December 18th, 2025Local Lines
Nailman
Tuh-tap-tap-Waap. Four blows
and the three inch nail was flush.
That’s counting the set-up tap.
When the power goes off now
on a building site, carpenters
knock off for the day.
In Jim’s time, you just
got on with it. Power
was for the Sparkies.
Stripped to the waist,
cracked leather tool bag
aproning his faded Stubbies
Jim put in steady days
on Bendigo housing blocks,
armed with his smooth,
wooden-handled hammer
& nail punch, black-handled
builder’s square rammed
in his belt, flick-hinged
carpenter’s rule at the ready
and stubby, flat, red pencil.
A portable one-man constructor.
Even as I homeworked
over a desk as a teenager,
on weekends, I knew
his presence, nails jangling
in that tool bag, interspersed
with regular hammer blows,
some backyard project
always on the go.
The fete on a Saturday
at the local grammar school,
saw well-heeled mothers,
cardiganed fathers and kids
haggling for bargains. Away
from trimmed doilies and napkins,
a makeshift side-show
offered a pound note
to anyone who could drive
a nail into thick board
in five or fewer blows.
I had to insist.
Dad bought Choc Wedges
for the family, all five of us.
Proud, was I, as punch.
– Bill Wootton
Bill lives and writes in Hepburn Springs. His father is still kicking but not nailing so much.
