The sea and I a poem

 My relationship with the sea since I retired.

The Sea and I

The canopy of jewels in the dark velvety sky

Stretching over the beach on which we sat

Gravel damp with spray beneath our legs

The Needles white and jagged but softened

By moonlight sparkling across the calm sea

A ship with lights blazing passes cheerfully

Off to some distant exotic lands and places

Will I ever sail like that again?

Out into the moonlight sea

Away! Away!

Will I again feel the thrill of leaving?

Seeing the land and the lights disappear

And the moon and stars companions

Now I sit on the beach in the soft glow

Remembering what it was like to go away

What it was like to arrive in distant lands

Genocide

There has been many posts on social media about genocide. In my fantasy novel Princes Daphne, Edward Eastland has led his friends through a rift in time and space to  the aid of the Sea Elves. The Elves feel they are being systematically killed by the followers of the Tyrant. Nelvask, the magician, discuses with Latask the meaning of  genocide.

“ Tag looked at Edward but seeing he was not going to speak or give any sign that he was even listening, asked, “ What do you mean by genocide?  I have never heard that word before.”

Latask shrugged and held his hands apart. “ The usual understanding of the term genocide is the deliberate and systematic destruction of an ethnic, racial, religious, or national group. This is especially true when the destruction of a people is accomplished by mass killings of all citizens of a nation. I know that sounds legalistic but it is the best I can do to define what Nelvask and I are debating.”

“ Why would anybody, no matter how evil, want to wipe out an entire people?” Kitty’s eyes were wide with horror.

Nelvask laughed. “ Coming from a pillar of the old Empire that is a bit rich.”

Kitty bristled, her eyes flashing. “ The Empire, even during its worst excesses, did not go round killing other peoples without any reason. In most cases killing happened because there was resistance to their incorporation into the Empire. The Imperial officials tried to incorporate other nations into their system. Though under several Emperors and the Covenent the Imperial authorities might have wanted to wipe out the Rombuli, they did not even try.”

Corlina interrupted. “ I do not know enough about the history of the Empire never having lived until recently under its control. I understand what you are saying, Nelvask. For some reason the enemy of the sea elves wants to kill them all. Why?”

Nelvask shook his head. “ It is not easy to understand why one set of peoples want to get rid of another. Again I call them peoples because I do not have the information about their background. They could be some alien organism that we have never before heard of or seen. Back to the reasons why one peoples wants to wipe out another peoples. As far  as I understand, there are many complex reasons behind their desire to wipe out another peoples. First of all, targeting a population for elimination because one set of people consider the other set vermin who impeded the use of the land and resource. Usually it is imposed because one set of people has overwhelming superiority in military power. The second reason is the desire for revenge for past aggression. A third cause of massacres is fear. If the enemy is presumed to be so dangerous that it threatens “us” with extinction, then it might be a wise policy to exterminate all of them first should the occasion arise. The final reason for genocidal killing is the most difficult to understand. Sometimes the very existence on earth of an enemy community is considered so polluting, so offensive, and so unnatural that harmony cannot be reestablished until every last one of this group has been eliminated. Which of these reasons the enemy of the sea elves follows or which variant of them, I have no idea.”

Latask spoke. “ We do not have enough information to make a judgement on the issue of genocide”

As is seen it is very difficult to understand whether genocidecis taking place or not.

My Christmas poem

 Bernard

We plodded all the way from Nazereth

With all the other crowds along the road

The lady sat on my back among the bundles

The man walking with his staff holding the rope

All I wanted was to arrive and get some rest

And at last we arrived at their destination.

The town was crowded but he found an inn

Came back to say there were no rooms

The only resting place was the stable with me

The lady agreed weary from riding and ready

To lie down and rest even with the animals.

I did not mind as long as it was warm.

It was peaceful in the stable where I rested

The lady started groaning and  women came

Soon there was the cry of a new born baby

The man took away my feeding trough

Filled it with straw and laid the baby on top

There was a golden glow over the manger.

