An Exiles Farewell

  

    I love poetry, especially classic poems and over the next couple of weeks I'm planning to feature a classic poem once a week. I hope you enjoy my choice of poems as much as I do.
    In my opinion they are vivid and sometimes haunting. The one I'm featuring today by Australian, Adam Lindsay Gordon, stirred some personal emotions when I first read it and like any good piece of writing the author took me into his world. I've added some of my photographs, in order to share some of my world.

An Exiles Farewell

 

The ocean heaves around us still
With long and measured swell
The autumn gales our canvas fill
Our ship rides smooth and well
The broad Atlantic's bed of foam
Still breaks against our prow
I shed no tears at quitting home
Nor will I shed them now

Against the bulwarks on the poop
I lean, and watch the sun
Behind the red horizon stoop
His race is nearly run
Those waves will never quench his light
O'er which they seem to close
To-morrow he will rise as bright
As he this morning rose

How brightly gleams the orb of day
Across the trackless sea
How lightly dance the waves that play
Like dolphins in our lee
The restless waters seem to say
In smothered tones to me
How many thousand miles away
My native land must be

Speak, Ocean. Is my home the same?
Now all is new to me
The tropic sky's resplendent flame
The vast expanse of sea
Does all around her, yet unchanged
The well-known aspect wear
Oh! Can the leagues that I have ranged
Have made no difference there?

How vivid Recollection's hand
Recalls the scene once more
I see the same tall poplars stand
Beside the garden door
I see the bird-cage hanging still
And where my sister set
The flowers in the window-sill
Can they be living yet?

Let woman's nature cherish grief
I rarely heave a sigh
Before emotion takes relief
In listless apathy
While from my pipe the vapours curl
Towards the evening sky
And 'neath my feet the billows whirl
In dull monotony

The sky still wears the crimson streak

Of Sol's departing ray

Some briny drops are on my cheek

'Tis but the salt sea spray

Then let our barque the ocean roam

Our keel the billows plough

I shed no tears at quitting home

Nor will I shed them now

Adam Lindsay Gordon  (19 October 1833 – 24 June 1870)          

Meet Dan Pierce

       

    Today I'd like to introduce my main character in the Salvation series, Dan Pierce. Dan and I go way back and I know everything there is to know about him. You could even say I know more about him than he knows about himself.
    However, seventeen-year-old Dan, has kindly agreed to do an exclusive interview for my blog, because he wants his voice to be heard and make new friends amongst readers. 
   

Me:  Hi Dan, thanks for this exclusive interview today.

DP:  Hey Christina, it's a pleasure as always, for us both to get together again and have a chat. We've
known each other for eight, or nine years now. Although you didn't introduce me to your friends until four years ago. I don't know why you waited so long. Maybe you were ashamed of me!

Me:  Blame the publishing industry. Dan you were enlisted to help in the fight against Satan's dark forces who have been spreading misery and destruction on Earth, in return for your salvation. Would you like to tell everyone which towns you've visited so far, as a probationary angel?

DP:  My adventure started in Phoenix, Arizona and once my work was finished there, I moved onto
Tuktoyaktuk in the Northern Territories of Canada. The Devil's disciples were hard at work in both those places.

Me:  So, where are you living now and what are you up to?

DP:  Oh, I'm living here and there. Having some chill time at present. It's not easy being a devil slayer
at times and after my trip to Canada I needed some downtime. Which I've been kindly allowed to
have.

Me: What do you do when you're not tackling evil?

DP:  I love soccer, white water rafting, listening to rock music and reading.

Me: You say reading is an interest, any books that have had an impact on you?

DP: A Farewell to Arms by Ernest Hemingway for sure. While I was at Wingate High, I was chosen for
the lead role in an end of term performance based on the book. All I'm willing to say is that the performance uncovered a few devilish surprises. At present I'm re-reading Milton's epic poem, Paradise Lost. Although, I did need a bit of persuasion to read it again. Mikey, I mean Archangel Michael told me it was a particular favourite of his and relevant to our line of work. Hey-ho, each to their own.

Me:You didn't mention the bible. Aren't you a religious guy?

DP: Of course, I am. I've enlisted in God's army, not only because I want my salvation. But, because I
believe that good must conquer evil.

Me:Who has greatly influenced you since coming to Earth?

