Haikus for the seasons by Gale Carruthers

Grebelets on mum’s back.
Could that be cranes I’m hearing?
Yes! Look! In that field!

Sun high overhead, 
Smells of tar and hot planking,
Then tea and cake soon.

Black in the sunset,
scarlet and gold skies beyond,
Maud’s sail reaches high.

Maud has a Spa Day.
Rubbing down, scrubbing, painting –
My hands need care too….

Ode to Maud by Sue Rockley

Maud, moored, is adored
All hail, Maud in sail.

Corona 2020    by David Pilch
(to the tune “Jerusalem)

As did the plague so long ago
cause this land such grief and woe,
we now must face this awful blight,
which we must fight with all our might.
Now Maud has seen it all before,
the flu that topped the first world war.
She plied her trade as best she could,
that out of fear and loss came good.

And on to trade both good and poor
upon the Yare and up The Bure
till trade declined and her work ended
no longer to be patched and mended.
But abandoned, sunk beneath a broad
‘Twas saved for us and now restored.
Oh worthy vessel inspire us back
to meet again at peaceful Womack.

Maud by Olly Day

Majestic and magnificent as she meanders through the mist.
This grand old lady who is still ploughing the rivers and broads.
Always calm and quiet as she evokes so many memories. 
An icon and a bygone. 
To catch a glimpse of her in her natural setting Is such a thrill.
Have a sail with Maud and remember it forever.

Maud sails on           by Rosemary Charles

It now feels a while ago
But was only back a few months
When ‘Crude Apache’ put on a play
About the wherry ‘Perserverance’.

Her resident family was in torment
Over the coming of the Iron Horse
Competition to their livelihood
Plus a love interest – of course.

Many rehearsals later
There were songs to be learnt too,
Scene making, painting and costuming,
Recruiting musicians and crew.

In January all was completed
And to the Maddermarket stage it took
Almost sell-out performances
Great reviews in the press and Facebook.

It’s sad when all is concluded
And only fond memories are recalled
But the real vessel on all the posters?
She sails on, the Trust’s wherry ‘Maud’.

Photo (c) Maddermarket Theatre Norwich / Crude Apache Theatre Company
WHERRIES WITHOUT RHYME (or reason)         by Ruth Tolland
Wherries dealt in important commodities
They were seen as a great success.     
When the train and the truck took over the trade
They were sunk to support the banks.

She’s been a wherry and a lighter
She’s been sailed and she’s been sunk
She’s a wonderful survivor
No longer sunk as junk.

Ode to Wherry Maud in 2020

Wherry Maud you strike a chord,
You are a pleasure we can subscribe to and afford.
Wherry Maud you play a tune;
I hope we can sail with you again real soon!

Wood, coal, wheat, sugar beet,
Barley or a passenger’s treat,
There’s something about Maud’s cargo
That’s right up our street.

Thank you firstly to Vincent & Linda Pargeter.
In 1981 they raised you up from the bottom of Ranworth Broad,
Where you sat rotting with no accord.

In Upton, for 18 years of love and devotion,
Wherry Maud was restored to full locomotion.
In 1999, a recommissioned craft,
Dark cloaked and majestic, sailing again at long last.

Although fully restored, the work still goes on,
 so you may be enjoyed and admired for many more years long.

On high deck , we can see over the reeds,
And hear the birds singing in the breeze.
Weaving in and out of Norfolk & Suffolk’s green fields,
as the sheep and cows graze, and the arable crops yield.

A sail on Maud across Breydon Water,
After navigating Gt Yarmouth’s treacherous tides last June,
Kept joyfully in my memory for many a moon,
Filmed by Mike Page on an Ariel stage,
Two cargo wherries sailing together,
Side by side in beautiful weather.

The truth is, Albion eventually came past, brazenly unreefed,
All on Wherry Maud had to admit defeat.
“It’s not a race,” the skipper assured us,
“We reefed our sail, because a gale could’ve floored us!”

“Maud, moves and sways, ducks and dives the rivers and bridges of the Yare,
We can Hardley express, but it’s our Thurne, So Chet this out if you dare!
Wensum one gives the ok, Bure sure we’ll get you sailing again,
Ant what’s more, we’ll be Waveney you Good Luck!”

