Eastney Beach

Through Prince Albert Road

Just to stroll on Eastney Beach

He knew the names, the cut,

Of many passing distant ships

On hot summers days

He and the boys would swim;

If they strayed, he’d whistle them back

Useful on balmy firework nights

My gaze was on the shingle

Whence these rounded rocks, fairly rare

Of various shapes and colours; blues,

Whites, slate, brick, black?

I’d sieve pebbles through my fingers

Where fierce wild winds could blow.

In stone a lone weed would grow;

There still, seeded rough green patches struggle.

The sweep and swoop of a flight of gulls –

I loved to watch the marvel

Of their graceful glide.

They sit and face the wind in stormy weather.

As we grew older, in two cloth bags,

For pleasure, we gathered kindling wood.

He carried the heavier home

To start the bright coal fire we loved.

Even now, I can picture the times,

I watched the dolphins out to sea,

Rise and fall, tumble and gambol,

As they swept the deep off Eastney Beach.