RMSTitanic

I decided to write this brief Hub and include a view of the birthplace of the RMS TITANIC, Belfast's Harland & Wolff shipyard. I read this poem in at the Irish Literature Festival 2009 in Bangor Co Down, Northern Ireland.

Having booked a postion in the festival I was faced with the fact that for the first time in years I would make a public apperiance. The added fact that this appearance involved reading some of my work to seasoned writers and poets was for me a scary thought!

I had just published my new book "For Irish Eyes" and had decided to read two poems from this which I new would at least be of a resonable standard having been edited and put through the rigorous process involved in creating a book. So in my mind they were a safe bet and would not let me down.

It was the night before the event that I felt I should include something fresh, something new and connected to Belfast that would lift the meeting. It occured to me that the book being dedicated to my grandmother had no mention of my grandfather and for that matter no mention of one of Belfast greatest calls to fame, the RMS Titanic built in the Harland & Wolff shipyard a place that was being regenerated after the recent peace process in Northern Ireland and in someways a complete area and historal site that was about to be forever lost.

My grandfather "James Mercer" followed his fathers footsteps and began work in the Yard from a boy of 14 years old. His father had actually worked on the construction of all three White Star Liners, The Olympic, The Titanic and the Britanic. He had been involved in making the turbines for the ships electrical power and my grandfather had continued this tradition also working in the "coil winding" hanger making large copper wire electrical coil for turbine generators.Life in the yard was cold with the days long and hard earning him a wage of roughly £4.50 per week back in the 30s and 40s.

I can remember back when I was 14 years old at weekend stays and my grandparends house in the back streets of Belfast. Their home was just one small kitchen house in many long rows of terrance houses. By then my grandfather better known as Jimmy was retired and would fill my head with countless stories of life in the yard before during and after the war.

He told me how he had to wear layers of heavy coats to keep warm, that he worked in a huge workshop hanger with giant doors at either end pulled open all day. The wind would rush through these buildings of the cold Irish sea creating a wind tunnel that seemed even colder than the open air of the massive yard. In fact this shipyard was the biggest natural yard in western Europe.

It had a rich history and started life as a place call "Sailortown" in the 1700-1800s where merchant ships would bring there cargo, mostly coal, grain, linen and alike. A small makeshft town build up along the north bank of the to be yard with locals living right by the the docks.

It was with this in mind that I decied to write the poem "The Yard" the night before the reading at the festival. I tried to put myself in my grandfathers shoes, feeling what he felt way back then. Unbeknown to me a local singer/song writer Antony Toner was to sing a song at the same festival that very same night, a song that he had also just written called "Sailortown".

Well, the night came and I nervously sat in the Ava Bar in the seaside town of Bangor waiting my turn to read. I had decided to read one poem from my book and The Yard poem that I had written the night before. I wasnt at all confident if this was a good idea having written this rather straight talking poem without having edited it or changed it in any shape or form but I guess in a way I wanted to find out if I had the ability to write something so quickly and it be a success upon its first reading. For me this would prove a great deal about any ability, if anyting,  as a poet.

The night was a great success I discovered that the first poem I read from my book although popular did not excite the listeners as much as "The Yard" poem did. I got a nice round of applause with my first read but with The Yard I could feel the warmth and approval in their applause.

Although I felt and sounded very nervous I succeeded in proving to myself and other writers my abilitys and in a small way honour my late grandfathers name. The secret of its sucess lay in the reality and content in each line that allowed everyday people to retae to the story it told, maybe stiring memories in their past.

I hope you enjoy it as much as we all did that night and hope you will visit my website where you can view the reading recorded that night by my partner and also listen to the song by Antony Toner "Sailortown from a link on the same page at www.colintmercer.com

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The Yard.

(For my grandfather Jimmy)

Down to the docks today

Men like penguins are everywhere

The air smells cold and fresh at 7am.

Even now the sound of metal being told what to do echoes to cave hill.

I breathe, it’s hard

To believe she was built here, both sisters too is amazing.

Not that big, when you see the hole

Especially now with the rigs that we bring through so long and heavy

But then, she had a certain dignity,

A living myth, to sail the sea back then

But she will always be bigger for me.

I feel heavy under these layers of coats I’ve on

And my hat?

Well it doesn’t keep my ears warm.

How did I end up here?

Did I never listen nor teachers fear?

or was it simple, nothing seemed clear!

It’s a life time away I started here

The reason that helped men laugh and endure to stay each day .

My legs hurt most.

And I realise now

that I am host to circumstance and duty of post’

For a bunch of kids and a wife

that does most with boast!

But then I suppose when looked through the eyes of the gull

that sits on the rail of the unfinished hull,

I’m just another penguin, that’s all

That waddles about In the Yard

on a day that’s dull.

Copyright © 2009

All rights reserved by Colin T Mercer