Freight Train From Watchet

Watchet is no fools’ paradise,
No easy suntrap for idle tourists –
Bristles with history and hardship,
Commerce and men’s toil.

White waves pound on Watchet’s shore;
Boats bob in the harbour.
Fishermen on Watchet’s wall
Are waiting for a catch,
Watching and waiting…
Harbour walls glisten, green and damp;
Masts jingle in the breeze,
Gusts of wind whip up the sea –
Day trippers take care!

Watchet is no fools’ paradise,
No easy suntrap for idle tourists –
Bristles with history and hardship,
Commerce and men’s toil.

Ida Lucy in a long black skirt
Waits on the busy quay,
Toddler by her side,
My mother in her arms,
Watching and waiting…
Almost a hundred years ago,
Waiting for Albert,
Watching these shores
Till war broke out.

Little museum tells its story
Of iron ore and ships,
Setting out for the open sea
From its plucky little harbour.

Even the steam train, laden
With tourists, pauses for thought
At Watchet’s harbour,
Recalling it’s history,
Watching and waiting…
Here past and present meet
In fading photographs,
Women in long skirts
Shopping in Swain Street.

Watchet is no fools’ paradise,
No easy suntrap for idle tourists –
Bristles with history and hardship,
Commerce and men’s toil.

I've just been back in time, exploring my roots, staying in the Somerset village where my mother grew up and where we spent so many summer holidays on visits to my grandparents. We visited Watchet, that feisty little harbour town where my mother was born, just before the onset of war. They were hard times and Watchet is no chocolate-box, thatched-cottage rural idyll. It has guts. It 'bristles with history and hardship' but it has charm too and I was certainly touched by it. Strange to spend your holiday wondering if your mother walked up this street holding Ida Lucy's hand, if she rode over these moors when she grew up, if she stood and looked at this view from the top of the hill, close to our holiday cottage or stood on the harbour wall, looking out to sea...