Dear Reader,
The Silk Road
Major Mick Stanley whom I wrote about last week, is in the news again with his amazing challenge of rowing his homemade boat along the Chichester Canal for 100 miles. He has now raised £22,500 for St. Wilfred's hospice, Bosham, and is currently halfway through the adventure.
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In my long and varied life I have met many different people, but none who have stuck out more than the 'loveable rogue'. I met him everywhere: at the Samaritan Centre, as a Magistrate or just striking up a conversation with him in cafes or bars. This man is a charmer, he jokes, flirts, tells good stories usually about places in exotic parts of the world. This week's poem is about him, I hope you enjoy it, and will be able to spot him if you talk to him one day, somewhere.
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From Dorothy Wordsworth, November 4th 1800, in Westmorland
'William went to the Tarn, afterwards to the top of Seat Sandal. H was obliged to lie down in the tremendous wind. The snow blew from Helvellyn horizontally like smoke - the spray of the unseen waterfall like smoke.'
From Thomas Hardy, November 4th 1873, in Dorset
'It is raining in torrents. The light is greenish and unnatural, objects being seen as through water. A roar of rain in the plantation, and a rush near at hand, yet not a breath of wind. A silver finger hangs from the eaves of the house to the ground. A flash and then thunder.'
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Loveable Rogue
Jeans jacket, black trousers
long curly black hair
an impish smile
sparkling white teeth.
A world traveller
worked in a kibbutz
surfed in Australia
sold jewellery in India,
Nepal and Afghanistan.
He had a finger in many pies,
he said, done many deals,
made friends, made enemies
walked the Silk Road.
The ladies loved him
he twinkled at them
made jokes
got on with their dogs.
He told good stories
wore silver rings
had a rose tattoo
on his arm, a cross on his leg.
This loveable rogue
was charming,
uninterested in the truth
and wandered through life
conscience free.
With best wishes, Patricia.
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