A Savage Storm At Sea Subsides With Low G

This is yesterday's post but I was unable to get internet access in the past 30 hours to post this. I'll post today's (Wed 10th Nov) later today.

To start off our last morning in the Lake District we hiked up Skiddaw, one of the highest peaks in the UK. We didn't go all the way to the top as we were short of time, but it was an incredible view, particularly with the fresh fall of snow on the fells. The freezing north-easterly breeze was absolutely blowing a gale. We were standing on an angle leaning into it at times. Thanks to Scott from Greta Hall for providing us with appropriate clothing for the occasion - without which we would have frozen. He also provided us with a whole lot of fun by teaching us one of his children's favourite pass-times - "burfing". It's "body surfing" down the hill face first on your stomach. It's great fun! Here's some footage, starting off with some footage of the breathtaking view. Just note that the raging winds make some loud sounds in the camera microphone.



As I've been promising, here are some photos taken on Day 1 of the trip, at Crosthwaite Church where there is an effigy of Robert Southey inside and his grave outside. The effigy is an actual death mask so it's exactly how he looked (except made of stone of course) at the time of his death at 69 years of age. See a likeness?














I really like the Metrical Tales Southey would write (refer to yesterday's post). Simple stories directed at children, so written in a very entertaining and memorable fashion. Here is one of my own written while I was in the Lake District. Certainly not as good as his but I had fun writing it and hope you do reading it also.


A Savage Storm At Sea Subsides With Low G

A savage storm brewed this night, in eighteen-o-four
And when it struck it was like nothing I'd e're felt before
It knocked me reeling from my feet to the floor
And the mizzen mast split as if made out of straw

On the decks my men clung to what e're they could reach
But some learned a lesson only sea storms can teach
Below with the passengers Friar White prayed and preached
While my parrot Rodondu did endlessly screech

My first mate Donald May burst into the map room
And hollered "I fear we shall lose the main sail soon.
The men try to tie it down flat to the boom,
But already fourteen have been swept to their doom

I didn't reply, there was little to say
It seemed certain we'd all meet our death this dark day
So I rose from my knees and decided to play
My precious violin, although struggle I may

So I lifted her up from her box with her bow
And sat down to counter the ships to and fro
I struck up one note, very long, very low
Ignoring the screams of the children below

But as my sad melody picked up its pace
I felt a wry smile get wide on my face
And the dance of my elbow and fingers did race
'Til the sounds of the music had all else replaced

Through all my fiber flowed the little violin's sound
Quiet calm deep inside me did silently resound
Then gradually spread from me to all around
Then what happened next will forever confound

For the crash of the waves on the ship suddenly
Seemed less every second, as is if noticing me
And in order to listen more diligently
Thought it best they arrest the tumult of the seas

Before long did the ship float in favourable calm
Though the sea only minutes before struck alarm
I checked all guest's cabins, violin under my arm
And found Beethoven with his manuscript, both bearing no harm