He called it docklands...

He called it docklands...

By Robert Kingston

Being a local back in the day,  we never identified it as such. To us it was known as the posh bit of Canning town. 

Custom house not Canning Town is what some would say. Still here we were on a part victorian, part modern council estate in East London.

Barely into short trousers was I, when our world was rocked

gas explosion

pixilating people

out of the dust

Ronan point was the first of seven tower blocks that rose up twenty two floors out of the bomb sites created by the blitz.

Cutting edge for the day.

I remember watching the cranes move panels of concrete, one by one into place. Thinking how it resembled dad's playing card towers. 

knocking his leg-

a wooden legged veteran 

adjusts his cap

Losing a whole corner of the tower, resulted in four deaths that day, Seventeen injured. Though in reality it hit this relatively small community hard. Most people knew someone, who knew someone that had been affected, 

grape vine-

how juices flow

when crushed

Of course the majority of us bounce back, as it was after the war I'm told.

We have no choice but to pay our respects and move forward. 

We must soldier on, was / is a common saying after such events.

nursery garden

round and round 

the people go

picking themselves up 

each time they fall 

They call it docklands now. 

Little change to the road layout, but everything else has seen vast changes; our old schools, shops, playing fields; Even the docks and industrial landscape that lined both sides. All changed!

Gone too are the ships and their horns that assisted the bells and our pots and pans in ringing in the new year and served as a major source of income to the flat capped donkey jacket wearing community.

There is an airport and posh homes towering over the docks. The docklands light railway stretching further east with a direct line west into the financial sector. 

Gastro bars, where pubs stood with their divided bars. All built to serve the city.

gentrification -

an old man kicking a can

scratches his head 

"Riķki Jay" I believe was a stage name. 

At the time of our meeting he was a stand up comedian of channel 5 fame. Not that I'd seen or heard of him until he rocked up in the dinner queue at a Pontins holiday camp in Southport. There he was featured amongst the nighttime entertainment. 

After 5 minutes of conversation he mentioned he had moved into the docklands of East London. Living in the shadows of where Ronan point stood.

fresh air

become old

becomes ?

Our exchange went on until we reached the till.

He having an interest in what was, and I, in what is.

I had the pleasure some years later of meeting Rikki again! This time at a holiday camp on Hayling island, Hampshire. We reminisced about our past meeting. 

He mentioned he had moved from Docklands to more leafy parts somewhere in Surrey, and that he was still working the circuit. 

Each day turning up in a new town for one night only.

missing a joke...

a famous tea clipper

in dry dock

(C)  Robert Kingston 2018