The wall


On my motorbike in my car on a coach travelling south or north west or east. One was built overnight in Cyprus in 74, brother and sister separate for years one would live one would die. Built with barbed wire, brick metal, wood, some big some small some that would seem so tall. As child it looked like a game played by grown men bent on power and greed, to take more land than they need. Built over dispute and war never to see your child once more.

Laughter of a family member you remember hearing them call your name never putting a face to the voice as it came. Hello in the night are you ok have you got food, is my son ok, a reply could be heard we haven’t seen him.

A land devide used for wealth taken in anger given as a gift some over rivers or high in the glen the Stag looks down on them. Made my machine metal by hand labour of love the skilled man makes his plan. There is one getting built as I write stopping the Mexican people from there escape. Just like in Berlin 45 or in the Chinese dinasty taking years to build men women and children killed. Emperor Hadrian built one witch I stood on in 2009 the craftsman hand the stone chisel marks still can be seen. Size and shape makes me wonder how it was built by hand when the Roman Empire roamed my land.

Built as a child in a river or with my Lego, on the beach with sand stopping the salty sea water from reaching land. The one that makes me sad as men humans gamble if a magnificent stallion reachs Beaches on the Grand National, will he make it this time or is it the end of the line, put to sleep one last time.

Sandbags stretching for miles as far as the eye can see, men boys women and children line up behind them with glee. Soon to turn to sadness when the are blown down, up, smashed by a Tank. Tales told behind them of when the land was simple life was so good they walked in the woods holding hands and skimming stones. Now they wait for the next time if it comes taken as a prisoner to stand behind another.

We sing and write songs about All in all its just another Brick in the Wall. Films movies documentary about them, facts figures facts about them. There in the news talked about daily. I wake up in Northern Ireland in 91 the TV still on from the night before so drunk I left it on. My eyes try to focus on people as the climb swing hammers and break the once devide that was erected, up put overnight back in 45.

It’s is my boundary on my Deeds in my garden with trees either side just another devide. Soldiers lie over them in Stanley bullets fired in Anger taken another young life as he leans over gazing and so lonely. letters written to mum and dad, the war is bad I feel sad. Sent here with no choice in it. Government caused me to die lying in my final resting place over a wall I used for Cover.

The Brown Hare Stoat and Goat use the gap as they escape into another field, who belongs to they don’t know, no sound of Guns shouts if over there Fire. Snow rests on top freezing in the cold November Rain. Then it melts and runs down like a artist brush moving up and down, wrong colour this time. He paints his sun over them rolling like dice through the countryside an image he remembers.

The years roll on I still gaze from my car with fascinating thoughts of how they were built by Man’s hand placed one by one. Did he live did he get injured, no pain killers then as he drop the big one on his foot. Thumb crushed, hand broken, elbow or arm. Built not just on the flat nice and even he looks up at the rising hillside.

It’s so hard just to walk up it, ok just build it up it, no questions asked you just won’t get your Penny’s. Brought to you by hand placed in another hole through skill. The Big jigsaw takes shape the longest one ever built. The Pilot looks down as they stretch for miles covering earth’s ground.

It stands 12 foot high as I climb it in uniform it’s 78 dressed in full battle order clambering over falling the other side, stand up Ron there’s another one smaller but it’s a Wall. Walls with holes in just to look out of like the one I did wearing my gas mask only to but hit in the face as the house brick came through the window bang.

The stone wall at my hide that the little wren sat on lying with wings open in the midday sun.

Wren on the wall I built.

The wall I built up between my Evil Step Mum only mental so it was there but couldn’t stop the blows from coming, the wall I look over now as I stood last week in Cleveleys. Staring into a window, a window she sits behind built into the wall of the house. She can’t hurt me anymore as she peers out thinking who is that man looking in here how Rude. If only you I could tell about my beautiful family and all the wonderful things I make, they places I have seen, my van surrounded by trees my simple life with my Amazing Caring wife. Your blows can’t hurt me anymore, you old withered Witch gazing out behind your brick wall.

Lying in fields lush green grass caressing the old wall built by hand from men that come from a different land. Poor with no money they lift brick stone rock or boulder, lifting with their shoulder. Stories with each other how and why they are there, different in many ways they eat their sandwich quickly the boss is here.

Another foot, mile, miles layed over streams up hills through the Glen hardship felt my tough men. To the Summit and back down not scared about the ground as they again fall down cuts and scratches cover their arms the stone so sharp but they make no sound.

Look out on a summer’s day to the hills that stretch miles and miles away. Do you not wonder who made this amazing Jigsaw no peice missing just the odd gap made by walkers climbing over them. Look as you walk on a family walk, or with your dog, on your own. Stop look at all the millions of rocks not one the same shape. Sitting there still helping border off Private land, there to stop animals from escaping. Sit a while against one while you rest as you hear the Irish voice saying I placed that Stone there I hope you realise I never did get back to Belfast to see my wife and child I died a week later from exhaustion.

A simple thing built back in 1300BC still built by my Grandchildren with sticks, stones toys that join together, bed sheets, the screen to protect you from the virus.

I will still look out over the English, Scotland, Wales and Northern Ireland and be intrigued by how far it stretches how many years it took, the people who sacrificed their lives to build it, them. The thoughts behind why it should be built. Where and when by whom the purpose of any to erect one.

I stood on a Mayern one in Mexico 79 with figures and animals etched into the stone. I looked at one with graves in front in 86, lives lost as they made their escape to victory over the dreaded Berlin Wall. I sat and rested on one in Port Howard in 82 looking down at a young Argentine soldier lying dead from British gun fire, only 18, WHY I asked.

Just think to yourself is there a story you could tell about a Wall. Something we take for granted.

Give the Wall passing though tell your children how it got there, not through an App or voice control by Human Strength and Skill

The Wall.

Categories:life, life stories, man's SkillTags: , , ,
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