Thursday, 18 December 2014

The Boston Tea Party, 1773

This was not the sort of do
With a fancy cake or two,
Or the sandwich with a neatly cut-off crust
For the nibbling dainty picker,
And it wasn't "more tea vicar?"
In the fragile cup that someone had to dust,

It was protest and near riot,
That exemplified disquiet,
In a country that felt bitter and aggrieved.
Its folk weren't represented,
And resentment thus fermented
Over taxes which, as unfair, were perceived.

The tea tax - one such levy -
Was symbolic, more than heavy,
And importers had been turned away unpaid.
Now in Boston, one consignment
Suffered major realignment:
It was thrown into the harbour to degrade,

Iconic this event,
Which told of discontent.
The British take some action to chastise.
The Intolerable Acts -
A blockade that soon impacts
On Boston's trade - all this was most unwise.

Our colonies (thirteen)
Were progressively quite keen
To have the unfair British go away.
We'd not done as they demanded,
So together they now banded,
Into what was dubbed a brand new USA.


Ⓒ Maggie Ballinger, 2014





The verse above is an extract from Britannia's Glory - A Maritime Story, published in March 2019. For details of this - and my other book, a novel James the Third - please see the blog/post of each, both dated October 2024.

Friday, 28 November 2014

Response to "Dental Implants"

My brother came back with this limerick, after reading the "Dental Implants" post.

A lady from Nether Green,
Had teeth like you've never seen,
But technology's great:
She got rid of her plate,
And now has a grin like the Queen.

Cheers bro!





For details of my other books - Britannia's Glory and James the Third - please see the blog/post of each, both dated October 2024.

Tuesday, 4 November 2014

Dental implants

Life was pretty torrid:
My partial plate was horrid.
Not comfy and a source of irritation.
I really couldn't bear it,
And in private didn't wear it -
Which caused a lot of wrinkle-devastation.

My mouth had half-collapsed,
And I knew, as time elapsed,
This was something that was surely bound to worsen.
I felt elderly, a crone,
In some tooth-deficient zone.
And lived my life as only half a person.

Maybe implants could assist,
And make good what I so missed?
There were measurements and X-rays now to check.
And of course there'd be a cost,
To replace what had been lost,
But the desperate must think, "Oh what the heck!"

It could work - but only just -
"Pros and cons" were then discussed,
And at last the course of treatment's underway.
I opened wide. I bit,
And for hours on end I'd sit,
Dreaming of the last appointment day.

Aching jaws would be a drag.
"Impressions" make one gag.
In particular, I don't much like injections.
But I really didn't care:
Step by step, we're getting there -
And every process has its imperfections.

Then the final stage arrived.
It seemed we'd all survived.
My new pearly whites were firmly screwed in place.
The future's looking sweet.
I don't lisp and I can eat,
With an unembarrassed smile upon my face.

I was liberated, free -
Fully back to being "me",
I had teeth! - and the effect was quite dramatic
On the summarizing note,
"Patient happy" Stuart wrote.
I told him that he should have put "ecstatic".




With many thanks to Stuart and all his team
at Eckington Dental practice:
www.eckingtondental.co.uk




A warm welcome to our new viewers from Chile. I think yours is the 100th country to visit this blog spot. Felicidades! (Decepcionante, no hay premio.)





For details of my other books - Britannia's Glory and James the Third - please see the blog/post of each, both dated October 2024.

Sunday, 26 October 2014

A peaceful hotel in Lisbon

But the view was wonderful
We'd been warned that the centre was busy,
A place where the lager louts riot,
Where the traffic and trams could be noisy,
That a bit further out would be quiet.

Our hotel seemed the perfect location -
It was right by a beautiful park -
We decided to sit on the terrace.
We were tired. It was just getting dark.

A very loud noise then assailed us,
As a jet flew low over our heads.
On the flight path we were, to the airport,
A misfortune that everyone dreads.

But this wasn't all. From below us,
Guitars screeched to amplified boom.
A very bad rock band was "playing".
We retreated then into our room.

We shut doors and windows behind us,
Drew the curtains that these were adorning,
But the sounds of the concert defied them.
We vibrated till two in the morning.


