Granda’s Shed

Granda's Shed


when Granda comes out of the shed you know

the days he’s been up to mischief, his silk

cravat off centre, knot slipped to the left.


he needs three or four steps to steady his

door filling frame. then he locks you with those

wide blue eyes, puts his finger to his mouth


and whispers, “don’t tell your nan.” the cravat, he

told me, reminds him to enjoy the light

on days he is not on his hands and knees


being swallowed by the earth. his balance

regained, he pats my head with hands which have

“knocked a few blocks off”, chuntering aloud,


“the mine will never get you my boy”


“the mine will never get you.”


© Davy D 2017


An impressive poem, Davy. The images you present bring a wealth of other images and stir old half-forgotten memories of many things – of sheds, of grandads, of the rigours of working conditions in days of old, of the lives which miners led, of secret pleasures, of relationships between old and young. All encompassed in your few meaningful words.

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This is tremendous Davy ! I worked the last 25y in a former mining community, post pit closure and made it a point to chat with as many men with those blue/black lines tattooed on their skin as possible. Personal, endearing, poignant and those last lines made me blame the central heating for my watery eyes.
Thank you marra

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    Your response is humbling Nigel and thank you for your kind words. I have always been reticent to write poems like these as I never felt they did justice to the great men and women who gave a lifetime of service down the mines. I think my Granda (who did a 50 year stint) had the pen on this one. I must turn down the central heating as well.

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Wonderful story Davy, ‘We suffer willingly, so our children will not.’

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What an important story/ important memories, Davy! Thank you for sharing it with us.
And it makes me think that we should pay tribute more often to the caring parents and grandparents who want a good life for the children in their family.
HUGS!!! 🙂
PS…the shed in your photo is a beauty of textures and life…”if those walls could talk”.

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Ah.. a sentimental piece, D. I can picture the scene with your words.

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I love this shed if your Granda Davy. Where he could drop the daily grind and put on his cravat and get up to mischief. How poignant set against the hard and dark work in the mines. I can’t even properly start to imagine how that would be.
The determination in the words ” The mine will never get you my boy”.
There is love and grandness in those words.


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Well done, Davy. Melancholy and nicely descriptive. The image and your words made me feel like I was there.

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I love this. Puts me in mind of D.H. Lawrence.

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Beautiful, Davy. You’ve captured time through images bold and emotive. The poem brought me back to youth and to my granddad. Thank you. 🙂

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This one’s brilliant – really zooms one into a sliver of coal-dusted past. You’ve taken this creatively rendered time and transformed it into universal experience.

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