Michael Perryment
'Pep, Chavante, Endness, Inca, Pins, Sic'
‘Pep’ was my father,
I listened in awe on the day he told me
that he was making hooks to catch the planes
as they raced across aircraft carriers after landing.
The hook would latch on to a trailing wire,
the plane would drag to a halt just feet from disaster.
He told me that they had to be perfect,
no tolerance at all, they had to be perfect.
I have the workbox from his DeHavilland days,
a trove of hand crafted tools,
scribers, callipers, steel rule, micrometer, thread cutter,
files and grinders, a tiny bench vice apprentice piece,
an aircraft recognition booklet, a ‘Spick’ magazine,
the smell of oil and steel.
Well made, sturdy, hinged lid, clasp and lock,
polished deep brown, solid, dependable,
bearing the mysterious inscription,
‘Pep, chavante, endness, Inca, pins, sic’
in ornate lettering, hand painted,
there is also the silhouette of a mouse.
I never discovered the significance of the mouse,
or cracked the secret code within the words.
‘Pep’ was my father,
it was all I needed to know,
his strong skilled hands made metal into tools,
plucked aeroplanes from the sky.
I listened in awe on the day he told me
that he was making hooks to catch the planes
as they raced across aircraft carriers after landing.
The hook would latch on to a trailing wire,
the plane would drag to a halt just feet from disaster.
He told me that they had to be perfect,
no tolerance at all, they had to be perfect.
I have the workbox from his DeHavilland days,
a trove of hand crafted tools,
scribers, callipers, steel rule, micrometer, thread cutter,
files and grinders, a tiny bench vice apprentice piece,
an aircraft recognition booklet, a ‘Spick’ magazine,
the smell of oil and steel.
Well made, sturdy, hinged lid, clasp and lock,
polished deep brown, solid, dependable,
bearing the mysterious inscription,
‘Pep, chavante, endness, Inca, pins, sic’
in ornate lettering, hand painted,
there is also the silhouette of a mouse.
I never discovered the significance of the mouse,
or cracked the secret code within the words.
‘Pep’ was my father,
it was all I needed to know,
his strong skilled hands made metal into tools,
plucked aeroplanes from the sky.
Page(s) 22
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