DP:Like lots of other teenagers I need a little guidance and that's where my guardian, Sylvia Angell stepped in. She keeps me up to the mark. I can't hide anything from her.

Me:Who is your best friend?

DP:It's impossible for me to have lasting relationships with humans, because I'm a spirit. But, while on
Earth one of my closest friends, was a guy called Paul Mitchum. I miss him. I believe your readers had the chance to read part of his story previously on your blog.

Me:Yes, they did and can still do so by checking the archives. What about girls Dan?

DP: What about them?

Me: Any romance in your life?

DP: Romance kind of gets in the way of what I'm trying to achieve. But, I've had my moments, as readers will find out. Right now, I do have  a special place in my heart for another spirit. However, we need to take it, 'despacito.'

Me:Is there anything that particularly makes you angry?

DP:Nothing makes me fly into a rage. But, I do have it in my power to help people who find themselves
in what seems impossible situations. I have zero tolerance for people who want to harm others in any shape or form. Bullies for example and predators, which includes sexual who prey on the vulnerable.

Me:Are you scared of anything?

DP:Lots of things. But, having goals in my angelic life help push me on. I have two important goals, the
first one being that I will be granted my salvation and be able to call myself an angel one day. Secondly, that a page on God's data base will be found with my real name on it. My page in the, Book of Life.

Me: Hopefully, one day Dan, one day. Is there anything else you would like to say to the reader?

Dan:Yes, Christina. I would only ask that you lovely readers check out my adventures. The good news you don't have to be a teenager to become my friend. Whatever age you are, let's all become good friends.
     







Please note this work is purely fictional and names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author's imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons living, or dead is entirely coincidental.

A Ball Boy or Girl?

      

     Wimbledon starts today, Scotland and the UK are crossing their fingers that Andy Murray will collect that trophy once again.

Dunblane Cathedral

   
    When he married in 2015 in the cathedral there, I went to his home city to take some photographs and wrote a post about my visit, the link you can find below.

Local public house

    Two years on, the happy couple have announced that they are expecting their second child. To celebrate, the pending arrival, I thought I would share some more photographs of the city of Dunblane with you.

The city celebrated the big day

 
     I think that the word, city, projects the image of a large town, similar to Edinburgh, New York, or Rome and if that's what you're expecting on a visit there, you may be disappointed.

River Allan

   
    However, I know that this small city and surrrounding countryside doesn't fail expectations.

    Come on Andy!




https://devilslayingamongstotherthings.blogspot.co.uk/2015/04/game-set-and-love-match.html

    

Play the Game

      I worked in the city of Stirling for several years and I used to love walking around the streets in my lunch-hour. Some of the streets are paved with cobble-stones which aren't particularly kind to your feet when wearing a pair of high-heels. But, the sights that surround you, are worth the blisters and pain.

    One building that I used to pass regularly was, the Boys Club, on St John Street. Previously an old butter and poultry market, the building was renovated and extended in the late 1920's. Concerns had been raised in the city about the rise in youth crime and ex-chief Scout for Scotland, Major F. M Crum, having an interest in youth welfare, founded the club.

    The Major having fought in the Second Boer War and the First World War created a youth movement for boys who were not in the Boys Brigade, or Scouts. Having founded Scout groups previously, Major Crum knew that young boys needed an interest. Somewhere they could go to meet-up with other boys,  burn off their excess steam and develop leadership skills amongst them.

    The club initially offered them a place to play billiards, bagatelle, ping-pong and draughts. With activities such as football, cricket, boxing and gymnastics being added at a later time. As Major Crum had hoped, the numbers in youth crime did decrease and by 1944 the club had 164 members.

    The Major himself was a recognised hero in the wars he served in, serving in the Mounted Infantry in the Second Boer and a sniper in the First World War. Additionally he was a hero amongst the Scottish Scout movement. He wrote both his memoirs that were initially published in pamphlet form and a book titled, Camp and Character training, published in 1927.

