The Victorian Wheelbarrow At the Wirral show there is a man in a tarpaulin stand next to the tent where children pet farm animals he is left alone feet shifting for grip on damp grass treading curled red deal shavings and the smell of fresh cut wood into the earth people pass rushing to avoid the cold and rain to get to the car stands, to see the displays of hand crafted plastic jewellery, to get to the fair they do not notice that he is carving at a bench the fluted  handles for a replica Victorian wheelbarrow or that he has reclaimed the skills and tools of long dead craftsmen made them his own makes wheelbarrows as functional as ever solid wood constructions that eased the labour of Victorian gardeners but these are destined to be guaranteed-not-to-rot plant containers and will never have the sweat of calloused hands round the patiently carved-for-comfort handle or be chipped and scraped by tired bent backed men these will be talked about on patios and garden paths and maybe someone will paint one red put plastic raindrops on its surface and stand it beside stuffed white chickens in the Tate maybe I will Jim Bennett If you have any comments on this poem, Jim Bennett would like to hear from you.