A new year begins
Majestic and proud
The island is wrapped
In a mystical shroud
February brings
The promise of birth
Wrapped deep inside
The slumbering earth
March is here
The first day of spring
The sun warms the earth
As birds start to sing
April brings showers
A wealth of spring flowers
The Oldenburg begins to sail
Sea sick passengers weep and wail
Birds start to nest
In the month of May
New born lambs
Are happy and gay
June brings the shortest nights
Sea thrift adorns the dizzying heights
Seals sing and play at Brazen Ward
Sounding better than I, who's distinctly off chord!
Basking sharks start to shoal in July
Sky larks sing in the clearest blue sky
The paths are well trodden with day trippers galore
Thronging around the enchanted shore
In August the heather and gorse start to bloom
The island is packed and there is no room
The air is hot and still and dry
Brows start to sweat and bodies fry
Come September the birds start to fly
For sunnier climes, warmer and dry
The days are warm and crisp and clear
Silence is deafening with nothing to hear
In October the nights start to lengthen
The leaves start to fall and the wind starts to strengthen
The deer are rutting along the east side
The bracken is gone, they have nowhere to hide
In November the chill wind blows
The 'other island' is wrapped in snow
On long moonlit nights the stars shine brightly
The Tavern is warm and open nightly
December brings Christmas, the end of the year
Fun and feasting and much good cheer
The wheel has turned and the circle now ends
The island now sleeps 'til it all starts again
Copyright June Austin. All rights reserved.
We who in Old Light Cottage have stayed,
Dreamed or thought, or prayed,
In the same bed we've all slept,
Same silence kept,
Same loo crapped in,
Same rubbish bin!
A special kind we are,
Like the solitary twinkling star,
As we sit writing and from busy lives recover,
Through this log we greet each other.
Judith Hubbard, Gloucester
Old Light stands mighty,
Atop Beacon Hill,
Never proved useful,
A mad folly still
If only he'd bent his huge head to the ground,
Trinity House might have kept him around!
But no, he stands foolishly rigid and proud,
Swathed completely in low lying cloud,
I'm the tallest in Britain he says ,
Why should I debase myself, I who communes with the sky,
What of it if sailing ships flounder below,
The fogs a thick curtain, I need never know!
Pippa Hennessy, Nottingham
The boat sailed on a sun filled day,
The passengers scanned the cliffs and the bay,
They looked for the puffins and the seals at play,
They hoped to see both of them during their day
They changed to the small boat to bring them ashore,
Wondering what the day had in store,
One things for certain, they'd all want more,
And they'll be sad to leave at quarter past four
Some were very tired when they reached the top,
The climb was steep and rough, and they often had to stop,
One old lady found a stick which made a super prop,
She said "my dear, I think I'm fit to drop!"
Most folk lingered at the Tavern first,
For a pasty and to quench their raging thirst,
Once they'd filled their bellies fit to burst,
They noticed that the crowd had all dispersed
It was easy to find peace, somewhere to walk alone,
Far away from the TV, work and telephone,
Time to stop and look, breathe clean air and throw a stone,
No worries or torment, not a single thought of home
Time passed quickly and very soon it was time to go,
Back in the Landing Bay, faces full of woe,
But mine was full of smiles and joy you know,
For I was staying and could enjoy tomorrow
Pam McNamara
We walked down to Pilots Quay
I was shown where the rope used to be
Spinning round you could hear me swear
As I had not brought clean underwear
Spiralled up the Old Lighthouse
To keep a watchful eye on Lundy
Fell asleep, missed my tea
Woke up at noon on Monday!
Seated in the Ugly
Eating cheese and crackers
A bumble bee dive bombed my lunch
And bit me on the nose
Sitting down by Quarry Pond
Talking to the duck
Suddenly it pinched my lunch
….. so what!
Johnny B, Westmorland
My neighbour John, a gifted bard
Has strived exceedingly hard
A limerick for the isle to write
On his latest visit to the site
Despite the rain, despite the mist
The Tavern's lures he did resist
And turned his mind to higher things
Like turtles, oysters, cabbages and kings
With due apologies to Marian
And similarly for Bronwyn
I'd better quickly end this ode
And perhaps not sign myself
Keith Clode
Coming to Lundy
By air on a Monday
The helicopter late!
At last it arrived
At least I survived
But mostly the flight was great
The Radio Room
Like a one man tomb
Was warm and clean inside
I read through the brochure
Everything kosher
Now I had to decide
Should I go to the bar?
Is isn't too far
And buy myself a drink
Or just get into bed
And sleep unfed
I didn't know what to think
I thought I would 'hack it'
So I put on my jacket
And went down into the Tavern
Compared to my house
(No room for a mouse)
The Marisco was almost a cavern
The food was fine
And so was the wine
And soon I made some friends
We drank 'til late
I'm glad that I ate
At 12 the electricity ends
Remember, remember
Come in November
And the island is covered in shit!
It's a working farm
And will do you no harm
But it's hard not to tread in it
I'm not being unkind
I speak as I find
The island is truly unique
Writing these words
And watching the birds
I'm almost afraid to speak
Emlyn Graves, Appledore, Devon
Tomorrow Lundy I say goodbye
The time to go is nigh
But I take a little piece of this space with me
The bits that have allowed me to just be
The sound of the wind and the sea
The spring of the turf
The still silence of the east path
The dramatic landscapes of the west
The desolate feel of the north part
And the sunny peace of the south heart
The images I'll hold in my head
And doubtless replay them again and again, while lying in bed
Until it is time for me to return
To this magical place I have come to yearn
Elaine Barnes, Tadley, Hampshire
