Dutchman's Call

A fictional might-have-been.

They had seized the only longboat

When the 'Gelderland' veered round,

As the flames leapt the topgallant,

And then brought the rigging down,

There was panic on the foredeck,

There was panic at the bridge,

When the Royal Charles raked salvoes

She began to roll and pitch.

 

While the shrapnel from the cannons

Shrieked and tore good men apart,

There were those not so heroic

Who were thinking to desert,

They were Dutch from West Terschelling

Who had never learnt to shoot,

Until the English came to call

On Hans, and Jan de Groot.

 

They'd left not empty-handed for

The cook, Hans Vandeveer

Had already made provision

For them sailing, free and clear,

With a gallon cask of Advocaat,

Another one of rum,

He called the gunner, Jan de Groot

And said - 'Ve vill be gone!'

 

They launched the heavy longboat

In the mighty, storm-tossed bay

While the 'Gelderland' went down

With every hand aboard that day,

And they set the only sail to take

Them home to Terschelling,

But Robert Holmes had got there as

The storm was lessening.

 

The fire ships were many, and

They spread their flames about,

One hundred thirty merchantmen

Went down, without a shout,

The English sacked the little town

The island they called home,

While fleeing, they rowed out to sea

With nowhere left to roam.

 

The town they'd always called naar huis

Was burning to the ground,

They watched the hated Engelsman

And said: "Ve'll do zem down!'

They watched their houses burning

As they drifted from the shore,

And pledged "Ve'll haf our Dutch ravanche

If nuzzing else, I swore!'

 

For days they drifted aimlessly

Just praying for respite,

When on the second evening

They saw a warning light.

They thought it might be France ahead,

The coast, it could be Spain's,

The morning saw them rowing up

The sluggish River Thames.

 

The mighty docks and warehouses

Were all deserted then,

The plague had taken everyone,

Or laid them in the ground,

'Vair is ze people?' said de Groot,

'Zis silence iss bizar....'

Hans Vandeveer just shook his head,

And swigged the Advocaat.

 

They tied the boat up to a wharf

And then set out on foot,

They roamed the empty, dirty streets,

'Iz not Spain!' said de Groot;

'Iz not Spain - it iz London!' said

Hans Vandeveer, 'Look zat!'

For there was stately London bridge,

He hid beneath his hat.

 

'Zo! London... of ze Engelsman,'

He took a swig of rum,

They both began to chuckle then,

Well zen, let uss haf fun!

They came upon a house that bore

A huge red painted cross,

With 'Please have Mercy on us Lord'

'Vot sez zat?' Jan looked lost.

 

They neither of them read a word

Of English or of Dutch,

They'd gone to sea as children, so

Their learning wasn't much,

They beat upon the wooden door,

And heard some cries within,

So thinking there was murder there,

They kicked the old door in.

 

Two women and a man were there,

A pretty sorry sight,

Dead drunk, dishevelled, tangled hair,

They looked at them in fright,

'Ve come to mak you be all right,'

Said Hans, confused and red,

He offered them the Advocaat,

They gave him gin instead.

 

'I'm Lady Bubo,' said the one,

With bright red flaming hair,

And I am Mrs. Onic,' laughed

The other, who was fair,

The man, who lay flat on his back,

Then raised his head, and swore,

'I'm known as Jack the Rat, my friends,

Bubonic is my w***e!'

 

They laughed and fell about the room

Embracing Jan de Groot,

Who swigged his rum, Hans Vandeveer

Just shrugged, and followed suit,

They hadn't had a woman then

Since back in Terschelling,

But: 'Be my guest,' said Jack the Rat,

There was no second telling.

 

The revelry went on all night,

They drank and fell about,

'We want some food,' said Onic then,

The larder's all cleaned out,

They finally, by making signs

Got Jan to understand,

'Ve go and find zum vittals, zen

Ve come back ven ve can!'

 

They headed up to Pudding Lane,

A baker's light shone bright,

The smell of new baked bread hung there

So tempting in the night,

They beat and beat upon the door

But no one answered then,

So Hans, he clambered up a pipe

To find the baker's oven.

 

The coals spilled out, he seized four loaves,

Then turned and ran downstairs,

He jumped out through a window,

Said: 'Ve'd better mak uz scarce!'

They ran the length of Pudding lane

Before they turned about,

To see the smoke, the roaring flames

Burst out the Baker's house.

 

The rest is history, my friends,

The fire spread more and more,

And London burned to ashes like

Terschelling had before,

The Dutchmen found their friends were dead,

And they would not get home,

For soon they found that tell-tale sign,

The swelling in the groin.

 

2 September, 2008

 

(The 342nd Anniversary of the

Great Fire of London, on 2 September 1666).

 

David Lewis Paget

Reviews

[Michael]

You sir, know your history. I wonder how many do not understand the painted cross reference along with the bloated groin? Even my own limits with the Dutch references took nothing from the overall strength of the work. Fact is, it added to it somehow. Very nice work with the structure, it has a good balance that is neither sing-song rhyme nor free verse.

Very well done!

[David Lewis Paget]

Just as a matter of interest for those who find coincidences amusing, it was not until I was penning the fifth or sixth verses that I realised that the date was significant. Of all the 365 days of the year I could have penned this, I chose, subconsciously, the anniversary of the Great Fire of London.

[C.T. Bailey]

So nicely penned. You are at home in this structure and it really worked well for this story. Such a complex story. I would have to spend weeks trying to make this work. You are amazing. I was never really sure how it was going to end. I read so many narratives and about half way through you know what the outcome is going to be. Not this. I was spellbound until completion. You sir are the Master Poet.
Todd

[Christine]

This is wonderful. You are such an amazing writer!
~Christine :-)

[Norma J. Jessee]

David, This is absolutely fantastic. I didn't know whether tp laugh or cry, so I did both. You have taken a subjects that are very serious and added bits of humor here and there to keep it lighthearted therefore making it sad yet humorous. Your imagery is fantastic, meter empecable. the wording perfect. and then dedicated it to a great but horrible event in history.

You are the master at weaving words, whether they be fiction or nonfiction.
Superb writing.

[Valentine]

Amazing tale..from start to finish..You have a gift that needs to be shared among more than just us on here..Your tales would go great in England AND WHERE YOU LIVE..IT MADE ME WONDER JUST HOW THE LONDON fire got started. My dad was 100% Dutchman and his family from over there until here I have traced..My Jewish side ends in Germany..Great story..I love to read your work..God bless Valentine

[Wildfleour]

David - You have really mastered the formula of using rhyme scheme, weaving a story, adding a drop of humor and a dose of history.