A boyhood hero was Isambard Kingdom Brunel - I was fascinated by the iconic photograph - there he was, chomping upon his cigar, his boots and trousers spattered with clay, insouciant in front of immense chains - I gazed with awe upon engravings of The Great Eastern -
We were walking along the river, downstream from Wareham, when we came across The Monarch - it was late afternoon - all I saw was suffused with a sweet melancholy beauty -
Sea gulls flew overhead - a gentle wind barely stirred the reeds - the river flowed more swiftly with the ebbing tide - each side of the river there were silent wetlands - dark birds gathered upon the shallow pools -
The paddle steamer was moored to the bank opposite - it was as though she had just emerged from my dreams - small, elegant, shimmering with memory -
No comments:
Post a Comment