War’s Embers, and Other Verses by Ivor Gurney
THE FISHERMAN OF NEWNHAM ( To my Father )
When I was a boy at Newnham, For every tide that ran Swift on its way to Bollo, I wished I were a man To sail out and discover Where such a tide began.
But when my strength came on me ’Tis I must earn my bread: My Father set me fishing By Frampton Hock, instead Of wandering to the ocean— Wherever Severn led.
And now I’ve come to manhood, Too many cares have I To think of gallivanting (A wife and child forbye). So I must wonder ever Until time comes to die.
Then I shall question Peter Upon the heavenly floor, What makes the tide in rivers— How comes the Severn bore, And all things he will tell me I never knew before.