The Grampound Times

Summer 2009 (Edition 51)
Our community in Cornwall

The Grampound Times
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HEROES OF THE ROYAL NATIONAL LIFEBOAT INSTITUTION

This is perhaps the time of the year when we can rightly call it “the silly season”.    Emergencies can happen at sea during any time of the year, but during the Summer months with so many visitors here with us, foolish acts can quickly become emergencies.   Good advice about tides, currents, cliff faces etc. etc. offered by those who know can so easily be ignored by foolish people who think they know better.

Why am I leading off like this you may well wonder, well the answer is that I have found another poem I love written by our Cornish poet  DAVID PROWSE  and I needed to lead into it.  I am sure you will enjoy it   -   it’s called

“LIFEBOATMAN”

They’re just quiet, common people, getting by as best they can.
They have no great , immortal power beyond another man
Until the shout, when oilskin capes combine to form a crew,
And common men will do those things no common man can do.

They’re carpenters and painters, electricians, engineers,
With all the working man accepts as standard through the years,
A mortgage or a rent to pay, a family to please,
Then something more, a role beyond their drills and dungarees.

When wise men hear the pounding rain through shuttered barricades
And curse the storm and stir the fire and quickly draw the shades.
These few,  these special, chosen few turn bows toward the foam
And risk it all for duty’s call a million miles from home.
For those of us whose lives revolve around the cliffs and coast,
A rank exists beyond the need for blustering and boast,
Its bearer has no crested plume nor bands around his cuff
But just to be a lifeboatman is dignity enough.

Sometimes it’s easy, mere routine, a waltz across the lake,
Sometimes a helping hand for fools with only pride at stake,
But still, upon the gentle night or summer’s perfect day,
The Devil’s evil, eager hands are never far away.

His time will come when size and strength must dance upon his tune
And faces lashed and stung with spray will curse the shrouded moon,
When boats will toss like children’s toys on waves that blot the skies
And fear will blink its rightful claim on wise and weary eyes.

And in those damned and dreadful hours which no-one else will see,
These men will toe an ancient line of peerless legacy,
One handed down by word of mouth and legends from the past,
Wreathed in glory, held as sacred, honour-bound to last.

We know the world as one in which all giving has its price,
Oh, no, not here where selfish aims disperse as melted ice,
Where good men fly the same old flag there fathers once revered
And humankind’s redeeming hope is freely volunteered.

From Scotland’s wild and craggy tip to Scilly’s tempting shores,
The line is held, like reefs of rock on sandy ocean floors,
An anchor in the swirling tide, eternally engraved
With those who sacrificed their lives that others might be saved.

They tell me, up at Heaven’s gate, St. Peter wields a list
Of standards and criteria on which the saints insist,
But should a lifeboatman appear on any given day,
He nods towards an open door and throws the list away.

In his book  of poems entitled  “Call of the Wild”   DAVID PROWSE explains that this poem was written to mark the 175th anniversary of the R.N.L.I.    In his words he stated, “I remember Nigel.  We often confronted each other on the football field, playing for opposing village teams.   We had many a battle-royal but, whatever the result, we always emerged with a huge hug and reflective relish for the contest.   A few years late, along with all other members of the Penlee lifeboat crew, Nigel perished.   Today, his son, Neil, is the coxswain of the new boat and crew.   Just one story from a  long, proud history which speaks volumes for a tradition of the most noble conviction and courage.

 

 

 

 


© 2006 Grampound with Creed Parish Council