Unique, somehow evocative, and yet a new sound. Not sleigh bells ringing but merry, their promise already half conjectured when I wake in this lumpy bed puzzling, taking bearings, the bumpy journey having been wondrous strange. Yesterday I came, the weather fine but poring, by train and ship and train from the North West German…
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The tides that know no purpose, their ebb and their flow, they bring to my remembrance old men I used to know who left their punts on Lympstone’s Hard, two anchors to the bow, and wandered home in seaboots. –  I do not see them now. The tides that know no purpose, their fall and their make, they bring to my…
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Up on the Admiralty square the sergeant turns his squad about. The virgin ‘royals’ are not aware this morning’s tide is running out. The boats are turning on their moorings. The squad is turning as one man. The Lympstone boats are going nowhere. These boys are for Afghanistan. The boats are nudging this and that…
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