I am painting green and yellow flamingos on to your white porcelain bowl<\/p>\n
When complete I will let it dry in the smooth warm breeze as I fear that the hot sun will fade my fine work<\/p>\n
You are sitting on a canvas chair reading a cheap battered paperback which is called The Abdication of King Joe<\/i><\/p>\n
We are stationary at present as our travelling day has not yet commenced<\/p>\n
I tell you that we are about two days from the Canal des Deux Mers<\/i><\/p>\n
And beyond that the Mediterranean<\/p>\n
But before the beach there is a lot to see<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
We had been travelling for about two hours when a man waves to us from the bank and asks us to stop<\/p>\n
He talks of his canal<\/p>\n
The French countryside is beautiful in high summer but is a harsh mistress who fought me all the way defending every metre<\/p>\n
He explained over the chilled lime water<\/p>\n
And strawberries dipped in honey<\/p>\n
My wife reads a passage from her paperback which the engineer finds very funny<\/p>\n
He asks after the author<\/p>\n
You explain the anonymity of the writer<\/p>\n
He wonders if it was one of his friends<\/p>\n
Satire is a wonderful weapon<\/p>\n
But deadly<\/p>\n
The engineer points to a map and requests we stop at a point convenient to us both<\/p>\n
He gives me drawings which he explains were some of the plans for the canal<\/p>\n
My wife gives him her paperback<\/p>\n
The engineer protests<\/p>\n
She explains that it is unfinished<\/p>\n
As she has removed the final twenty-eight pages<\/p>\n
In homage to the mysterious writer<\/p>\n
He receives the gift graciously and explains that he often reads pulp<\/p>\n
Preferring it to be damaged or lost<\/p>\n
I place the fragile maps near to the drying bowl<\/p>\n
And look at the golden sun<\/p>\n
Which is now high in the sky unhindered by any clouds<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
We should be wearing our hats but the caressing breeze inhibits this<\/p>\n
We are touched by its eroticism<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
As the afternoon enjoys our passage you move freely around our boat wearing one of my writing shirts over your bikini<\/p>\n
You move like a gazelle<\/p>\n
I intend to write a poem about you on my writing shirt<\/p>\n
When the day cools<\/p>\n
You hand me my garment and ask me to commence my poem immediately<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
An hour or so later we are again requested to stop by a man in a heavy coat not suited for the weather<\/p>\n
You request my shirt again for the man tells us that he is the Dean of a Cathedral in Dublin<\/p>\n
The man smiles and notes that beauty should never be covered<\/p>\n
He ask me about my poetry and whether I publish it anonymously<\/p>\n
I explain that I do not publish it all<\/p>\n
Only my shirt betrays my effort<\/p>\n
He tells me of his fear of trees<\/p>\n
There are many near to where we sit <\/i><\/p>\n
And of insanity<\/p>\n
I question whether we are all sound of mind and whether the beauties of this day are best enjoyed by a madman<\/p>\n
Emerging from the lower decks my wife has changed into her peacock dress<\/p>\n
The Dean smiles and notes that she reminds him of a woman he once knew<\/p>\n
Now long dead<\/p>\n
Her name was Esther<\/p>\n
The peacock dress suited many moods as peacocks are capricious birds prone to fickleness and much changeable in their behaviours<\/p>\n
My wife assures the Dean that she is a person of calm moods sometimes prone to a little melancholy even on wonderful days<\/p>\n
He asks for a lock of her golden hair as he once possessed a lock of hair from a beautiful women but had lost it during the centuries passed<\/p>\n
I cut a lock of my wife\u2019s hair and place it a small envelope and note light tears in his rheumy eyes which are only visible in the direct sunlight<\/p>\n
He in return gives me a small red book faded also by the sun<\/p>\n
