In Memory of My Beginning
We of fitter gun were harassed in our youth by the file, the use of which is an art. It’s not just rubbing the file back and forth. Every stroke should count and move you one step closer to a smooth, polished finish without gouges or abrasion marks. Just like growing up really; like life. Hence:

At Arborfield, remember where we learned to use a file
On a wicked lump of mild steel they gave us for our own?
Reduce its size they told us, and that without a smile.
So we set-to with hands that ached, stiff fingers and a groan.
Two inches square it had to be within a 'thou' or two.
Push fitted through an aperture, eight differing ways all told.
And by miracle (craft) that metal was transformed by me and you
With a Four Inch smooth and lots of chalk, and even though now old
I recall as though I were still there, bent over at the bench, and still
Unsure of what my life might be, what even I should dare
With this feeler gauge and set square, scraper, tap and drill,
The which to shape this wicked lump into the perfect square.
The perfect square, what a hope; that shape for which we then aspired.
Compelled, it's true reluctantly at times but which by none the less
Were laid foundations for the lives we've subsequently had;
And the which by some admired.