Monday 30 January 2017

Humber by Dave Rigby


As the wind sings in the suspended steelwork, the Humber swirls beneath, racing to reach the sea.

Mother’s early Sunday morning call – ‘can you come?’ Sounding so unlike Mother. Ninety three, on her own, a small cottage on Spurn Point.

Storm surge forecast.

The bridge fades away in the mist of the rear view mirror; turn right for Hull.

The Super Snipe sweeps through the sleeping city streets, out to Holderness. Series V, maroon body, cream roof, synchromesh, walnut facia, leather seats and, if I’m lucky, sixteen miles to the gallon; a Humber to its roots.

Wipers struggling to keep up, headlights bouncing, racing past Hedon, thinking of Mother, alone.

The calm reassurance of the radio, delivering it’s far from calm message
Attention all shipping…especially in sea area Humber…the following gale warning…west or north west…gale 8 to storm 10…imminent.

Kilnsea. Road closed. Park the car. Waterproofs check, boots check, rucksack of essential supplies check. Out into the storm!

Head down, stick for support, wind screaming, North Sea rising to my left, Humber rising to my right, struggling along the thin sand spit, an island in the making ahead.

The gloom intensifies, water surges around my feet. Press on, press on, no going back now. Higher ground ahead my memory shouts.

Breaking into a run to escape the water’s dogged pursuit, held back by clinging clothing, pounding heart, bursting lungs.

At last, lighthouse in view, cottage in view; brave the stinging rain, brave the evil wind, the final push.

Hammer on the door, a frail old lady, almost a smile.

We push out the weather together.


Monday 23 January 2017

Fair Isle by Emma Harding


“I’m back here, on these windy rocks, looking for hope in my imagination and my surroundings.” 

Outrun, by Amy Liptrot, p. 149.


Pathetic fallacy is a literary device which attributes human feelings and emotions to non-human aspects of nature. The wind that ‘rages’ through the trees. The ‘despairing’ call of the curlew. The (oft-used but best-avoided) first line, ’it was a dark and stormy night’, that presages the tempestuous emotions of the main characters or the violence inherent in the story to come. 

In Outrun, an autobiographical account of a young woman’s descent into and slow recovery from alcoholism, Amy Liptrot turns pathetic fallacy on its head. 

In her self-imposed exile, first on Orkney, then the smaller, more remote island of Papay, Liptrot immerses herself in the wild landscapes and even wilder weather of these, the UK’s most northerly, shores.

In doing so, she is able to strip away all the distractions, temptations and false-busyness of an urban existence. Giving her the space, time and clarity to tune into the reasons for her drinking and build up the inner strength she needs to maintain a life of sobriety.

But the wind-lashed and sea-sculpted island does more than just provide a retreat. It is through her engagement with and enquiries into the workings of the vital and elemental land she finds herself in that she gains insight into her own motivations, desires, actions, achievements and failings. Rather than projecting her inner turmoil onto the natural world, it is through understanding the forces at play in shaping that world, that she comes to understand her own.

And it is her fascination with weather, with geology, with star-gazing and bird-watching, with anthropology, etymology, and with myth and folktale, that make this such a rich and enriching read. I particularly enjoyed small illuminating details, like the fact that on really windy days, the smallest children are kept indoors, or that there is an atmospheric phenomenon, called Fata Morgana, that makes things on the horizon - lighthouses, ships, islands - appear as if upside down. 

A clear-sighted, searingly honest yet elegant portrayal of nature's restorative power, this is a highly recommended read. For more info, and to purchase, click here. 


Why Fair Isle? Here's why:

“Orkney and Shetland are in the Fair Isle sea area of the shipping forecast and, getting ready for bed, my ears tune in when its name is read: ‘Wind: easterly or north-easterly six to gale eight. Sea state: rough or very rough. Wintry showers. Visibility: good, occasionally poor.’”
Outrun, p. 231.

Monday 16 January 2017

North Utsire, South Utsire by Clair Wright



I am lulled by squalls, North Utsire, South Utsire,
Quelled with gales in Dogger, Fisher,
Calmed, westerly, falling slowly.

I drift through wintery showers, Humber, Thames,
Borne on north westerly, becoming cyclonic,
Lulled with squalls, North Utsire, South Utsire.

I am soothed through Sole, Lundy, Fastnet,
Stilled on a swell, becoming high later,
Calm, westerly, falling slowly.

Visibility is poor in Hebrides, Bailey,
I am hushed by a hurricane, veering northerly,
Lulled with squalls, North Utsire, South Utsire.

I doze through Shannon, moderate, rising,
Floating, steadily, in Faeroes, Fair Isle,
Calm, westerly, falling slowly.

I am sinking, steadily, dropping later,
I sleep in a storm off South East Iceland,
Lulled with squalls, North Utsire, South Utsire,
Calm, westerly, falling slowly.

Many listeners to Radio 4, who have few maritime connections, nevertheless rely on the Shipping Forecast, to lull them to sleep.

Monday 9 January 2017

VIKING by Virginia Hainsworth


Wind north-westerly, veering northerly later,
crying to the Nordic gods,
shaking them from their long sleep.
Storm approaching.

Sea state high, occasionally very high,
waves straining to reach the sky,
failing to quench the enchanted fires
or douse the myths.

Weather wintry, thundery showers.
Sounds of battle, gods against giants.
Clouds of dwarves, witch queens, magic hammers,
crowding the skies.

Visibility good, occasionally poor.
Runic letters carved into stone
momentarily revealed, forecasting unrest.
Increasing later.



The shipping area ‘Viking’, off the southwestern coast of Norway, is named after the sandbank situated there.  But the word ‘Viking’ conjures up so much more.


Tuesday 3 January 2017

Trafalgar by Annabel Howarth



Taste celebration, bitter sweet,

Raw hope and fear meet,

A small Victory won,

Fatal woundings are done,

As other battles wage on,

Listen, as the past year mourns,

Gaze on the new day’s dawn,

And seek new joy and hope,

Refuge from the lighthouse calls.





According to today's shipping forecast for Trafalgar, the sea state is "rough or very rough, becoming moderate or rough later".

This acrostic poem is inspired by the shipping forecast for Trafalgar,  the famous battle of 1805 which was fought in the Cape of Trafalgar and the lighthouse which was subsequently erected there, news that there was a fatal stabbing in Trafalgar Square shortly after Christmas, and the general conflicting feelings surrounding this time of year.