Carpenter and Joiner

If you had ever met Alan R Powell you would have known him as a (locally)  famous man.

For being able to sink three pints of Brains SA at lunchtime and maintain a perfectly straight spirit level all afternoon.

That he fathered one, possibly two children that his wife never knew about, god rest her soul.

That in younger years he used to spend weekends climbing on the Great Orme, undeterred by seagull shit or squally winds.

This his joinery was to die for, a six-month waiting list for a kitchen cupboard, but don’t ask him for a fitted wardrobe, for as he always said, “a punch in the mouth often offends.”

The oak front door at the Skinners’ Arms is one of the finest examples of his work, as long as you don’t spot the scratches where the mother of one of those children he never talked about set about it with a chisel. He caught her just in time, and wrestled the chisel from her.

The landlord took a philosophical view. “It’ll get damaged soon enough anyway with the high-jinks around here,” he mumbled, before banning them both for a month to cool off. That was the soberest Alan R Powell ever was, but his workmanship was no better in this dry period.

You might not think those doors to his workshop to be his finest work, but they’ve outlived him and though he’s been gone these last ten years, no one in the village can bear the thought of putting the space to another use.


Blog photograph copyrighted to the photographer and used with permission by All photographs used on are stored on and are obtained via the flickr API. Text is copyrighted to the author, Debra Broughton and is used with permission by Please see Show and Share Your Work