Historical non-fiction writer and member of the Open University Poets Society, David EP Dennis, re-imagines the terrible loss of life when Old Winchelsea was taken by the sea in 1287…
Listen
to the raging of the sea at night
far off grey breakers strike the rocks
cogs tussle; pull their anchor ropes
while gulls sit silent on dark waves
rising in the swells
till morning comes. I cannot
Sleep
nor Alard nor Stephen Crabbe
their port home lights are plainly shining through
and here’s the sun’s bright glow
on Feast of Holy Innocents
just one more day we have, yet we don’t know
as wind picks up, squall hail rips in
rain breaches cloud
drives down on roofs and crossbow tower decks
cord rigging snaps and cracks the devil
against the gunwales: I am on our Caenned quay
a’Watching
then at midnight herald, that mountain tide roars in again
gales shrieking, children bawl
as fishwife mothers pull the shutters to
and peer towards the salting sheds
while crans and tubs are rolling on the stade
Men shout
steel waves lash down upon our shore
a noise like double thunder lion’s roar
as houses, homes and inns
are fully rent
and God’s seen running for the hills:
five thousand die
seven hundred dwellings lost
fifty inns will ale no more
as Winchelsea’s destroyed upon these
Wretched
shingle spills.
Outset Publishing 