g l u e b y c o l i n h i l l .
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sand
A Conversation with Sand and Wind
hunkered down
in Gower dunes
on a stepping stile
of wind-blown wood
we sat
either / side
this wire fence
eating soup
and sandwiches
and remnants
of Christmas cake
with flying sand particles
that tinkled
tiny whispers
on our Gortex backs
from last year
to this year
or so it seemed
Elaine
My father was thirty eight when he died
I was barely seven
Mother took me to Spain to ease the pain
Help the healing and never forget
His death had crushed her heart
Part of mine too at the time
The soft white sand slipped through our toes
The cloudy night covered the stars
Transformed them into lost diamonds in the dark
My sunburnt skin itchy beneath my souvenir shirt
And then the rain came straight from the heavens
Her sad face and wet hair a sight I would never forget
I found a tiny shell and she held my hand
The castaway clasped between our palms
A momento mori of what was to come
For mother and son
For years after she would take me walking in the rain
Walking in the rain with Elaine we would sing
Just like the song
The tiny shiny shell always came too
Clutched between our dripping hands
Sometimes warm
Sometimes frozen
One day she tried to wake me from my teenage dreams
But I was growing tired of walking with Elaine in the rain
So she went on her own
And never returned
After searching for several days they found her body
She was bloated and floating face down in the local river
Partly wedged under a fallen tree
Somewhat hidden from public view
There was rumour it was murder
But I knew just how much her life had been blighted by grief
Since Dad had passed away exactly ten years before
We drove to the Chapel of Rest in Uncle Don’s white van
And there she was
All peaceful looking in her long wooden box
Her hands folded neatly across her chest
Like a sleeping martyr I guessed
I reached into my pocket and found the tiny shiny shell
I kissed it gently for a lingering moment and lovingly
Leaning over the coffin pushed it under her cold fingers
Safely wedged in the palm of her right hand
The hand that held mine when we went walking in the rain together
Here
Take this Mum, I whispered
And when you meet with Dad
Wherever that might be
Take a walk in the sunshine
And maybe think of me
Sand Flies and Tea Tree Oil
I remember your face so well but then
your picture has travelled with me
down through the decades
28th March 1987 – almost thirty years ago
you must be what, forty now?
I don’t even know your name
never took the trouble to write it down
you passed me with your mum and dad
their 4×4 robust compared with my very
unsuitable 400cc Suzuki road bike
not the ideal transport on an undulating
sandy track through Aussie rainforest
four hours to cover six kilometres!
the whole campsite cheered when I appeared
that’s one amazing thing I’ve achieved
although at the time I was scared shitless
as the light faded and my confidence waned
but it was worth it just to find that beach
and the Cherry Venture wreck
sharing food and camp fires
magical moments that stayed with me forever
I wonder how they shaped your life
young boy with the cheeky smile
all covered in sand in your Lufkin hat
do you remember being stung in the sea
and my tea tree oil took away the pain and tears
the sand flies were a menace too
big fat bastards but easily swatted
if you kept your wits about you
and let them settle before thwacking them dead
it all seems such a long time ago
a distant echo on so many waves
a million tides of crashing surf
I hope life turned out well for you?
(Tea tree oil is an essential oil extracted from the leaves of the Melaleuca alternifolia, which is native to Southeast Queensland and the Northeast coast of New South Wales, Australia. It was virtually unheard of in the UK back in the eighties but is now globally widely used in many products for its antimicrobial properties despite evidence in its favour being low, according to Wikipedia. This poem links back to my previous posts on the The Cherry Venture wreck if you skip around my little Haiku Hiking interlude. Where to next I wonder).
The Cherry Venture Adventure
rusted ribs resist the salvage attempts
prefer instead the salted licks of coral seas
a battered sand blown year long deterioration
rivet by rivet sand fly bitten
the tourists come snap gawp marvel
climb aboard Jonahs on three night camp outs
four by four they land cruise up coloured sands
utes jeeps barbecued fleets of sun kissed cheeks
name one amazing thing you’ve done
and then move on.
Looking back I was lucky to stumble upon my Cherry Venture Queensland adventure for she is sadly no more. Finally broken by wind and wave she relented to the salvage man’s cutting gear and only the buried hull remains. But she has her own Wikipedia tribute page:
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cherry_Venture
and for some downright Down Under weirdness you surely cannot beat this – six months in a leaky boat haha:
