All week we’d waited for a barbeque. Each day we woke expecting sun. A shame for all we got were wet and squelchy shoes. We breakfasted on toast and drank the view of larch lap, thunder cloud and bamboo cane all week. We’d waited for a barbeque: a bean and sausage feast. But do you know? I think St. Swithin could have been to blame for all we got was wet. And squelchy shoes were the order of each day. Beamish? You remember: cold feet, sweet shop and ghost train. All week while waiting for our barbeque, we’d lunched on fish and chips. We’d had a few and liked the cod so asked for cod again but all we got were wet and squelchy shoes, a sprinkling of salt and border dew at Embleton. We could have aquaplaned all week. We’d waited for a barbeque but all we got were wet and squelchy shoes. --------- More Rain A Prayer to St. Swithin (for Katherine Rumens) St. Swithin’s Day, if thou dost rain Full forty days it will remain St. Swithin’s Day, if thou be fair For forty days, twill rain no mair. (Traditional) Rain doctor, cloud seeder; lover of bare feet and gutter water; christener of apples and gooseflesh; drowner of rats; have mercy upon the haymakers and the mackless on this high and dry day for beached umbrella jellyfish; on this day of breakfast kippers, brown bread and butter; of castles, their dew-washed wall flowers and stone-crops: drifters through time before moon-dials, scratch clocks and your muddy resurrection; before Nicholas Culpepper named them and claimed them as cure-alls. Raindancer; clog-hopper; whipper-up of squall clouds, thunderheads and dripple; have mercy on the herring gulls, the guillemots and their stranded chicks. But shower your blessings if you must upon the transplanters of cabbages and broccoli, upon all free-footing beer swillers and eaters of fish and chips on Southend Pier. Next: Lindisfarne Harbour Back to Judith # 009MO |
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