…. December 1990. A Saturday morning. Thirty long years ago, but I remember it like yesterday. It’s freezing. The corrugated iron shed is covered in a film of frost. Inside it’s dark, silent and cold. My mate is here to help. The foundry is ready. I am ready. For the first time in my life I am in charge…

The pilot boat pulls up and we get on board. We head out to check the conditions. Nothing is being left to chance today. The bracing sea air and adrenaline have got me wide-awake. All’s well and we head back to collect our precious load. In darkness the pilot pushes the pontoon out to the open sea. The crew chat, laugh and make tea. Just another early start for them. I’m only here for the ride. A passenger. Safe in their hands I watch in silence as the first glimmer of daybreak reveals our silhouetted giant, surfing across the open sea.

…Nervously I fire up the new furnace I had dreamed of and lovingly built. I start slowly as steam is forced out of the freshly cast lining. I turn up the heat. The iron shed begins to gently rattle as the furnace sucks in the energy and then suddenly rockets it’s flame out of the top for the first time. It’s dangerous but I hide my fear. It’s in my hands now. I have to concentrate on what I’ve learned. Second nature will come in time…

We plough on across Plymouth Sound circled by a crowded press boat and a drone. Apparently we’re live on breakfast TV today. Its only 6am but people are all ready gathering on the Hoe to watch the arrival. As we approach the port a fluorescent army awaits. This operation has been planned to perfection with know how, but you can only hope the weather behaves. With luck it does. Back on dry land experts spring into action as one. “Messenger” is untied, lifted and secured on the enormous low loader without a hitch.

…The furnace begins to glow bright orange, lighting up the shed with its own florescence. The crown of flame turns copper green as I charge the pot. We enjoy the warmth now created and chat about the new foundry. I step outside to get some air and cool off. A mist of steam rises from the tin roof. The furnace blasts out it’s roar as the winter sun casts it’s own golden glow. All that matters is this moment…

The show must go on and we’re ready to move. Everything has been checked and checked again. Blue flashing police cars lead the procession out of the dock gates. Roped down on her carriage like a modern day Gulliver, “Messenger” moves at walking pace through the city streets, crowds of “Lilliputians” gathering to watch the spectacle. She sways, stops and starts as the roundabouts and bumps are negotiated. I walk along side watching every move so intensely I hardly notice the swelling crowds. But I feel the excitement in the air.

…I check the molten bronze. We are simply trying out the furnace. Having fun. We knock up some sand moulds to pour. Nothing special. Some wooden patterns my friend had turned on his new lathe. The proper work is for a future I cannot imagine now. I check the bronze again as I was taught, as I would countless times in the years ahead. Teach others to do…and they would teach others in turn. Four thousand year old magic to be mastered, refined and passed on. We dress in our brand new foundry gear and set up the shiny tools. I shout instructions as I check the metal one more time and turn off the blower. Our voices drop with the impact of sudden silence. We lift out the glowing pot, chain it to the irons and pour…