House On The Wall

I finally did a bit of clearing on the back garden today, a burst of activity that pruned back the overgrown fuschia and tore into the drooping hedge and bastard sycamores that had sprouted from their blackened stumps. The place is still dog rough, but better lit, at least.

Lola had had a walk in the park but I took her in the car and found myself driving out to the South Wall. As I got out of the car I noticed a Chinese couple getting out of theirs, particularly the woman. I chatted to them and they allowed me take my odd shots without seeming too bothered. Then I noticed this man in the peaked cap. I asked him if he'd mind if I took his photo and he said not at all. So we got talking.

Tom was a dock worker for many years (he's over 70) and his dad was a button man, like my friend Harry's. He lived in the area, on Pigeon House Road, for many years and often comes for a walk on the Wall. He told me that the place where we were standing, at the beach near the beginning of the Wall, was actually a house only 30 or so years ago. He pointed to a toppled chimney I'd never noticed. Strange to think of anyone actually living at the base of The Bull Wall, a neighbour to the power station with its huge Man U smokestacks, in the thick of docklands industry yet almost as isolated as the lighthouse at the end of the wall . Tom told me I could find him on the Wall most evenings. I mentioned our docklands documentary to him and he said he'd be open to an interview, and that I could find him on the wall most evenings.

Eventually we parted and I took a very impatient Lola for a quick stroll a little bit along the wall, where I noticed a ferry going out. As Larkin put it:
Lit shelved liners
Grope like mad worlds westward.