My da's da died before I was born so I never knew him...only shards of stories...fragments of who he might have been. I used to walk around the farm imagining him doing the exact same back in the day of say 1922.  When I was as small as stupid and as impressionable as hell my uncle would answer a normal question about my granda with a tall tale such as this. He'd tell me the most surreal things with a straight poker face and I love him so much I believed anything and everything he'd make up. If my father gave me his love of poetry...it was Uncle Mikey who made me one with all his glorious making up! Nellie used to scold him about this but it didn't stop him as the words coming out of his mouth grew into an enchanted entangled forest. He was the treasure trove of my childhood and I was rich beyond my wildest dreams.

This poem was commissioned by the BBC for National Poetry Day on the 6th of Oct. It will be broadcast tomorrow.

To be said in a pompous good old chap voice….proud of what he is and what he’s done. Rather like a gone to see old fashioned sergeant major. No time for these young statues who have hardly done any time at all. He’s aware of his iconic status and intends to go on doling out time to us humans. But as it always chimes: “Humans come and humans go but I go…on for ever!”

In the late 17th century, a clock maker by the name of  one John Aylward came to Guildford. Aylward intended to set up his business within the centre of Guildford, but was time and time again refused by The Guild Merchants.

But he didn’t give up. Oh no not he.
John set up his shop just outside of Guildford and then set about working on a glorious looking clock now commonly known as “Guildhall clock”

After offering the clock to the merchants, they displayed in over the High Street and made John Ayward a member of The Guild Merchants, allowing him to set up his business in the centre of town. So his ‘gift” to the merchants became the great gift to the future citizens.

For performance on stage there is/can be a little intro….offstage.

‘OK YOUSE SECONDS….FALL IN IN MINUTES AND FORM HOURS. CMON C’MON WE HAVE A POEM TO DO! BY THE RIGHT….QUICK…WAIT FOR IT…WAIT FOR IT….MARCH! LEFTRIGHTLEFTRIGHLEFTTICKTOCKTICKTOCK…TICK….SQUAD HALT!

TICK TOCKITY TOCK TICK!

MY GAWD…ONE AFTER THE OTHER YOUSE ARE WORSE THAN BROWN’S COWS. OK SQUAD…AT EASE!

PRETEND A PERSON IN THE AUDIENCE HAS ASKED THE QUESTION” WHO ARE YOU?”

AND THEN OF COURSE WE ENTER THE POEM PROPER.

Here be a little bio...just to show I'm logical! Dónall Dempsey was born in the Curragh in Ireland and was Ireland’s first Poet in Residence in a secondary school. He has appeared on Irish television and radio and has read and performed all over England, in Scotland, India, Ireland and France. He now lives in Guildford, Surrey where he hosts a regular poetry performance night. Dónall’s poems have been published in numerous journals and anthologies and he has published three collections of poems, “Sifting Sound into Shape”, “The Smell of Purple” and “Being Dragged Across the Carpet By the Cat”.