Shadows in the Rain

My father told us the story of

The time of his greatest pain,

Back in the year of ninety-nine,

During Victoria’s reign,

He lived in a two-bed terrace,

With a brother and sisters two,

With gas lamps out in the cobbled street

And nothing you’d call a view.

‘The windows were of a pebble glass

That distorted all you’d see,

And when it rained and the clouds were grained

All these shades appeared to me,

The lamps would cast a flickering beam

On the movement in the street,

To paint in shadows the local scene

Of that place they called ‘The Fleet’.’

‘I thought these shadows were passing ghosts

Who had died and lost their way,

Their shadows, caught in the pouring rain

Coming back and forth all day,

I little knew that my brother too

Would be claimed before too long,

Would add his tiny, flickering soul

To the heart of that heaving throng.’

‘For down below, a river would flow

Underneath the Coach and Horse,

The mighty sewers of the Fleet

Followed that watercourse,

The entrances were underground

And the water in it foul,

But floating bodies were often found

And the sewer men would howl.’

‘And Toby, our little Toby, he

Would be sent along the street,

He’d clatter along the cobblestones

For a loaf of bread, a treat,

He’d fetch a plug of tobacco for

Our father’s pipe, of course,

Collecting it from the barman there,

Down at the Coach and Horse.’

‘He’d toddle away, in light or dark,

He’d go in the sun or rain,

Whatever my father asked him do

He saw no need to explain,

And Toby went in the drizzling rain

One day, for a quart of beer,

I watched for him through the pebble glass

But the lad quite disappeared.’

‘All I could see were the moving shapes

Of the shadows in the rain,

Of ghosts, all huddled in coats and capes

As they passed my way, again,

But never a sight of our Toby, nor

The quart of my father’s beer,

We sent out a searching party, but

He wasn’t to reappear.’

‘We got in touch with the sewer men

Who said they would search the Fleet,

And try to find him before he flowed

To the Thames on New Bridge Street,

But all they found were a dozen dogs

Along with a monster pig,

Who all had drowned before they were found

And Toby was half as big.’

‘My father stood at the open door

At the same time every day,

Come rain or shine, he couldn’t divine

Why Toby had gone away,

But I can see, as if in a fit,

A thing that should count the least,

My father’s pipe, forever unlit,

Still gracing the mantelpiece.’

David Lewis Paget

Reviews

[BThomvanWart]

Such a fantastic, mentally stimulating piece! I loved the feeling over it, right down to the schematic and flow. Reading this was like being transported to a busy, turn of the century London. You wrote such an intriguing, storytelling piece that I feel as though I couldn't come up with higher praise than loving this piece! I shall read more of your work! :D

[FreedomFighter]

great transitions and a vivid theme, i enjoyed reading every line

[Katie Lynn]

I never tire of reading you narrative poetry. Each piece is unique and beautiful, and always pleasing to read. I hope you write many more in your lifetime!

[ANTO]

Ahh the guilt the oul fella must have felt - he couldn't bring himself to even light his favourite pipe again God Bless 'im.
You always weave such tragedy and its so subtly done that the whole of the tale sinks in and then wham!
Great imagery too DLP. Your a man of many era s.

[Coyote Poetry]

A amazing story my friend.
‘I thought these shadows were passing ghosts
Who had died and lost their way,
Their shadows, caught in the pouring rain
Coming back and forth all day,
I little knew that my brother too
Would be claimed before too long,
Would add his tiny, flickering soul
To the heart of that heaving throng.’
The above lines. I liked a lot. In old age. Shadows are seem by us old men. Thank you for sharing the excellent story.
Coyote

[Valentine]

This one gave me a chilly feeling of a lazy man that would send a little one out for beer and his other pleasures. I could picture the ghosts in the glass as I saw glass like that at grandpas when I was a child. This one is so well thought out and written. Valentine

[Barbz]

Although this write contains a ghostly scenario, in your usual perfect manner, it also emits a very untoughened flavor that cuts through the fantasy to a real-life tragedy. The loss of a treasured son and brother. I felt the pain of losing their Toby, "Their little Toby"....It is a wonderful, tender read, David, and reveals a very sensitive side of this artist, not unusual for many of our great poets. Many pipes are left unlit!! Barbz

[Philip Muls]

David, you write with such ease (or so it seems at least). What I lke is that, as a non-native english speaker - I can understand your poetry perfectly. It is clear and fluent. And you paint a picture that is very vivid and easy to visualize. Nice twist at the end.

[emmajoy]

'He’d fetch a plug of tobacco for - Our father’s pipe, of course,-- Collecting it from the barman there, -- Down at the Coach and Horse.’

Such a graphic write.. full of historic cameos of people, places and time - all written in the usual excellent meter!

Your knowledge of old London and how life was is more than fine. That combined with the spookiness make this an exciting, interesting poem, Daviid... or rather, yet another one. You never cease to amaze me. The moral at the end was/is very appropriate!