Hayling Island (August 1958) Poem by Jean Bernard Parr

They had a boat on stilts
half built, beamy
like Noahs ark
made of wood
Dad drove down the A30
in the Vauxhall Wyvern
one weekend
Hayling Island
even today
Hayling Island
that's a special sound
they had two daughters
whose reefer-smoothed voices
lulled me to sleep
on the deck under
summer-wobbled stars
I heard them pass
the navy rum
'take a drag, go on-'they said
and me having bragged
about starting at ten on
Wills Woodbine
made them laugh
their names, I have forgotten
but not the balmy night
nor the scent of rum
and turpentine and fresh sawn
nor being between sleep
and reason so high off
the ground, nor the silky
voices that fluttered
coloured with mirth
nor the chitter drifting up
from below of Ma Jong
and then before long
sneaks in through splits
in dark plank sky
that bastard Dawn,
uninvited guest who
paints with bravura
in a streak of gold
a girl with a profile
a figurehead, noble
you could set in the bow
and that was really
my first epiphany
and may well have been
my last for all I know.