A Load Of Old Cobblers

by Paul Tristram

I loved it as a youngster, I did.
Listening to the stories
of the adult males of my family
and their
wild, colourful, prison tattooed friends.
As they drank their sherry and cider,
making thin roll-ups
effortlessly
with just one hand.
Going to the fridge for a cold beer
and casting a bone-handled 9” dagger
at the kitchen door whilst passing
and hitting it perfectly
at policeman’s head height
casually, as if it was just any other
ordinary every day thing to do.
I would sit there spellbound for hours
and then take what I had learnt
out into the streets and back lanes
to practice with my mates
throwing blades into everything
wooden around us.
The swear-words, terminology,
outlaw style and swagger
we perfected them all
before hitting our teens.
Now that I am a full grown man
and outdone them all
with my rebellion, travel and daring.
I still look back with a fond smile
upon my scarred face.
Half of what they all said
might have been a load of old cobblers
but it taught me a strength and discipline
that I still use to this very day.