James Date

I’m sixteen.
I’m small but not as small as my brother.
None of us Griggses have much of what
Mr Date calls altitude.

I’m Mr Date’s assistant, which means
Carryin this ere and that there
And there’s always lots of it.
Which on picture days means me scurryin round
Quicker than rats in the harbour.

Mr Date’s our town’s photographer.
He’s an artist too, it says so in the Gazette.
Today’s a picture day.
We watch for perfect weather,
Photos don’t like rain nor sea fog.

We’re takin a photo of building the quay.
We’ll take lots of em till it’s finished.
But why anyone wants a picture
Of a pile of bricks and all the town’s ruffians
Workin hard at it with their shovels
Is beyond me.

I sets up Mr Date’s camera.
And mix is chemicals in a pestle.
They has to be right. Mr Date likes perfection
and it’s up to me to make it for him.
Then I hauls is camera and his tripod
along the street and onto the quay
and gets em level.
But e always moves it, not just once mind you,
but a dozen more times, because e does
like is perfection.

I’m not too happy when I sees Scabby Brunn
on the quay workin at the bricks.
We don’t call im Scabby, only when his back’s turned.
E’s trouble.

Mr Date looks through is camera
and e tells me to get the men to stand still.
Cos his pictures take a good few seconds to make,
Or they look like blurry ghosts
Hauntin the harbour.

So I heads down to the workins to tell the men
what Mr Date wants. But Scabby’s avin none of it.
E dances like a sailor doin a shanty
and makes faces.
I stands up to im but I only reach his belly button,
So it ain’t no easy matter for me.
I slips Scabby coins like Mr Date tells me to
And e winks and stands still as a statue.

Now Mr Date’s wavin is arms.
E’s under is camera cloth perfectin what e calls
is composition. But I’ve looked through the camera
and all’s back to front and upside down
so I don’t see how e can tell. But e does.
E’s clever.

Then e takes is picture.

I’m runnin like a lunatic back to the studio
Careful not to trip arse over tip
Carryin the glass plate with its picture inside.
I’m hurryin cos it has to be developed
and made into a picture when it’s still wet.
If it dries first I’m for it.

And now I’m fiddlin and faddlin in the dark
With all the blinds down,
Pourin chemicals into trays and rockin em,
And pourin more chemicals into more trays,
And chokin and coughing and eyes waterin,
Then doin more rockin till it’s ready.

Cos if I don’t there ain’t no picture,
And Mr Date not too happy when I’ve lost
Is mornin’s work.
Photos like light to take but dark
to make negatives. Mr Date says
it’s just chemistry.

When I looks at the print later it’s a miracle.
Everythin lookin just like it was
on the quay when Mr Date took it.
And everyone still, even Scabby.

Then I makes some prints out in the light
And Mr Date writes em up in his ledger
then sells em.
I wouldn’t buy one.

That’s what I do and that’s how I brings
a few pennies into our family’s house,
And I’m grateful for it.