The old fingers fumbled , as he grumbled to lift off the lid of the dubbin tin .



From the bag he took a rag and rubbed it in , until he was ready to begin .

In figure eights and circles , he ran the rag on the leather he was polishing .

His wrists were aching and Mr Arthur Itus , as it were , wasn't giving in .


The saddler suffered gladly for the glory of his saddles to glow in the spring .


Riders with their horses welcomed his craft and their compliments of that kept him strong .

He had a reason to stay young ,as the equestrian season had come along .

Springtime and the old saddler seem to find a new lease of life .

So the story goes .

All that's required besides time and talent ,is a fine horse with a saddle that glows .





By Paul Mc Cann