Shipwreck - rock on and roll off.

Most of the time, I am cautious. I believe that once my children were born, I changed from someone who acted spontaneously and quite often had to extricate herself from difficult circumstances by sheer intellect, into a mother. A mother only takes calculated risks. A mother must weigh up a situation before stepping in to problems. A mother considers the effect of any reckless act on the lives of those she has to protect.

So from 1989 (when my son was born) until 2007 (when my daughter reached 16) I was a steady driver, rarely drank alcohol, went to bed early on a school/work night, didn't have any dangerous liaisons (even after Decree Absolute) and I would never have considered putting my own life at risk, for fear of leaving my children motherless.

In 1995, following some visual disturbances, while working at my PC, I sought medical advice. After three different misdiagnoses by the NHS, followed by a private consultation with a professor at Manchester University Hospital, a referral to an orthopaedic surgeon and two neuro-surgeons, I was told that I have an inoperable spinal condition. Caution in everything was essential to staying alive.

For a professional dancer, it was really lousy news. I was working in the Civil Service by then but still enjoyed an active social life and was still teaching a little. I still danced socially. I still enjoyed a game of tennis. Overnight I had to rethink. In 1997, I was the one at the bottom of all the rides in The Magic Kingdom. I looked after the bags at Typhoon Lagoon and Blizzard Beach and I only got to sit still and watch the shows at Universal Studios. I became the 'bag lady'. I was afraid of ending up in a wheelchair. I was afraid to join in.

I had motherhood to console me. My son's football, clarinet and tennis- my daughter's gymnastics - a wonderful training that consumed both for over a decade. Eventually they became more independent and I found myself wondering what would occupy my out of work hours. The future loomed like a long, dark tunnel. I started dancing one evening a week with a kind friend. Compared to my competitive and professional cabaret days, it was a bit like sleep-walking. I also signed up for a one year creative writing course. Nothing remotely dangerous.

In 2008 - I did a reckless act. The thought of it still makes me shudder. It was thrilling. It was exhilarating. It was also probably very stupid but I don't regret it. It was the maddest thing that I had done for years. I think that I probably needed to take a risk.

I had taken my son to a rendezvous point close to the motorway junction at 6am. On the way home, the local radio news was all about a ferry vessel that was listing in the Irish Sea, having blown off course en route to Heysham from Ireland. All passengers and crew had been successfully airlifted to safety by the RNLI by then but the roll-on-roll off ferry Riverdance was unmanned just off the shore at Cleveleys. The wind was gusting at 60 mph when a diminutive figure parked her car on the promenade, grabbed her Olympus Trip 35mm and ventured out onto the sand.

Riverdance had not yet run aground in her final resting place. I really had to battle against the sea spray which, as anyone local will tell you, foams up like a dirty bubble bath in rough weather. It was February, very cold, blowing like hell and I had to grapple along the wooden posts that run down from the pebble beach into the sea. I took photographs. I took a risk. It was my really first risky moment for more than a decade. It was the first of many. And I know that there are many more to come. (Oh and just in case you are wondering - there were no biscuits on the beach - they must have washed up later.)

This picture was not taken by me. Mine were less clear and much wetter. 

Riverdance

I used to move like Flatley:
I glided like Astaire,
Until medical opinion
said I should take care.

I watched while others partied,
I faded to the wall,
I hung up my dancing shoes,
and just forgot it all.

Then one day, you were scuppered,
washed up  - just like me,
Riverdance, the ferry boat,
sinking in the sea.

I didn't weigh the danger,
just braved the wind and tide,
to watch your final struggle,
to see you tip broadside.

And something changed inside me,
I found another me,
a person long forgotten,
the extrovert - I used to be.

I saw you rock and rolling
and joined you in your dance,
you made me feel alive again:
you made me take a chance.

I dusted off the dance shoes,
peeled my shadow off the wall,
for life is what you do with it
and if you're dancing - it's a ball.

Thanks for reading. Adele

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I love writing Ballads.

If you research what a poetic ballad really is, you will discover that they are usually written about and dedicated to a heroic figure. As a school child I read and did comprehension exercises about Samuel Taylor Coleridge's,  Rime of the Ancient Mariner.  The ballad itself is astonishing.  It is hypnotic, both in its imagery and the telling of the story. I still recall many of the details fifty years later. Wow that says something doesn't it.

No wonder then, that when I started to write poetry, the idea of a well written 100 verse ballad was always there waiting to be developed.  One day, I had a piece of creative writing to submit for an exam portfolio. I had decided to write a ballad but at that moment was struggling to find a suitable hero. On arriving home, the usual pile of junk mail met me, as I opened the front door. I leafed through, as I always do, in case a letter was hidden between and there was a request from the RNLI for funds to buy equipment for lifeboat men.

Suddenly I had the material for my epic poem, The Ballad of The Lifeboat Man. It helped me towards a distinction in the exam, took six weeks to write and tells the tale of a local man and boy who run into difficulties sailing from the Wyre Estuary.  While I was writing the poem, a helicopter crashed into the Irish sea off the Blackpool coast when delivering fresh crew to a gas rig. Despite the bravery of lifeboat crews from all local stations, all those aboard the helicopter died.  Their bodies were all brought to shore by the RNLI volunteers. My completed poem was given to the North West RNLI with a final memorial verse.

