Sailor-Y-Pent , livre ebook

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65 pages

English

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Sailor-y-Pent is a narrative poem that describes the sad, strange, silly and often slightly sinful inhabitants of a small Welsh seaside town in the 1960s. Your guide walks you to the church on the hill, meeting them en route. Some of them you may think you have met, others you might have liked to have met. Their behaviour will make you laugh, sigh or weep at their shenanigans. This short book would be the ideal gift for that older relation for their birthday or at Christmas.

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Poetry

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Publié par	Distributed by eBookpartnership
Date de parution	06 avril 2022
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781839524868
Langue	English
Poids de l'ouvrage	1 Mo

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0200€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

Extrait

First published 2022
Copyright © Colin Stern 2022
The right of Colin Stern to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs & Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, electrostatic, magnetic tape, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the written permission of the copyright holder.
Published under licence by Brown Dog Books and
The Self-Publishing Partnership Ltd, 10b Greenway Farm, Bath Rd, Wick, nr. Bath BS30 5RL
www.selfpublishingpartnership.co.uk

ISBN printed book: 978-1-83952-485-1
ISBN e-book: 978-1-83952-486-8
Cover design by Andrew Prescott
Internal design by Andrew Easton
Printed and bound in the UK
This book is printed on FSC certified paper
S AILOR-Y -P ENT
Sailor-y-Pent’s people, the salt of the earth,
They love life in this town from their moment of birth.
Their fishing tradition has mostly all gone,
Those damn Europeans pinch cod, crab and prawn.
The town lost its living, till one brighter spark
Brought tourism in with his large leisure park.
Now families visit, young lovers come too,
Who sit in the cafés, enjoying the view.
The picturesque town with its harbour and quays
Is a beautiful sight with its westerly breeze.
Buskers play arabesques for the lovers who pass
Blowing kisses and smiles to each comely young lass.
The holidaymakers are popular here,
They spend money freely and drink up our beer.
I’ll show you some characters as we walk past,
Starting down in the harbour and up to church last.
Captain Finbar McCool is a spindly old chap
There he sits on a stool with his head in a map.
He’s the Master of Harbour, controls every boat
No need of a barber; beard covers his throat.
He’s a masterful seaman and knows every rock
In the bay. He’s a freeman and watches the clock.
At eight he’s on duty, at six he goes home.
He has language that’s fruity he learned on the foam.
He knows all the sailors who visit his port
And controls the retailers, makes sure they don’t short.
He keeps perfect order, he’s tough as a nail,
A militant warder, unlikely to fail.
He’s running a sideline that brings in the cash
It depends on the tideline, they don’t make a splash.
They smuggle crack coke in and he gets his cut
Distributes to townsfolk, no if and no but.
Some local policemen are paid to keep mum
Finbar calls them his ‘grease men’, considers them scum.
He’s a network of runners that deal in the drug
One or two may be gunners, each one is a thug.
Cocaine is a habit that’s hard to give up
If the coppers could nab it, it still might blow up.
But Finbar is clever, his boys on the ball.
The likelihood: never! There’s no chance at all.
Contents
Capt. Finbar Mccool
Salty Sam
Mrs. Caroline Clark
Camilla Mackay
Estella Macfarlane & Aaron
Septimus Plaster
Atkins the Grocer
Albert Arbuthnot
Jennifer Jenkins
Priscilla Todmartin
Rosie Buxton
Mrs. Pheobe Caruthers
Eleanor Manning
Percy & Marjory Potts & Daughters
Bartholomew Jones
SGT. Oliver Deeping
Prunella Macdonald
Mingus Mcbride
Col. Fergus Mccann
Lady Gwendolyn Wingold
William Morgan & Blanche
Lady Jennifer Mason
Archibald Fox
Dr. Jonathan Michaels
Sade Pinkerton
Miss Rosemary Mountford
Rev. Mike Pringle
Atticus Rose
Hohn Hare
Look over there! That’s Salty Sam; he’s Captain Hunt to you.
His fishing boat is called The Ram, its overhaul is due.
His tiny cottage on the quay is neatly painted white.
He catches crab and lobster. See, he caught a few last night.
His wife passed on a year ago, from cancer we were told.
He didn’t seem to mourn, although she had a heart of gold.
Their seven children moved away and rarely venture back.
The reasons why he doesn’t say, but always changes tack.
His beard is grey, his face is lined, he smokes a curly pipe.
His grim expression is resigned, his forehead needs a wipe.
His woollen trousers need a darn, his singlet needs a wash.
He’ll tell you a fantastic yarn, although it’s mostly bosh.
He’ll take you on a fishing trip, for mackerel and sprat.
He’ll bring some rum, give you a sip and has his tales off pat.
If you catch something, he’ll suggest you throw it back again.
He’ll say, ‘Them varmints catch them best, those fisherman from Spain.’
Some evenings he’ll seek folk to meet and buys himself a beer.
If someone’s in his usual seat, he’ll say, ‘I’m sitting there!’
The Lobster Pot’s his local inn, his mates know when he’ll come.
As drink is not a mortal sin, he’ll sink himself in rum.
Our Salty Sam’s a monument to life that once we had.
His tips are an emolument to keep him better clad.
Though swearing like a mariner may put some people off,
I won’t be his disparager, I cover with a cough.
In the pretty pink villa high over the quay
Lives a latter-day Scylla whose service is free.
To healthy young men who are seeking a ride,
She is most obliging, will surely provide.
Mrs Caroline Clarke runs her boarding house well
The best in Sailor-y-Pent, so people tell.
Her bright gingham curtains and holystoned floor
Display her commitment, once inside her door.
It sits by the harbour, with views of the sea
You can watch passers-by as they stroll on the quay.
Her bedrooms are cosy, her cooking divine.
Her coq-au-vin’s certainly better than mine.
She takes in young couples and visiting men
Who come here on business and come here again.
She seems very motherly, gives them the eye
And then, when it’s bedtime, they quickly learn why.
She visits them wearing a brief negligee
But soon throws it off for a roll in the hay.
She’s had lots of practice and shows off her skill.
The young men allow her to do what she will.
At two in the morning, she takes to her bed
Aware of her work for the day that’s ahead.

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