The Black marble

And the shallow valleys

Of the gold engraving.

My son slips his arm

Through mine

And looks up

Intently scanning my face

For emotion.

I gaze at the familiar details,

‘Loving Husband and Father’

And the neat settled plot with

Its splash of fresh spring flowers,

Glancing around at the company

My father now keeps.

One brother.

A sister-in-law.

Two nephews.

A school friend of mine.

And other local people

I vaguely knew

Before moving away

‘Across the water’

As they used to say

In these parts.

With round face and clear

Dark eyes,

Smiling with a gummy grin.

He rubs his soft cheeks against

Mine and chuckles,

His warm baby-breath

A summer breeze on my face.

He dribbles down his chin,

Reaching imperfectly

With perfect hands

For what he cannot grasp.

‘Kicks his legs

With tomato-soft knees

And baby-burps a sour

Splurge on my shoulder.

Warm and reassuring,

I walk him in my arms

Reciting ‘The Shema’

In his lettuce-like ear.

Oh Judas,

You are such

A lovely baby.

These were times of employment and opportunity but also difficult times. The sectarianism which beset the Province for generations was rife in the shipyards. Gangs would roam the yards looking for those from ‘the other side.’ You could be thrown into Belfast Loch. Hammers and other dangerous objects could be dropped on your head from on high. On one occasion a gang approached his place of work. On being asked about his companion, a workmate said, ‘Oh he is ok, he is with me.’ When the offending group had moved on his friend advised him to leave for his own safety. He never went back.

70 years later and there is a funeral wake. His son has died. Around this time a box of tools is discovered in the shed. The tools of James Black, a man I never knew. Amongst them some very good chizzels and planes and the most beautifully balanced saw. Disston Saws were the best in the world and made in Philadelphia by the biggest Saw Company in the world.  One of them finds itself in a back shed in a humble dwelling in North Antrim.

The Bronze Seal:

Henry Disston & Son

Keystone Sawworks

Philadelphia.

Cast Steel.

Warrented.

The Grip:

The feel of a comfortable handshake.

Every contour of the handle bonding.

Snug as the Colt double-action Revolver

In young William Bonney’s left hand.

The Touch:

A serrated edge

With shark-tooth sensitivity

Which could fashion a beam.

Or sever the careless hand.

The Sense:

My hand in his,

‘Through which strange

And known things pass.’

And when they are suitably hyper, soaked in sweat and dehydrated, little heads thumping, return them to the parents quietly waiting at the side of the hall, fiddling with their Blackberrys.

Friends, Parents, Children, let us celebrate Easter with a disco.

Am I starting to sound like ……….?

There is an upside and maybe I am saying this because our schedule is fairly reasonable this term. Who knows what will happen after Easter! But, the opportunities our children have at their disposal to be involved in a wide variety of groups is amazing. In my childhood days such choice was absent, partly because of geography (we lived in a relative backwater) but there has also been an explosion of availability, coupled with greater access through families being more mobile…………..lots more family cars around.

The other upside is that you might find yourself having time alone with one of your children, once a week in the car. You have them and they have you. And those times can be very valuable. Sometimes a child will tell you all sorts of things when you have them on their own. Like, what is or is not happening at school, friendship issues, things about music and more.

You may of course have all 5 children at the same time and that’s a different matter! It’s called a nightmare – you know, at the Leisure Centre from 4 – 6.30 because there is no other way to organise it!

Whether it is ‘forced’ on you by their activity programme or something you deliberately plan for, it is worth nurturing one-to-one times with each of your children. Particularly if things have not been going well with a child, it can remind you as a parent that you still love them, they are great away from whatever it is that stresses them and it gives the child the blessing of a parent all to themselves without sibling rivalry. A child, the quieter one, the youngest one, can ‘get lost’ in a larger family because parental time is taken up with all else that is happening.

Let your child have you for a day or an afternoon. Let your teenager have you for an evening. Manage the former and the latter may be possible.

The death this week of Davy Jones from the Monkees has spawned all sorts of memories and phone-ins on the radio as people recall the influence of Monkee music in their growing up – I’m a Believer, Last Train to Clarksville, Daydream Believer. It is always fascinating to see some of these stars now, 40 years on and to hear of their lives and how popular they are on what is called the heritage tours. I think that means playing to people in their mid-fifties and older who are beset with nostalgia.

