The Chronicle

POEM OF THE DAY

Big Geordie

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nominating another person, whose giving has not already been recognised through other awards or honours.

People are welcome to nominate more than person but are asked to choose only one category for each nominee.

For more informatio­n or to nominate visit: https://www. generosity­festival.co.uk. Big Geordie was a welding man, he grafted doon the yards. He’d often work the neetshift, neath the clear bright shining stars.

Each evening in the darkness. his timecard would get a stamp. He’d grab his rods and set to work conditions often cramped.

In fume filled rooms he grafted, where extraction ducts would rid...

The bulk of all that acrid poison, for a miserly extra quid.

His flowered cap was hole filled, sparks were constantly his bane. They would light the cold dock bottom, til he changed his rod again. Although the graft was grim some, gloom would never last for long. For the humour kept him going, friendship­s forged remained so strong.

Every Thursday it was pay day, Geordie drew his hard earned wage.

And after graft he’d stop and laugh, with others down the way. The Ship was always ram packed then, the Dock next door the same. Geordie supped ales with the finest afore making his way hame. And as year on year passed by, the yards would take away his prime.

Geordie slowing up now slightly, deemed that he would call it time.

He knew those fume filled rooms were playing havoc with his health.

So big Geordie, being a wise man, put well-being before wealth. Big Geordie was a welding man. and used his skills with pride. To build the ships famed globally, upon the Tyne’s North side.

James Bridgewood

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