CRYSTAL MEMORIES
Copyright © Geoff Allnutt (The Speech Painter) 1999

 

Access 1970: find little memory stored
I'm three and three quarters, in September I'll be four
I'm busy watching test card, slightly bored

The son of a watchmaker I'm quick on the draw
Green and orange wall paper meets my impassioned scrawl
Before the decade's out it will be against the law

To desecrate with vinyl such an innocent wall
My parents hip taste I try to improve
By toning down with crayon the landing and the hall

Our lounge is full of art more market stall than Louvre
The pattern of the carpet is the latest in design
My curiosity is lethal, I've got theories I must prove

Like the TV screen is still alive way after the time
Drawn by my parents to keep square eyes away
If only I could read the paper then the future's mine

My father reads the future: a new watch is on the way
Analogue is out of date, the digital age has begun
Solid state no moving parts but what a price to pay

On fathers wrist is an Accutron, its tuning fork hums
The first of a thousand watches to which i turn my eye
I love the space view, green and orange, and I want one

Access 1972: I watch my oldest sister start to cry
A moment of hysterics reflected in the screen
Tears roll down her face Donny Osmond waves goodbye

For several years later the bond that is between
This sister and I mirrors that of Donny and Marie
A little drop of teenybop becomes our future dream

Three small kids in current fashion driven by TV
As big brother I decide who gets to be the star
"I'm Tarzan you're Jane and you can be the chimpanzee"

Tiger patterned pants and one cheap frail guitar
Pre-glam dressing up played out upon the stairs
And histrionic infighting captured in the car

A rare day off to work with dad best T-shirt and flares
Three singing wonder kids trill through missing teeth
And they call it puppy love drowns out father's prayers

He sits poised at his bench as we root underneath
Through timing paper spools that coil around like snakes
Whilst he commands his hands to suspend their disbelief

As he works to piece-work wages, quick without mistakes
The digits of his fingers wrap themselves round time
And round a crisp new fiver as he sends us out for cakes

Access 1974: break time. Schoolyard railings meant to climb
Tarmac treading tearaways explode, bent on doing harm
Transform into a huddle that might even be a line

To stare at the new boy's LED his £100 of arm
Its red screen seems as cool as any bond invention
And almost has the power to restore his lack of charm

The counting seconds jump holding our attention
A vision of the future burnt in eyes now set alight
I ask my dad for a digital and I can feel the tension

"Kojaks got one," I protest trying hard to fight
My father's unreasonable concern about the cost
"If you're a watchmaker, make me one", I reply in spite

My independence building from the line I've crossed
I'm banned from watching TV for half taking off the door
Evel Knieval rides without me. My rebellious streak is lost

Access 1978: a paper round becomes my income-earning chore
Bypassing punk and disco, Grease takes me to the past
A teddy boy at twelve with a passion to explore

A quiff DA and racing bike, I'm mean and moody fast
Two weeks of early mornings buys a fats Domino LP
Till a child abductor grabs at me. I kick to miss his grasp

Father makes an offer and I reluctantly agree
Swapping Times and Sun to be his Saturday boy
I clean the windows, tidy, buy cakes and make the tea

We talk of rock and roll and for the first time I enjoy
A sense of sharing something that's neither his nor mine
He begins to teach me watchmaking, what tools to employ

I quickly learn that touch is only found in time
Hands untrained as mine break more than they put right
So I get to do the donkey work, spit and polish, shine

I get to break up LEDs - their price crashed overnight
The watch that saw off watchmaking finally has its day
And I'm keen to feed the fury of obsolescence's blight

It's fun to keep the good bits and chuck the rest away
From status symbol to £1.99 the future's sometimes mean
And after hours of scrapping junk i feel a need to play

The Buddy Holly story is on the local sliver screen
Boss man says I'm here to work. Daytime cinema is banned
Trapped in an old movie, I'm torn apart like Jimmy Dean

My fathers working hard head down, the future's being planned
We don't talk much on the way home, but I think I understand

 

Copyright © Geoff Allnutt (The Speech Painter) 1999