HERITAGE OPEN DAY IN THE OLD CASTLE

CASTLE KEEP

Keep, 

this history by the river.

Keep, 

the stairway to the past.

Keep,

the memories singing folk songs.

Keep,

the cobbles wet with blood.

Keep,

those ballads down the centuries.

Keep,

the ancient voices in your head.

Keep, 

these stones alive with music.

Keep,

the wind howling in the brick.

Keep

the days that speed our lives. 

Keep,

the rails to guide you there.

Keep,

the people that you meet.

Keep, 

the children's faces dancing. 

Keep,

the devil in your fleeting eyes.

Keep,

the bridges multiplying.

Keep,

the moon upon the Tyne.

Keep,

the flag of lovers flying.

Keep,

your feet still 

Geordie hinny.

KEITH ARMSTRONG

BLACK GATE

Black Gate,

an oxter of history,

reaches for me

with a stubby finger,

invites me into Old Newcastle,

its vital cast

of craggy characters,

Garth urchins,

dancing blades

and reeling lasses.

Black Gate,

I can read

the lines 

on your brow,

the very grit

on your timelined walls,

the furrowed path

down the Geordie lane

where Alexander Stephenson stoops

to let me in

and the merchant Patrick Black

still trades in memories.

Once 

there was a tavern

inside you,

that’s why 

the bricks cackle

and the windows creak

with the crack of old ale

and the redundant patter

of publican John Pickell. 

Black Gate,

you could say

my childhood is in your stones,

my mother and father figures,

my river

of drifting years,

waiting to greet me.

Hoist up your drawbridge,

in the startling chill 

of a Tyne dawn,

this boy is with you

and with himself

in this home city

of old bones,

new blood

and dripping dreams.

KEITH ARMSTRONG

*The Black Gate is named after the seventeenth century tenant, merchant Patrick Black

FOR EDWARD ELLIOT OF EARSDON (1800-1867)

(Stonemason and poet responsible for the Hartley Pit Disaster memorial in Earsdon churchyard)

“IN THE MIDST OF LIFE WE ARE IN DEATH.” 

Chip chip chip,

the rain sinks

into Ned Elliot’s shoulders

as his hands

carve the dead names

into the slab.

The tragedy

weighs down his spirit,

renders him thirsty

for the light.

Chip chip chip,

you breathe the name of Thomas Coal

aged thirty seven,

recite the deaths of boys

as young as ten.

You chisel

through the disastrous list,

the litany of lost dreams.

It is such a burden,

the flood of widows’ tears

gushing through

the village,

rendering the churchyard

a swamp of hurt.

This is true

community spirit,

a man who lived

to mark the dead

in stone,

making a living

by honouring others.

Your own name

is ingrained in Earsdon,

ringing

down the years

a sacrifice

from the quarry

of suffering,

one of your 

dialect poems

still coursing 

in us.

“FOR WHATSOEVER A MAN SOWETH,

THAT SHALL HE ALSO REAP.”

KEITH ARMSTRONG

JOSEPH SKIPSEY HERITAGE EVENTS

FOR JOE SKIPSEY: THE PITMAN POET OF PERCY MAIN (1832-1903)

‘He’ll tell his tale o’er a pint of ale,

And crack his joke, and bad

Must be the heart who loveth not

To hear the Collier Lad.’ (Skipsey)

To be a pitman poet

you drag words

out of the seam of a dictionary,

write against the grain

all the time

feeling the pain

of a small education,

scribbling in the dark

for a bright spark

germ of a poem.

Hewing

for rhymes,

ducking 

in case the roof

of the verse

caved in on you,

Joe

it was bloody hard 

to learn,

to craft a line

from the black pit

when the whole world

weighed down on you.

A man was forced

to sing,

to render a ballad

like a lamp in the tunnel,

scraping an education

from coal,

crawling along bookshelves

to find daylight,

Shakespeare,

Shelley

and melody

in the stacks

of an underground library.

KEITH ARMSTRONG

KEITH ARMSTRONG PERFORMING HIS JOSEPH SKIPSEY POEM AT THE  HARTLEY PIT DISASTER MEMORIAL, ST. ALBAN'S CHURCH, EARSDON, WHITLEY BAY, SATURDAY 14TH SEPTEMBER 2013, AS PART OF HERITAGE OPEN DAYS EVENT TO MARK THE 110TH ANNIVERSARY OF SKIPSEY'S DEATH.

ARMSTRONG ALSO INTRODUCED FELLOW POETS DAVE ALTON, GORDON PHILLIPS, ELAINE CUSACK AND ROBERT LONSDALE WHO READ THEIR POEMS ON THE HARTLEY PIT CALAMITY OF 1862:

ABOVE:CHRIS HARRISON, GREAT GREAT GRANDSON OF SKIPSEY, PERFORMING SKIPSEY'S 'THE HARTLEY CALAMITY' POEM AT THE SAME EVENT.

ABOVE: M.C. KEITH ARMSTRONG AND THE SAWDUST JACKS FOLK GROUP (WITH ST. ALBAN'S CHURCH CHOIR) WHO PERFORMED THEIR HARTLEY SONG 'BROTHERS, SONS AND DADS', IN THE CHURCH AFTER THE RECITATIONS AND MUSIC AT THE HARTLEY MEMORIAL. 

http://youtu.be/qga1LvwagIc

Above photos: Chris Bishop

CHRIS HARRISON PERFORMING SKIPSEY AT THE RED HOUSE, NEWCASTLE UPON TYNE, ON THURSDAY 12TH SEPTEMBER 2013.

Above photo: Peter Dixon

COMMENTS:

Tony Morris:

Great reception at Red House, Quayside, Newcastle last night for Northern Voices Mining Heritage Project. Lovely audience. Thank you Keith Armstrong.

Catherine Graham: 

Thank you to all the lovely people who came along to The Red House tonight, it was lovely to meet everyone - a great night!

Brian Hall:

Praise from the Hall Clan to the Armstrong Clan.........thought you ran last night really well, and a good combination. I enjoyed it, well done.

Robert Lonsdale:

Enjoyed an absolutely brilliant night of exceptional poetry and music at the " Red House " hosted by the legendary Keith Armstrong , many thanks to everyone there. Already looking forward to your next event Keith,

Chris Harrison:

Thanks or giving me the opportunity to sing at these two events.  I was really pleased to be able to do it.

Do let me know about any future events.

Elaine Cusack:

Really enjoyed yesterday's event at Hartley, Keith.

John Leslie (the Sawdust Jacks):

Thanks for the poems and for the opportunity of performing at Earsdon. We enjoyed rehearsing with the choir and I think our relationship may continue. The day was a great success and the feedback from your activities at the memorial was very good.

Thanks again.

Fiona Cullen (Newcastle City Council):

Many thanks for your participation throughout Tyne and Wear.

Chris Bishop (North Tyneside Council):

Best wishes and well done on the event.  

Andrew France (Vicar St. Alban's, Earsdon):

Thanks Keith. I thought it went well.