Ship mate brought treasure to my island
The shadow of the palm tree Has reached my marker stone So I’ve been here yet
another year
On this island all alone. I’ve counted ten of these, And three since the last ship
passed by,
When my mirror wouldn’t
catch the light
As there were too many
clouds in the sky.
And my beacon was wet So just wouldn’t light
And by the time that it did They had gone out of sight. Last week there was a
tropical storm
With torrential rain and a
raging sea.
My little hut
became matchsticks
And I spent the night perched
up in a tree.
Come dawn I was trawling
along the beach Looking for washed up sticks
for repairs
And was stopped in my tracks
by what I saw in the sand. Something that made me
shudder with fear,
As I’d never, ever
Seen them before —
A trail of fresh footprints That led up from shore.
I trailed them to the tree line And found a man slumped at
the foot of a tree.
He was bearded and ragged,
he was battered and burnt But he managed a smile back
to me.
‘Lost my rudder and sail for
three days’, he croaked, And then a big wave tipped
me out of my boat.
And the strong current had
carried him here
To this uncharted island so
small and remote.
He took about a week
to recover
And we were fishing for crabs
in the rocks
When a shape came looming
out of the mist
And drifted ashore like the
Marie Celeste
I yelled to him: ‘Is it yours? Is
it yours?’
But he was already on to
the beach,
Calling back: ‘We need to get
to the bloody stores Before it goes out of reach.’ It certainly was well stocked There were things I’d not
seen for years.
With an island diet, you can
only but dream
Of what a pie and a pint of ale
would mean.
Then I found what I’d missed
most of all —
That squat little bottle was
shining black
Right in front of my eyes. You can get by without pints
and pies.
Even a Sunday roast.
But not ten years
without Marmite Especially when you spread it
on toast.
Glory be! Glory be!
It was wonderful
For today the good Lord has smiled down on me.
Peter H. Jeffery, Crowborough, East Sussex.