LOW TIDE, BATHING MACHINES & COWS ON THE BEACH... (My new poem about Saltburn-by-the-Sea, old & new...)

 Low Tide, Bathing Machines & Cows On The Beach…

A silhouetted, spindly pier paddles in the face of the North Sea

At low tide, its waves turning with little threat or turmoil.

Bathing machines hauled to the ocean’s edge by a tired horse

Line up like chariots at the Circus Maximus in ancient Rome

And shadows hint at summer sunlight, as folks relax on the beach.

Incongruously, a herd of cows stands idle for the camera’s sake

And a cart suggests seaweed collecting by farmers for improving their soil… 

The silhouetted, current pier reflects historic damage to some degree,

Its strengthened flat head for storm damage now a considerable foil.

Beach huts huddle along the promenade, like a defensive force

In a myriad of colours against the tide’s lashings, wild and foulsome.

Spring sunshine daubs blue sky as far as the camera’s zoom could reach,

Whilst no cattle are loitering and there is little seaweed to take

From the tidy seashore’s piles of stones and spoil… 

Pete Ray

24th November 2024…

Comparing Saltburn-by-the-Sea, North Yorkshire from an old image, possibly Edwardian, with my own images, taken in 2020, 2023 and 2024…

MERGED IMAGES OF CORNWALL, NOVEMBER 2024...

 

24 MERGED IMAGES FROM PORTHTOWAN,, CORNWALL, NOVEMBER 2024...

 

DRAWING THE FIRE... (My new poem about being a child in a house with coal fires, 1950s & being punished for trying to help...)

 Drawing The Fire…

HOW IT WAS DONE, BACK IN THE DAY...

The fire in the kitchen was lit, certainly

But the flames hadn’t yet begun to envelop

The black lumps of coal and scattered slack.

My grandmother had just been washing by hand 

And had gathered it up to carry it out to the wringer in the yard,

Before hanging the clothes out on a rope line in the fresh winter air…

The fire in the kitchen had attracted me, certainly

But those flames still hadn’t begun to develop,

So the coarse black coal and its smoking lack

Of warmth needed my eager helping hand.

Taking a page from a large newspaper, I held it hard

Against the fireplace and drew it away to cause a draught and fan the fire, without a care…  

“Peter, what are you doing!” Nan yelled, returning to the house,

Pulling me back from the fire and snatching the newspaper page

Away from me. “Just you wait ’til your dad gets home…” she bellowed

At me, as I was led away wondering what wrong I had done…

It became a worrying afternoon, for I dreaded my father’s grouse

And sure enough, he berated me, held my hand near the fire in his rage,

Then smacked it hard, so that I suffered the heat too, whilst in my tears I wallowed.

A punishment severe and a lesson learnt from a strict father by a quiet son…

Pete Ray

17th November 2024…

Strangely, I guess I was punished for trying to help. 

‘Drawing the fire’ was what my mum and nan did quite often to quicken the effect of the coal fire.

The cold 1950s winters were just that.

The house was in Ward End, Birmingham.

I have always been wary of flames, hesitant near them too.

I wonder why…