In August of 2009, I was asked to write and read the following rhyme at the Bonaventure Anchor Cenotaph
in Point Pleasant Park, it is in memory of all Maritime aircrew who lost their lives while in Naval Aviation. The occasion was a gathering of aircrew that had served in Shearwater, Greenwood, Summerside, and Pat Bay & Comox , B.C. While this was written for those that served in the back-seat of the aircraft, I would like to acknowledge that groundcrew and pilots also lost their lives!
Neither Rhyme , Nor Reason
A thing which has neither rhyme, nor reason, something that makes no sense,
We, present here today, have lost more than a few friends, training in Canada's defense!
Observer's Mates, Naval Aircrewmen, Radio Navigator, Airborne Electronic Sensors Op,
Even some of the originals are here today, while other mates lives, came to a full stop!
Whether flying off a carrier, a DDH or land, they didn't return for that drink in the mess,
Some are still in the Delta,others we buried, why them and not us, it's anyone's guess!
They are still young men, that's how we see them,while we here today, are mostly grey,
Naval Aviation claimed more than a few, while us old birds, lived to fly another day!
They didn't make it to grandfather, or Snowbird, or retiree, like you, and you, and me!
They are mates we talk about at reunions, some have gravesites, others are still at Sea!
Thursday, October 14, 2010
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
"Will Anyone Search for Danny?"
This rime is in the book "Will Anyone search for Danny?" written by Earl B. Pilgrim.
Who's got the grit to listen to a story, that's untold,
About the dying Newfie Ranger, lying in the ice and snow,
With his feet and hands all frozen, his food and shelter gone,
He is dying, yes he's dying, lying in the chilly dawn.
Danny Corcoran,twenty-one, has St. John's down in his heart,
He hasn't met the northern blizzards that can tear your soul apart,
He ignored old-timers' warnings, "Only travel in the trees,"
"If you walk the open country, you are guaranteed to freeze."
A report reached the Ranger, they're killing all the caribou,
"Then I'll patrol the open country,it's the proper thing to do,"
"I'll catch those crooks and lock them up over in Port Saunders jail,"
"And return in four to Harbour Deep in time to catch the mail."
He never returned in just four days to catch the northern mail,
They found him dying in the snow next to a logger's trail,
It took seven days to the hospital from his icy bed of snow,
"Too late, too late," said the doctor, "to live, he can't. We know."
Now it's in the poachers' cabins as they sit around at night,
When the wind blows through the mountains and they gaze at the lamplight,
You can hear the sound of crying, of sobs,of moans and yells,
It's Danny, the Newfie Ranger, the red-haired Newfie Ranger,
He's frozen, limping, crawling, and lost on the open hills.
Who's got the grit to listen to a story, that's untold,
About the dying Newfie Ranger, lying in the ice and snow,
With his feet and hands all frozen, his food and shelter gone,
He is dying, yes he's dying, lying in the chilly dawn.
Danny Corcoran,twenty-one, has St. John's down in his heart,
He hasn't met the northern blizzards that can tear your soul apart,
He ignored old-timers' warnings, "Only travel in the trees,"
"If you walk the open country, you are guaranteed to freeze."
A report reached the Ranger, they're killing all the caribou,
"Then I'll patrol the open country,it's the proper thing to do,"
"I'll catch those crooks and lock them up over in Port Saunders jail,"
"And return in four to Harbour Deep in time to catch the mail."
He never returned in just four days to catch the northern mail,
They found him dying in the snow next to a logger's trail,
It took seven days to the hospital from his icy bed of snow,
"Too late, too late," said the doctor, "to live, he can't. We know."
Now it's in the poachers' cabins as they sit around at night,
When the wind blows through the mountains and they gaze at the lamplight,
You can hear the sound of crying, of sobs,of moans and yells,
It's Danny, the Newfie Ranger, the red-haired Newfie Ranger,
He's frozen, limping, crawling, and lost on the open hills.
Sunday, October 3, 2010
A Sad Naval Tale from the "Bonnie"
I can't remember where I first found this little ditty,
but I did take it and change a few words in order to
reflect my time on the aircraft carrier Bonaventure
in the Canadian Navy:
"A Sad Naval Tale from the "Bonnie".
Their blood ran cold with horror
As they gazed on the awful scene,
Thier faces paled with anquish
And their gills turned faintly green.
For seldom has anybody suffered
As they did, that horrible day,
Seldom before have humans
Beheld such a ghastly display.
There on the deck before them
The shattered remnants flowed,
And a steady stream of crimson
Sought it's level on Burma road.
And they stood in breathless silence
As men who were stricken dumb,
For they had just seen the duty PO
Drop a case of pusser Rum !
but I did take it and change a few words in order to
reflect my time on the aircraft carrier Bonaventure
in the Canadian Navy:
"A Sad Naval Tale from the "Bonnie".
Their blood ran cold with horror
As they gazed on the awful scene,
Thier faces paled with anquish
And their gills turned faintly green.
For seldom has anybody suffered
As they did, that horrible day,
Seldom before have humans
Beheld such a ghastly display.
There on the deck before them
The shattered remnants flowed,
And a steady stream of crimson
Sought it's level on Burma road.
And they stood in breathless silence
As men who were stricken dumb,
For they had just seen the duty PO
Drop a case of pusser Rum !
Friday, October 1, 2010
"WHERE THE FISHERMEN SING" by Anna Careless
I would love to see someone take this poem,
put it to music ,and sing it,at the Stan Rogers
Festival in Canso one summer.
from the book "Where The Fishermen Sing" by Anna Careless:
Below the cliffs of Canso
The breakers lash their spray,
If you stay awhile, you'll be borne along
Become one with the moods of the Bay.
The fishermen sing, as they haul in their nets
Sweet winds and bobbing sails beckon me,
And gulls croon to a watery melody
On lovely Chedabucto Bay.
I've felt the power and the fury
The tides of tranquility,
I share a kinship with these waters,
And the breakers of the Bay.
When of city strife I weary
Sure my hungry heart will stray,
Towards the sweet winds of Canso
On the shores of Chedabucto Bay.
put it to music ,and sing it,at the Stan Rogers
Festival in Canso one summer.
from the book "Where The Fishermen Sing" by Anna Careless:
Below the cliffs of Canso
The breakers lash their spray,
If you stay awhile, you'll be borne along
Become one with the moods of the Bay.
The fishermen sing, as they haul in their nets
Sweet winds and bobbing sails beckon me,
And gulls croon to a watery melody
On lovely Chedabucto Bay.
I've felt the power and the fury
The tides of tranquility,
I share a kinship with these waters,
And the breakers of the Bay.
When of city strife I weary
Sure my hungry heart will stray,
Towards the sweet winds of Canso
On the shores of Chedabucto Bay.
My Nova Scotia Home
Acoss the beautiful New Brunswick and down to P.E.I,
To the rockbound coast of Newfoundland, I'll love them 'til I die,
But if God came down upon this earth, and asked a place to rest,
I'd take him to my Nova Scotia home, the place that I love best!
from the lyrics of a Hank Snow song written by
"the Yodelling Ranger" himself!
To the rockbound coast of Newfoundland, I'll love them 'til I die,
But if God came down upon this earth, and asked a place to rest,
I'd take him to my Nova Scotia home, the place that I love best!
from the lyrics of a Hank Snow song written by
"the Yodelling Ranger" himself!
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