And All I Ask Is A Merry Yarn ~~~

Hello Friends!

Being Welsh, poetry and music are in my soul, but my blood is also awash with salt water, for I cannot bear to be more than a few miles from the sea at any time.

I love the sea, in all her many moods, from the sinister, glassy green swirls amidst the foaming maelstroms of a tidal race, to the calm blue skittering with points of reflected starlight on a summer day, and the raging storms that batter our coastline on a wild and woolly winter's day ~~~ I love them all.

One of my favourite poems, by the English poet and Poet Laureate, John Masefield {1878~1967}is this one ~~~

I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,

And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,

And the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the white sail's shaking,

And a grey mist on the sea's face, and a grey dawn breaking.

I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide

Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;

And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,

And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.

I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,

To the gull's way and the whale's way, where the wind's like a whetted knife;

And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,

And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick's over.

~~~~~

I don't think I have ever lived more than a stone's throw from the ocean. I grew up near the sea, along with the farmland and fields that lie between the village and the coast, my playground was a coastal inlet and the beach; and I was often out at sea, bobbing about on the beautiful, blue briney with my dear Daddy as soon as I was old enough to not be a hazard.  Today marks the eighth year of his passing, and truly, I know not to where those years have flown.

My Happy Photo of me, Daddy, and Skip aboard Sea Crest

We often worked together, he ran boat trips, and for more than half the year he plied his trade ferrying tourists around, and landing them on, Ramsey Island, now owned by the RSPB.  During the winter months, he sometimes fished, but oh! the weather was not kind, and we fretted deeply while he was out in the bay hauling nets and pots, but it made ends meet during the lean, winter months.  I ran the office, and I also crewed. At age fourteen, I could take the boat, single handed {with supervision, naturally} around the island, having learned the tides and reefs, and other perils which are hidden to most.

It was grand, a simple, but privileged life.  When most of my school friends were working Saturday and summer holiday jobs waiting tables, or selling ice creams, postcards, cheap souvenirs and buckets and spades to tourists, I was outdoors ever single day, hanging out with the other boatmen's children, waiting to see if we could hop on a boat for a ride, or splashing about in the sea, eating our picnics of soggy cheese and tomato sandwiches and drinking warm pop. 

There were very few regulations in those days. Yes, the boats had to pass inspection and be fit for plying the waters with passengers on board, we had to have insurance, but none of the overwhelming plethora of health and safety issues that prevail today. Common sense was the order of the day and that was good enough for everyone.  

We sold tickets from the house where we lived in the village, and gave directions how to reach the boat.  We had a large, deep front window where we put our signs advertising, and I took advantage of this.  When I came home in the evenings, after a long day on the quay, I made candles, and jewellery from local stones and shells that I gathered from the beach. I displayed them in the window, and my mother would sell them for me to interested passers by. At the end of my first summer, when we returned to school, and all my friends had spent their money on weekly trips to the nearby town and were now broke, I still had all my money intact, and was the envy of all when I bought a stereo record player {which I still have, and it still works}.

I had the very best of both worlds, and it put the sea in the very centre of my heart and salt water coursing through my veins.  

As I have travelled about, and lived in different parts of the world, I don't think I have ever lived more than fifteen minutes drive at most away from the sea. At times, I have seen the ocean just a few hundred yards from my windows! Now, I can walk to the high cliffs overlooking the wild Atlantic Ocean in a very short while. The sea holds my heart; it is my home. 

Until next time ~~~
~~~Deborah xoxo