Last night, we heard an owl nearby, its soft hooting call was repeated over and over. Looking for company, perhaps.

I was transported by that haunting call to when, aged nine, I had to learn this poem, and recite it in our junior school class.

When Icles Hang by the Wall

When icicles hang by the wall,
And Dick the shepherd blows his nail,
And Tom bears logs into the hall,
And milk comes frozen home in pail,
When blood is nipp’d and ways be foul,
Then nightly sings the staring owl,
Tu-whit;
Tu-who, a merry note,
While greasy Joan doth keel the pot. 

When all aloud the wind doth blow,
And coughing drowns the parson’s saw,
And birds sit brooding in the snow,
And Marian’s nose looks red and raw,
When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl,
Then nightly sings the staring owl,
Tu-whit;
Tu-who, a merry note,
While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.

From Love’s Labour’s Lost, Act V, Scene II, W Shakespeare.

Of course, back then, I little new any love of poetry, though the imagery certainly appealed!. But this, and Shelley’s Ozymandias which we also learnt by wrote, hold special memories and significance – and were the germ of my great fondness of poetry.

I recently completed and handed over a project to my woodturning mentor, Richard.

His father had been a very loyal and enthusiastic supporter of Gosport Borough Football Club. From the age of four, Richard accompanied his dad to home and away matches. He still attends matches, and sits in the seat that his father sat in for many years, from where he would swing his football rattle, ring his bell at cup matches, and cheer on the team with shouts of “Come on my lovelies!”

Richard had told me this story, and of how his dad, who had been injured in the war, would discharge himself from his rehab ward at Stoke Mandeville, in order to attend matches, and re-admit himself afterwards.

As he showed me the cup match bell, and the rattles he and his dad would use, an idea popped into my head: to make Richard a display case for the rattles that he and his dad used.

I had already started making a Navy Sword display case – a commissioned project for a friend. Unfortunately, I had a glue freeze during the making of this case, and ended up breaking one of the sides of the case. There had already been some minor mistakes, which were fixable, but this was the last straw. As I put the remaining pieces to one side, I decided they could be re-purposed for Richard’s case – a surprise gift

With the aid of his daughter, and without his knowledge, I got the dimensions of the rattles and set to work.

The wood is yellow cedar. It is relatively difficult to work, because the grain is so irregular, and tear outs happen very readily. However it smells lovely, and does look attractive.

Here are some pictures of the finished result, and of Richard with his surprise gift.

I am now making that Navy Sword display case, which is going well so far – at least the joints are not too tight this time!

In remembrance of those lost at sea in wartime … and of those who loved the sea and are no longer with us:

IN WATERS DEEP

In ocean wastes no poppies blow,
No crosses stand in ordered row,
Their young hearts sleep… beneath the wave…
The spirited, the good, the brave,
But stars a constant vigil keep,
For them who lie beneath the deep.

‘Tis true you cannot kneel in prayer
On certain spot and think. “He’s there.”
But you can to the ocean go…
See whitecaps marching row on row;
Know one for him will always ride…
In and out… with every tide.

And when your span of life is passed,
He’ll meet you at the “Captain’s Mast.”
And they who mourn on distant shore
For sailors who’ll come home no more,
Can dry their tears and pray for these
Who rest beneath the heaving seas…

For stars that shine and winds that blow
And whitecaps marching row on row.
And they can never lonely be
For when they lived… they chose the sea…

Eileen Mahoney