Poet and Pop Up Team Agent of Wonder Matt Black shares his thoughts on our latest event which saw us Pop Up at a car boot sale in the Swadlincote/Measham area.

The idea of the Pop Up Archives going to a car boot sale seemed so natural – as a car boot sale is itself a Record Office, a treasure – house of archives, a field full of objects each with their own unique and very personal histories. It was this idea that inspired me to think about writing this poem.
The Car-Boot’s Guide to a Beautiful Bargain
Cos it’s beautiful and true, in the car-boot near you
There are useful things that you can find, and other things will blow your mind
We go slowly, aisle by aisle, some of the DVDs make us smile
The Sound of Music, Take That, Top Gun, Fighting Fit Fighting Fat
there’s a thermal t-shirt such as you never knew existed
there’s a fish poacher you get home and wish that you’d resisted
smurfs and kermits and wrestling figures, Barbie dolls and dinosaurs
a teapot that was yesterday in my house, and tomorrow is in yours
everything here once was new in shops,
fashions through the decades, 1970’s glitter frocks
the pink junior rock guitar we bought Chelsea when she was four
2 tins of red paint Jane bought, that John refused to paint on the kitchen door
This old thirties walnut clock
Tick tock tick tocked for Nan and Grandad for forty years
Put into our Ford Mondeo’s boot last night, we couldn’t help some tears
Because everything has mystery, and everything has history
And down this aisle there’s golf clubs, and down that aisle there’s crockery
And whispered lives are whispering across the cups of tea
By a van with a generator, plastic tables, and there are we
Comparing –
Wot that’s beautiful
Wot that’s a bargain
And it only cost 50p.
It’s either come here or go to Church, and it takes care of Sunday morning
Knock off shampoo, knock off plugs, it’s kind of habit-forming
It’s pre-loved, recycled kitchen bedroom bathroom garden,
We’re British, we don’t haggle, we negotiate and get a bargain
Under a sunny cloudy scudding very Midlands sky
His rusty hammers, her pink wigs, their younger days flashing by,
All our children’s treasures, now they ‘ve grown and flown the nest
You’ve got to clear the garage, love, it looks a bloody mess
Biscuit tins full of Dinky cars you bought when you were 11
The Readers Digest Drivers Atlas of the British Isles 1967
Xmas presents for the kids, The Adventures of Binkle and Flip,
We could have taken a car-load down the local tip
But we chose to take a wiser, and a different route
Cos we like the eternal and the beautiful Car Boot
Because everything has mystery, and everything has history
And down this aisle there’s golf clubs, and down that aisle there’s crockery
And whispered lives are whispering across the cups of tea
By a van with a generator, plastic tables, and there are we
Comparing –
Wot that’s beautiful
Wot that’s a bargain
And it only cost 50p.
Teapots, teapots, wellie boots, the aisles are paved with good intentions
An exercise bike bought for a New Year’s resolution
Kept 6 months, given to Dave, kept in the shed and then he
Put the bike on E-Bay, and he didn’t even tell me
There’s mountain ranges of Jacqueline Wilson, heaps of Enid Blyton,
Uncle Bob’s Harrington Jacket wot he wore to watch the Who in Brighton,
Old Xmas presents, lego, 45s, floordrobes of taste and fashion,
Oo a chocolate fondue set for nights of naughty chocolate passion
There’s stuff to buy you didn’t know you wanted but suddenly you need
1 incomplete set of Top Trump cards, 1 Flymo lead
Because everything has mystery, and everything has history
And down this aisle there’s golf clubs, and down that aisle there’s crockery
And whispered lives are whispering across the cups of tea
By a van with a generator, plastic tables, and there are we
Comparing – Wot that’s beautiful
Wot that’s a bargain And it only cost 50p.
One of the amazing things about taking part in the Pop-Up sessions is being allowed to hear stories, and to be let into the special worlds and talents of people that we talk to. At the Car Boot I ended up sitting down and having a cup of tea with Mick, who runs the site. He told me great stories, his talents as a magician, as a businessman, and then he told me that he also wrote poems. They just come, he said. He told me this poem by heart standing next to the tea and burger van where his son Matthew was serving tea and snacks. He said it took him about 15 minutes to write, which I was amazed by. Listening to him tell me this poem was a magical, unexpected and moving moment –
He wrote this poem for his son, Matthew.
Matthew’s poem
How I feel so tired
Sitting at my desk
My eyes are getting heavy
And I really need some rest
But there is work to do
And so little time
If only the days of my youth
Could once again be mine
Time was no problem
It just went on and on
How I spent my happy hours
In my search for fun
If only I could have known
That time would go so fast
And very soon these happy days
Would be lost within my past
But my life is like the seasons
And my winter days are short
And like a ship caught in a storm
I look for any port
A final place to rest my bones
And live with my dream
Once again to run through the grass
Or paddle in a stream
To stand upon that distant hill
Without a single care
And feel the fingers of the wind
So gentle in my hair
But time and tide they both march on
No one can change the rule
I must forget the joys of youth
Today I’m starting school.
By Mick McCreath