The book is the Complete Works of Lewis Carroll<\/em><\/p>\n He ask that when he is gone that we read the poem on page eight hundred and sixty eight and tells us both of his friendship with the Reverend Dodgson<\/p>\n In time the Dean departs and as he leaves us slips the tiny envelope containing a lock of my wife\u2019s hair into his coat pocket<\/p>\n This will always be on my person I will not lose it for a second time <\/i><\/p>\n We both watch him as he walks stiffly away from us<\/p>\n Occasionally he looks into the trees as if his attention has been momentarily alerted by a passing bird<\/p>\n I read the final lines of the poem to you<\/p>\n The eyes that loved it once no longer wake We sleep in separate beds<\/p>\n The boat is designed in that manner<\/p>\n It is not a boat for lovers you joke<\/p>\n But for companions<\/p>\n I slip into your narrow bed<\/p>\n And lie on your breasts<\/p>\n You ask for stories<\/p>\n And I tell you of the Spanish pirates<\/p>\n Whose disordered ways<\/p>\n In part created this canal<\/p>\n Than runs from the Atlantic to the Mediterranean<\/p>\n There is a great distance to be covered<\/p>\n And we will needs our rest<\/p>\n Before we greet the sea once again<\/p>\n I slip back into my bed<\/p>\n And dream of lying on your breasts<\/p>\n Telling you stories of Spanish pirates<\/p>\n <\/p>\n As a treat we decided to eat at a hotel<\/p>\n Some twenty kilometres distant<\/p>\n It is run by an English woman<\/p>\n Called Hilda Cottam<\/p>\n Who was once married to a Frenchman<\/p>\n A Hero of the Resistance<\/p>\n Who owned a large house<\/p>\n Next to the canal<\/p>\n In later years they changed it into a hotel<\/p>\n With each of its rooms named of one their six grandchildren<\/p>\n At seven in the evening we meet Hilda Cottam<\/p>\n A frail bird like woman of eighty six years<\/p>\n Her husband died fifteen years ago<\/p>\n And she is helped by a small army of locals<\/p>\n Who accept her as their own<\/p>\n As she was once married to a hero of the resistance<\/p>\n She explains that she has a declining disease<\/p>\n And will most probably be dead within five years<\/p>\n But she does not fear death<\/p>\n For she has met God many times<\/p>\n She often sees him on passing boats<\/p>\n And his son often eats at the hotel<\/p>\n With his twelve friends<\/p>\n I have seen the promised waters and the skies beyond<\/em><\/p>\n And am looking forward to spending eternity there<\/em><\/p>\n With her husband who was a hero of the resistance<\/p>\n But died a haunted man<\/p>\n As he did not share her faith<\/p>\n For he had visited Hell on many occasions<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Hilda takes an immediate liking to my wife<\/p>\n Who is wearing her jade and lemon dress<\/p>\n The older woman considers that she is the most beautiful of women<\/p>\n And does not believe her fifty-seven years<\/p>\n They exchange photographs of grandchildren<\/p>\n Ours are still very young aged three and one<\/p>\n Whereas Hilda\u2019s are young adults<\/p>\n She wishes for great-grandchildren<\/p>\n Before she dies<\/p>\n But if none arrive<\/p>\n Then that is God\u2019s will<\/p>\n <\/p>\n He told me so the other day when he was passing on a boat\u00a0 <\/i><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/i><\/p>\n When she was in her youth she was beautiful also<\/p>\n But her beauty faded<\/p>\n The trees and canal retain my younger self I see it every day and this makes me so happy <\/i><\/p>\n It is God\u2019s gift to me <\/i><\/p>\n She hands my wife a small black Bible<\/p>\n It was given to me by a most beautiful woman <\/i><\/p>\n Who was my mother <\/i><\/p>\n It was given to me in 1940 and was part of a bequest from the will of a certain Philip Lord Wharton who died in 1696 <\/i><\/p>\n His only condition was that we should learn certain psalms <\/i><\/p>\n Which I did\u00a0 before my tenth birthday <\/i><\/p>\n A beautiful woman gave it to a beautiful child who now passes it on to a most beautiful woman <\/i><\/p>\n My wife regrets the gift insisting that her children and grandchildren are more worthy<\/p>\n I cannot split the book into nine and I knew that one day a very beautiful woman would arrive transported by the canal <\/i><\/p>\n She would remind me of my most cherished mother <\/i><\/p>\n And this the person to whom I would present the Bible <\/i><\/p>\n My only condition is that you learn the self-same psalms as requested by my benefactor <\/i><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/i><\/p>\n We ask her of her travels and learn that she only returns to England twice a year<\/p>\n I love the country of my ancestors <\/i><\/p>\n