SS IXIA & THE CAPE CORNWALL FOG... (My new poem about a shipwreck at CAPE CORNWALL on this day, 30th June 1929...)

 SS Ixia & The Cape Cornwall Fog…

Winding down the steep, narrow lane from St Just towards Cape Cornwall, 

The rugged cruelty of the place suddenly appears and a vicious wind roars,

As racks of boulders and sharp edged rocks lurk below to entice their maritime prey.

And Charles de Gaulle floats off the shore, disaster’s lure and distraction…

On June 30th, 1929, en route from Swansea to Constantinople with coal to haul,

A steamship, the Ixia foundered in thick fog and blundered helplessly off course, 

Then ran aground on the Brisons, the prominent rocks offshore, guardians of the bay,

Resembling Charles de Gaulle reclining, wallowing in his depths of destruction…

Pete Ray…

30th June 2026…  

97 years ago today…

I was at Cape Cornwall recently and it can be a wild and forbidding place…

I saw a photo of the wreck of the Ixia in the loo at the Old Coastguard Hotel in Mousehole and snapped a shot of it…

I had already written the poem included below about the Brisons, some years ago…

The two rocks reminded me then of historic figure Generale de Gaulle and they still do…

Ol’ Big Nose…

He lay, as if flattened

By this late autumnal blast,

Whilst wading off the Cape.

Scooped Pollack in huge calloused hands,

Perhaps…

His nose, as if aligned

With that incongruous monumental chimney

Towering atop the Cape,

Produced a triangle with a huge hypotenuse.

Perhaps…

His recline, as if resigned

To his fate and the torrential storms 

Constantly pummelling the Cape,

 Belied his eternal melancholy.

Perhaps…

Pete Ray…

An amazing rock formation, which reminded me of 

Charles De Gaulle… 

Brisons Rocks, Cape Cornwall, near St Just…

ALMOST SAYING AU REVOIR... (My new poem about Oystercatchers at Mousehole, Cornwall, 27th June 2026...)

 Almost Saying Au Revoir…

(Oystercatchers at Mousehole, 27th June 2026…)

Early morning, a cool walk along Cliff Road, past the new terminus, 

Much debated and indeed hated by the villagers, for the local ‘bus.

Yet a single plaintive sound eked through the hustling rush of the tide below  

And the brush of the breeze, as the inkling of a sunrise shone its muted glow.

Moments later, as I strolled along the parched sea wall with hesitant feet, 

The bristling ocean was only just on the turn for its slow summer retreat

And I wondered whether I really had heard an oystercatcher’s whistle, its piping sound

 Amongst the weed-strewn boulders. And I scoured them, slick and wet upon the ground.

Scavenging in rock pools, jabbing at limpets and rifling through weed, I spotted a pair,

Before one rose and took flight towards Newlyn, trajectory low but with such colour and flair,

Then it piped a single note on the wing, drawing a response from the remaining bird    

And thus spoke my own farewell to them, a chap detected but certainly not heard…

Pete Ray…

28th June 2026…    

The small group of oystercatchers I have seen regularly at Mousehole must be amongst the most photographed anywhere…

The one bird I spoke to as I left the wall seemed to linger, almost accepting of me and I felt a kind of kinship with it.

It was my final morning in Mousehole, following a two-week holiday there and I had photographed/filmed the oystercatchers just about every day…

I hope it really was ‘au revoir’…  

MOUNTS BAY DRAMA... (My new poem about MOUSEHOLE, Cornwall, 27th June 2026...)

 Mounts Bay Drama…

(7.03am, 27th June 2026…)

It was cool, certainly. A breeze sullied my early morning stroll

To the plain, solid sea wall at Mousehole, haunted by an oystercatcher’s call

But quite suddenly, upon the shaded land beyond Marazion, a fringe of cream sunrise 

Peeped beneath a monstrous arm of darkening cloud,  reaching and threatening a squall.

Beach rocks lurked in silvery shallows, like hunks of black coal,

As I stood perplexed by a curious patch of blue sky, in thrall

Of yet another of Cornwall’s morning palettes, a drama, a surprise

And the tiny conical apex of St Michael’s Mount could hardly be seen at all…

Pete Ray…

28th June 2026…

My last, fine, if breezy morning in Mousehole changed into the scene above, then just as quickly it dissipated into a beautiful sunny day…  

THE 27 IMAGES FROM MOUSEHOLE, CORNWALL, 26TH & 27TH JUNE 2026...

 

RUST SKY & EMMA LOUISE... (My new poem about a fishing vessel returning to Newlyn...)

 Rust Sky & Emma Louise…

(21.45 hours, 20th June, Mounts Bay…)

The layered evening sky, like pallid coloured sand in a tube, lies dull 

Forming a stark contrast to a grey sea in the foreground, where

Emma Louise returns to Newlyn’s busy quay, her stained white hull  

Reflecting the rust sunset high above Mounts Bay, her catch stowed away with care…

Uncannily lit by the final rays of a Cornish sunset, TO 60 pushes on, its gleam 

Incongruous in the fading dusk, its slim wash a black trail upon grey lead.

Truro registered, the crabber and fisher with chunky appearance and steadying beam,

Seems random, as it drifts on with a valuable cargo to the safe harbour ahead…    

Pete Ray…

26th June 2026…

My evening image of TO 60 heading to Newlyn was one of many shades of colour and light…

I liked it…