For Neville Cunningham
You walk, you walk,
You turn a corner and walk some more
The sun might be there
Some cloud also welcome
But you are always invited
Into the house of the beekeeper.
You will know it when you arrive
Usually an afternoon of daylight
Will warm those neighbourhood bricks
You will feel it on your right cheek!
You’ll know you’ve arrived:
A poster of Ned Kelly hangs in his window
The front door is always open when he’s in
And you can go in once you tap on the screen door.
He’ll be reading a book on his thin mattress
Or frying up some fish in his kitchen
Always surrounded by books and thoughts
And when there’s time
There’s debate and discussion in the Beehive:
History, Art, Politics.
Other people walk in
They’re begging to interview for a folk music rag…
He takes me out to his hives
And checks his babies
One catches in my hair,
Buzzing like crazy
‘It’s the detergent!’
He says - detecting a change
‘We better go back in!’
We sit over tea and honey
With squinty eyes, he looks at me inquisitively,
‘The Russians were great beekeepers’
[Neville Cunnigham was a veteran activist and socialist based in Newcastle who died in October last year. He was also a beekeeper and writer, whose home was a frequent meeting place for activists known as “the Beehive”. Brad Evans is the former editor of Red Lamp.]