Friend for Life

 Friend for Life

This artwork was created having been inspired by a poem called “The Creaking Front Door” by Ralph Jones.

The Creaking Front Door

By

©R. K. Jones 2193

a man rises from his bed, before the sun in the sky above 
and silently leaves his wife, and the family he loves  
as he goes and opens the rickety, creaking front door 
walking quietly as his hob nail boots scrape across the floor 
looking back towards the stairs  
he blows a kiss to his family sleeping up there  
stepping out into the frosty early morning air 
still in the dark, there is no sunlight there 
but sunlight is a thing that he knows little of
when walks down the street, and clears his throat with a cough 
he feels the tightness in his chest  
as he looks up the hill, to see the pit shaft’s silhouette  
a man as quiet as a lamb 
but as hard as nails, a real gentleman 
a man as big and strong as an oak  
who once could take you down, with a single stroke 
a man whose hands have paid their dues  
but those same hands now, fingers twisted, scarred and blue  
he fills his water jack, and collects his lamp 
greets his best friend, and slowly walks up the ramp 
best friend by his side, he walks up to the pit top 
his best friend whistling cheerfully, he never stops 
but this friend means a lot to him  
a friend that has stuck with him, through thick and thin  
has his final smoke, leaves a cigarette and a match in a tin  
and hides them in the hitcher’s cabin  
everybody knows his hiding place  
it might not be there when he finishes his shift in the coal face 
get into the cage, just as daylight starts to dawn   
when he comes back up, the sun may be gone  
they walk into a dark demonic place 
the damp unyielding coal face  
deep underground, as close to Hell as you can get 
hot and humid, he’ll soon be soaking in sweat 
crouched up digging, upon his knees 
his friend next to him, still whistling cheerfully  
 he battles with the coal face, which is as hard as flint 
through the dust and the gloom, he can do no more than squint 
always listening for the timbers to creak  
keeping an eye on his oil lamp flame, as the firedamp it seeks 
if the timbers crack, or if the flame starts to dance 
get out as quick as you can, you don’t take a chance  
but this day is like no other  
as the gas takes his friend, never to recover 
in amongst the grunts and the groans 
there’s the sound of silence, as if he’s all alone
he sees his friend is lying on the floor 
and the whistling can be heard no more  
 he carries his friend out of the face, to some cleaner air 
but there’s no sign of life there 
he’s whistled his last song  
and with great sorrow, he knows his friend is gone 
to see this big strong man weep  
as he looks down on his friend, still hoping he’s asleep   
but he knows deep down inside 
that his friend so dear, has sadly died 
he cradles his friend in his arms, big and strong 
and through quivering lips, he says so long 
a friend who watched over him, who he loved so dearly 
now he’s flying to his last perch, the yellow canary 

 

Ian Mackenzie