Welcome to our new viewers from Slovenia, Jordan, Vietnam, Paraguay, El Salvador and the Bahamas. Your flags have been added to the "Hello World" blog (April 2013)
http://www.baabaapinksheep.co.uk/2013/04/hello-world.html





For details of my other books - Britannia's Glory and James the Third - please see the blog/post of each, both dated October 2024.

Sunday, 14 September 2014

Better together - the Union Flag

The flag of St Andrew
The flag of St George
If Scotland becomes independent,
Will the Union Flag have to change?
Will we take off the cross of St Andrew?
It could end up by looking quite strange.

Our "Union Jack's"* a composite,
But its three crosses could become two,

Which are both red and white - such a pity.
How we'd miss Scotland's smart navy blue.

The flag of St Patrick   

* The Union Flag is only referred to as the Union Jack when it's flying on a ship





For details of my other books - Britannia's Glory and James the Third - please see the blog/post of each, both dated October 2024.

Saturday, 6 September 2014

Boy wakes from coma speaking Chinese

Following an accident
A teenage Aussie bloke,
Spent a week in a deep coma,
Then he thankfully awoke.

The signs that he is back with them
His anxious parents please.
But they're very quickly puzzled:
He can only speak Chinese.

He'd studied it at high school,
Where he didn't learn a lot.
Now in Mandarin he's fluent,
But his English he's forgot.

It only took a day or two
For this to reappear.
On his new linguistic talent,
He has forged a new career.

An American "learned" Swedish,
In the self same situation.
And one chap mastered German,
Though he only knew Croatian.

Would that I could be unconscious,
Though a bit of time would vanish.
The trade-off would be worth it -
If I woke up talking Spanish.





For details of my other books - Britannia's Glory and James the Third - please see the blog/post of each, both dated October 2024.

Thursday, 21 August 2014

Cold calls

The phone rings. I foolishly answer.
"How are you ma'am?" - the voice sounds sincere.
"This is just a quick survey," he tells me,
Not quite true, as will soon become clear.

"We have records that show..." he's now saying,
As the script is so slickly resumed,
"That you signed up for payment protection..."
(Admit that he's right and you're doomed.)

Or, "You worked in a noisy environment,"
(Got this call whilst was out in the garden),
"You can claim for industrial deafness..."
The answer a withering "Pardon?"

"Your windows all lack double glazing,
And our UPVC ones are good."
I explain that we've just had some fitted,
All authentic - and made out of wood.

Our property may be Victorian,
But it needs plastic fascias and soffits.
My annoyance is steadily rising,
(But not so his company's profits.)

It would seem I am ever so lucky.
There's a rep quite nearby who will call
To talk us through foam insulation,
Though we don't have a cavity wall.

A "show kitchen's" now being offered.
His firm many discounts will lavish.
(His accent is strangely un-Scottish,
But he's told me his name is MacTavish.)

We don't want their bedroom or boiler:
The ones that we have are quite new,
But these "records" are not to be questioned,
So that voice keeps insisting we do!





For details of my other books - Britannia's Glory and James the Third - please see the blog/post of each, both dated October 2024.

Tuesday, 5 August 2014

A poem for football addicks (2014-2015 season)

To herald the start of the new English football season this weekend, an updated blog on the 92 clubs that are taking part.


Team nicknames in the Premier, and other football leagues,
Can be obvious, or one of those whose origin intrigues.
Each of them is mentioned in these rhyming acrobatics,
We'll start off rather mystified - just what the heck are latics*?

There is a range of colours, mostly patriotic hues,
Sky blues, whites and lillywhites*, three reds, three more plain blues.

Toffees... cherries... tangerines don't make for balanced dinners,
Though to fend off indigestion, those fine clarets may prove winners.
(No "shots" now of the stronger stuff - so tempting for a few,)
But guess the vast majority drink what the brewers brew.

When it comes to animals, enough for sev'ral zoos...
Stags, shrews... sheep aplenty, for the rams have got three "U"s.
Black cats, lions, tigers all fit into feline boxes,
Whilst the terriers are canine types, along with wolves and foxes.
There are shrimps and a cod army, which in water all survive,
(Though they wouldn't if they couldn't breathe: their gills keep them alive).
Of primates there's a shortage and this will tell you why,
The monkey hangers killed one (it was judged a foreign spy).