But where am I to find more beauty than is here <\/i><\/p>\n When I die I have asked my staff to throw my ashes carelessly into the canal and bury my empty urn under that path that leads to the lock<\/i><\/p>\n Due to the geography of the area that part of the path has a habit of crumbling away and if I can of use after my death then let it be God\u2019s will <\/i><\/p>\n He suggested this to me during a recent visit <\/i><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/i><\/p>\n She asks us of our plans and we explain that we intend to relax uninhibited on a beach at Cap D\u2019Agde and swim in the sea<\/p>\n Beauty and sensuality go hand in hand we miss this fact in England but the French know this it is in their genetic make up <\/i><\/p>\n Their literature and art betray this fact <\/i><\/p>\n Quite often I have English visitors and they cannot deal with the beauty of this area they are just heading south <\/i><\/p>\n My hotel is just like a railway station <\/i><\/p>\n However the French appreciate the beauty of the hotel and the surrounding area <\/i><\/p>\n They too are heading south <\/i><\/p>\n Or maybe north <\/i><\/p>\n Or maybe east or west <\/i><\/p>\n But they appreciate the beauty that surrounds them <\/i><\/p>\n I often travel south <\/i><\/p>\n Artists used to paint me <\/i><\/p>\n But now they are dead and I am too old <\/i><\/p>\n To travel far<\/i><\/p>\n But you are young mature and adventurous <\/i><\/p>\n Do read a psalm on your uninhibited beach <\/i><\/p>\n \u00a0<\/i><\/p>\n Neither of us had met an Englishwoman like Hilda before and after we moored for the night some three kilometres away from the hotel we were strangely silent<\/p>\n We thought that we knew our island race<\/p>\n But the canal had sprung a surprise on us<\/p>\n We hoped to meet her again but deep down we knew that we would not be passing for a year or two<\/p>\n Perhaps her disease would adopt the pace of the area<\/p>\n Or perhaps God would intervene and invite her on to his boat for a final time when passing<\/p>\n <\/p>\n During the night my wife crept into my bed she had dreamt of Alexander the Great and his horse Bucephalus<\/p>\n She felt she could hear them riding in nearby fields<\/p>\n But when she went onto the deck she could neither hear nor see anything apart from the insects of the night<\/p>\n She dreamt that she was Statira daughter of Darius and that she married Alexander and that she had joined him on his expeditions<\/p>\n As far as the Ganges<\/p>\n My wife spends the night on my breast<\/p>\n Her breathing betrayed her travel<\/p>\n <\/p>\n There is a fallacy that the further south you travel the warmer it gets<\/p>\n This may be true in the tropics<\/p>\n But is not true in Southern France<\/p>\n We both explore Alexander\u2019s field without shoes<\/p>\n We close our eyes<\/p>\n Trying to find evidence of hoof prints with our bare feet<\/p>\n The horse Bucephalus rode here I heard its ride many times \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0<\/i><\/p>\n For nearly an hour we search the field but find nothing<\/p>\n The day is warm but the soil feels cool under our feet<\/p>\n It will remain so until the height of the day<\/p>\n And then it will warm as the day matures<\/p>\n And grow cool as the day dies<\/p>\n <\/p>\n As we return to our boat we discover a dead migrating bird<\/p>\n You wrap it in a yellow cloth<\/p>\n And we bury it next to the canal<\/p>\n Where it can witness the southern travellers<\/p>\n <\/p>\n We approach the Malpas Tunnel<\/p>\n You have been sunbathing for the last hour<\/p>\n I warn you that tunnels are always cool<\/p>\n As fields are in the height of summer<\/p>\n This was a secret tunnel<\/p>\n Cut against the advice of the foolish<\/p>\n I touch Riquet\u2019s concrete ceiling<\/p>\n As we drift through the tunnel<\/p>\n And think that this surface<\/p>\n Has never been touched by the warmth of the sun<\/p>\n Or experienced the sensuality of direct sunlight<\/p>\n Yet each day it witnesses the light and both ends of the tunnel<\/p>\n Which is evident even on the darkest of winter days<\/p>\n To humour my warning you have removed all your clothes and sit like a figurehead on the bow of the boat<\/p>\n You tell me that the coolness of your skin is as sensuous as the sun<\/p>\n I