All went quiet again and I settled down until

Outside there was the sound of rough voices

Men came into the stable, shepherds by looks

They knelt down by the baby and handed a lamb

It was strange but they talked of bright lights

And angels singing and telling them to come.

For days it was mainly quiet with a few people 

Come to visit the baby who appeared important

There was the sound of camels outside the door

Three men in travel stained clothes entered 

Carrying wooden boxes carved and jeweled

Bowing they gave these to the woman and baby.

Today I stand waiting loaded with bags and food

We are leaving so the man said to the woman

He had been told to leave and not come back

I did not see anybody speak to him o the woman

But I am only Bernard the donkey , all I do

Is carry them where .ever they want to go

Poem of Galway Bay

A summer holiday in Ireland

Galway Bay

 

We sing

“ Watch the sun go down on Galway Bay”

But the rain pours down

The clouds race across the sky

Waves beat on the shore.

 

A Rainbow arches over the water

We race to find the end

Never reached the end of the rainbow

Or found the crock of gold

And the rain pours down

 

Huddled in the car

Watching the fishing boats

Red Blue Green

Appear out of the grey mist

Fighting the white foam

To return to harbour

And the rain pours down.

 

We never see the sun

Go down on Galway bay.

 

 

 

                                                                           

   At a  remembrance service this morning I was reminded of my father.

Here is a poem

Dad

White hair, wrinkled face and slight smile

All his life spread among those furrowed lines

Ploughed into his face by the stress and struggle

To understand the question of why this or that

Mostly of sorrow and anger but some of joy.

He never spoke about his war experiences

I had to find out from other people.

How he had left his new born son to go and fight

Or of the torpedo that dumped him in the sea

Losing the gun he had been trained to fire.

When he was rescued and back on dry land

They had found his team another gun.

They dragged  that gun through the desert sands

And up the spine of Italy into battle after battle.

Along the way, one by one, he lost his friends.

Then one day in a field there had been a bang

And he was left alone fighting a tank with a rifle.

They gave him a medal for that.

But they did not see him after he returned home

Helplessly moaning while twisting and turning in bed

The sheets soaking wet and he weak as a baby.

He came home to the brave new world but no jobs.

He learnt about the dole and the search for work

To paint liners during the winter and buildings in summer

And out of work in the spring and autumn.

No luxuries, no holidays but mum and dad managed.

Of course there was always the football to cheer you up

Though supporting Southampton was no easy ride

But we laughed and cheered together at the matches.

He was proud of his children and their education

Watching their progress with mild bewilderment.

Drink to your memories Dad and reflect

That life was not all bad but could be fun.

Finland and NATO

 This is a passage from my novel Running After Maria. I served on ships sailing to Finland from 1965 to 1969. This is something I heard quite often.

His eyes took on the misty look which I have come to recognise when a person to whom I am talking looks back with nostalgia to a by gone age. " I remember a winter when I was very young. Finland was at war with Russia, such a small nation but on our own because other nations had much bigger problems than to spend time caring about one small country on the edge of the arctic circle." 

For a moment he scowled at the thought of the world standing aside and letting his nation down. " How were we to stand and fight against the superiority of Russia in both arms and men? The only weapons we had were surprise and an intimate knowledge of our country. To make use of our knowledge, our leaders decided we had to retreat into the forest, leaving the women and children behind in the towns and villages. Can you imagine how that affected the men of my father’s generation?  Having to decide between surrender or abandoning their families to the enemy? " 

He paused whether to add to his drama or because he found the memory too painful, I have no idea. All I can remember now is the football game was forgotten and I was spirited away in that moment to the forest, the trees and the snow.  I saw quite clearly the sacrifice of the men as they marched away from those they loved. The first glimmering of what it means to be Finnish started to dawn and I paid close attention to what he said next. 

