Flagbreak

Camping, Cooking, Memories, Outdoor Pursuits, Outdoors, Poetry

Unfurl

A summer morning, Worsley woods, west of Manchester

the sun just peaking through the nest of trees

circle of tents in various spots

and a scout leader starting the beginnings of an altar fire

little faces pop out of the niger tents to grab a view

breakfast served at 8 am sharp

but first, a mug of tea

some make a break for the toilet block

as sausage and eggy bread sizzle in a pan

orders given to the sous chef … he keeps his eye on the food

and slowly the camp leader makes his way to the pole

and all stand still in observance

the flag is released from its bonds

and flies high in the gentle breeze , proudly to attention

and all present give a salute

before breakfast is served

Eggy Bread

Eating, Food, Growing up, Pleasures, Poetry

Egg

This ain’t no restaurant “French toast”

it’s made over burning logs

in the country air

Foundation for the morning

Set against a glorious sunrise

and cups of camp tea

Thick crusty bread

absorbed in a lake of

golden runniness

Bacon awaits its partner

as it cooks away

in its fat

Poor Man’s omelette ?

after a night on the hills

it’s the food of kings.

Knives and forks ?

or eaten as a sandwich

only quandry – sauce Red or Brown ?

Well worn Blanket

Acrostic, Memories, Outdoor Pursuits, Outdoors, Poetry

Salford 16th May 2017

Blanket

Back in Nineteen eighty two – i started taking this long woolly blanket to camp

Like many other scouts i stuck it at the end of my tents sleeping bag, and

As it got cold, i wrapped it round me to keep warm

Now, each camp i went to – i picked up a patch from the campsite – and these were

Kept on the woolly blanket…covering areas from Cumbria to Derbyshire – I

Even had a whole heap of locations such as

Torquay , paignton and brixham and these found a spare spot on my sleeping spot

Mountain Meadow

Art, Colours, Leisure, Life, Memories, Outdoor Pursuits, Outdoors, Parks, Places, Pleasures

#coloryourworld #cyw #mountainmeadow

Salford, 22nd February 2017

 

Lakeland, painting from photo by B.F.Kirkham

Mountain Meadow,

this colour takes me back to a particular time in my life

when my old boots would come off the stack in the hallway

and i’d journey with mates up and down the motorway

go north – and meet up with the cows of the lakes

rendezvous-ing with cows (mooing)

go south – and meet up with the sheep of the peaks

and reservoir regulars with bright coloured beaks

enjoying whatever the wind and the clouds threw at us

but mostly enjoying a sunny day.

 

A Tale of Old Boots

Good companion

 

 

Knots

Outdoor Pursuits, Outdoors, Poetry, Schooldays, Scouting, Scouts

#Napowrimo #Day17 #Knots

#Blogging101

A Dictionary poem for #Day17 of the Napowrimo challenge.  Based on my old scouting days! enjoy.

 

Don’t get stressed,

in time – you’ll master it

creating an artform from two ends of rope

bridges don’t need wood or metal but a few simple knots

Reef Knot, Clove and Timber Hitch are handy for a pioneer

and some west country whipping will soon get those old ropes into shape

Loop your ropes tight around the tree to maintain tension

Sheet bend and bowline and the old Round Turn comes in here

The half hitch keeps these in tight.

Be careful with your left and your right though

as one wrong move with your rope work could spell disaster

Can’t have a Granny Knot where a Reef Knot is Needed.

Books from Childhood

books, Childhood

In response to the prompt

Second Time Around

My bookshelf is ever evolving,

Fiction, Comedy, Drama

And a whole host of autobiographies from celebrities far and wide.

But alongside these, recently, have come familiar tales from my childhood.

DSC00787.JPG

Long john Silver shares a space with Paddington Bear and Winnie the Pooh.  The Riverbank tales of Kenneth Graham have evolved thanks to the English Writer, William Horswood and more recently Douglas Adams Arthur Dent has shared a bench with the likes of Rincewind, Angua and Detritus of Terry Pratchett’s Discworld

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I’ve read the Arthur Ransome tale of the Walker Children in their boat on the English Lakes, Swallows and Amazons , a number of times.  The First time being at High school.  It tells the tale of their first adventure out at water on their boat, the swallow and their experiences of taking a boat out for the first time.  You could say i caught the bug for exploring after reading this book – exploring the land and sea with the Scouts and Ocean Youth Club some time after.

A Tale of Old Boots

Camping, Character, Description, Memories, Outdoor Pursuits, Outdoors, Prose, Tale, writing

In a part of the corridor, just by the stairs by the front door, lies a pair of Old Black Boots. It’s been quite a while since they have been walking. Their leather is worn from the passing of time and many a moorland excursion. Lakeland water now pools at the toes.But they still feel right. As if once put on, they could take their owner from their Salford home out to the hills of Perpignan and back again, covering miles along the way and without a mutter or moan.

Now, Rugby boots and training shoes might be fine for a sportsman at Old Trafford but they don’t cut it on the fields of the West Yorkshire Moors. If these boots could talk, the tales they would tell – of covering rocky paths once stepped by Roman Legionaries, of campfire ditties sung round old ancient stones, and of moonlight illuminating mugs of steaming hot Beef Tea.

They’d sit outside tents so the groundsheet stayed clean, observing the melodic snoring around them.  And leave their owner a morning surprise if they hadn’t been left under the flysheet. They would walk for miles as their owner crossed field and moor, praying that they would avoid the hidden cowpats. Of course they’d get cleaned on one day, just before parade, as the group amassed around a solitary flagpole.

And when they got home, they created a bit of a fuss. Left outside on the evening news on a step by the Garden lawn.  Local politicians now have the boots treadmarks of mud and clay imprinted on them.  But then again, wi’ these boots – they’ve no interest in politics – unless it’s rights to roam.  The bucket and wire brush look threatening, next to the bin.  But these boots know – you can scrub em till the cows come home – this mud sticks!

Where they’ll go next, is anyone’s guess. But for now – having had a ‘tidyup’ – they just sit on the varnished wooden shelf, looking quite a sight with dark brown Yorkshire mud entrapped in the soles. They look at themselves in the tall hallway mirror and think of the streams they’ve crossed and the moors they’ve run, the bracken broken for kindling and stiles climbed in fun.

Mountain Meadow

Good Companion

Fires a Burning

Camping, Outdoors, Scouts

Another piece for the daily post prompt

Smoke

also appears at http://allpoetry.com/poem/11670889-Fires-a-Burning-by-InkdropK

The sun went asleep, upon the moon break
and the light from a match began to awake
starting to burn the bark from a tree
whilst little one’s watch with their cuppas with glee

The bark it alights and begins to glow,
producing smoke as it burns the wood slow
small twigs surround the bark as it burns
fallen from trees amongst bushes and ferns

Flames round the wood, performing a dance
dancing towards night sky, given a chance
providing light, and heat for the camp
whilst heating the supper, in the cold and damp

And wood keeps on burning to feed this small fire
As tales are told round it to teach and inspire
and youngsters all smile as they receive with glee
a mug of steaming hot soup for their tea!