Voyage to Burriananova, a monalogue

The day we sailed for Burriana,
The waves were but fiddling and small,
But if we’d ‘a known what they’d come to
We wouldn’t ‘av set off at all.

We are on our way to Ibiza,
A place where they party and rave,
To holiday with our grown children
And hope that they won’t misbehave.

The day dawned all gloomy and dismal
The sea and the sky were both grey.
The wind was astern, so we motored,
And motored and motored, all day.

The wind it did blow ever stronger,
It whipped up the waves into spray.
We rode the white horses all morning
Just glad they were going our way!

By three we were surfing big wave crests,
Then wallowing down as they fell,
Then riding up high with the next one.
It was all quite good fun for a spell.

Then the Skipper, he came over all gloomy,
On account of the rollers all round
“If t’breakers meet us at the harbour,
We must stay out or else run aground.”

A fishing boat came thrashing past us,
As into the harbour it thrust.
We followed his wake into safety,
But the wind it still blew fit to bust.

I hastened to fasten on stern lines
And tied up the fenders to port,
But the sailor called “Come in alongside”,
So our plans we then had to abort.

I stood with a rope clutched amidships,
The Skipper he steered us well in.
Then a gust caught the bow, and before we knew how
We had clattered a fall pipe with vim.

Water burst out like a fountain,
Three men wrestled hard with the bow.
The Captain used thrusters and engine
But the wind flipped us round anyhow.

I scampered across with my short rope
And threw them a stern line to shore,
As my next failed to reach; John stepped into the breech,
With a blue rope he’d pulled from the store.

I dashed down the side with the bowline
And passed it across hand to hand,
“A fender” they cried and from the port side,
I grabbed one to meet the demand.

The men smiled as we tried to thank them,
And disappeared back to their boats.
The sailor, he turned off the fountain
And shrugged, “These things happened, afloat!”

So if you go to Burriana,
Be sure that the folk there are grand,
They’ll heave and they’ll toil, your boat not to spoil
And tie you up safe to the land.

(Inspired by “Albert and the Lion” by Marriott Edgar)

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2 Responses to Voyage to Burriananova, a monalogue

  1. Joyce Emms says:


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