A poem I wrote

The German Sailor


Outside, beyond the double glazing
Of this house on Romney Marsh -
This comfy, wealthy home with
Warm rooms, settees and armchairs
And a larder full of food - tonight,
Past midnight, I sit here alone and hear
The rain and wind screech all around me,
Blowing endlessly out to sea
And marshwards, across the dykes
And jet-black fields of melancholy sheep.

And I remember, a year or so ago
Walking, alone, in the graveyard
Of the old, old church here in New Romney
One winter afternoon, and seeing
The tombstone of a young German sailor -
I think he was seventeen or so -
Who died while in harbour here
About a century ago. I don't know how;
Maybe a foolish punch in a tavern
Did more harm than the puncher meant,
Or perhaps some fever, caught at sea,
Shrivelled his life into a coffined husk.

I think of him now, while I'm safe here and warm
I think of him lying alone and cold -
His neighbours skulls and jigsaws of bones –
Out in the darkness and the wind,
Far from home forever,
Here, in a salty part of this foreign marsh;
Where tonight, to my surprise,
I feel at home.



Written in New Romney, the largest town on Romney Marsh in Kent, early on Sunday morning, November 15 2015.


My late father Ted was born in Germany in 1922 and came to Britain in July 1939, just six weeks before WW2 broke out. I wonder whether subconsciously I wrote this poem about him? He came to Britain by sea aboard a transport ship, and he settled in Leicester. He passed away in 2005, aged 83.