Remember the past, when Maud was ‘Queen of the Broads!’
“Move out the way, lifejackets on, we’re coming aboard!”
So raise a glass, be of good cheer,
I’m sure we will all be sailing this time next year!

by Carolyn H Wright, Brundall 2nd April 2020
The year Coronavirus Dec 2019 caused a pandemic,
When the world self isolated in fear of the epidemic

MAUD                  by Ruth Tolland

Eighteen years of restoration
Eighteen years of sweat and toil
Her latest incarnation
Brings pleasure to us all.

Next time she’s out of water
Original planks will go
But this would happen anyway
It was ever so.

She was a working wherry
In sunshine, ice and rain;
With wind and tide against her
They would quant her back again.

She’s part of Broadland history
A familiar sight in her day  
The black sail proudly sailing
It’s important to keep her that way.

On the Helm
by Larry Lamb

Coming late into tv presenting
(Welcome change from the screen and “the boards”)
I found myself steering a Wherry
On a beautiful day on the Broads
And indeed not just any old Wherry
But a queen of a vessel was she
And whilst clearly a fraud
That grand lady Maud
Made a passable sailor of me

Song of Maud
by Andrew Harrowven (with apologies to Hiawatha)

O’er the water floating, plying,
Something in the hazy distance,
Something in the mists of morning,
Loomed and lifted on the water,
Now seemed floating, now seemed flying,
Coming nearer, nearer, nearer.
Was it little grebe the diver?
Or the crane, the pale grey shadow?
Or the heron, the long legg’d fisher?
Or the swan, white plumes like snow,
With the water dripping, flashing,
From its glossy neck and feathers?
It was neither swan nor diver,
Neither crane nor heron,
O’er the water floating, drifting,
Through the shining mist of morning,
But low dark Maud, with long quant plunging,
Rising, sinking in the water,
Dripping, flashing in the sunshine;
And within her came a people
From the distant land of Ludham,
From the farthest realms of Horning,
With their guides and their companions.
And the joyful eager tourists,
With their hands aloft extended,
Waved and waved in sign of welcome,
Waited, full of exultation,
Till the Maud, wet quant extended
Touched upon the black peat shore,
Landed by the reedy margin,
Ready for another tour.

Wherry Maud (Restored)
Landscape Voices (Of Rebirth)
by Alistair Amery

Hear the waters in excitement whisper, 
Calling across the Broadland landscape,
“She comes!”
“She comes”
“She comes again”

Maud calls

“By magician’s healing hand, I return”
In sculptured miracle
“I am whole again”
“I am whole again”

The waters call,

“Greetings friend we knew you once”
“We loved you once and now again”
“And now again”

Maud calls.

“Hear the song in my sails”
“They sing to you again”
“They sing to you again”

Voices from the deck

“Steady on tiller”
“Draw in the Sail”

Maud calls to the waters.

“Now hear, dear friend”
“Voices of history’s echo”
“New voices: Love me now”
“Dear friend I missed your caress.”
“But I never went. I never went”

“There is never separation when you Love with heart and soul”

“I did not die, I am back my friend. I am back”

Sailing on Maud by Tony Bennett
“We sail on the wherry called Maud,
With the skipper and crew all aboard,
The Bure and the Yare
Might give you a scare
So we’ll just be going a-broad!”

The Wherry “Maud” by Pete Tibbetts

There was an old wherry named “Maud”,
Who was sunk in the mud and ignored.
She protected the banks
With no word of thanks
And she dreamed of being restored.

If only they knew of her story,
Sailing the Broads in her glory,
Carrying her goods,
Brought down from the woods,
But she never made a furore.

After years of doing no freighting
And sitting there quietly waiting,
A man and his wife
Gave hope to her life
With news that was very elating.

They floated her off the black silt,
A credit to the way she was built,
They towed her away
From the place that she lay
Before her hull fabric could wilt.

Over eighteen long years of hard grind,
Testing worker’s both body and mind,
They removed all the grime,
Restored her to prime
And once again everything shined.

To continue subduing the dust
And protecting old “Maud” from the rust,
Helping Linda and Vince
To remove all her dints,
They formed the Wherry Maud Trust.

