Uranium, Chinamen and other caustic things.

I woke up this morning thinking about my Uncle Jimmie who is probably the most important person in my life. I wished he could be here and hang out with all the fantastic potters I have attracted to Pinecroft. He would have been in his element telling his stories of the war and the working in the potteries during the Industrial Revolution. He would tell of the men who would ride home on their bicycles covered from head to toe with red lead and how my Grandpa Jack May could walk into the bar on a Friday night and all the men from the potteries would get silent because they knew how hard a man he was. Jack Profit May an Englishmen that wore a shirt and tie,  a Buffalo robe coat, smoked a pipe, was as tuff as nails and worked the electrical lines of the CPR railroad.
I fear my Uncle Jimmie would have to shed his tough skin like a snake and reveal the soft and tender man he was. Working in the mines and potteries as an orphaned  child, and 5 years of being first line in the war had given him a tough skin. His stories of the Chinaman jumping into the kiln to aid reduction, the words Gerrie and The Hun, his friends the women that visited him that he referred to as his Jewess friends. All these words would have to change.
Here is a uranium glazed ash tray I keep in my bedroom.
Uranium palm ash tray- when we all smoked and it didn't hurt us.
 It was made at Medalta Potteries where my Uncle Jimmie started working as a teen. Uncle Jimmie I am firing again this weekend. Sure wish you could be there. I miss you more than anyone can imagine.
Here is a drawing I made while thinking of you. I hope I have made you proud.
Uncle Jimmie- a far cry from what ya taught me. 


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