozen, in a suspended limbo by consultation itself one of the mainstays of the regeneration legislation. All major Council maintenance budgets had been suspended for 5 years until a decision was reached and the place was literally falling apart and showed him where gutters had fallen 4 floors, where scaffold held up communal balconies. I said, that this hillside is literally freezing even on a cold summers day if the wrong wind picks up. That "regeneration" for many tenants had become a dirty word and also an anxiety in itself, as no one outside a certain circle of people had been told anything concrete for years. Information had to be dug up by the individual. Council Committees did not believe the activist neighbours claims that this was some sort of Eden to be saved because of the "structurally sound" buildings or the "thriving community". Petitions had been gathered by standing on doorsteps telling people they were to lose their homes in this garden!
I tell this Portsmouth Councillor that the previous Tenants and Residents Association had secured the Regeneration funding with the MP and local Councillors assistance. Over the years we had replaced all the external lighting with something less expensive but simpler to maintain that was brighter and more secure, got everyone’s Council Tax reduced by pursuing one case as premise after over-evaluation of the properties. Replaced or refurbished the playgrounds with planning gains from the newly built supermarket over the road and helped with individuals housing problems. But most important we talked to Council Officers, they were not the conspiring enemy! Some were bad at their jobs some very good.

"Are you one of this group"? he asked. I explained that very late one night minutes from an emergency meeting were put through my door. The minutes explained that I was too unwell to help the people of this estate in this emergency situation and so a new Chairperson was elected. I knew nothing of the meeting and they obviously didn’t want me around.
I explained that Regeneration had been going fine that the central Governments promise of consulting who lived in the properties for refurbishment was kept until a group of my neighbours came from nowhere. (Proposals supplied to Housing Committees are required to have all sensible options for consideration which of course, the Inspector knew. Option 5  in one document was to “demolish all estate and sell land to help regeneration budgets elsewhere”! That’s where this group came from ignoring the other 4 options). It was ironic I told him, because many neighbours with big problems like damp often said to me "they should knock this place down!" This new group was composed of the politically active right through to the simply sentimental who had lived here many years whose entire family were here or those who had purchased at low price or spent a lot of money on their places, whatever their reason THEY, convinced themselves, indeed believed they should not be moved. That the whole place was coming down, because of a small part of a document prepared for committee that everyone had access to.
Prompted by his questions I told him the group had rapidly lost the funding for a staffed Community Centre now closed and the indecision on the "Regen." had now put the Nursery and the Mothers Clinic existence in doubt. These people, claimed to represent but did not hold regular open meetings and supply neighbours with information. The group contained some very intelligent people at different times living in a perfect location for transport, education needs, social, retail needs at an extremely low rent, some self-employed working from home, so any demolition for them was out of the question even if it would secure for the majority warm and sanitary conditions. This was all fired up by an actual demolition on the estate of a block that was simply unsafe to live in, years earlier in the "pilot project". It had cracks in communal staircase walls you could put your hand into. Yet the main claim of the “representative” group was "structurally sound buildings should not be demolished"?
Just as we were walking the estate, I told him that about 10 years ago I had walked it with the then Chair of Housing, a Labour Councillor. He said then to his staff, in front of me, that £10 million would not be enough to refurbish the estate. The Housing Department, 7 years later still thought £10 million would be enough. In the same year contracted consultants concluded and calculated £25 million !! was the minimum amount for basic regeneration. Proposal no.1 in that document of panic actually costed the entire demolition and rebuild of the estate at £55 million with the contemporary occupants having first option to return to the new homes after decantation.
I invited the Councillor up to the flat, I could show him some of the fundamental problems with the ‘abodes’ particularly inside where the problems really lay. He could inspect my Belfast or Butlers sink and its wooden draining board and the pantry perhaps? But he is behind schedule and has other estates to visit and inspect and then he explains he is to write up a report from a neutral perspective, from a different city and environment.
I say, "well, please say hello to Pompey for me", he replied in goodbyes and handshake "Fratton Park is in my Ward you know!" (Pompey is also the nickname of the football team whose ground is named after the industrial estate in which it stands as many clubs originally did.) I respond, shouting now as he is 30 yards away down my road,  "I saw my first football match there!!!"……. he waves and returns to the suits who throughout have very politely kept their distance out of earshot. I go upstairs and put the food in the fridge and freezer and out loud ask myself
"Well what do you make of that"
Play up Pompey,
Pompey play up!
chimes the tenant to his London kitchen wall.

(I have changed the names of all above for obvious reasons)

dwk

Enjoy your holiday

Posted: December 20, 2012 in love, People, Photographs
Tags:

CoventGdnCmas2010

as I have enjoyed your words and pictures this year, thanks everyone who subscribes, visits, comments etc. – dave

©dwk


of course I love you
I always have
but you would not have it
so that was that.
I will not fight
for the unwilling
as in some scene
disownment will crack
any dream.

