Detectorists in Bankfoot

In the weak, blinking sunshine, wind-chilled and watery,
The top fields swarm with detectorists from West Lothian,
Thinly spread, rigorously spaced, slowly they move,
like cautious extra-terrestrials,
each has a rigid, but fluidly-swaying trunk, held just above the ground,
all wear rucksacks or cloth bags that sport spade-shaped antennae.

Every so often,
a detectorist drops to his knees and starts to dig,
carefully refilling each hole before moving on.
I greet a smiling pair of them at the gate.
“I only get Sunday off, but I wouldn’t be anywhere else,” says one.
Do they find treasure? Laughter rings –
“be better off buying a lottery ticket for that!” But….
each has a tale to tell, of tobacco tins and Victorian pennies;
last weekend, a Bronze Age spearhead –
“in this very field!” And anyway, “it’s this I enjoy best,”
– throwing an arm towards the hills, the grazing geese,
the spruced-up-for-spring yellowhammers in the hedge –
“being outside. The scenery. And the people are all lovely.”

They are. I admire their hi-tech gear, wish them luck….
And off they go again. Watching their measured tread, I know
(whether they do or not) detecting’s a walking meditation,
just as anglers sit and meditate on water, fish or no fish.

(If you’d like to know more, visit https://metaldetectingscotland.co.uk/ Guess who’s tempted…)