poet. writer. imposter.
I’m currently writing a piece for my trip around the Shipping Forecast areas set in the Tyne region. It’s along the same lines as the Alderley and Avebury pieces, elsewhere on this site in that it’s a mix of curated recollection, history, poetry, etc. It takes place between Whitby, Robin Hoods Bay and Ravenscar, three places that absolutely fascinate me for various reasons. The final piece will contain elements of Dracula, Bram Stoker’s history with the town, Whitby Abbey and the homegrown supernatural tales that have been usurped, Abbess Hild, Constance, Marmion and Walter Scott, smuggler, meteorological anomalies, Ravenscar, HP Lovecraft, David Bowie, Roman Soldiers, John Constantine, King George III and generally falling into madness. And, ultimately, not getting any work done.
The final segment is a poem lamenting the things that didn’t happen in Ravenscar, a town that never really existed, per see. You can see a map of it above and the poem below.
Stillborn There isn't a band to welcome the holiday makers that never arrived, by the railway line, now closed for lack of use. Nor promenades one could walk out with a beau against an apron of sticky rock and bunting. An absence of augured guest-house ma'ams – suspicious of the sharp influx of nervous ‘Mr and Mrs Smiths’ - that cannot scowl at a secret seaside tryst while serving a Full English through gritted dentures and tart-rouged cheeks. Unaware of the might-have-beens, the intrigues or joy, hardy ungulates wear their hooves down on shy kerbstones, that hide and cringe beneath wind-cowed, lank and shivering grass, remembering their erstwhile future in the remains of a still-born town.