The Gansey Girl
Patiently sitting, waiting,
with her three needles, knitting
Her Gansey sweater
For her fisherman.
Each sweater unique
So the body can be identified
When fished out of the sea.
Close-knit, in one piece,
To keep the elements at bay.
Self-consumed, thoughtful,
Content, but on edge.
Patient and reconciled,
Avoiding thinking
Of the possibility,
Not looking out to sea,
Controlled, focused inside.
Around her hem
Shoals of fish swim
Above her buttoned boots.
Her face, whimsical,
Not pretty yet handsome and kind.
Her clothes patterned and full
But nowhere near as intricate
As the product of her round needles.
All her love
pouring into the work
Out of her fingers,
The intricacy of the pattern,
That she wished
Never to see
Washed up
In some future nightmare,
Like so many before her.
Frozen in that moment for ever.
Her young fulsome body
Captured in that instant.
The tension of the vigil evident.
All her fears expressed
In the concentration of her stance
So understated.
A Gansey girl.
One of many
Who spent an eternity
Hovering in anxious calm,
Waiting.
Out at sea,
Among the heavy rollers,
With the icy spray,
Stinging wind
And lightning strike;
Pitted against the elements,
Hauling nets,
Lugging fish,
Tossed like a toy,
Earning a living,
Her man.
On the ocean
With the pitch and yaw,
Drenched and ripped by waves,
Laughing into a gale,
Knowing,
Challenging,
Pushed to the limits,
Accepting and enduring
The dangerous test.
Seeking the rewards,
The fulfilment,
The pride,
The camaraderie,
Companionship,
That comes with such danger,
When men work
As a team.
A test of manhood.
So the Gansey girl
Does what she can.
She knits and waits
Like so many others.
Her face controlled,
Introspective,
Sad and accepting,
Her attitude reflective.
The emotions stored
Waiting to erupt.
Opher 6.1.2019.
I wrote this poem after spending time with the wonderful statue of the Gansey Girl by the brilliant sculptor Steve Carvill.
Sitting serenely on the pier she sees out the boats and welcomes them back in.
She is a reminder of a past age, of the dangers of the sea; a reminder of the present day, where dangers are not all gone; and a warning.
Fishing is a hard life. There has been a heavy cost.