Ode to a Slug              from Alistair Graham Kerr,
written by his mother, Cynthia Hayward, aged 14, 1934

O little Slug, who down the garden path
Doth wander, in and out the stones and weeds,
Beware! Look out! You may be cut in half –
Accused of eating up the gardeners’ seeds
But still you may be undiscovered yet
As, eating up the lettuces with vim,
When the day is getting dank and dim-
Waiting till the earth is damp and wet.

O little Slug, whose coat is black and bright
Beware the Early Bird, who may pounce down
Upon you, from a tree of dizzy height
While Papa, in the garden with a frown
Says, “The slugs are eating all my plants again
But birds are eating all the slugs as well”
I think that you, to sluggy friends, should tell
This danger. So good news from you they’ll gain.

O little Slug, whose funny little horns
Pop out, and in again as danger comes-
Who goes on sprees so early in the morns?
Before the hustling world with business turns,
Behold! The slugling and his Ma glide forth
Munching leaves, while flowers of rainbow hue
Glisten in the morning chaps of dew
-A future scene of his Gardeners’ wrath.

O little Slug, who art so long and slim
Your cousin slug, who is so white and fat,
-The gardener does not care a bit for him
But gives a stamp, and there, upon the mat
There is a squashy mess, and that’s how dies
Thy Cousin Slug. I don’t believe you care –
Black as thou art, thou wouldst not even dare
To eat plants under gardeners’ eagle eyes.

The Swallow Tail butterfly by Jean Trower

The butterfly was flying on a summer breeze
Across Hickling Broad to his home in the reeds
The water looked clear and inviting to him
That he swooped down low dipping his wings
Oh dear he thought this is a mistake
The water is so deep now I’m caught in the lake
He thought of his mother and sisters three
I’ll never get home in time for tea
He’d drifted so far in a flash of a wink
Please help me someone before I sink
Then along came some people out for a ride
And a kind hand was lowered to lift him inside
A man cupped his hands and the warmth he could feel
Made his wings start to flutter, can this be real
With the boat on the jetty moored safe and tight fast
People anxiously watched as he lay on the grass
Many eyes looked to see if he could still breathe
Thank goodness he’s safe now it’s such a relief
As soon as he’s rested his wings he will fly
Back to his reed home under the sky

Golf as I see it   by John Ecclestone

What a funny and time consuming game …
Makes “widows” of women, and men go insane.
Invented in Scotland, and oddly it is written
Gentlemen Only, Ladies Forbidden …
Others call it flog … out of frustration perhaps …
Hitting a white balls all over the map.
The objective is plain, obscure the outcome,
To hit a white ball with the greatest aplomb,
To land on the green to hurrahs and well dones.
A feeling of joy non-golfers can’t ‘prehend,
For the joy of the game only comes at its end.
When the scores are tallied and tales are told
Of the feats and the closest “we” came to the hole.
To make it in one is the grail of the golfer
no matter how old, from that we can’t falter.
Battling one’s self each and every game
To do less would be greatest of shame.
To strive to compete, to play once more,
We’re at the tee yelling the battle cry, “Fore!”

Cider by Will Armour
There was a young lady from Hyde
Who ate an apple and died
The apple fermented
Inside the lamented
And made Cider inside her inside

Wrinkle City by John Ecclestone (Canada, 2017)

What does it take to grow old with grace?
What makes wrinkles on your face?
Why do wrinkles make you feel old?
Why is maturity so a cruel and bold?

Folks make jokes about those with wrinkles.
It’s nothing we can stop … but to have a twinkle
In your eye and wrinkle on your face
Give one an air of certain maturity and grace!

I can’t help it if I have a wrinkle or three
Maybe I am related to a mighty oak tree.
They have rings and wrinkles and that’s oak,
but no one makes jokes about the nuts of an oak!

Now we have a village nearby that’s adults only
People there are a long way from homely.
There are bumps in the roadway but not on their faces
Au contraire, look in the mirror and you might come up aces!

The beginning of your crop of facial creases …
Is a time honoured process without mercy or ceasing …
Try as you might to defy nature’s pace
You can’t hold back time so accept it with grace!

Welcome to my world!