Part 9

His Last Sail

GRANDFATHER

T’ watter is blue i’ t’ offin’, An’ blue is t’ sky aboon; Swallows are settin’ sou’ard, An’ wanin’ is t’ harvist moon. Ower lang I’ve bin cowerin’ idle I’ my neuk by t’ fire-side; I’ll away yance mair i’ my coble, I’ll away wi’ t’ ebbin’ tide.

MALLY

Nay, Gransir, thoo moant gan sailin’, Thoo mun bide at yam to-neet; At eighty-two thoo sudn’t think O’ t’ Whitby fishin’ fleet. North cone’s up on t’ flagstaff, There’s a cap-full o’ wind i’ t’ bay; T’ waves wap loud on t’ harbour bar, Thoo can hardlins fish to-day.

GRANDFATHER

It’s leansome here i’ t’ hoose, lass, When t’ fisher-folk’s at sea, Watchin’ yon eldin set i’ t’ fire Bleeze up, dwine doon, an’ dee. An’ t’ sea-gulls they coom flyin’ Aboon our red roof-tiles; They call me doon the chimley, An’ laugh at other whiles.

“There’s mack’rel oot at sea, lad,” Is what I hear ’em say; “Their silver scales are glestrin’ breet, Look oot across the bay; But mack’rel’s not for thee, lad, For thoo’s ower weak to sail.” My een wi’ saut tears daggle When I hear their mockin’ tale.

MALLY

Dean’t mind their awfish skreekin’, They ’tice folk to their death; Then ride aboon yon billows An’ gloor at them beneath. They gloor at eenless corpses Slow driftin’ wi’ the tide, Deep doon amang the weedy wrack, Wheer t’ scaly fishes glide.

GRANDFATHER

I’d fain lig wi’ my kinsfolk, Fore-elders, brothers, sons, Wheer t’ star-fish shine like twinklin’ leets, An’ t’ spring-tide watter runs. T’ kirkyard’s good for farm-folk, That ploo an’ milk their kye, But I could sleep maist soondly Wheer t’ ships gan sailin’ by.

T’ grave is whisht an’ foulsome, But clean is t’ saut sea-bed; Thoo can hark to t’ billows dancin’ To t’ tune o’ t’ tide owerhead. Yon wreaths o’ floors i’ t’ kirkyard Sean wither an’ fade away, But t’ sea-tang wreaths round a droon’d man’s head Will bide while Judgment Day.

Sae fettle my owd blue coble, I kessen’d her “Mornin’ Star,” An’ I’ll away through t’ offin’ Wheer t’ skooals o’ mack’rel are. Thoo can look for my boat i’ t’ harbour, When thoo’s said thy mornin’ psalm; Mebbe I’ll fill my fish-creel full— Mebbe I’ll nean coom yam.

Kindling.

Grow moist.

Elfish.

Silent.

Get ready.

One Year Older

One yeer owder, one yeer dearer: That’s what I sal awlus say. Draw thy chair a little nearer, Put yon stockin’s reight away. Thou hast done enough i’ thy time, Tewed i’ t’ house an’ wrowt at loom; Just for once thou mun sit idle, Feet on t’ hear’stone, fingers toom.

One yeer owder, one yeer dearer: So I promised when we wed. Then thy een were glest’rin’ clearer Nor the stars aboon us spread. If they’re dimmer now, they’re tend’rer, An’ yon wrinkles on thy face Tell a lesson true as t’ Bible, Speik o’ charity an’ grace.

One yeer owder, one yeer dearer: We’ve supped sorrow, tasted joy, But our love has grown sincerer, Gethered strength nowt can destroy. Love is like an oak i’ t’ forest, Ivery yeer it adds a ring; Love is like yon ivin tendrils, Ivery day they closer cling.

One yeer owder, one yeer dearer: Time’s the shuttle, life’s the yarn. Have thy crosses seemed severer ’Cause thou niver had a barn? Mebbe I sud not have loved thee Hauf so weel, if I mud share All our secret thowts wi’ childer, Twinin’ round my owd arm-chair.

One yeer owder, one yeer dearer: ’Tis our gowden weddin’ day. There sal coom no gaumless fleerer To break in upon our play. Look, I’ve stecked wer door and window Let me lap thee i’ my arms; Hushed to-neet be ivery murmur, While my kiss thy pale face warms.

Empty.

Latched.

The Hungry Forties