   


    

Whistling my Tune

    He sounded his fife in the streets, but this time it wasn’t rats and mice that came to him, but rather children...In total, one hundred thirty were lost. Two, as some say, had lagged behind and came back. One of them was blind and the other mute. One little boy in shirtsleeves had gone along with the others, but had turned back to fetch his jacket and thus escaped the tragedy.                                                                                   The Pied Piper of Hamelin
                                by Brothers Grimm


    There are so many things that stimulate the mind and as writers we hope that our words do just that. Sights, sounds, smells, pictures, can also take our minds anywhere, at any time. The other week while in the Canary Islands, one particular sound took me back a long number of years. I'm not going to tell you how many to be exact, as it's rude to ask a lady's age.
    The sound was of a tin whistle, which tells the residents of the village that the knife-sharpener is in the vicinity. He'll sharpen knives, tools, implements even lawn-mower blades by hand, travelling from street to street by bicycle.
    It was the shrill, untuneful sound of his whistle that for some reason brought back the memory of the touring theatre company that used to visit my infant school. Each year just before school broke up for summer, the actors would come along and perform plays, usually folklore and fairy tales.
    On one occasion, an actor dressed colourfully, playing his fife, encouraged us little-ones to rise to our feet and follow him around the small school assembly hall, as he played his role of the Pied Piper of Hamelin. It was something that every kid enjoyed, something that didn't appear to be school work. But, of course, the music, song and interaction was playing an all important part in our education.

   

   
   


    

   

A Year of Enchantment

   

    Nowadays, there are more young men and women taking a year out, before moving onto college and university. Some even take a break from regular employment to travel the world, all wanting to experience different cultures, customs and sights, broadening their horizons.

    Everything they need to know about taking a gap-year is obtainable instantly via the web and the extensive range of well-written travel guide books that are now available.

    However, wanderlust is nothing new, there have been many travel adventurers. Many that we read about historically are predominantly male, but one female I came across very recently was, Constance Frederica Gordon-Cumming from Altyre, Morayshire, Scotland.

    Constance's lust for travel came at the age of thirty-one after a visit to her sister's home in India. You could say that there is nothing unusual about this.But the year was 1868, when women did not have a vote, were expected to be barefoot, pregnant and chained to the kitchen sink. While she didn't class herself as an adventurer, she most certainly had an adventurous spirit.

    Travelling thousands of miles by ship, at times never setting ashore for weeks at a time, Constance wrote in journal form about her experiences and observations. Her detailed guides were published and also contained copies of her sketches and paintings, illustrating her travels in the absence of photographs.

    Each trip she took in as much of the country as was possible and when in India she visited the Himalayas, this she said was her 'year of enchantment.'   If she had written nothing else about her travels, those three words to me say everything about the time she had.


Books by Constance Frederica Gordon-Cumming

In the Hebrides
In the Himalayas and on India Plains
A Lady's Cruise in a French Man-of-War
Granite Crags of California

    

   

   

A Dream in June

    Summer solstice is this week and I wanted to share part of a poem by children's author and poet, Andrew Lang, which I came across very recently.
  Lang was born in Selkirk, in the Scottish Borders and in the main is known for his folk and fairy tales. The town of Selkirk itself is where renowned wordsmith Sir Walter Scott was sheriff from 1803 until 1832.
    The two border's men both have links to University of St Andrews, Andrew Lang having a series of lectures named after him and Scott being elected as the rector there which however, was rendered null later.
        I hope you enjoy it, as I did and Happy Summer Solstice to one and all.

The University of St Andrews

A Dream in June (Extract)

by Andrew Lang (1844-1912)

In twilight of the longest day

I lingered over Lucian

Till ere the dawn a dreamy way

My spirit found, untrod of man

Between the green sky and the grey

Amid the soft dusk suddenly

More light than air I seemed to sail 
Afloat upon the ocean sky 
While through the faint blue, clear and pale
I saw the mountain clouds go by 
My barque had thought for helm and sail
And one mist wreath for canopy

Like torches on a marble floor
Reflected, so the wild stars shone
Within the abysmal hyaline
Till the day widened more and more
And sank to sunset, and was gone
And then, as burning beacons shine
On summits of a mountain isle
A light to folk on sea that fare
So the sky's beacons for a while

Burned in these islands of the air
Then from a starry island set
Where one swift tide of wind there flows
Came scent of lily and violet
Narcissus, hyacinth, and rose
Laurel, and myrtle buds, and vine
So delicate is the air and fine
And forests of all fragrant trees
Sloped seaward from the central hill
And ever clamorous were these

'None rival either the popularity, or the inclusiveness, or the general merits of the twelve books of twelve colours which we owe to Andrew Lang and to his wife'

J. R. R. Tolkein