I will not persist
with love unfulfilling
all it can mean is
frustration will ransack
all thoughts unseen.

Of course, I love you
I watch your surf wave
and hope your spirit
floats above my flat.

dwk


You see,
the problem is                      the solution is:
it’s broken,                                                adhesion
in pieces:                   willing togetherness,
dull shards                                 bright futures
of expectancy,                       of a full life,
lost euphoria,                           that awakening
fragments of intimacy.                 engagement
Thrown many times      in a single glance,
dropped so often,      caught in closeness
it no longer has                      a chiming bell
a pulse.                              a passionate throb.

It so depends on how you look at line or range.

dwk


why are there people out there who simply cannot relate to others? Even with the gift of the internet, where it doe not matter how beautiful or ugly you are and every degree between your physicality, personality, character or ability. You are you.

Why is this a competition to attract, (wait I have to go stir the porridge), attract with either, words, images or even music? To have a ‘better’ web site, the most visited?

I would rather, when finished admiring a song, (and maybe sharing) new Navy deck photos, and your words pressed to the screen, go and see what cakes are baking in the north of England or what someone has been doing with their daughter home from abroad or how a graduate psychologist feels or what stories she has after driving a tourist trolley all day? Because its real.

The snipers, the gossipers , the chatterers, if you want your inability to appreciate reality, keep it. If it keeps your mind flicking like an animation book, fine, but don’t involve the sane.

dwk


at every opportunity to write to thee
I cannot bring the stain to be
of ink on paper or on screen
for yours to be seen.
Curious, that ‘seen’ and ‘screen’
have not always been
of such close association.
Technology advances vision
by dot refreshing provision
disseminating all information,
binary packages reassembled
now even, on television.
But yesterday,
a pharmacist, of all professions,
could not supply, a price or receipt,
because……………..?????
the screen could not achieve the feat!
Woe, because the machine hadn’t catalogued
categorised, calculated or computerised
what if the net be diminished?
The comment, when I suggested pen & paper?
“You know, my grandmother asked recently
when was the last time you wrote
a letter?”

dwk

dwk


….from the nursery across the street,
I hear the sounds of rushing feet
and gleeful, over-shoulder goodbyes,
not even contact with mother’s eyes.
Alone all day to play with friends
while mother and father
fight to find ends,
let alone make them meet!
To keep ‘baby’ healthy
and buy large eye gifts,
generation separating things
that parental imagination
never thought could exist.

Joy shrieking, learn wandering,
through their day of play,

once a neighbour complained
that “that such a facility should
not be in a residential space..
(as statisticians working from home),
..could not bear the noise of this place”.
He moved…..
They, happily play on, unaware
as should be.

But generation gaps are now canyons.
Most under 40’s have shared this absence,
left alone to navigate, without a sail
just a pilot, those needed departed?

Is detachment of young spirit
a subtle conditioning through
necessary gregarious engagement,

later rejected?
A displaced absorption
from ’parent’s knee’,
substituting language, mannerism or even physicality
for which only familiar DNA has the key?

Locked away forever,
inhibited by prevailing culture
that belongs to the consuming mass,
instead of the sweet intimacy of the nest
or grandma’s best?
Then there! A green bud
whose spirit shouts though lips sealed,
flashing against society’s soil
that the unselfish, the unspoilt
do persist.

dwk


“There is only darkness here”,

….despite the fireworks, lasers, glittering games, immediately the Olympic flame was extinguished, the lights went out for 2 old friends. I live on a communal balcony and my neighbour one side passed away “very quickly at the end”, and then on the other side “well the doctor said it could be anytime” within 10 days of one another.

The lady  was here before my insertion 25 years ago, she had been here most of her life and was a wealth of information when I first got stuck into sorting this place out.  She was afraid to venture out after darkness  back then, because the lighting was dim and faulty. Which led to my first achievement, getting every single external light replaced and maintained regularly, with the help of the Tenants Assoc., the Councillors, the police, the fire brigade, a wonderful  MP and a local paper, (the power of a picture should never be dismissed). All because my dear neighbours who helped me when I was wandering, dislocated from this world and called the ambulance a couple of times,  who I always did my best to help, felt “there is only darkness here”. I could not have that.

 The 40 foot horse chestnut central in our forecourt was a sapling when she came here as a child.

My other neighbour lived on the other side about 12 years and always had a word, indeed a joke, always! I got to know his family very quickly as his wife was stalking them! On one occasion he came to me and asked if I would hide the children and not answer the door to her. He was trying to escape and keep his children safe in the shadows of “the darkness here”. The kids  are now two great people with good jobs, and are good friends to me, one recently married. Because of their vulnerability I have been part of the researching, sourcing, funding and endless interrupting and talking to  make their homes secure, with new impenetrable windows and doors, that any householder would be proud of . Hopefully, their lives brought into some sunlight and comfort before their return to the stars, atom by atom.

