Post by tammy68 on Jan 16, 2010 1:05:06 GMT 1
03.09.1922 - 14.01.2010
I feel lucky and privileged to have known you, learnt so much from you and to have been a small part of your life. RIP x
String Syd
Eighty-seven years of string, tied up in a bundle. Suitcase closed tight and tied up with string. String plaited to make good the broken leather handle on top. String. More string than a man could know what to do with. Not Syd. String has been his life. String with knots for this and knots for that. Knots for tying hay on trailers drawn by horses, whose tack old and broken, made good again by string. Make do and mend – with string. Home made string hay nets hanging off red brick from rusted rings in the stable walls, doors held shut with knots of string.
Hobnailed boots, laces long worn out and replaced with string. In his house, I sit. The chair is old and worn, but the ragged seat renewed with string in patches, some newly woven and clean whilst other parts where string has fluffed up and frayed from the frequent friction of visiting bottoms on chairs whilst talking horse with Syd. Carbolic soap in chilly, white sink filled with empty tea mugs and silver spoons worn to gold. Heavy wooden door, green paint flaked with age, jarring with a shout of wood on stone when opened or shut. Smooth, grey key in the lock, with dog clip dangling from orange string, ready to be attached to work jeans the moment work is to be done. Work in progress hangs over the back of a bench in front of the empty fire. To be resumed later – plaited string reins, more hay nets, bridle parts, girths to be restrung – all waiting for evening, a lit fire and the aroma of boiled barley on the stove in the corner.
In winter you will find the quick, morning clouds of steam from quivering, equine nostrils. Grills on stable doors hanging crooked but secure with string latches to keep in nervous, young steeds until they are tamed with string reins, string whips and string Syd. Summer brings long days of work with laced string reins hung over dark sweaty necks intertwined with long tangled manes. It meant looking out for straight, strong ash sticks in hedgerows to attach to plaited string when they become amazing whips for lunging and schooling horses for clients. A veritable assortment of horses, ponies, donkeys, trailers, carts and all things equestrian – all tied up and made useful with string.
Eighty-seven years of string, tied up in a bundle. Suitcase closed tight and tied up with string. String plaited to make good the broken leather handle on top. String. More string than a man could know what to do with. Not Syd. String has been his life. String with knots for this and knots for that. Knots for tying hay on trailers drawn by horses, whose tack old and broken, made good again by string. Make do and mend – with string. Home made string hay nets hanging off red brick from rusted rings in the stable walls, doors held shut with knots of string.
Hobnailed boots, laces long worn out and replaced with string. In his house, I sit. The chair is old and worn, but the ragged seat renewed with string in patches, some newly woven and clean whilst other parts where string has fluffed up and frayed from the frequent friction of visiting bottoms on chairs whilst talking horse with Syd. Carbolic soap in chilly, white sink filled with empty tea mugs and silver spoons worn to gold. Heavy wooden door, green paint flaked with age, jarring with a shout of wood on stone when opened or shut. Smooth, grey key in the lock, with dog clip dangling from orange string, ready to be attached to work jeans the moment work is to be done. Work in progress hangs over the back of a bench in front of the empty fire. To be resumed later – plaited string reins, more hay nets, bridle parts, girths to be restrung – all waiting for evening, a lit fire and the aroma of boiled barley on the stove in the corner.
In winter you will find the quick, morning clouds of steam from quivering, equine nostrils. Grills on stable doors hanging crooked but secure with string latches to keep in nervous, young steeds until they are tamed with string reins, string whips and string Syd. Summer brings long days of work with laced string reins hung over dark sweaty necks intertwined with long tangled manes. It meant looking out for straight, strong ash sticks in hedgerows to attach to plaited string when they become amazing whips for lunging and schooling horses for clients. A veritable assortment of horses, ponies, donkeys, trailers, carts and all things equestrian – all tied up and made useful with string.
I feel lucky and privileged to have known you, learnt so much from you and to have been a small part of your life. RIP x