The Irish Sea around Morecambe Bay can be a very dangerous place. In 2015, I was asked to get involved with the restoration of  Euston Park in Fleetwood. With the help of research by Lynn Asgar from Fleetwood museum, I wrote a ballad for two brave, young Fleetwood men who have a memorial obelisk in the park. Several weeks later, I was asked by the designer, to select 333 characters from my poem and these were carved into a stone circular seat that now sits around the obelisk. I am very proud to have part of a poem as a permanent fixture in the renovated park but I am also humbled to have been asked to memorialise their heroism.


The Ballad of Greenall and Abrams

In the reign of Queen Victoria,
November 1890, a violent storm played havoc
with the ships in Morecambe Bay.
The lifeboat from the ‘Child of Hale’
rowed into a force ten gale,  to rescue
thirteen men aboard Norwegian barque ‘Labora’.
Each man  was dragged aboard the boat,
from lifebuoys keeping them afloat,
in freezing waters of the Irish Sea.

Later on that dreadful day,

the lifeboat ‘Edith’ made her way
to aid ‘New Brunswick’ floundering

in the bay. Robert Wright’s heroic crew,

using lifeboat Number Two,
safely brought back every hand
to the haven of the land.

But still the storm did not abate

and the hour was very late
when a Fleetwood fishing smack
was struggling to get  safely back.
There was a schooner in distress.
‘Jean Campbell’ was about to sink,
all hands would fall into the drink.

Wild and free the storm winds blew,

high and higher great waves grew,
yet the fearless ‘Osprey’ crew
left the safety of their ship,
rowing out to sea, they risked it all
to answer fellow sailors call.
And soon the schooner’s crew of three
were hauled into the little boat.

Tragically, in towering waves,

it swamped. They sank to watery graves.
Only one brave man survived,
hauled aboard ‘Osprey’ as he swam alongside,
George Greenall and James Abrams gave their lives.
In memory of the two who died,
we deck our Euston Park with pride.
A ballad to the bravery of all who answer, fearlessly,
cries of “those in peril on the sea”.

Adele V Robinson

[Wyre Poet in Residence 2015] 


Please give generously to the RNLI if you get the chance. Thanks for reading. Adele

 

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A V 4 R B - Love Locks

Since the early Noughties, a new fashion has been gaining popularity in Europe. It is causing distress in many council chambers,  especially those in major cities.  It ruffles the feathers of Heritage champions more than pigeon droppings and is causing mathematical consternation among civil engineers.  It is an outward expression of a love tryst and it threatens to destroy many of the historic bridges that traverse the great Rivers in the Northern hemisphere. From the Parisian Pont de l'Archeveche to the Venetian Rialto, European bridges are being weighed down by love. And the problem is infectious.  It has begun to spread worldwide. 

It isn't a disease or a natural phenomenon. The problem is man made. Sweethearts are declaring their need for a lasting love relationship by engraving their initials on a padlock, locking it to a bridge and then throwing the key into the water so that the lock cannot be removed. Love-locks are so contagious that campaigners are trying to stop people attaching them to bridges in an attempt to stop the destruction of historic landmarks. It is said that they not only detract from the beauty of many historic bridges but also the excess weight is a serious problem on ancient structures. 

To some they are unsightly litter. 5,500 padlocks were recently removed from the Ponte Vecchio in Florence because they not only caused an aesthetic problem but were scratching the metal structure of the historic bridge. In Edinburgh, the city council decided to capitalise on the trend by allowing lovers to buy padlocks and attach them to four panels on the Forth Road Bridge, raising £10,300 for the Queensferry RNLI.  In Gretna Green, a traditional place of elopement for lovers, couples are welcome to attach a padlock to the Courtship Maze. 

The recent surge began in Rome on Ponte Milvio, following publication the novel, I Want You, by  Federicco Moccia.  The idea of a love-lock is featured in the movie, Now You See Me, starring among others, Woody Harrelson, as one of four street magicians recruited by an unknown benefactor to amaze the world.  I won't spoil the plot for those who haven't seen it.  I thoroughly enjoyed it. 

The origin of love-locks dates back to World War One and began because of one person's broken heart...

 

Love Locks 

 

Once upon a time in Vrnjacka Banja,

Nada, a maiden pure and true,

fell in love with Relja.

A handsome Serbian officer,

he swept her off her feet,

soon betrothed, they would often meet

upon Most Ljubavi, The Bridge of Love,

in this picture postcard town.

But as they planned their nuptial feast,

The Great War began,

Relja was sent away to fight, like every other man.

As Nada waited patiently,

she sewed her wedding gown,

nimble fingers sewing prayers

for Relja’s safe and swift return.

Nada’s love grew every day for her Relja far away.

 

 

But as the tales of Homer tell, as men so often do, 

he forgot his promised love,

falling for another beauty, on the island of Corfu.

Poor Nada could not bear the pain,

her heart was torn in two,

her wedding gown, a funeral shroud,

her fate a legend that soon grew, until

to save themselves from Nada’s fate,

young women of the town,

engraved their own and lover’s names on padlocks,

locked them to the fateful bridge,

they threw away the key.

Love-locking hearts together, for all eternity.

 

Now so many bridges are embellished in this way.

Lovers of the world, it seems,

believe even today,

that by this inter-lock of names,

they bind themselves together,

so their commitment will remain.

But padlocks are mere metal,

they go rusty over time,

and bridges begin to fail under the excess weight,

so the locks are loosened, forced apart.

Does removing them from their appointed place

change the lover’s fate?

The tragedy in all of this,

a truth poor Nada knew,

no lock is ever needed to hold a heart that's true. 

 

 

Thanks for reading.  Adele

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