The Duke of Beck

I thought the cottage was rather cheap,

I said so at the time,

It was standing empty far too long

For a setting, so sublime,

The garden was overgrown, of course

And it needed a little care,

But nobody thought to warn us then

Of what we’d find in there.

 

It looked down over a tiny cove

With a path down over the cliff,

Where the sea surged into an inland cave

As the tide began to lift,

The wind howled in, and it echoed out

Of the blowhole at the top,

Just fifty yards from the cottage with

A hundred metre drop.

 

We worked on it in the summer

Trimmed the cypress back in shape,

Controlled the vine that wrapped itself

Around the garden gate,

We fixed the holes and patched the walls

And gave it a coat of paint,

And scraped the moss off the rear wall

Where the damp had left its taint.

 

We moved on in when the winter’s chill

Rose up the cliff from the cove,

I put a match to the firewood

I’d bundled into the stove,

But Mavourneen was the first to feel

There was something in the air,

‘I get this prickling feeling that

Runs through the roots of my hair.’

 

I said, ‘It must be your Irish,

All your superstitions and tales,’

She said, ‘You’re never the one to talk,

With your witches covens in Wales.’

And presently, sure, I began to feel

There was something not quite right,

I heard the creaking of timbers there

In the eaves, most every night.

 

The storms began in their fury, and

The rain beat down on the roof,

I lay awake ‘til I thought to slake

My sleep with forty proof,

But Mavourneen would get up and prowl

When the storm was at its height,

‘I saw a man in the garden!’ She

Came in, and her face was white.

 

I rose and went outside in the storm,

Walked round the cottage twice,

Came in a-shiver, and soaked to the skin

My hands and feet like ice.

‘There’s no-one there,’ I muttered aloud,

But Mavourneen just stared,

For standing, dripping with seaweed was

A sailor with jet black hair.

 

‘You have to come,’ said the spectral form,

‘The wreck is deep in the cave,

They’re stranded down in the blowhole, and

There’s women and kin to save.’

And then he suddenly faded, turned

And walked back into the wall,

I had to reach out for Mavourneen

As she swayed, and started to fall.

 

I didn’t go out again that night,

I sat, curled up in a funk,

And Mavourneen said, ‘You should have gone!’

I said, ‘I think I was drunk!’

‘But we both saw what we saw,’ she said,

‘And the lives down there were lost!’

‘It happened a hundred years ago,’

I said, ‘They were tempest tossed.’

 

I went to the local museum that day

And got a list from the wreck,

It happened in 1888

And was called, ‘The Duke of Beck.’

My eyes skimmed through the passenger list

And I saw, as in a dream,

That one of the names on board that day

Was a girl called Mavourneen.

 

I raced back home to the cottage, called

And searched for a week or more,

But there wasn’t a sign of Mavourneen,

They said she’d never been born.

That girl was her own great grandmother

But had not been saved from the wreck,

And I rue the day that I failed to save

The folk on ‘The Duke of Beck.’

 

David Lewis Paget

Reviews

[wordwarrior]

Wow, this is brilliant! Keith suggested I read your work and I sure am not disappointed. I'm new here you see.
The story is gripping and held me right to the end. The flow and rhyme is flawless and your imagery really captivating.
Loving your writing very much!

[shallimarRose]

Outstanding as always. You never cease to amaze me David the way you are able to peace the rhyme step by step and run so long with them. Never a disappointment. thank you sweet friend.. xo Rose

[Nix]

What a brilliant piece of literature. You're alongside the likes of Whittier and Longfellow. Amazing job.

[Tom]

A first rate spooky read that raised a few hackles on the back of my neck on this splendid bright Sunday morning. Super picturesque setting and build up to an enthralling finale !

Top write top poem again !

[emmajoy]

Brilliant meter, a wonderful flow of words, atmosphere built right up to the last moment, and, I loved the legend-made feeling of it. Tis said there are places that draw memories out of a body who believes!

' We worked on it in the summer~ Trimmed the cypress back in shape,~ Controlled the vine that wrapped itself~ Around the garden gate,~ We fixed the holes and patched the walls~ And gave it a coat of paint,~ And scraped the moss off the rear wall~ Where the damp had left its taint.'

You'll not be surpised to know I loved the meter and graphic of the above stanza!

[Robert Lindsay]

Great atmospheric story with a time warp.. I read a lot of your work and enjoy these trips to the twilight zone!

[Tate Morgan]

Ah that was great. I dont know which would be worse Knowing your woman was really 160 year old hag or that you were actually fooled by her lol.

[Angi]

David, love the twists and turns you take when we travel along with you! Goosebumps rose when we found out Mavoureen had never been born! Angi~

[Foxemerald]

This was highly enlivening, giving me all kinds of elements that put me in the colorful but marked context. The piece has the deceiving ability to give you goosebumps, while also drawing you into a mesmerizing brocade of enchantment- I was quite lost in the story of it. The end was so surprising, that I never would have imagined the untimely end of Maoureen, even though there is a spectral air to the whole thing.

[Marie]

THis actually gave me goose bumps. It's as if Mavourneen was lost twice.