Slow, majestic’ly they ride

Upriver on the flowing tide -

Cargo vessel, decks piled high,

Derricks pointing at the sky;

Freezer trawler, rusty, black,

Ten weeks out, glad to be back

From the Arctic ice and snow

Colder than her catch below.

Tanker laden with molasses,

Diesels throbbing as she passes,

Pilot guided, makes to moor

And pump her sweetness to the shore.

Sister vessels, lying placid

At the jetty, take on acid,

Discharge kerosene and petrol.

North Sea Ferry, busy people

Throng her decks and line her bars,

Waiting to rejoin their cars,

As she squeezes through the lock

And turns her stern to face the dock.

Huge doors open wide, disgorging

Mobile cargo, onwards forging

To some far-flung destination,

Drivers blinking in the sun.

Tidy coasters slip below

The Humber Bridge all red aglow,

As its sunset shadows loom,

Portent now of certain doom

For a little ship whose merry

Course runs to and fro, the ferry -

Soon her telegraphic bell

Will sadly sound her own death knell.

Out a tug boat comes to greet her

Charge, a roll-on, roll-off freighter.

Warps secured aboard, she gently

Follows on, obediently.

Now the ‘phone’s persistent clamour

Turns me from this panorama

Temporarily - My train of

Thought returns to things mundane, of

Pipes and valves, and distillations.

Heat exchanger calculations

For the moment crowd my brain,

Till my gaze diverts again

To that maritime procession,

Object of my prepossession,

Proudly navigating convoy

Of the river’s liquid highway.

© 1982 Anthony J. Finn

Ships

(from my office window)

In 1979, when I worked at BP Chemicals at Salt End, I moved to a building at the south west corner of the Works, and was fortunate to be given an office on the first floor at the south west of the building, with a commanding view of the river. I never ceased to appreciate the splendid panorama from those windows. There were always ship movements to be seen whilst one was working, and I saw most of the Humber Bridge being built from that vantage point. It led to my writing a poem about it, which was finished just after I left the office for a ground floor one, which was, to my great regret, too low for me to see over the river flood bank.