As a boy I lived close to the Sharpness to Gloucester Canel. Once the tall ships graced its channels, with goods bound for the carpet factories of the upper Severn, the mill towns of the North, and coal to help fuel the Industrial Revolution in the Black Country. In later years, came the pleasure crafts, longboats and small cruisers, lazily drifting past the anglers and the swans. The canals , if they could speak, could tell many tales, as indeed could those charged with the operation of the locks. Such a soul is captured in “the Lock Master”, peering out at the evening skyline.
This work has an odd light to it. Not exactly a summer sunset, more a chilly dusk, with a hint of smoke, from a temperamental engine or a campfire. Or an old man’s fading memories ?