For budding ornithologists are lots of birds to pluck,
To start a brace of magpies (for just one would bring bad luck).
We have the sharp-clawed eagles, which have preying on their minds,
Whilst the swans and soaring seagulls are both webbed or swimming kinds.
Next canaries, bluebirds, bantams, three robins and the owls:
We'll add flying bees and hornets, though they're insects and not fowls.

We can classify the workers, who perform their chosen task,
The millers mill, the potters pot, the cottagers - don't ask.
We've tractor boys and railwaymen, we have the awesome gunners,
And as "goffers", we have trotters and three rovers but no runners.
Another pair of crafstmen both relate to types of seating,
Though the chairboys and the saddlers won't for custom be competing.

Of seasiders, a handful, as befits an island nation,
Pirates used to buckle swash, shrimpers nab the odd crustacean.
The mariners have sadly sunk to where the fish get caught,
Though Pompey must mean something of a nautical import.

And if the right accessory's the sort of thing that matters,
We've cobblers, glovers, baggies and we've now regained some hatters.
The royals can afford such things (and mansions with a 'pool),
And posh citizens go shopping just to make themselves look cool.
Through forest, dale and boro they will sport their trendy clothes:
Silkmen did once make their stockings (whilst the poor man dons* plain "O"s).

The right tool spurs the will of those in heavy metal trades:
Thus the iron and the hammers and those ever-steely blades.
That we put in handy Stanley knives (once opened and rescrewed),
Or the daggers (to be kept away from those in murd'rous mood.)

There is a bunch of villans, crooked spireites and some tykes,
We've a couple of red devils and their mischief-making likes.
But on the side of righteousness, some movers and some shakers:
Pilgrims, saints and minstermen, the valients (no quakers).

Were they settlers? Were they exiles? Did they just dream up the name?
Do the Grecians have connections with a land from whence they came?
The Cumbrians, however, is a very pointed clue.
The super hoops (or sometimes "R"s) complete our ninety-two.

*2 teams with same nickname


Also, welcome to our new viewers from Zambia, Azerbaijan and Costa Rica (who did so well in the 2014 FIFA World Cup this summer).





For details of my other books - Britannia's Glory and James the Third - please see the blog/post of each, both dated October 2024.




Saturday, 2 August 2014

Mutiny on the Bounty, 1789 - (Final) Part Two

Bligh now finds himself afloat,
In a little open boat,
With those whose strong allegiance hasn't wavered.
Thus the Bounty's launch departs -
No chronometer, no charts,
Not much to eat - the prospect isn't savoured.

There's a stop to find provisions;
Not the wisest of decisions
The Tofuans soon grow hostile. What a scrape!
They've provided little food,
And are now in murd'rous mood.
Norton's stoned to death whilst trying to escape.

"Men are tastier than animals" -
The view of Fiji's cannibals -
Meant landing there just wouldn't be astute.
But on Restoration Isle,
There is refuge for a while.
Here are oysters and supplies of native fruit.

To the west the boat now sails,
Through rolling seas and gales.
They ate little, due to stringent limitation.
Somehow, everyone survived,
And at Timor they arrived:
An extraordinary feat of navigation.

And for this, Bligh must earn praise:
After forty-seven days,
He had brought his men to where they could be safe.
His log's there for posterity,
But he did write with verity,
When how he dealt with some began to chafe?

Back home the tale was told.
The "Pandora" was enrolled,
To search for the dissenters of the time.
On Tahiti, some were found,
Then the vessel ran aground.
The survivors later answered for their crime.

The remainder were meanwhile,
On a (then) uncharted isle.
Pitcairn was the place they chose to stay.
As things soon turned acrimonious,
It may have been erroneous,
To burn their ship in what's called Bounty Bay.

Most were far from Fletcher-phylic,
So his life was not idyllic.
All was factiousness and drink-fuelled discontent.
Christian's dreams were unfulfilled:
It is likely he was killed,
But many now can rightly claim descent.


Ⓒ Maggie Ballinger, 2014





The above verse is an extract from Britannia's Glory - A Maritime Story, published in March 2019. For details of this - and my other book, a novel James the Third - please see the blog/post of each, both dated October 2024.

