A table in the corner for one:
As the bell chimes eleven, on the eleventh day of the eleventh month
He sits alone in the corner of the cosy little pub
Nestled in the shadow of the ship that never sailed
The Lobster Pot gives refuge to the old man, a mariner, a hero never hailed
A life at sea spent battling the waves
Today he drinks a toast to all his friends and comrades now in their graves
He remembers the times, the War, the terror
But then he smiles, thinking about all the good times together
He sips at his pint and gazes out into space
Looking at the Forth and the Ochills, the open log fire gently stroking his face
He’s caught deep in thought as he sits and he thinks
About everything and nothing, and takes another drink
He feels at home in Blackness on Sea
A quiet little village where horses run playfully on land and on sea
Its windy outside and he catches a glance
Of the true magic of nature as he falls into a trance..
‘What a magnificent sight
Seeing the white horses run
Over the top of the ocean
Glistening in the sun
The stronger the wind
The more horses appear
Galloping faster and faster
Crashing into the pier
Herd upon herd
For as far as can see
Majestic wild creatures
Dancing and running free
Untamed and unreadable
A very powerful force
Their loud deep roaring
Warning not to get close’..
His mind jumps back to a thought he had before
Looking out to Inchgarvie Island from the sanctuary of the shore..
‘Peering through the eerie, calm, still, misty morning
The rocky island anchored directly under the red steel giant, a hazard without a
warning
Centred in the Firth of Forth, a spectacle and a mystery
Close but distant from both towns on either side, an island steeped in history
Close as it is within eye sight, distant as it is far removed from the lively, inhabited,
lit hubs of civilisation
Grey and dark, rocky, rugged and jagged; capturing the imagination
Lonely, dead and still
How many stories this island would have to tell
How many soldiers it has was home to during the wars
How many bodies it has had hit its shores’..
He brings himself back to where he is at the present
Focusing on the intricacies of the pub which he finds to be pleasant
He draws himself to the paintings which create the atmosphere
Smiling gently as he finishes his beer
He’s not there to make friends nor there to tell stories
He’s not there to drink all day nor there because he’s lonely
He’s there because its peaceful, somewhere he can reflect
Somewhere he can look out the window and pay his respects
The old man, the mariner stands up tall
Puts on his coat that he hung up on the wall
He nods to the bar tender and heads for the door
Steps out into the darkness and finds himself alone once more
But he’s not sad that he’s alone as he’s had the company of others
He’s had the pleasure of sitting at the table he once shared with his brothers
He felt their presence as he sat there today
He’s seen his friends faces kept alive in the paintings hung up on display
As he walks off into the bitterness of the cold November night
He takes once last look across the water to the distant flickering lights
Though he’s not sad, he still sheds a tear
He asks himself the question ‘will I be here this time next year’.