The Light in the Dark

Today dawned very overcast, a heavy sky bilious clouds ready at any second to let loose the torrents of rain. After yesterday's chance meeting with Harry and hearing the old man's memories, it made me think of my childhood and of some of my memories.

When I was young my mum was a midwife and worked weekend nightshift at Paisley Maternity hospital, she and her childhood school friend, my Auntie Elsie, would travel together most weekends to help deliver new life and new hope to the families in the local area. I remember romanticising about how wonderful this was, new life a beautiful thing, but as I cast my mind back I remember also the stories of her going in the ambulance to women in distress, I remember her talking of going to some areas where they had to wait for the police to attend before going to certain streets or areas for fear the ambulance would be attacked. My young mind could not comprehend the depravity of the conditions that some of these poor people had to endure, nor could I imagine why anyone would want to hurt people that were there to help. How naïve I was! I also remember the uplifting stories, the first Christmas baby, the twins or triplets.. being a part of something special for a mother was so rewarding for her.

I remember her tired after her nights and I remember being taken out by my father so that I wouldn't make a noise, allowing her to rest if not sleep during the day. My memories of those times revolve around the river more specifically the docks, not then the constraints of health and safety the docks were open and I remember the bustle of the sugar boats delivering their cargo for the refinery in Greenock. I remember the weather ships berthed and resplendent sailing in rotation, I remember the tugs that seemed to be constantly on the move I could name them all, Flying Foam, Flying Phantom, Chieftain, Thunderer... they are all gone now like the industry that thrived around the river but I can close my eyes and see them, hear the rush of water and the smell of the diesel fumes as the black exhaust billowed from their funnels. I walked in the docks again today; saddened by the dereliction, the grass and weeds growing on the cobblestones of the quay, an unnerving stillness broken only by the noise of the nearby traffic. I shot this light tower and the junction box today, the rusted and faded green box redundant like the majority if the basin itself the light tower with its unusual patterns set against the angry sky appealed to me as again I remember these from my childhood but then they were painted, resplendent echoing the prosperity of the river.

I had a passing fancy for going to sea, to see the world, again the romanticism of ships from far off places and crew who looked so different to me, that fancy passed but not before I had worked on the herring trawlers, maybe not the high ocean but hard, dangerous exhausting work over the short season, declining quotas and subsidies to lay up their boats decimated this industry too and once bustling fishing ports now appear like out of season holiday towns in the rain, sad, deserted and eerily quiet. A sad indictment of successive governments of both persuasions to truly fight for the men of this once mighty industry. Enough of my rhetoric, please enjoy the shot