I owned a factory in what became known as
The Pink District of Manchester.
Used to send Quality Street tins
full of different button rejects
to my sister for Christmas.
They became her treasure chest each year
from which kaleidoscopic tiddlywinks was
invented by her and her kids.
Loads better than marble circles.
Full of chaotic colour and galaxies of pattern.
Never two buttons alike.
The lullaby was buttons pinging relentlessly
into the cup. Art flying through space.
Keeping the days calm.
As button man, I slept my teenage years
in a bed with my sister’s sweetheart – an RAF
storesman who was courting his sister. As
you did in those days of one bedroomed houses
and ten kids.
As button man, I later taught my nephews to play
chess. By post. Sent my move each week with a
letter (and joke attached). Just bought some new
golfing socks. There’s a hole in one!
Then they invented the zip fastener.
Button man’s business bottomed out.
I launched a campaign that implored
buttons were still best. Folk agreed.
But still bought zips instead. Zips were easier.
Button man paddled along for a while. Kept afloat.
Kept his dignity and his Pride. Finally retired and
wound the button factory down.
Got a retirement job as a lollipop man. Helping
children cross the road in the Pink District. Ten
at a time.
Was the lollipop man but all the kids knew
who I really was.
Gary Boswell
.