Their existence was intertwined with mine and was never negative and got me into what I was brought up to do, help others, although, I have gone about it a little differently than my  Salvationist family would prefer. I am happy to have known my neighbours and I am not filled with grief, for that belongs to the selfish who require their past one’s presence for themselves. Even if it is only to sit silently opposite them. Many  relatives have knocked on my door to “meet me”, goodness knows what they have been told?

My neighbours helped lighten this place with , through and for  me.

dwk

memory drawing

Posted: July 3, 2012 in family, People, Ramblings
Tags: , , ,

….one of our bloggers that I follow, mentioned how drawing had “alDavesMoet1ways been a part of her life”, showing us examples. When reading this and seeing her pictures I looked up from my key-board at this drawing above the desk. The only of my drawings that I have framed, I must urgently add because the frame was in need of employment more than anything else. No ‘tis true ! But the excuse or reason for my scribbling being on the wall was, truthfully, the clear memories it reflected of a family Christmas Holiday. My brother had returned from France and brought his delightful partner with him. To visit her potential mother-in-law. Both decided Noel could not be complete without champagne and other delicious french holiday food. Thus the metal caps which with the assistance of wire prevent foaming explosions during transport or intended bubble explosions over Grand Prix victors. The identification of the plant? I apologise that is not my corner of the garden. I know people who can tell you the Latin name assigned to catalogue nature, maybe I should ask them? This image does not show how soft lead pencils can do justice to the plants texture. We had to pick up my nephew after his last day at school before the Christmas break and my sister suggested I come with her as he may be pleased to see his uncle. So this must have been about 6 or 7 years ago as he is now a classic suffering teenager. But still much loved despite his distance. Geography cannot inhibit love. Waiting outside the school the bushes looked like white sea foam because of a fluffy seed distribution system. The breeze was beginning to create clouds of this. It must have been a late Autumn as this was December? I plucked one of the sprigs and it ended up on coffee table with the Moet cap and after drawing with nephew, this simply started as a doodle, which became more extended as mother’s television became more boring. There was no magnum bottle,unfortunately,  I just drew different scales of the same cap and there was some sort of relationship with the fluffy sprig of foam that somehow fitted, despite the metallic hardness against the natural softness. It brings back so much detail I will not bore you any further other than to say that I have been drawing since child, Art Ordinary and Advanced-Level at school, Art college and a bachelor of arts degree. My brother said of the drawing, at the time “its OK”! Well, he IS an architect! I once had a cartoon on my office wall of two children drawing. One is saying to the other “everybody knows if you can’t draw you can still be a graphic designer”.

dwk

….for a painter

Posted: June 7, 2012 in Entertainment, People, Poems
Tags: , , , ,

Not too full,        
not too thin.
I never thought
I would be jealous 
of a piece of fruit!
As I wipe away
juice from my mouth,
yours is now moist
& sparkling in the sun.
 
No paint needed,
no doll lipstick.
I always thought
I would be jealous
of such rich colour,
As you open my arms
and kiss my mouth,
your lips still moist,
wine tasting has begun !

©dwk


I brought this pad out

to list my things to do

but styled vocabulary

of a different brew.

My friend here about

is delighted by rhyme,

and shows us weekly

the sophistication of words.

In either a whisper or shout

however spoken, resonate

the strings he strums

and hearts vibrate.

For a cigarette he’ll tout

but too cool to shake

his dictionary is a playground

geared with a talented trait.

 

©dwk2012


image

Apprenticed as a fireman in an open steam train cabin, my grandad moved up to engineer when considered “mature” enough by his superiors who had barely set foot in a steam-engine’s cabin. He spent his working life stoking or driving these grey beasts. Then came the day to drive the new Queen Elizabeth.

Among his peers he was considered as the most experienced engineman and therefore, the safest, but some bureaucrat decided a younger man would logically, be a safer engine-driver for the young Queen returning to London from Manchester. After he left his country’s mainlines for the sidings, my grandmother once told me “it broke his heart you know”. After so many years of service given and respect gained? A certificate of long service and a photograph of his favourite engine? He retired from the Salford Railyard that served the Old Trafford Industrial Estate, supported the railwaymen’s football team, met friends at the Union Club and loved his garden.

As a twelve year old, I remember he showed me how to make firelighters from newspaper, as he had done on so many mornings to start the fire beneath the steam engine’s boiler, which I thought was wonderful! I, now too, could start fires, and loved helping him clean the home hearth, bring in the coal and set the fire. Running to open the front door for airflow, and learning how to balance the coal shovel in front of the fireplace on the hearth rail. Covering the whole fireplace with a sheet of newspaper when the flames caught, taking it away carefully when the coal fire roared.

Just an elderly man with his grandson both enjoying the passing of knowledge of the most fundamental kind – how to make fire.

dwk

The photograph is of Newcastle-upon Tyne Station in the 1960’s by Eric de Mare and is in the RIBA Collection.

Smokers

Posted: March 16, 2012 in Health and wellness, People, Photographs
Tags: ,

Image