Early every Sunday morning, on my way to carry out my Labour of Love for Tic’s birds, which was to dig and fill small sacks of shingle...

How warm the morning bright becomes My love Smile sweet summer chases freckle shadows beneath her hat Red silk scarf wind whipping...

Rocking, rolling Riding upon salt crested waves The shore. High upon a sea of green glass, Golden stones Splashing emeralds Between tip...

Three dozen and more a plenty were the cannon stings of The Peter Ready to lay a waste of what and wherefore Black and buggered her decks...

Comes the high tide fire frosted to the shoreline Covering the ancient stones with sting and tingle Sheets pulled tight, canvas flapping...

The Silver Birch Tree Over down along Meadowsweet and Buttercup Holy stones ‘Sanctum Est’ above the quiet running river Where long ago...

No matter Sunday morning melting away All against the shingle’s salty edge The swan early jackdaw crack of day Pocket deep sting The ring...

Chase, rattle rings and things, Charlie chasing lady Moon pools sparkle beneath her thick black lashes Brushing away the lazy dampness of...

Came there then to me A lately lady Gentle her cool linger smile Warming ever into her deep dream eyes Brown as comfort Drinking in my...

Early one Sunday morning I was awoken by thunderous knocking and muffled voices at the front door. I clearly could hear my mother’s...

Came there a moment still over still All upon a whistle wind All written upon a Stingle stone Beneath the ragged rooted singing tree Fast...

She is just a bonny gypsy girl No frills no fancy A pretty girl With flowers in her hair A gypsy girl Long legs spangle, dangle In her...

(The field walk from Whippingham Church to Folly in the Isle Of Wight) Down across the grasslands swaying Beside the Medina’s hush of...

Came there a moment still over still All upon a whistle wind Writing over shingle stone washed clean beside the sea Beneath the ragged...

It had been almost a month, as joyous, and as happy as I can ever remember a month ever being. My mother, almost radiant, gran, uncle...

It is starting to rain again Running down my face again Grey lace hiding the mainland My smile stolen, carried out to sea A ragged...

A lonely place a Sunday Down a climb and rocky shoreline Down a climb and sandy shingle Where you can see the far edge of somewhere Where...

My mother and father had made strident efforts at various times over the years to make a lasting partnership, but such was the island’s...

My mother had been finally released from hospital in the last few weeks and we were staying for short while at my grandmother’s house in...

My mother had been transferred to ‘Whitecroft’ a hospital at Gatcombe a mile or so outside the Island’s capital town of Newport. The...