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Posts Tagged ‘The Sea’

 

We love the life of a Jolly Jack Tar.  Nothing better than a day unfurling a spanker or two and gazing up into the mizzen mast and worrying about the Doldrums.

Whilst up aft for’d we pass the time by singing a shanty.

Here are a few we croon;

• Me Auld Girl’s Blowhole
• Johnny’s Tinkler Is Inflamed
• After 3 Years At Sea Duncan Is Now Dorothy
• I’ve Been Bent Over A Barrel or 2
• Tug Me Rope
• When I Rub Me Barnacles I’m Thinking Of Me Jessie
• Blow Me Back To Blighty On A Good Stiff ‘Un
• Lord Nelson Swung Both Ways

Anyway the west wind blows fare – so adieu me hearties – sing along to this classic!

 

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The Sea’s waves

Fat

Heavy with the Moon’s oily light

Moon glow seaside Bundoran

Ginger rimmed

Caked in winter’s corona of cloudy night

The town glows too

From above seen

The waves take on the pores

Of skin swept sea

All held firm this

Extra

Given

Night

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We love the life of a Jolly Jack Tar.  Nothing better than a day in the rigging, unfurling a spanker or two and gazing up into the mizzen mast and worrying about the Doldrums. Whilst up aft for’d we pass the time by singing a few sea shantys. Here are a few we croon;

• There’s A Maiden With Scurvy Waitin’ For Me In Nantucket
• Break Out The Grog For Johnny’s Tinkle
• I’m Not Chesty Nancy Just Got A Touch O’Consumption
• That’s Not A Whale In Me Pocket Mary, I’m Just Pleased To See Ye
• Tickle Me Tackle Nancy
• Tug Me Rope
• When I Rub Me Barnacles I’m Thinking Of Me Molly
• Blow Me Back To Blighty Gerty On A Good Stiff ‘Un
• Sweet Judie’s Given Me Crabs

Anyway the west wind blows fare – so adieu me hearties – sing along to this classic!

 

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fresco_rescue

Hello!

Here’s another  Train Travel Tale for you to read. It will be in three parts. the BIG NEWS is that the title is a Spanish word!

Ole!

I hope you enjoy Mimico……..

The train track hugs the coast like a coddled infant as it skirts bays, coves, inlets and headlands. At some points, trains run so close to beaches that it is possible to watch people paddling, beach combing or throwing sticks for excited dogs to chase after into the surf.

As a spur line off the main Inter City route, I am surprised that it is still going after all these years, whittled as it is to just a train from Big Town to Home Town in the morning and from Home Town to Big Town in the late afternoon. But the line thrives in its small understated way. Passengers know each other by first name, can always get a seat and even chat with the Guard enquiring after loved ones and mutual acquaintances.

I was going home after a few days in Big Town where I work in a hotel. I’d also visited the dentist for my annual check-up.  Got the all clear.

Not a lot goes on in Home Town. In fact nothing of note goes on, unless you count the ice cream van doing its rounds each Thursday. And that is only during the summer. I love the van’s Greensleeves jingle and nearly always treat myself to a 99.

The only other passengers sharing the carriage with me were an elderly couple sitting several rows in front.

The first stop on the line, Tiddle was soon reached.  There was a human statue on the platform. The ability to stand still for hours at a time is a highly under rated skill in my opinion.  As the train drew to a halt I noticed that it was The Statue of Liberty, my favourite statue.

A woman was standing on the platform. She unfurled an umbrella, even though rain wasn’t forecast and gingerly walked in a straight line, her face gripped with concentration as she carefully slid one foot directly in front of the other.

She would teeter and wobble, using the umbrella to help her balance. I was nervous for her, at one point hiding my face in my hands as she tottered violently for several seconds. Finally she stopped and flourished her brolly triumphantly to signal the success of her ground level high wire walking act.

She walked back to her starting point to repeat her actions. As the train pulled away and rounded the infamous Tiddle bend, I saw her teetering precariously once more. I worried for her.

A man appeared in the carriage. Rouge had been applied to his cheeks and liner daubed haphazardly around his eyes. A battered straw hat sat askew on his head. He was carrying a heavy load, invisible to the human eye. He came to a halt at row Row 45, opposite me, stood on the seat and heaved the invisible suitcase into the overhead shelf, jiggling with it to ensure it was safely stowed.  Stepping down, he pulled out an imaginary cloth, pedantically dusted his seat with it and then sat, protecting the crease in his trousers as he did so.

He smiled at me and mopped his brow with the faux handkerchief to signify his labours.  I noticed a piece of sweet corn stuck between his front teeth.

Once comfortable in the seat, he unfurled what appeared to be a newspaper. Of the transparent variety. He licked his right index finger to turn the pages and sighed with outrage at the information contained within.

My gaze returned to the sea, where I watched a small mackerel smack puttering its way towards Tiddle’s compact harbour.

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A ploughed field by the sea

I miss you more than the sea*

Light rain has fallen

The rain revealing napped flints all along the field’s boundary

My snares were not set to hold you

But only cast as my heaven’s reach

Now proven so much less than your gaze’s measure

Glinting catching the light

Still sharp lying there

These old worked stones

* Paul would like to thank his friend Genevieve for this line.

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The Sea’s waves

Fat

Heavy with the Moon’s oily light

Moon glow seaside Bundoran

Ginger rimmed

Caked in winter’s corona of cloudy night

The town glows too

From above seen

The waves take on the pores

Of skin swept sea

All held firm this

Extra

Given

Night

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I can see all The Shore as my dogs bound away in grateful release

By a dune’s stump

It blasted away by a storm of eight years ago

I sit and stare south in winter’s moonlight

I know this beach

St John’s Point and its lighthouse

The Cow and the Calf

There away, another spot blinks

Cast out from the Isle of Man

Towards Newcastle’s yellow lit streets and shore

Tips of the Mourne Mountains capped with low cloud

Sweetmoon

A silver beam

Carried the shore’s length

Glittering upon each wave

There above, a brightly lit planet

Shows through the gathering clouds

You are south and tho’ this beach looks south

It’s winds now but safe gusts for summer kite surfers

You are far

Far south

I have your light and look for it

But although see planets

Rocks at sea

Lighthouses

I am still here shorebound

For something as simple as you and I

Tonight I cannot see you

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