The end of Morgan the spanner

This one is part of my series in the Welsh Valleys

In the deep Welsh valleys where a come by here was a song and sixpence, champions were two a penny and hung about in every doorway or sat on every step and would work at the drop of a hat as soon as the doctor passed them fit.

A rumble came from the old mine where the ghosts lived and shook the chimneys a little bit.

A mean cigarette later and it was all over and they were able to breathe a sigh of relief.

“Almost had a hernia then with that bloody mine,” said William moving his bad leg to sit on his good one.

“If only they’d turn it into a football pitch for the kids to run around on and give us all some peace,” said Dai chips from the next doorstep along.

“They’ll never do that, not now they’ve had their money’s worth from us,” said old Kyle moving inchlessly closer to falling off his perch on the stone window sill that had seen the heyday and the decline and now the long aftermath where it would witness the last miners fading away into its history.

“At least it gave us something to do when it was open,” said the voice of Hue Charles coming through the half open window of his sitting room where he sat comfortably in his chair to talk, and not unlike when he was foreman and sat in his office to watch all the men go down to work in the cage until the hooter sounded for them all to come up again and file past on their way home all black and tired from the coal dust that would fill their lungs eventually and die them off one by one.

“If only we were young again,” said old Kyle slipping off his perch onto his two bad legs that hardly held him up and would never see a football pitch again.

“Wouldn’t do no good if we were young again,” said Hue Charles.

“With the mine closed we’d all be hanging about waiting for nothing, and it would be a long wait.”

“Morgan the spanner is still breathing,” said Dai chips.

“It won’t be long now, not after having his last rites given him by Father Jones.

“Aye, his feet are already in the grave and the rest of him will follow,” said Hue Charles from his gloomy window.

They became silent again then and listened for the end to come for Morgan the spanner who was breathing his last.

Up in the hills where the deep wound of the coal mine was open to the sky a slithering scratching emanated from the darkness and made an ominous silence that spread about as if on guard duty.

NO ONE AT ALL

When you get as far as you can go and all the eggs are broken it may be time to make an omelette, but do not fire up the brainwaves just yet until you understand the point of no return that has the least amount of resistance.

Taking this into account is the least of it and can only be accounted for when you’re all there, which is to say when enough is within reach of what hasn’t been lost to make use of in any one time in the longitudinal cross point where not a door too soon is opened nor a wall too far is experienced and you’re ready to jump; wait a moment; for over in the next moment that has no way home from wherever you may find yourself not buying into the burnt slipper of madness of the soul dark night or the racial facials of the expensive bullshit you may find there’s a lot of future in the future and a lot of past in the past but only now in the now.

It is here you could be in front of the border guard to the tunnel of your dreams; and beside that path the mini-bone tree will have a note pinned to it that will say: you’ll see me when you fall in love.

Of course, not everyone gets this far but if you do and find yourself out of your depth then sing.

“Small is the face of my destiny against such numbers of doom,” sang the drunk out on the night, his yearning bottled in beer.

“Who are you?” asked Morgan the spanner.

“No one, go back to sleep,” said no one.

“The pence paper machine is scribbling in your mind the thoughts you can’t control to eat you of all you are,” said the hand of love, kindly.

“I know,” said Morgan the spanner and went back to sleep his dreams of the coal mine and all the friends he'd never see again.

When the morning came full of the dawn of a new day the breath was an arrow that came breathing in the world where all was love; and so, rising up on that the day was started in the best way; but not for long.

To come upon this point in one’s life is no mean feat of expression and takes a certain amount of letting go where the understanding is a rising above all that holds you down.

And so, taking one last breath Morgan the spanner let it out and breathed no more.