Tuesday 25th September


In a cafe, in the rain, back in Home Town I was thinking about my
favourite teacher in school. He was cool, one’ve the young ones
sent to improve an institution that used to be little more than
a waiting room for farmer’s kids, complying with legalities before
going full time on the land. Someone was sat in my favourite seat
as I stood dripping in the doorway so I found a seat in the corner where
I could watch the room & write. As he left he struck up conversation
with the girl behind the counter. She talked like she was singing,
it’s a local thing like the way they put ‘Our’ in front of the names of
family members. As he spoke there was something strongly familiar
about the song in his voice, the rhythms & spaces, the gentle tone &
generosity in his poetry. Involuntarily I called out a name
though back in the day I would only have dared say ‘Sir!’.
As he turned his face lit up & with outstretched hand he sang,
“Well, well, well!”