WHY LOCK THE DOOR?

 

As an old collier was taking his daily walk

he came across a boy, sitting on the wall, and stopped to talk

as he looked into the young boy's eyes

he saw something, that he recognised.

​

The youngster had a sparkle and desire

it reminded him of himself, when he was young and full of fire

active as a union campaigner, a man always ready to fight

always willing to speak up for what is right.

​

Now not in the best of health but willing to share his knowledge

his only wealth of his years spent working in the mines,

dark & damp, his best friends a canary, and a cap lamp.

​

The boy asked him of his early days

working in the bowels of the earth,

for a meagre pay down in the dark on his knees,

sometimes choking with dust battling against the earth's black hard crust

​

His fingers now are bent and arthritic

hands blue scarred, and looking horrific

and his eyesight is now failing, after his years in the dark

but in his humour, he still carried a spark

​

His fingers, now were nicotine stained

and as he spoke, you could almost feel the pain

as the cigarette smoke, combined with the dust

made his chest heave and thrust

​

The cigarettes he has smoked since a young boy

are now causing him damage, not bringing him joy

and every cigarette he takes, may be his last one

and deep down he knows, the damage has been long done.

​

As he spoke, he told of a place where he grew up

and the workers would bath, in an old tin tub

the only light was from an old gas mantle on the wall

where this flickering light, was all they had at night fall.

​

At night we made our own entertainment

but as hard as life was, we still had some enjoyment 

hear the children laugh and play and swim in the stream

nowadays that is just a dream

​

Those days, there were no television sets

if you were lucky, you might have a radio set

some houses did not even have a lock on the door

why lock the door? we had nothing of worth , we were so poor

 

And as the men came home from work, hungry and tired

and had to bathe in front of the fire

and at the end of the week, they would hand over their pay

and the wives would wash their backs, but only on a Friday.

​

His story now told; he looks up to say so long

but he finds, the boy has now gone

as he looks around, he is nowhere to be seen

and there was no trace, as to where he had been

​

As time passed by,and his health deteriorated 

the doctors could do no more, he could not be treated 

and one afternoon, he quietly passed on

all his pain and suffering,now gone

​

He left a letter to his dearest friends on his demise

asking them not to mourn, and have no tears in their eyes

for his life he had enjoyed, unto the end

a lifetime of helping, and making friends

​

As he arrived at the pearly gates, he saw St Peter, lying in wait

so, he gave him a smile, and a big embrace

and thanked him, for bringing him to his heavenly place

​

St Peter asked him, did he remember a boy sitting on a wall

who asked him about his life and listened to it all

then he left before you could say goodbye

he was the Devil's disciple in disguise

​

He was the Devil's own advocate

who trawls the earth for souls, for his appetite to sate

and as he looked into your eyes, your soul he would capture

to take it back to Lucifer, his master

​

But when he tried your soul to sell it was refused

as you have already been to Hell as a collier on your knees,

in the bowels of the earth good hard working men,

the salt of the earth

​

And as soon as you were set free

your soul, then belonged to me

after fifty years of toiling, in the Devil's back yard

in the damp and dark, hands becoming calloused and hard

​

So, the moral of the story, for colliers one and all

is if you are ever called by someone sat on a wall

beware if they give you eye contact for all they want

is with your soul to connect.

​

But you now know, that when the dust finally wins

and try as he will, the Devil cannot take you in

after a lifetime in Hell, breathless and blue scarred 

now in heaven you will get your reward. 

​

​

 

Copyright Ralph Jones

 

​