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Worcestershire Litfest and Fringe annually appoint a poet laureate for Worcestershire. We are delighted to show case the talent of the incumbent poet, who has written a piece based on the ferry.
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| We Still Remember How to Carry Each Other |
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I took a ride on Doris, the Worcester Cathedral Ferry, and thought how little it takes to keep one another moving, and Doris, sweet Doris, is still pulling her weight in this soft river sweep. We are held together by no more than small acts of trust, for fifty pence and a careful step, because we are not meant to do all our crossings alone. One hand to steady the boat, one hand to steady our balance, one hand to help us aboard, and sometimes that is all a city needs, all it needs to call itself kind. Monks crossed here, long ago. Milkmaids from the pasture crossed here too. Now children with melting ice creams, and those who once carried us, their knees more careful now, step down smoothed stone towards the same wet wobble of river where the ferry waits. Perhaps community is this: a boat with room for nine, a volunteer at the oars, with a brie and tomato bagel, and a smile for no extra fee, swans, graceful and beautiful, nosing past, and somebody saying, after you, love. Because some things are worth keeping. Not only books and statues and plaques. Our history is held in the dip of an oar, the creak of a boat, the flicker of minnows, and a stranger making space beside them. |
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For the audio and video version, click or tap on the YouTube link: YouTube
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| Doris the Cathedral Ferry needs a new electric motor |
| I'm Doris, an old boat, a wooden boat, green below, brown above, clinker built with overlapping planks to keep me dry. For years, I lobstered out of West Bay, Dorset, where Master Mark found me up a creek. Now I float passengers across the Severn. Between Easter and Michaelmas, between Chapter Meadows and Worcester Cathedral, a short summer sail for a handful of small change. People wait on the steps. Other boats give way and swans swerve around me. Like the river and its banks, the meadows and the trees, a thousand years of history swirls around us, over us, under and through us. Bateau d'or is a Ship of Theseus. For centuries our river ferry summer service has been a shortcut for milkmaids and monks, for farmers and Elgar. For all of this it's splendid value at only fifty pence each way. But when I come out of the water, I need to be loved. I need care and attention. I need help - I'll die without it. I need Master Stephen and his team of volunteers - I need brilliant Barney Burnham and his dad Ted before him. God rest their souls. I need to be scraped and sanded for a fresh coat of paint. I need winter covered storage and a rest. I'm a high-maintenance boat, I am. But I'm worth it. I need I need I need a blessing from the Dean. But most of all right now I need a new electric motor. |
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