promise to make you a coffee when we emerge from the underworld<\/p>\n <\/p>\n We are passing the Chemin de la flegme<\/i> near the round lock in Agde<\/p>\n This is our destination<\/p>\n From Agde we will travel the short distance to the Cap d \u2018Agde \u00a0where we will spend the next two weeks before returning to England on a TGV<\/p>\n <\/p>\n We have visited Bezier and I have explained to you why the town is still sad<\/p>\n I hand you a note which reads Kill them all; let God sort them out<\/i> which was supposedly uttered by a certain Arnaud Amaric prior the massacre<\/p>\n The churches and the cathedral provided no sanctuary to the Cathars and others and they were all slaughtered I explained<\/p>\n It was a day that even saddened the Devil himself \u00a0<\/i><\/p>\n <\/p>\n As we explored Bezier you lit a candle in every church we visited<\/p>\n You always light a candle when we visit a church<\/p>\n <\/p>\n I note in my travel diary that now we are on one of these uninhibited beaches and there is a sense of overwhelming space<\/p>\n As I write this I am watching you paddle in the shallows<\/p>\n Many like people pass you but few acknowledge your beauty<\/p>\n Beauty<\/p>\n Hilda explained beauty<\/p>\n And in his own way the Dean explained beauty<\/p>\n Everything I see is beautiful or at least I consider it to be<\/p>\n The beach is busy but there is a warm silence similar to that that we both experienced on the boat<\/p>\n But the silence is different<\/p>\n You are swimming now with your blond hair wet and flat in the calm warm waters and after a while emerge from the sea like one of Sappho\u2019s women<\/p>\n You let the sea drip from you as you stand above me shadowing the sun<\/p>\n Let us swim to the Maghreb tonight <\/i><\/p>\n Is there not enough beauty for you here? <\/i><\/p>\n I think of our boat moored in the hot sun in AgdeI<\/p>\n It will remain there for a month before it is borrowed by friends who will travel northwards once again<\/p>\n I wonder who they will meet and consider their dreams<\/p>\n I think of the narrow canal and its Latin inscriptions<\/p>\n There are no Latin inscriptions on this beach<\/p>\n The beach is wide and a place for pleasure<\/p>\n It was designed for this purpose<\/p>\n Forty years ago<\/p>\n Let us swim to the Maghreb tonight<\/i><\/p>\n You repeat your question<\/p>\n I smile but do not answer<\/p>\n When you are still you are still travelling<\/i><\/p>\n I whisper in your damp ear<\/p>\n The stars are aware of this \u00a0\u00a0<\/i><\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u00a0<\/i><\/p>\n <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" I am painting green and yellow flamingos on to your white porcelain bowl When complete I will let it dry in the smooth warm breeze as I fear that the hot sun will fade my fine work You are sitting on a canvas chair reading a cheap battered paperback which is called The Abdication of […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":3,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":[],"categories":[],"tags":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/stuartmillerosborne.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1645"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/stuartmillerosborne.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/stuartmillerosborne.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/stuartmillerosborne.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/3"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/stuartmillerosborne.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=1645"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/stuartmillerosborne.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1645\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/stuartmillerosborne.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=1645"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/stuartmillerosborne.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=1645"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/stuartmillerosborne.com\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=1645"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\nSo lay it by with reverent care
\nTouching it tenderly for sorrows sake
\nIt is a woman\u2019s hair<\/i><\/p>\n