My Fault by Billy Childish

Author:Billy Childish [Childish, Billy]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 2017-10-05T04:00:00+00:00

32. STONEMASONS OF YESTERYEAR

Bill Cubitt was the only mason left in the whole yard, and by all accounts he was on his last legs. A snout away from death, an old one always hanging, a wisp of smoke finding his watering eye. A hint of blue, glittery, a little tear, he back-hands it, a path-way through the grime. He rubs his hands together, massive fingers, flattening out towards the ends, the nails shattered. He picks at something, but delicately, artistically.

‘We’re craftsmen and don’t let anybody tell you different! You are an apprentice stonemason: be proud of that title. We are stonemasons and we are craftsmen! Carving stones is not a trade but a craft!’

He wheezes his words, gulping at the air. Sixty-five? Sixty-five going on seventy, he rolls himself another snout and lights up.

‘If you don’t have respect for yourself, no one else is going to have respect for you!’ He stands and brushes the loose baccy from his lap.

‘Between you and me, it’s a dying art . . . But keep your nose clean, and who knows?’

He lays his index up against his great hooter, blistered, a million dots, more like holes when you stood close up. He stares out at me through his little china blues. Yellow whites, with little strings of red. Then he winks it, the flesh comes together, and there you have it — a wink! That makes me flinch, I jump back involuntarily. I stand on something and nearly slip. I nod and say yes, and fall over it, something white, powdery and hard. He grabs hold of my arm and steadies me.

‘Mind out or you’ll wind up in the oggin on your first day! That’d be some christening, wouldn’t it? Mind where you’re treading, this is a work area, not a playground!’ He amuses himself, he looks round for confirmation. ‘Now look what you tripped on, Portland Stone that is. The mason’s bread and butter! Portland,’ he repeats it. He taps his ash at it. ‘Portland!’

I look down at it, at the ‘Portland’, and try saying it for myself: ‘Portland.’

‘That’s it, now you’re talking. We’ll make a mason out of you yet!’

He grins at me. I can’t help myself, I smile back and have to stare down at the stone.

‘You see them little shells? Shale!’

I see them, little lines of them, a couple of solitary fellows, and a big one, thumb nail sized.

‘A real bastard! The bane of the stonemason! You’ll learn about him soon enough, he’ll blunt your chisels for you, don’t you worry, shale? Bah!’

I feel it with my fingertips, hard, shell-like, sitting just up out of the face. Smooth rock, then a lump, a little depression either side, and there it is, triumphant, prehistoric. The bane of the stonemason: a cute shell.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.