Open Markets

Hi
Well I have kept away from the cheese and butter. Ate more fruit and vegetables, chicken and fish, especially smoked mackerel and roll mop herrings, two of my favourite fish. I love all seafood, it was wonderful in Australia the fresh seafood was so available and cheap. I have recently started shopping on the open market, I pass it each time I go to the gym and it seemed only sensible to check it out as my Mum always got her fresh fruit and vegetables off the open market every week. For many years we lived near the Market.After my Grandfather died my Mum took over the licence of the Public House he ran,it was in the town centre a coupl eof years later we moved into another Pub across town. I was glad when we left and bought a proper house as we had no family life when we lived in the Pub. Mum and dad worked long hours every day, it was very hard on all of us as it was never really a home. So I now call twice a week to get a bag of fresh fruit and veg and its much cheaper than at the supermarket. Also there is a wonderful fish market where I can browse with interest all the new and exotic fish that are displayed on the slabs. We have such a diverse community now, their tastes have to be catered for too. The market has changed though from mum`s days ,its much quieter,no costermongering as its against the law,now also under cover and less fun.
Woke one morning to find my kitchen window had two long scratched down the centre. The rest of the window and frame was OK so it wasn’t intruders. We now believe it to be Magpies fighting as they are so aggressive at the moment and spend most of the day stutting around my back garden. If a stray bird dares to land, they attack and there is an awful battle some times two against one. I have stopped putting food out for the birds for a while, hoping they will go away.
Brilliant Poetry Nights at the Howcroft Bolton and the Boars Head Middleton, both nights exceptional. It is National Poetry Day on the 9th October I always submit a poem to be displayed in the local Libraries around the town . This year the theme is Work. There is a exhibition at the Museum of Humphrey Spender photographs 1930 & 1940 . I spent a few hours enjoying the displays and watching archive footage of old Bolton looking for inspiration . It really took me back to my childhood, seeing the town as it was and witnessing events that had been over the past sixty plus years. I am not going to mention the weather. Its still bad.

Market Information
http://www.bolton.gov.uk/portal/page?_pageid=367,128731&_dad=portal92&_schema=PORTAL92

Visit Spenders website
http://spender.boltonmuseums.org.uk/index.html

My Poem for National Poetry Day inspired by Spender`s photographs.

King Cotton

In bygone years times where hard
For men, women and children at work
In the Cotton Mills
Of Lancashire.
Industrial Revolution built
Distinctive towns of tall chimneys
Belching soot and smoke
Into the sky with menace.

Whole families toiled
Amidst the heat dust and noise.
Machinery and men
Processed the cotton.
Raw cotton picked by slaves
In searing sun and servitude.
Shipped across the sea.
Combed and spun in
Hot Humid unhealthy
Environment, ideal for the cotton
But not the workers.

Long days without daylight,
Fresh air denied.
The endless drumming of machines,
The pounding of the belts and pulleys
Detrimental and deafening .
A constant fluttering of fine fibres
Float in the air
Clogging lungs.
Accidents a common feature
Of cleaned machinery, that did not stop.

Clothes and hair
Festooned like Christmas ornaments
A permanent reminder to all
Of who they were.
Hooters heard throughout the town
Called the workers,
Equally strident
Released them.
The huge steam engine stilled.
Machines rumbled to silence,
Cog wheels coaxed singing belts to stop.
Rooms became quiet, as Cathedrals.
Lines of weary workers
Clogs on cobbles
Shuffle by like a defeated army in retreat.

Mills at night like ships at sea
Windows ablaze,
The steady beat of the pistons
Heard throughout streets of
Terraced houses, row after row.
A depressive reflection of life
In cotton towns.
Poverty and harsh times, forcing
Children and women
To take the industrial treadmill
That made Cotton King and Cotton Barons rich.

And did those feet in bygone years
Walk upon Northern cobble streets.
And did the mighty engines roar
In all those dark satanic mills.
And did those rich Cotton Barons
Live well, in English pastures green.

ValCook 2008