Rye Bay Scallop Week

Rye Bay Scallop Week


Scallop Poetry

Scallops Ahoy!

Galloping sea horses can’t stop the crowds,
Heading from the north and south downs.
Along the flat, windy, bleak Romney Marsh,
Congregating, gleefully, knowingly, around the Bay of Rye.

The RX Boys set sail with the tide,
Working hard and swiftly, harvesting the local gold.

Pirate’s treasure; smugglers abound;
Now replaced by golden catches and puffed-out chests.

The pride of the south’s food offerings,
Brighten up the dark winter evenings.
And so begin the Spring’s shoots –
Nectar returns from the sea.
The scallop’s shell resembling a blazing sun.

Wind Farms; airports; fast train travel; changes abound;
Yet certain items remain constant; reliable.

The tides rise and fall;
The moon waxes and wanes;
The young grow old.
And the new generations are created.

The scallop’s shell will tell it’s age;
The fishermen will tell of the high seas and gales.

So much effort is expended to reap the harvest
From the sea.

Is it worth it?

You bet it is!

Hip, Hip, Rye Bay!
Hip, Hip, Rye Bay!
Hip, Hip, Rye Bay!

Scallops Ahoy!

© Jonathan Dellar 28th December 2009