" For years my parents and their friends had been fed a diet of propaganda, telling them that the Russians were barbarians. All Finns believed that the Russian soldiers would rape all the women and enslave all the children.  Despite this, the men gathered up their weapons and set off for the forest, leaving their women and children to fend for themselves when the Russians came.  I remember my father telling me about how cold it was in the forest and the snow. They buried themselves in the snow and waited for the Russians to come. Nobody complained, the feeling of being one nation buoyed them up and defending the right to live in their country, of how they wished to live their own way, not live as others would try to dictate to them. They wanted to live their lives in their own fashion." 

He paused again, looking round the stadium as though to bring all the spectators into his circle. " The Russians came through the woods in the snow all bunched up in a convoy as though certain they would not be opposed. The Finns lay still and let them pass, hidden in their white suits by the snow. When the Russians were surrounded, our soldiers rose up out of the snow and defeated them in a bloody battle. We did that! This small nation had defeated the Russian bear by acting as true patriots, bound together by our sense of being a separate nation. This is the story that is told over and over again in our schools until it is ground into the very fabric of our very souls. It makes each new generation determined to live as Finns. It swells the breasts of those who come behind with pride!" 

He looked at me, his expression at first serious and then he smiled. " Of course that sort of thing could not last and we lost the war. A great many of my father's friends perished but he never lost his pride in what they had accomplished. We have all learnt from that example that nationhood and independence are worth fighting for. The very act of defiance teaches each generation that our roots lie deep in our blood soaked soil and that a part of every one of us is buried alongside those who died to try to preserve our freedom." 

Poem for today

 As I saw the change in Southampton port, this poem was composed.

Scrapbook of an Sea Port

 

Arriving and leaving, sailing in and out

Joy and sorrow, anxiety and bravado

Immigrants, emigrants, home comers and visitors

Human flotsam swept from the sea.

Ocean Terminal built to look like the bridge of a ship

Greeting the rich, famous and the poor.

Titanic sailing to its doom

Streamers filling the air joining ship to shore

Laughter and excitement as the band plays.

Mauritania with four funnels smoking

Ploughing through Atlantic gales

To the pop of champaign corks and caviar.

Queen Mary proud and elegant

Luxury for the few, crowded for the crew.

Queen Elizabeth all dressed in grey

Disgorging soldiers to fight far from home.

Liners full of hope and fear

Black faces eager to sight the new land

Not dressed for the cold and missing the sun.

Southern Cross off to a new brave life in Australia

Brits longing for the sun and freedom.

Windsor Castle off to the Cape

Waiting for the clock to play 

“ Oh God Our Help in ages past” 

And chime four on Thursday.

United States big glitzy and brash

The fastest liner on the seas.

Ocean Terminal knocked down

The elegant front a pile of rubble

A compound for imported cars.

QE 2 sails from a nondescript berth

With iron roof but still the fanfare.

Tokyo Maru modern but like a floating Box

All angles and slab sides and functional

Like the containers she carries

Arriving and leaving anonymous in the night.

Ocean terminal gone but ships sail in and out

Always moving on.

 

 

Eddie Gubbins

Changes

 Went to cheer my daughter on as she ran the London Marathon. We made our way to several spots along the route to see her pass and give her a cheer. One place we stood and watched the runners was the Old Surrey Docks and Canada dock. It was from here I used to sail as a ships officer aboard the Baltic Venture and the Baltic Vanguard bound for Finland.

This poem occurred to me at the time. In many ways it was sad.

The Docks

 

Water glistens below the bright flower beds

Tall white buildings reflected shapes shimmering

In sepia coloured liquid lapping redundant quays

Rope fenders still clinging to the concrete walls

Iron rails sink into the tarmac unnoticed now.

Voices heard laughing, shouting, crying, arguing

As children play in the shadows of their homes.

Once deeper voices shouted, swore, and laughed 

Broad backs and strong arms pushed and heaved

Cranes banged, whined, moved and whirled

Cargo loaded for distant exotic places

Dynamic energy spilt for the demands of trade.

Now faded into folk lore, remembered by few.

Flats gardens and living people in their place.

In the sky above, a lone seagull cries 

Reminded of the sounds of the docks and

Shades of long lost ships tied to bollards and

The ghostly wail of a ships whistle never to return.