Sep 2014
That BBC accent over the air,
a beacon in my hour of despair,
Thames, Dover, Portland and White,
the warm, soft glow of the radio light,
Shannon, Fastnet, Plymouth, Biscay,
Soothing my soul ‘til light of day,
Dogga, Fisher and German Bight,
my only comfort throughout the night,
Cromarty, Malin, forth and tyne,
Through static crackle, his voice so fine,
Those childhood days have long since gone,
No big old radio to twist and turn on,
But I’ll always remember, forevermore,
Listening to the shipping forecast on Radio Four.
a beacon in my hour of despair,
Thames, Dover, Portland and White,
the warm, soft glow of the radio light,
Shannon, Fastnet, Plymouth, Biscay,
Soothing my soul ‘til light of day,
Dogga, Fisher and German Bight,
my only comfort throughout the night,
Cromarty, Malin, forth and tyne,
Through static crackle, his voice so fine,
Those childhood days have long since gone,
No big old radio to twist and turn on,
But I’ll always remember, forevermore,
Listening to the shipping forecast on Radio Four.
This poem will probably only make sense to those living in the UK or to anyone who has ever listened to the shipping forecast. When I was a child I had a big old radio set in my room and sometimes used to listen to the shipping forecast, I used to find it strangely comforting.
