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Showing posts from January, 2017

Humber by Dave Rigby

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As the wind sings in the suspended steelwork, the Humber swirls beneath, racing to reach the sea. Mother’s early Sunday morning call – ‘can you come?’ Sounding so unlike Mother. Ninety three, on her own, a small cottage on Spurn Point. Storm surge forecast. The bridge fades away in the mist of the rear view mirror; turn right for Hull. The Super Snipe sweeps through the sleeping city streets, out to Holderness.  Series V, maroon body, cream roof, synchromesh, walnut facia, leather seats and, if I’m lucky, sixteen miles to the gallon; a Humber to its roots. Wipers struggling to keep up, headlights bouncing, racing past Hedon, thinking of Mother, alone. The calm reassurance of the radio, delivering it’s far from calm message Attention all shipping…especially in sea area Humber…the following gale warning…west or north west…gale 8 to storm 10…imminent. Kilnsea. Road closed. Park the car. Waterproofs check, boots check, rucksack of essential supplies check. O

Fair Isle by Emma Harding

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“I’m back here, on these windy rocks, looking for hope in my imagination and my surroundings.”  Outrun , by Amy Liptrot, p. 149. Pathetic fallacy is a literary device which attributes human feelings and emotions to non-human aspects of nature. The wind that ‘rages’ through the trees. The ‘despairing’ call of the curlew. The (oft-used but best-avoided) first line, ’it was a dark and stormy night’, that presages the tempestuous emotions of the main characters or the violence inherent in the story to come.   In Outrun , an autobiographical account of a young woman’s descent into and slow recovery from alcoholism, Amy Liptrot turns pathetic fallacy on its head.   In her self-imposed exile, first on Orkney, then the smaller, more remote island of Papay, Liptrot immerses herself in the wild landscapes and even wilder weather of these, the UK’s most northerly, shores. In doing so, she is able to strip away all the distractions, temptations and false-busyness of an urb

North Utsire, South Utsire by Clair Wright

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I am lulled by squalls, North Utsire, South Utsire, Quelled with gales in Dogger, Fisher, Calmed, westerly, falling slowly. I drift through wintery showers, Humber, Thames, Borne on north westerly, becoming cyclonic, Lulled with squalls, North Utsire, South Utsire. I am soothed through Sole, Lundy, Fastnet, Stilled on a swell, becoming high later, Calm, westerly, falling slowly. Visibility is poor in Hebrides, Bailey, I am hushed by a hurricane, veering northerly, Lulled with squalls, North Utsire, South Utsire. I doze through Shannon, moderate, rising, Floating, steadily, in Faeroes, Fair Isle, Calm, westerly, falling slowly. I am sinking, steadily, dropping later, I sleep in a storm off South East Iceland, Lulled with squalls, North Utsire, South Utsire, Calm, westerly, falling slowly. Many listeners to Radio 4, who have few maritime connections, nevertheless rely on the Shipping Forecast, to lull them to sleep.

VIKING by Virginia Hainsworth

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Wind north-westerly, veering northerly later, crying to the Nordic gods, shaking them from their long sleep. Storm approaching. Sea state high, occasionally very high, waves straining to reach the sky, failing to quench the enchanted fires or douse the myths. Weather wintry, thundery showers. Sounds of battle, gods against giants. Clouds of dwarves, witch queens, magic hammers, crowding the skies. Visibility good, occasionally poor. Runic letters carved into stone momentarily revealed, forecasting unrest. Increasing later. The shipping area ‘Viking’, off the southwestern coast of Norway, is named after the sandbank situated there.  But the word ‘Viking’ conjures up so much more.

Trafalgar by Annabel Howarth

Taste celebration, bitter sweet, Raw hope and fear meet, A small Victory won, Fatal woundings are done, As other battles wage on, Listen, as the past year mourns, Gaze on the new day’s dawn, And seek new joy and hope, Refuge from the lighthouse calls. According to today's shipping forecast for Trafalgar, the sea state is "rough or very rough, becoming moderate or rough later". This acrostic poem is inspired by the shipping forecast for Trafalgar,  the famous battle of 1805 which was fought in the Cape of Trafalgar and the lighthouse which was subsequently erected there, news that there was a fatal stabbing in Trafalgar Square shortly after Christmas, and the general conflicting feelings surrounding this time of year.