74. Lorraine Whitley-Beal
Globetrotting adventurer for whom poetry is both a salvation and a therapy.
Lorraine is a born and bred Yorkshire Lass who has spent the majority of the life in the badlands of Lincolnshire. Her love of animals and nature has been a constant throughout her life and this is reflected in her poetry.
Between 2003 and 2010 Lorraine lived in Portugal. and since returning she has enjoyed a range of adventures abroad, including paragliding in Turkey, Zip Lining in the Dominican Republic and cuddling Crocodiles in Jamaica. She has also has visited South America, Central America, the Caribbean, India, South Africa and Antarctica. In addition to completing a sponsored streak in support of the Polar Bears at the Yorkshire Wildlife park znd and a fire walk in aid of a children’s cancer charity.
Poetry came into her life in November 2020 with the tragic death of her Mum. It has been both her salvation and a therapy. She has made some great friends through poetry, although her favourite poets remain her two younger brothers John Beal and Haldour Greenleaf.
Poems
Tea for One
The cafés warmth is welcome after my walk. Slowly I make my way to the table by the window, I’ve sat here for years now, decades in fact. The waitress smiles and asks if want my usual Tea for one and a toasted teacake with butter, It’s always been tea for one. Looking across the river I spot a formation of geese, The years roll back to another formation, Scrambled spitfires, heading off to fight. Memories of a long ago love that was never to be. I first saw him singing around the piano with his fellow pilots, Handsome in best blue, we laughed at their awful voices He was never going to notice me limping in with the land girls. After that I saw him everywhere, picnics by the river, Coming out of the post office, driving too fast through the village Even once at Church, though it was Christmas! We saw them leave that day, as we had before, it felt different I watched until they were tiny specks on the horizon. His luck was used up, this was one sortie too many. I heard he ditched in the channel. I loved him from afar, a love never destined to be I knew I would never love again, my heart died with his. So its tea for one today, as it was last week and will be next week. A gentle touch on my hand drags me back to today, It’s the waitress; she smiles at me as I gather my thoughts “Are you alright? Your tea has gone cold! Would you like me to make you another one Mr. Milford?” <<<
Purple Poppy
The Dickin Medal was inaugurated in 1943 initially to honour the work of animals in war. Since then 37 dogs, 32 messenger pigeons, 4 horses and 1 cat have been awarded this 'animal Victoria Cross'.
The most recent recipient is Hertz, a German shorthaired pointer who served with the RAF Police in Afghanistan. As of February 2022, the medal has been awarded 74 times, plus one honorary award made in 2014 to all the animals who served in the First World War
As my hooves sink deep into mud my mind wanders Back home where I worked regular hours With a full belly and clean legs regularly groomed Ploughing fields ready for wheat, then harvesting it Carrying my laughing little girl as I’m led to my warm stable Gone are those days, now I survive not thrive dirty and hungry Delivering ammunition and supplies to the troops, one day Drawing an ambulance, carrying those same boys broken bodies another. Ducking and diving, my wings carry me through hell Ignoring the noise and smoke of battle Rapidly making my way, avoiding bullets and claws Claws of falcons employed to prevent my success Swift and determined, I must complete my journey I carry important information for my masters Intelligence that could save multiple lives in the field. A vital mission entrusted to a little bird. My job here is twofold, guard and comfort. Provide a little bit of home in this hot foreign place That’s easy. Cuddle, snuggle, play the fool, make them laugh. Harness donned, my mind is sharp, quick, and alert to danger Nose employed, no longer the clown. Protecting my comrades. Highly trained I know what I’m doing, what I’m sniffing for Try as they might to disguise it my nose is a finely tuned weapon I will find them, I will search out their IED’s; keep my friends safe. Sent into wars not of their making Their strength and natural skills exploited Suffering horrendously, dying for what? To gain a bit of land, deliver a message or sniff out a bomb. Truly innocent victims, who’s only wish is live their life So I’ll wear my purple poppy, I’ll honour these brave animals Who live and die alongside their comrades and friends Fighting in wars beyond their understanding. <<<
Cleaners
Hello Darl! I’m Stan, me mate here is Eric, The prom at Cleethorpes is our beat, We patrol through the season, Best job in the world. They come by train, car and coach, Day trips or stay a week or two, From Sheffield or Barnsley Or somewhere called Donny. Weary Mums with babies in buggies, Lively toddlers playing in the sand, Oldies with stories of times gone by, Teens who would rather be in Spain. Dropping their chips, donuts, ice cream, Butties and pork pie all over the beach. Pickings are excellent, we keep the place clean. Two fat seagulls patrolling unseen. <<<
The Dress
I found you in that filthy neglected room The floor littered with years of dirt You were hanging from a dusty, beautiful wardrobe. Forgotten, Dirty, Abandoned, Opening the doors I checked for more Anything. Gowns, skirts, coats. It was empty, everything was gone, Prized, Treasured, Cherished, Why? Why had she taken her other clothes? Why had she left you here? You had obviously been very beautiful Though now you were dirty, grey and spoiled! You look like you may have been her wedding dress Demure neckline, long sleeves, fastened with tiny buttons Delicate white silk, full underskirt trimmed with lace. You must have been prized, treasured and cherished once. What happened? What lead to you being left behind when she went? Why were you no longer loved? I’ll never know, As I lift you down in cloud of dust I make a promise I promise that I will restore you Return you to former glories You will be loved once more. <<<
White Feather
Naive symbol of cowardice, Bestowed by band of sisters In misguided act. Yet, courage of conviction outweighs Jingoistic fervor to don a nation’s uniform. Random symbol of spiritual love, Delivering hope to those without. Beings of light draw close, Gifting peace from lost loved ones In genteel reminder of their protection. <<<
Getting Old
I realised recently I’m getting old, It was a bit of a shock to the system. You see I bought some shorts from Bon Marche Older ladies shop at Bon Marche! I shop at Select and New Look, or I did! Now they are staffed by girls who should be in kindergarten And they’re full of things that stop too early, and say extra, extra small! I’ve started looking for shoes that are stylish and comfy, That I can actually walk in. Rather than so high they make my nose bleed While lengthening my thighs and tightening my butt! When I did start to want to look, smart, elegant and sophisticated, Not sexy, wanton and dangerous to know? When did I become the Mother you don’t take her home to meet Rather than the one Mothers disapprove of? Only one tea with my toast when out for the day. Clandestine visits to Costa for covert pees. A cough or a sneeze could lead to disaster, So it’s Tena Discreet just in case for me. <<<
Love these, Lorraine. Very down-to-earth, and comforting.