Mowa
We watched in awe as the six-ton sloop was lowered into the sea.
A Brixham Waterbug made of wood with a tall mast and a short bowsprit
Mum and Dad sailed her along the South coast to the Beaulieu river
Where oaks were crafted into battleships at Buckler’s Hard,
Our mooring for weekend sailing and summer holidays.
Sometimes crossing the Solent became an adventure
With high seas and strong winds, but Mowa could take it, and us
Up and down the swelling waves towards the safety of Yarmouth’s harbour walls
Reviving hot soup in the George Hotel and then sleep on board
To the sound of slap slap slap against the hull.
On other voyages we whistled for wind drifting, becalmed mid Solent
Hampshire behind us and the Needles off the starboard bow
A time to read or laze on deck with mugs brought up from the galley
As the sails flapped listlessly and the sea stayed mill pond flat
Strips of material on the side stays barely fluttering.
I remember returning to our mooring under sail
Silently passing boats moored along the Beaulieu river
I was handed the tiller as we approached Buckler’s Hard
Turning her into the wind and dropping the mainsail
We nestled up to our mooring to the relief of my anxious parents
odespinner 