Category: History

Manchester-moments and musings on the Lancashire cotton mills and the cotton famine. 1862.

These red bricks, these tall chimneys,

Coloured by their blood, shaped by the hands of their children

Carried on their rugged shoulders and working class calves.

We don’t look up enough, we don’t marvel at what they gave us.

These edifices echo with their pain and suffering

Voices of our forefathers, sinewed souls of our ancestors

They built their empires in cotton and coal so that we could enjoy

The fruits of their labours and be forever known as the workshop of the world.

 

Salford, Stalybridge, Manchester, Blackburn, Wigan-working that weft

Darwen, Accrington, Chorley, Preston, winding that bobbin up.

And the roll call falters, unemployment, hunger, desperation, and impoverishment

They stood together arm in arm, hand in hand, through protest and starvation,

To demonstrate their love and pride for another brother in another place.

We should stand tall for we stand on the shoulders of giants

They gave us humility, compassion, work ethic and pride.

True northern spirit and true northern soul.

 

©Alison Jean Hankinson

Featured image from the public domain labelled for reuse. Horrockses Cotton Mill Preston.

Other images are my own.

This journey into the cotton famine was a soulful journey and I am very proud of the stance taken by the Lancashire millworkers and the sacrifices they made. We were encouraged to look at soul for poetics at d’Verse. 

I have edited this and made some changes.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The legacy of a superhero.

Hopes and dreams like ripples across the water,

The moon casts it light surreal across the surface.

An abundance of voices remember and connect.

Your existence and your inner beauty left a shadow on my life

You reach beyond the grave and you continue to create your magic

Through my footfalls and my hands.

And through the light that continues to shine in the eyes of all those whom you touched.

 

©Alison Jean Hankinson

We had a prompt on d’Verse and it was about “super” and of course I think our lives and pasts are actually littered with so many superheroes and I think they leave a living legacy in that they touch our lives and change who we are and what we become.

I learned about the heroes of the cotton famine this week, and it made me proud of my ancestors, we stand on the shoulders of giants, and it is sad to say goodbye to Prof Hawking who has been a true superhero to so many. This poem was written about Princess Diana. The images at the bottom relate to the heroes of the Cotton Famine the Lancashire Cotton Mill workers.

The image of Diana was from the public domain and able to be reproduced.

My own flock of birds…

Here they silently speak my language

Share my passion for puns

Take pride in a past that is a portrait

Of my heritage and the story of my blood.

 

Here I belong

The names of the rivers and valleys and mountains

Are etched as clearly in my mind as the rugged landscapes

That call out my name on wild and windy mornings

and stir my restless spirit from its slumbers.

 

Irwell, Ribble, Eden, Lune

Here the waters wash away my whispers

Pendle, Cribden, Criffel, Shap

Here the shale and slate smooths away my fears.

 

©Alison Jean Hankinson

This is for d’Verse poetics.

 

 

 

 

These Bastions…

These bastions of hope

Hunkered hulls

Iron wrought girders-tentative tendrils of tortured souls

Granite greying lies portraying

Sandstone hewn and lives pervading

Rugged landscape molten measures

Of love and labour and dreams unfettered.

Firth of Forth,

Sunshine on Leith

Grotesque, glib, grand

Bastions of strength, courage and hope hide beneath.

©Alison Jean Hankinson.

I am submitting this for open link night at d’Verse.

 

 

 

Refreshed and rejuvenated.

I took a short break from writing as it was important to regroup, reflect and re-energise. I return now for the onset of spring hopefully refreshed and rejuvenated.

It seems as if the world has gone mad in recent months, and I am not sure that at 51 my life has followed the path that seemed inevitable or appropriate. I do know that at 51 in the UK wisdom and experience count for very little in the current cut and thrust of an austere economic climate. I find myself overqualified and overlooked for less complex jobs and career options and “too expensive” in my own line of work. We were led to believe that if we worked hard and demonstrated dedication loyalty and good work ethic it would lead to justified rewards this appears not to be the case after the age of 50.

Anyway enough whingeing. I must cart on. I must continue to believe that somewhere someone will give me a break and continue to be thankful for the understanding and support of my two current employers for giving me the opportunity to contribute in a productive and meaningful way.

I did need to take a break though, and I have done jigsaw puzzles, walked briskly, read a book, played scrabble and gone for a winter wander in our little caravan. I return to find the crocuses blossoming and the fresh scent of spring on the doorstep. Life continues to astound in its ability to restore order through and after chaos. There is a natural order that somehow continues to exist, first there are the snowdrops, then the daffodils and crocuses, soon it will be the cherry blossom and the tulips.

