Here's a link to "A Wild Penzance Night," conveying something of what it's like when a gale hits land in the far south-west. The poem was posted on this blog on 11 June 2018.
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Have you felt, man, a force nine gale in your face,
Like being scoured with rivets in every place,
Trying to stand steady against the screaming howl
Of a wind that shrieks then mocks in a growl,
A scrap of sail up which hums like a wire
Strained taut to splitting in the half-light mire:
The combers are crowding the staggering hull
As she forces to windward like a baffled bull;
Spume streaks in ropes the black-hurled waves
Which rear and thunder like stone-roaring caves:
Ah those crests which leap and collapse on the deck,
Choking the scuppers with a foaming beck!
The deck gear and davits have all been smashed,
And nothing’s steady that’s not been lashed;
Like blackout curtains the wave-sweeping clouds
Flinder to rags among the screeching shrouds;
Two helmsmen, drenched, are lashed to the wheel,
The ship’s bucking, tottering, and showing her keel;
The captain and first mate are crouched at the rail
Wrapped in a dodger that cracks like a flail;
The raging scud is a slap in the eyes,
Flaring in the gloom with wails and sighs;
Thrown across deck as the ship rolls in a trough,
It’s freezing, soaking, terror-struck stuff:
And many’s the oath in this death-brinked hell
That land-won safely in a harbour’s dell,
It’s farewell briny, find a girl’s love,
Take to factory work that’s snug as a glove,
Have a rose-filled garden, a babe on the knee,
An allotment for vegetables – cabbage and pea ...
Fast lads, she’s backing, she’s digging her bow,
The sea’s thick on the decks, it’s never or now,
Strain on the braces, fetch her head round,
If she founders we’re done for, we’re all of us drowned –
Can’t breathe, the spray is dense in the wind,
It’s banshee-bellowing, and it’s got me pinned! –
Salt-soaked, exhausted, we worked that ship
As she laboured the curlers like a waterlogged chip:
And what matter my dreams, my promises to self,
Don’t I know that just like a ball on a shelf,
If I settled ashore with all a man longs,
I’d roll off that shelf like a child in its songs
As quick as I heard the hiring gun,
That a ship was crewing, and a wage to be won?
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© May 2021
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Have you felt, man, a force nine gale in your face,
Like being scoured with rivets in every place,
Trying to stand steady against the screaming howl
Of a wind that shrieks then mocks in a growl,
A scrap of sail up which hums like a wire
Strained taut to splitting in the half-light mire:
The combers are crowding the staggering hull
As she forces to windward like a baffled bull;
Spume streaks in ropes the black-hurled waves
Which rear and thunder like stone-roaring caves:
Ah those crests which leap and collapse on the deck,
Choking the scuppers with a foaming beck!
The deck gear and davits have all been smashed,
And nothing’s steady that’s not been lashed;
Like blackout curtains the wave-sweeping clouds
Flinder to rags among the screeching shrouds;
Two helmsmen, drenched, are lashed to the wheel,
The ship’s bucking, tottering, and showing her keel;
The captain and first mate are crouched at the rail
Wrapped in a dodger that cracks like a flail;
The raging scud is a slap in the eyes,
Flaring in the gloom with wails and sighs;
Thrown across deck as the ship rolls in a trough,
It’s freezing, soaking, terror-struck stuff:
And many’s the oath in this death-brinked hell
That land-won safely in a harbour’s dell,
It’s farewell briny, find a girl’s love,
Take to factory work that’s snug as a glove,
Have a rose-filled garden, a babe on the knee,
An allotment for vegetables – cabbage and pea ...
Fast lads, she’s backing, she’s digging her bow,
The sea’s thick on the decks, it’s never or now,
Strain on the braces, fetch her head round,
If she founders we’re done for, we’re all of us drowned –
Can’t breathe, the spray is dense in the wind,
It’s banshee-bellowing, and it’s got me pinned! –
Salt-soaked, exhausted, we worked that ship
As she laboured the curlers like a waterlogged chip:
And what matter my dreams, my promises to self,
Don’t I know that just like a ball on a shelf,
If I settled ashore with all a man longs,
I’d roll off that shelf like a child in its songs
As quick as I heard the hiring gun,
That a ship was crewing, and a wage to be won?
====================
© May 2021
