Gateways Home To Worthing
We set out, full of hope and ale, one grey December morn
We threw the dice to choose our route, and settled on Cape Horn
The sails were full, the captain too, as we pulled out of port
And settled on the Dogger Bank more swiftly than we ought
"All hands on deck!" the captain cried, and soon we stood, aghast,
To view the stern all rudderless, the deck without a mast
We drifted there for forty hours, with one conclusion plain
We weren't advancing much, nor were we heading home again.
"Man overboard!", the lookout cried, as waves began to rise
Across the prow, a sudden swell of quite alarming size
Near carried off the cabin boy, and caused the crew to quail
On noting, 'mid the turbulence, a small vermilion whale
Which eyed them with a grave concern, and twitched its starboard fluke
A gesture which, our Captain said, was meant as a rebuke
But every man aboard our raft would swear he's seen a ghost
The cook saw one, the bosun three; the Captain saw the most
Just then, as night began to fall, we heard a faint "Halloo!"
The tiny voice of something surely smaller than a shrew
We peered about to ascertain if rescue was at hand
Or whether something even more unsettling was planned
To wreck our day, when from the gloom a wondrous sight appeared
With hair of writhing seaweed, and tentacles for beard
We recognised Him instantly, and fell unto our knees
Before the mighty Kraken, the terror of the seas
"Oh, spare our souls, and send us home!" the quiv'ring chaplain cried
While half the crew, the captain too, considered suicide
The apparition paused for thought, then drew a mighty breath
And whispered something ominous. We caught the one word, "Death" ...
Before the exhalation blew us headlong to the main
Forties, Viking, Fair Isle, Faroes, then right back again
We raised a cheer, the captain most of all, as into view
There hove a stretch of coastline that we few survivors knew
It seemed that Fate had played on us a most mischeevous trick
The ocean settled flat and yet we all felt pretty sick
We all drew straws, the captain first, to see who'd go ashore
And – 'lackaday – it fell to me to pick the shortest straw
The boat sank low, my spirits too, as silently I rowed
Trusting that calm surface wouldn't suddenly explode
I heaved for what seemed like a week (t'was actually an hour)
Before I realised ... the boat was sapping all my power
I dived from the accursèd boat and struck out at a crawl
Mine energy was barely equal to a longish haul
But when my strength had all but ebbed I washed up with the tide
On the very stretch of coastline that 'I like to be beside'
The seagulls soared, my spirits too, but then a sudden chill
Swept over me on noticing a cloud above Bexhill
That cloud loomed over empty plain, where once were bustling streets
And termite hills replaced the former pensioners' retreats
Though mystified and fearful yet, I knew what I must do
To save my failing sanity (if not restore the view)
I staggered back into the surf and struck out for the ship
Which, in a former century, had set out on a trip
Intended to enrich us all with piracy and crime
Until the Kraken's onslaught had transplanted us in time
I briefed the crew; we left the ship to drift (we thought it best)
And grace the page of legend by the name 'Marie Celeste'
| Contributors: | TG, Roland. |
| Poem finished: | 12th February 2004 by TG. |