Students

They would stand by the Stone where thePages were locked into chases beforeThe machine room lads took them awayFor printing on the Heidelbergs,Studying form - far more serious than work.Mick the foreman, a man with no timeFor the capi-it-alists, or the Dalai LamaWho apparently: ‘Ate off gold platesWhilst the peasants lived in the muck,’Was the acknowledged leader in his field.Any newcomer who ventured a guess:‘Ya know, I think Cutty Sark has a chance.’Would be put down like a cheeky pupilSlagging William Shakespeare.‘Nay lad, that old nag couldn’t beat mi granny.’Then you would hear Cutty Sark’s history:How he struggled in the wet, where and whenHe gave up the ghost ‘cause he was too heavyWith a jockey who was more than useless.’And the way the odds were worked out,Like the darts players with their computer-likeBrains, would amaze the mathematical fumblers:You can Win or Place or Show on a Trifecta,Exacta or Christ-knows-what else to makeA killing by multiplying this that and tother!

All this knowledge – a poor man’s theology –Born in a dream of hope from despair.