Friday, 1 August 2014

Mutiny on the Bounty, 1789 - Part One

She'd had a modest role:
The carrying of coal.
Now "The Bounty" is a name we've come to know.
She sailed with the entreaty
"Collect breadfruit from Tahiti,
Then take it to a place where it might grow."

In charge was William Bligh,
He had been around, this guy.
He'd been master on Cook's sloop, the Resolution.
He liked everything kept clean,
Was on science very keen,
And he now set sail to make his contribution.

Near Cape Horn, the trip was thwarted.
That route had to be aborted.
He turned eastwards to collect his leafy freight.
Seedlings had to grow a bit
To make them travel-fit;
For the crew, this meant an unplanned five month wait.

So pots were duly tended,
And the natives were befriended,
Here, a sailor could be struck by Cupid's dart.
Fletcher Christian (Bligh's old pal)
Even wed a local gal,
But all too soon, the time came to depart.

Goodbye hedonistic life.
Farewell girlfriend. Farewell wife.
The loyalty of some began to shift.
Although Fletcher took the lead
Eighteen other men agreed.
They mutinied, and Bligh was cast adrift.

It's alleged that he was cruel.
That, his vanity he'd fuel,
By humilating those who caused affront.
Though it's hard to comprehend,
He targeted his friend:
Poor Christian always seemed to bear the brunt.


Ⓒ Maggie Ballinger, 2014





The above verse is an extract from Britannia's Glory - A Maritime Story, published in March 2019. For details of this - and my other book, a novel James the Third - please see the blog/post of each, both dated October 2024.

Tuesday, 15 July 2014

Pretentious menus

Stuff is "delicately balanced",
Or it "nestles" on a bed.
It has something "drizzled" over it
(Or sprinkled on instead.)

You can guarantee such toppings
Have been "shaved", or perhaps "infused",
Or "tossed", "chopped", "lightly toasted" -
Or otherwise abused.

The courgette flower's a "beignet"
(Which means it's fried in batter),
And the sea bream that's "sustainable",
Lies lifeless on a platter.

One sausage has been "orchard reared".
Another's "outdoor bred".
It's good that once they frolicked,
But this "duo" are both dead.

"Sumpt-u-ous, mouth watering"
Describes what you might nibble.
Let's hope the linen napkin
Can accommodate the dribble.

The "prime cuts" are cooked skilfully,
And also with duplicity,
On apple wood and elder,
And with what they call "simplicity".

The "cow's milk mozzarella"
Has been "carefully hand torn"
There's "seedling veg", and "pureed peas"
And "toothsome" baby corn.

The scallops have been "hand dived",
The olive oil's "cold pressed"
It's also "extra virgin" -
And, to boot, divinely blessed?

The "lamb" has been "sourced locally",
For you especially "chosen",
And the crushed ice in your cocktail
Is the only food that's frozen.

There's something with a "beurre noisette".
"What's that?" you may well mutter.
I think it's what we used to call
A little knob of butter.

The spinach has been "foraged".
It is never ever picked.
If this makes your greens taste better,
Who am I to contradict?

I'll have a plate of anything
That doesn't come with "foam",
Or "sprigs" or fancy trimmings.
And I'll wish I'd stayed at home.





For details of my other books - Britannia's Glory and James the Third - please see the blog/post of each, both dated October 2024.

Sunday, 29 June 2014

Stephanie's Hen Party

Steph is getting married
So we organised a bash.
The challenges we set her
Earned badges for a sash.


Drinking through straw spectacles,
A gallop (minus horse),
First aid with no bandage,
And accosting men (of course).




Making stylish outfits
With tatty stuff that clashes.
And finding blokes with facial hair,
To match six false moustaches.




Eating dangling donuts
(Use of hands was not allowed).
Pole dancing round lamp posts
(Thus attracting quite a crowd).




Stuffing flumps into the mouth,
And saying "chubby bunny".
The Selkirk Grace in Scottish
Making Rabbie Burns sound funny.



A portrait of fiancé,
Brush between the teeth - how loony.
The likeness would have been quite good,
(If due to wed Wayne Rooney).




A quiz about her childhood,
Not as easy as you'd think,
With we hens no longer sober -
All had far too much to drink.






One challenge was to write a limerick about her intended, as follows:

At a party one warm summer's night.
I met Paul. It was love at first sight.
Now look where we've got.
We are tying the knot,
Which is good: he's a bit of alright!