What was striking about Davy Jones was the range of his talent from acting on the London stage and Broadway as the Artful Dodger, to singing, musicianship and being an accomplished horse-man and jockey. And, without doubt, his charm and never fading good looks. He looked fantastic on TV on Saturday in the recent documentary about being in a ‘Boy Band’. I think the Brits were very proud to have had one of their own in such an iconic American show. Our boy from Manchester.

And yet he died at a mere 66. Just last week I visited a woman who has just turned 90. She was in great form and doing well. In the midst of the conversation she lamented just how many young people were dying. When I inquired further, expecting her to talk about teenagers or young men with drugs problems and the like, she mentioned a couple of people in their late 50s and 60s!

So, Davy Jones, Father and Grandfather, young and completely unexpected.

It put me in mind of the words of a song from Sting, ‘How fragile we are, how fragile we are.’

The High Court Judge Sir Paul Coleridge recently commented that there has been an explosion in communication through the social media and all manner of hand-held technologies. But there is a corresponding breakdown in personal communication. The hardware is everywhere but the software of interpersonal skills is wanting.

Perhaps love, on a daily basis, comes  down to something very simple. Daily acts of appreciation, affection and admiration. This is what keeps love alive. And a Father demonstrating this kind of love to his partner will bequeath something very rich to his children too. A good role model. An example which is very likely to repeat itself in the next generation.

Make it Valentine’s every day of the year.

Familiar? It is easy to pass like ships in the night as parents. How important it is to create even a small window of opportunity each day to sit down with your spouse for a catch-up. Not merely a functional diary session as you would at work and then hasten on to the next task…..like sorting the lunches for the next day or your nightly hour on facebook or twitter!

Good talking and listening creates intimacy and keeps us connected with each other beyond the functionality of parenting, which can unfortunately spill over into our relationship with our spouse and it them becomes functional leading to emotional drift.

Here are 3 non-diary-type questions which might help over a 15 minute cup of coffee before you get back to the necessary responsibilities, like sorting the lunches and the 1 hour on faceb…..

1. Tell me one thing that happened in your life to-day that you really enjoyed?

2. Now, tell me something that was really hard?

3. If you could re-live today, what would you do differently?

Danny Alexander. I met him once. In fact I was a speaker at the same event, on the same platform, in the salubrious surroundings of Dow’s Diner. He was the celebrity guest and I was, well….It was an event organised by a local charity called HAPIS (www.hapis.org.uk) which does a very good work in supporting those who struggle, both men and women, with post-natal depression. And because the emphasis was on Fathers we (Danny and me) had been invited along to share our experiences of new fatherhood.

He was a thoroughly nice man and spoke very well and so did I and I had the pleasure in gifting him a copy of Rob Parson’s book, ‘The 60 Minute Father’. Who would have thought that a couple of years on he would be in such a lofty position in Government. Having risen to great heights I wonder if there will be a great fall not only for him but for all Lib Dems,, having gone into partnership with the Conservatives. Maybe they will be wiped out by the electorate at the next election for what many see as a treachery.

If he does find himself out of work I can give him some tips on being a stay-at-home-Dad and advice on what day-time TV channels are worth watching and which ones are mince. I might even meet up with him at Dow’s if he can afford my fees, him being on Job-Seeker’s Allowance, if you know what I mean. He should be ok though because he has just bumped that up in the Autumn Budget. Perhaps he is thinking ahead.

In the pouring rain

My Father’s bike.

The ‘Raleigh All-Steel’

Two flat tyres.

A rusty frame.

Standard mudguards.

A topless rusting bell.

Raindrops dangling from the crossbar

Like clothes pegs

On an empty line.

A back wheel with no gear cogs.

High flaking chrome handlebars and a

Decidedly uncomfortable looking saddle

Pointing skyward like a Labrador’s snout.

Mother said,

In their courting days

He would cycle up the Glen

To meet her

Once coming off hard in the dark

At Sharpe’s Corner

When another cyclist ran into him.

Father said,

He recalled how his own Dad used to

Clamber on to his bicycle

From behind,

As a Cowboy would mount

A getaway horse.

Behind the ‘Raleigh All-Steel’

The Burglar’s bike.

Left behind

When they were disturbed

And scampered

At 3 in the morning.