My place now is Cornwall
I was drawn here by the clean air and the
sea
Driven by that heat-wave we had back in
’76.
Cornwall is where the granite spine of Britain
Lies exposed to the wind and the weather
Before dipping below the Wild Atlantic
Ocean.
It is a hard county. These Celtic people
lead hard lives.
It breeds strong, brave men, wide of
shoulder.
From mining tin from the granite, wresting
a living
From the sea, or crops from the land.
When a lifeboat is lost here, with all it’s
crew
From one small village, they’ll spend a day
Looking for bodies or survivors.
The next day a full crew of volunteers
Report for duty on the next lifeboat!
I’ve seen this happen and their courage still
astounds me!
Here the old boys talk to the granite!
They have built houses from it
And Cornish Stone Hedges
Since the Stone Age. They’ll cut it
And split it at will. Only telling it first
What they want it to do!
It is a poor county. Most of the wealth
Was torn from the ground and the sea
Generations ago. But the prevailing wind
Has the whole Atlantic over which to purify
itself
Before
reaching here. Sometimes it will
storm in,
Hurricane force winds, but the air is clean
And the water is soft. And so are the accents.
And I’d rather be poor here, than rich in a
city.
It’s a fine place to raise your children.
There are many things that will kill them…
But not so many that will sully their
souls.
They learn to swim early, and surf and
drive tractors.
Most boys sit their driving test on their
sixteenth birthday.
And with narrow lanes they often drive as
fast backwards
As they do forwards!
It is a place of rugged cliffs and rolling
hills
Green pastures with dairy cattle always
ready
For a conversation over the field gate.
Dogs at heel and friendly neighbours… well mostly!
Narrow lanes where bramble, hawthorn and blackthorn grow
Swampy lowlands rich with lemon balm and
orchids!
And rugged moors, purple with heather,
sharp with gorse.
The place is littered with Standing Stones,
Iron age forts and villages.
Legends that on a misty night you might
swear
Were coming true. Great inventors like
Humphrey Davy
And Trevithick and Old Henry Trengrouse,
Who invented the ‘Rocket life-saving
apparatus’
After watching the whole crew of HMS Anson
Drown down at Loe Bar, below Helston.
If you imagine England as a Christmas
Stocking
Cornwall is right down at the toe.
And like a Christmas Stocking
This is where all the nuts collect!
Artists love the light here and the blue of
the sea.
Sculptors settle, witches brew, old
soldiers come to rest,
Musicians pick, writers write and poets bloom
Which may be why I’m so happy here!
Copyright © Res JFB 20th April 2013
Written for a Poetry Challenge on Elbow Lane Poems
Top photo This morning's view from my attic window.
Bottom photo Armed Knights Rocks at Land's End
Res, this was just delightful! How beautifully you adorned Miss Cornwall.
ReplyDeleteSomewhere in my collection of "life", I have a little silver collector's spoon that a British friend bought for me when she visited there.
However, if I had guessed, I would have thought Cornwall to be near the heal of the Christmas stocking..... perhaps I'm thinking of Brighton and Plymouth?
This sounds like a wonderful place to live.... and to write.
Becka
Hi Becka, I'm so sorry, I received no notification of your comment. I've only just found it.
DeleteYour comment:- No, we'm toes down 'ere, not heels! Cornwall is the furthest South and West you can go in mainland Britain. Though the Cornish maintain it's not England at all but a separate Celtic Nation.
Plymouth is about two hours away by road or rail, and it is across the border into Devon. Tethered to Cornwall by Brunel's famous railway bridge. But still officially South West.
Brighton is much further up, in Sussex. Due south of London, on the coast, but still not quite the heel, which would I suppose be in the County of Kent, by Dover or Deal or Ramsgate or Margate.
We in Cornwall are in the bottom left toe of the stocking.
Good to see you here. You are very welcome.
Your writings illuminate and make me feel that I know parts of the world I have never visited. Your poetry should be required reading in all schools. I am so glad I was introduced to you and your work. I think it was through our mutual friend in Austria, Jackie, or it may have been our mutual friend in Canada, Doug. What a joy and a blessing it is, here in the twilight of my years, to be able to travel the world in cyberspace as though it was all next door.
ReplyDeleteDear Dorothy. So sorry I'm so late in replying. I don't check my blog comments very often.
DeleteThank you so much for your kind words. Yes, I think it was Jackie who led me to you and I am so glad she did. Your unstinting encouragement and support have meant a great deal to me.
Without our readers we poets would be but dust in the wind!
Much Love, Dear Friend <3