IN THE HEYDAYS OF HIS EYES
(taut jeans dancing)

An Anthology of Poetry about Being Young and Growing Up
 
 
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THE SAILOR

Waiata Dawn Davies

The day he turned eighteen he sailed out of Liverpool on a corvette that nipped at the heels of slow tramps, shepherding them to Boston. He listened to the sounds of radio silence, the breath of the Atlantic, the beat of ships’ engines and the wolf pack* stalking. All that time he was cold, wet, hungry and frightened, except for one week in Barbados where they picked up a convoy, carrying sugar so beleaguered Britons could sweeten their rationed tea. There he bought a gift for his mother, guarded it back to ‘the Pool’ and stepped ashore past piles of rubble which had been warehouses. Tired people in drab austerity smiled to see the young sailor heading through shattered streets, sea bag on shoulder carrying a great bunch of bananas, lush and gold on that grey Liverpool day.

 
 
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