For details of my other books - Britannia's Glory and James the Third - please see the blog/post of each, both dated October 2024.

Tuesday, 10 June 2014

After Dinner Speech

It's a long story, but I was recently asked to give the after-dinner speech at the Greenwich Maritime Institute's annual event. The theme of the evening was fishing, a subject about which I know very little. This verse was penned for inclusion in the speech:

I have four good friends I grew up with.
None of them lived far away.
Somehow we never lost contact,
And we're all very close to this day.

Two are now based in America,
But the wonders of email are "neat".
We're in touch on a regular basis,
Even though it's not often we meet.

When asked to come here as guest speaker,
I shared this peculiar news,
I told them the subject was fishing
And, to boot, I must seek to amuse.

Diana now tried to be helpful,
With advice on tonight's celebrations,
Turns out she was active with Green Peace,
And said, "Mention the plight of cetaceans."

Chris's Gran gutted fish for a living
Near Lowestoft, so it appears.
Her memories might have been useful
But the old girl's been dead forty years.

"Live bait or lure?" queried Karen,
Then explained all - with great expertise.
It seemed that my old pals from Morden,
Considered this subject a breeze.

Would Viv now pipe up and surprise me
With some knowledge of bays, coves and creeks?
Would she offer to send me her thesis,
On demersal long line techniques?

Her name soon appeared in my inbox.
I took three deep breaths to prepare.
She wished me good luck, and she asked me,
"What are you going to wear?"


Also, welcome to our new viewers from Belarus, Lithuania, Haiti and Antigua & Barbuda.
Your flags have been added to the Hello World blog of April 2013: http://www.baabaapinksheep.co.uk/2013/04/hello-world.html





For details of my other books - Britannia's Glory and James the Third - please see the blog/post of each, both dated October 2024.


Monday, 26 May 2014

Maggot racing

When my brother and I were little,
We used to go fishing with Dad,
Who didn't allow us to wander,
So there wasn't much fun to be had.

But we noted a boxful of squirming,
And the old tartan rug we had brought.
We decided to try racing maggots.
Thus developed our own unique sport.

The "track" was a red square of blanket.
A white line was where to begin.
A thicker green stripe was the finish,
And the first one to reach it would win.

We picked out our chosen contestants,
Then discovered our plan had a flaw:
We cheered and we shouted instructions,
Which the creatures would always ignore.

Though these larvae were not always helpful,
We persisted and collected some data,
The yellow ones seemed to be faster,
But the pink ones would wiggle much straighter.





For details of my other books - Britannia's Glory and James the Third - please see the blog/post of each, both dated October 2024. 

Wednesday, 14 May 2014

The Sport of Kings

King James brought one passion to England -
The organised racing of horses -
And near Newmarket set up a palace,
Plus the first of a number of courses.

Of the next Stuart monarchs who followed,
Charles the Second was perhaps the most keen.
This delight in competitive gallops,
Has been passed to our present-day queen.

"Sport of kings" is the name that's been given
To the running of gee gees round tracks,
And the presence of blue-blooded punters,
Is something no big meeting lacks.

For the Newbury races next weekend,
We bought tickets, and did this online.
The stuff to fill in was amazing -
To the posh kind of person a shrine.

The section "About You" as always,
Included some details deemed vital.
It started with name, as expected,
Then we got to the bit headed "title".

In the box that dropped down there were options:
"Lord", "lady", "viscount" and "sir"...
"Colonel", "professor" and "sergeant" -
On all these we had to demur.

We went for a simple plain "mister",
In our heads then placed some sort of wager.
Would we qualify, thus gaining entry?
Or should we have opted for "major"?





For details of my other books - Britannia's Glory and James the Third - please see the blog/post of each, both dated October 2024.



Thursday, 8 May 2014

Tattoos

Welcome to our new viewers from Puerto Rico, Pakistan and Georgia. Your flags have been added to the Hello World blog from April 2013:
http://www.baabaapinksheep.co.uk/2013/04/hello-world.html


It was recently grandson Fred's birthday.
To a party his friends were invited.
This was held at a miniature railway,
With which Freddie was wholly delighted.

His Dad, for the small ones' amusement,
Was busy applying tattoos.
The motifs were all of small creatures:
The kids were invited to choose.

