ramblings and things

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Post Cod War Blues – Epitaph. ( rewritten)



It's by the old lock gates
and not so easily found,
standing there on the bull nose
if you know your way around:
a very modest monument,
spare compact and neat,
tribute to the once proud
Hull deep sea trawler fleet.

It's just a few feet away
from that very place,
the entrance to the Humber,
where they joined frantic race
to bring to the nation
their very favoured dish,
the harvest of the sea,
cheap, tasty, fresh wet fish.

Though it's never admitted,
in the heart of the Cold war
as well as their fishing
that fleet did so much more,
spying on the Russians
at a possible great cost,
for to be caught meant
maybe ships and lives lost.

Now among some dereliction
There are still working docks
Plying very different trades
Through very different locks;
there's still the new fish market
now tucked quietly away,
scant reminder of the past
when King Cod ruled the day.

The grey stone memorial,
small, stern and austere,
is the site of remembrance
for all held once every year,
and the Humber as ever
rolls down to the sea
in silent reminder of
how things used to be.







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Post Cod War Blues – Epitaph. ( rewritten)