Anne

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Penny Tray
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Anne

Post by Penny Tray »

I saw a TV quiz contestant named Coralie tonight and it reminded me of Coralie Campbell of Ardrossan - any excuse to post one of her father's poems, a former sea captain whose travels took him to a variety of places:-

ANNE

I've danced down in Australia where the kookaburra calls,
With the Southern Cross a-dangling like a pendant in the dusk,
In Ceylon I've trod to music like enchanted waterfalls
That whispered on a zephyr charged with cinnamon and musk.

I've danced in Alicante, to the swaying songs of Spain,
And to swift staccato strumming in the Isles around Japan,
But now I've heard a melody with "heaven" for refrain,
Last night I waltzed in Paradise with heart-enthralling Anne.

Oh! the charming senoritas 'neath the bright Italian sky
Or entrancing Burmese maidens east-away in Arracan,
Can set the knives a-flashing with a glitter of the eye,
But the coldest heart takes fire at a look from lovely Anne.

I have wandered east of Singapore and west of Paraguay;
Have seen the belles of Venice, and the blondes of Astrakan,
But the portraits of my memory are faded quite away,
Obscured behind a masterpiece, a silhouette of Anne.
Nothing is ever really lost to us as long as we remember it.
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morag
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Re: Anne

Post by morag »

Love it, P.T., thanks!
"You don't have a Soul. You are a Soul. You have a body."
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Meg
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Re: Anne

Post by Meg »

I am so glad you’ve resurrected Cptn Campbell’s work PT - he deserved so much more recognition that he ever got when he was alive. I have a vague memory (from a conversation with my dad) that Anne was his wife’s name - but not sure.
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Re: Anne

Post by Penny Tray »

Meg,

I too stand to be corrected but I don't think so. I think she was Christine, but Christine didn't rhyme with Japan, Arracan or Astrakan. Anne, therefore, I think, is a wonderful example of poetic licence - although he was, as you know, a sailor :lol: I remember discussing the poem with his daughter who joked that every woman in Ardrossan called Anne claimed it was her. And I don't blame them.
Nothing is ever really lost to us as long as we remember it.
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Meg
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Re: Anne

Post by Meg »

Penny Tray wrote: Fri Oct 25, 2019 12:22 pm Meg,

I too stand to be corrected but I don't think so. I think she was Christine, but Christine didn't rhyme with Japan, Arracan or Astrakan. Anne, therefore, I think, is a wonderful example of poetic licence - although he was, as you know, a sailor :lol: I remember discussing the poem with his daughter who joked that every woman in Ardrossan called Anne claimed it was her. And I don't blame them.
That’s maybe what my dad was talking about. It does make sense - and he was a bit of a rascal - Cptn Campbell that is, not my dad :lol:

Must go back and read the Affair at Venice again.
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Re: Anne

Post by Penny Tray »

Meg,

For the many new members who may not know where to find it: -

THE AFFAIR AT VENICE

Awa beyont the ferm road en',
Past Saltcoats, Stinson, an' the "Den,"
An' faur afield frae local airts,
Awa doon south in foreign pairts,
Ye'll find a place ca'ed Venice there,
A muckle toonship just like Ayr;
Altho' the folks I'd have ye ken
Are no like honest Ayrshire men.

Ae day, Bassanio, a decent loon.
Wae mournfu' thoughts was gey cast doon;
An' aye he muttered, "It's a killer
Tae be in love an' prest for siller.
Portia maun bide a wee while yet;
I'll wed her gin I'm clear o' debt.
It's hard to wait, but de'il be in't,
I cannae mairry when I'm skint."
But syne he loupt an' says, "I'll go
An' see ma frien', Antonio."
His boats are earnin' on the seas,
He'll maybe spare a wheen bawbees;
Ye maun grasp straws afore ye droon."
An' aff he daun'ers thro' the toon.
Syne met he wae his crony dear,
An' sterts straight aff tae "bite his ear."

Antonio was sympathetic,
An' even turned apologetic.
"I'll gie," says he, "afore ye lack,
The very shirt frae aff ma back.
I'd even risk a three-cross double
Tae try an' help ye oot yer trouble;
But ready cash I havnae got,
Ma ships have ta'en it a' afloat;
We'll spier auld Shylock at the pawn,
An' maybe he'll pit tae his haun'."

But shylock was a sly auld Jew;
A chiel who kent a thing or two,
He says, "Antonio, dae ye mind
The day ye were sae very kind,
Ye shouted curses in ma lug,
An' spurned me like a messan dug,
An' then tae croon it a' let flee
A muckle spittal in ma e'e?
But still I'll gie ye a' ye want,
Gin ye will jine me in a pant;
Ye'll sign a bond made oot tae me
For three months' time - I'll chairge nae fee.
Repay the siller on the nail,
Wae this condition, if ye fail,
That I shall cut wae my ain fist
A pun o' flesh frae aff yer kist.

Bassanio was gey an' feart,
But brave Antonio wasnae sweart.
He signed the bond an' shouted oot,
"There's naething tae be feart aboot.
My boats 'll soon arrive frae Spain,
An' then we'll pey it back again."
But dod! He needit a' his spunk -
Within a week his boats were sunk!

An' noo his time was drawin' brief;
Auld Shylock claimed his pun' o' beef.
Basanio was like a wreck,
An' swore he'd thraw auld Shylock's neck.
Portia saw he was pit aboot,
An' drew the haile mad story oot,
Says she at once, "The bad auld rat,
I'll scunner him frae tricks like that."
She 'guised herself like ony judge,
An' gied her servant lass a nudge.
"Awa," says she, "an' wash yer face,
We'll tak' the coort an' try this case."
The case was ca'd; she took her sate;
But Shylock wouldnae thole debate.
He'd act the butcher, willy-nilly,
An' shairpened up a twa-fit gully.

She argie-bargied, here an' there,
Tae try an' show him what was fair;
Hoo mercy was the foremaist need
An' no tae execute the deed.
But Shylock says, "I'm wantin' law,
For mercy doesnae coont ava;
The contract terms maun aye be suitit,
I'll hae my flesh - that's a' aboot it."
But, sirs! A wumman's hard tae beat.
"A richt," she says, "ye'll hae yer meat,
A pun o' flesh frae near his heart.
But tent tae, this afore ye stert -
Tak mair than whit the bond does state;
Or even less - the least wee tate,
Or ane wee drap o' blood let fa' -
Ye'll hang, ma man, an' that's the law!"

Dumfoonert, Shylock thought a bit,
But Portia wasnae feenished yet.
"Forbye," says she, "for nursin' hate
Yer siller's forfeit tae the state."
The auld yin staggert, fit tae drap,
An' felt the closin' o' the trap.
He shouted, "let me oot this place;
I'm quite content; I've lost the case."

They ettled sair tae see him hang,
But latterly they let him gang.
They left some siller for his wean,
But a' his gear an' hoose were ta'en.
His plan tae strike Antonio deid
Had boomeranged on his ain heid;
A sherp back-heeler frae the law
For plannin' other folks' doonfa.'
Nothing is ever really lost to us as long as we remember it.
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John Donnelly
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Re: Anne

Post by John Donnelly »

Eat your heart out Wullie.

JD.
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Meg
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Re: Anne

Post by Meg »

Thanks PT - love, love, love this.
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