Onward and upward. Tally-ho.

 

©Alison Jean Hankinson

Haunted House.

Creaky floors and creaky doors

The haunted house hears me

Creeping along the staircase

Hoping the ghostly ghouls won’t see.

 

Suddenly the silence shatters

Nerves are torn in tiny tatters

A deathly scream is all that matters

I think it is time to flee.

 

© Alison Jean Hankinson

For d’Verse.….. where creak was the prompt, I had already written two quadrilles today but neither of them fitted the prompt….so this was the result.

Image available in public domain House Cemetry-haunted house- By darksouls1 [CC0], via Wikimedia Commons

 

 

Remember remember the fifth of November…..

Goblins ghosts and ghoulies

Pumpkins at the door

Bobbing apples in a tub

Kids come back for more.

 

Cauldrons cooking winter soup

Penny for the Guy

Bonfire night and fireworks

Brighten up the night-time sky.

 

© Alison Jean Hankinson

Image in public domain. The conspirators.

 

Halloween

Puffball potions

Toadstool faeries

Ravens guard the graveyard.

Harbingers of untimely death

 

Old Witch

Wizened

Haglike

Demdike

 

Whispers on the wind

Caustic curses

Widow wastes away.

 

All Hallows Eve

Wakening the spirits of the dead

Old souls rising.

 

©Alison Jean Hankinson

This time of year is a time of remembering youth and stories of old as we head towards Halloween and Bonfire night. This is for d’Verse where we were asked to focus on one thing that this time of year represents to us.

Emily is still in hospital so it is a short visit and I shall do all my reading later in the week, so bear with me.

History- Old Demdike was one of the Pendle Witches she died in custody in 1612 at Lancaster Castle. The other 10 were later hanged. It was a time of great superstition and James 1 was greatly concerned with treason following the Gunpowder Plot of 1605. At Halloween when we were young it was traditional to walk up Pendle Hill in memory of the witches.

 

 

 

Snowflake obsidian and the search for truth…

 

Volcanic igneous gemstone

Black, brave and beautiful shards of midnight glass

Give me peace and calm and inner light, reflect the moonlight.

 

Snowflake obsidian

Talisman around my neck,

As passion ignites my fury and the truth cannot be silenced.

 

Protect and purify

Cleanse my soul in the darkness of this night

Reflect the majesty of a thousand warriors.

 

Pele Goddess of fire

Watch over me, give me strength to fight

Let me vanquish the evil voices that speak to me

From the belly of the volcano.

 

©Alison Jean Hankinson

This was for d’Verse and is about snowflake obsidian which is one of the gemstones associated with my birth sign Scorpio- there are six in total- beryl, apache tear, aquamarine, coral, obsidian, and topaz. Snowflake Obsidian, is a stone associated with Scorpio in Ayurvedic astrology. It is a beautiful colour, and is seen as a talisman. I have always been drawn to truth, this is a Scorpion characteristic, but also something that came to me through my name. Alice is of teutonic origin and means “the wise counsellor, or the truthful one.” I think Alison came from Alice.

The image is in the public domain for reuse and was taken from Flickr.

 

Andromeda-She had eyes the colour of periwinkle blue.

Perseus pursued the mortal Gorgon

Elusive Medusa with her head full of snakes

Reticent to cast a glance like others before him

Into her petrifying eyes with their stone-cold stare

Winged sandals gifted by Hermes to fly him to the lair

Immortal Athena supplied a shield his gaze to spare.

 

Nightfall invisible in his cap he approached

Killing her brutally with his magical sword as she slept

Life extinguished her blood spilled forth from which

Emerged Pegasus the winged horse and his sibling Chrysaor.

 

Brave and bold as he returned home

Love blossomed with Andromeda.

Uplifted from her sacrificial rock, he gazed upon her

Eyes the colour of periwinkle blue.

 

©Alison Jean Hankinson

This is a second contribution for d’Verse– Frank’s acrostic.

All images available in public domain-

Perseus with the head of Medusa- Cellini. Perseus en Andromeda. Potter

Pegasus
GhostWorks Texture Competition #50-Texture with thanks to Skeletal Mess
white horse with thanks to venomxbaby.deviantart.com/
angel wings thanks to grannysatticstock.deviantart.com/#/d4gjjl7