The method was some kind of transfer,
A wet sponge ensured they would stick.
I'm a grown-up, but wanted to try one,
And Richard said, "Please take your pick."

The smiley-faced snail was quite tempting,
And the butterfly, spider and worm.
But the ladybird seemed most appealing:
The "tattooist" made sure it was firm.

It was only at that point I queried,
How long this adornment would last.
"A day or two perhaps," was the answer.
But it seemed to be stuck pretty fast.

The bug that I wear isn't tiny:
It's not life-size and cutely to scale.
Its proportions are those of a fifty pence piece:
All attempts to remove it would fail.

I started with soap and a soaking,
With a pumice stone then did a tussle.
Next I went to the household stuff cupboard,
For the product they call "Mr Muscle",

Which didn't live up to its promise.
Cillit Bang couldn't deal with the "stain".
Am beginning to think that this critter and I
Forever, as one, will remain.

Several days on, am still searching,
For what might just possibly work.
Or acceptance that folk view it kindly,
As a senile old lady type quirk.





For details of my other books - Britannia's Glory and James the Third - please see the blog/post of each, both dated October 2024.

Sunday, 4 May 2014

Hair dye

My hair's sort of brownish, but to my dismay,
There were more than a handful of strands that were grey.

My birthday arrived - I had turned sixty-three -
And was feeling in need of a more youthful me.

The "greys" really bugged me - they just didn't suit.
They were not only white, but were wiry to boot.

In the car's rear view mirror, whenever I glanced,
They seemed to be multiplied, strangely enhanced.

Some colour was called for, but which one to choose
From the massive selection, in various hues?

And what type of product? The permanent stuff?
Or the sort that would go, if you washed it enough?

I selected the latter, although it might fade,
And "medium brown" seemed a safe-sounding shade.

What to do wasn't tricky - quite simple in fact.
I complied with instructions, my timing exact.

I rinsed off the gunge, like it said in the pack,
Which was when I discovered my hair had turned black.

I should have expected to meet with some hitch.
My husband observed that I looked like a witch.

My daughter advised, when I asked what to do,
"Use washing-up liquid, instead of shampoo."

So that's what I tried, but my locks are still risible.
They are still very dark - and the grey's once more visible.





For details of my other books - Britannia's Glory and James the Third - please see the blog/post of each, both dated October 2024.

Friday, 18 April 2014

Cadbury's creme eggs

I didn't gain weight over Christmas,
No increase to bum, tum or legs,
But for three months or more, I've been piling on pounds,
And it's all due to Cadbury's crème eggs.

At the start of the year, these appear in the shops.
I am drawn to the tempting displays.
The message is "Easter is not far away,
And we'll help through those long winter days."

I load up the trolley with cartons galore,
By impossible cravings afflicted,
(There are folk who say that they find them "too sweet",
And thus happily stay unaddicted.)

Then I sit by the fire, and I unwrap the foil,
And bite off the top to begin.
Fondant filing's revealed, and to make my egg last,
I scoop and I eat - with a pin!

Though you have to be careful you don't prick your tongue,
This method's less mad than it seems:
I've been using it ever since childhood,
When I started with peppermint creams.







For details of my other books - Britannia's Glory and James the Third - please see the blog/post of each, both dated October 2024.

Saturday, 12 April 2014

The Spanish Armada, 1588 - (Final) Part Four - Going home

A blow for Spain's been landed,
And the fleet is somewhat stranded.
They wonder now, "Whatever's to be done?"
In the midst of the North Sea
Isn't where they'd planned to be:
They're far from home, pursued, and on the run.

They are chased much further north,
Up to the Firth of Forth.
They're using chains to hold ships' hulls together.
They struggle on and on.
Too far leeward they have gone.
And now they're at the mercy of the weather.

For Spain, the men all yearn,
But there'll be no quick return:
Round Scotland and round Ireland is their route.
Their vessels - worse for wear -
Need attention and repair,
And some are minus anchorage to boot.

Strong and chilly gales,
Are filling Spanish sails.
Ships are wrecked. There is no water and no food.
King Philip is sent word,
Of all that has occurred,
Which puts him in a pretty awful mood.
Spanish ship off Ireland

Those who made it back still die,
(Disease the reason why).
There is no happy ending to this story.
It's tedious. It's war,
And though both sides try to score,
Neither wins the triumph or the glory.

