To Save

Almost home.
The bow raising a foam.
A bitterly cold midwinter night.
Sailing in the starlight.

Lights off the bow.
On we plough.
Mistaken recognition.
Working on intuition.

A sudden change of course.
Turning with force.
To late.
A great crashing grate.

Water pouring in.
Icy cold on the skin.
Water from above and below.
A dreadful flow.

Silence now.
Still now.
Time to take stock
To ignore the shock.

Cold through to the bone.
Cold to make you groan.
Water rising.
Never comprising.

Organise your charge.
Encourage the men at large.
Now all is ready.
Tell the men to hold steady.

Break the seal.
With a turn of a wheel.
Suddenly gone.
Unknowingly never to see the dawn.

To serve.
To hold your nerve.
To save.
And not send to the grave.

To act without thought.
Never thinking it would come to naught.
To act knowing.
The waters would be flowing.

Body never found.
No grave in the ground.
Never knowing how many you saved.
How well you had behaved.

Citations written.
Last letters unwritten.
Medals awarded.
Sailors rewarded.

All after death.
No longer needing breath.
To many family’s grieve.
Family’s with a medal to receive.

And all boats like this now carry a single white light.
So all may see them in the night.
One light on the bow.
The truculent light when we are not below.


Dedicated to the dockworkers and sailors of HMS Truculent
12/1/1950