At odds, we would remain,
Throughout Queen Bess's reign,
The breakthrough in the struggle proved elusive.
Hostilities would cease,
When James the First made peace,
But, as things turned out, it wasn't that conclusive.

What we'd learned from the Armada
Was "We really must try harder",
Though our sailors had proved skilful, shown such pluck.
Our way of life could vanish:
We might all be speaking Spanish,
If we hadn't had a massive dose of luck.


Ⓒ Maggie Ballinger, 2014





The above verse is an extract from Britannia's Glory - A Maritime Story, published in 2019. For details of this - and my other book, a novel James the Third (2022) - please see the blog/post of each, both dated October 2024.

Friday, 11 April 2014

The Spanish Armada, 1588 - Part Three - Battle at Sea

Welcome to our new viewers from Kenya, Hungary, Angola, Luxembourg, Mauritius and the Dominican Republic. Your flags have been added to the Hello World blog from April 2013:
http://www.baabaapinksheep.co.uk/2013/04/hello-world.html


The English, in the night,
Set some ships of theirs alight,
(These aren't "hellburners", but give the same illusion.)
The trick is all that matters.
Spain's defence now quickly scatters:
As sailors cut the anchors in confusion.

Their ships are well dispersed,
The weather does its worst.
A south-westerly is blowing, right on cue.
Not the strongest type of storm,
But the Spanish can't re-form,
In spite of all their efforts so to do.

Thus, in fortune's fickle tide,
The fates seem on our side,
Near Gravelines the English ships close in.
In a bloody eight hour fight,
We get our tactics right,
And, in battle, just about achieve a win.

In large part thanks to Drake,
We'd known that it would take,
Too long for all their guns to be re-packed.
The English do just fine:
Aim below the waterline -
Which weakens ships whenever they are whacked.

As each English shot connects,
Our foes are thinking "decks".
They plan to fight according to tradition.
It's a scheme that's badly flawed
For they cannot get on board.
This in part expains the failure of their mission.

With success within our reach,
Our monarch makes a speech.
Great victory her navy soon will bring.
A brave queen's at the helm,
Telling all, "Hands off my realm!"
That she has "the heart and stomach of a king."


Ⓒ Maggie Ballinger, 2014





The above verse is an extract from Britannia's Glory - A Maritime Story, published in 2019. For details of this - and my other book, a novel James the Third (2022) - please see the blog/post of each, both dated October 2024.

Wednesday, 9 April 2014

The Spanish Armada, 1588 - Part Two - Action along the English Channel

Spain's fleet was slow to start,
(For the weather played its part),
Two months later, all the hype was slowly sapping.
Then in Plymouth (for supplies),
We were taken by surprise:
The Armada very nearly caught us napping.

Along the Channel chased,
Our speedy ships made haste.
There were inconclusive skirmishes en route.
Guns fired to no effect:
Abject failure to connect,
For no one's ships came near enough to shoot.

The Rosario was lost,
Which would prove to Spain's great cost.
With another Spanish ship, it had collided.
Not the blithest of collisions:
It was loaded with provisions
"We'll go and loot it!" Francis Drake decided.

In doing so, he'd find
How such ships had been designed.
He knew their guns weren't easily reloaded.
(Very soon, in battle proper,
When Spain's fleet comes a cropper,
Its ammunition's mainly unexploded

For its era quite "high tec",
An Elizabethan wreck
With cannons - all of standard sizes kitted -
Has been found. Now some allege
That our gunners had the edge,
As they didn't have to seek a ball that fitted.)

The Armada we'd been dreading,
To the Isle of Wight is heading.
To settle in the Solent is the aim.
Safe, an army to await -
Invasion, England's fate! -
We do our best to spoil this little game.

Our sea dogs soon hold sway,
Drive the Spanish ships away.
In Calais, they hole up in strong formation.
This crescent shape holds steady,
But their troops are not yet ready,
Which causes them a lot of consternation.


Ⓒ Maggie Ballinger, 2014





The above verse is an extract from Britannia's Glory - A Maritime Story, published in 2019. For details of this - and my other book, a novel James the Third (2022) - please see the blog/post of each, both dated October 2024.