A Scillonian Prayer:
“We pray thee O Lord, not that wrecks should happen
But if any wrecks should happen
Thou wilt guide them to the Scilly Isles
For the benefit of the poor inhabitants.”
This is a folk song or rather the lyrics of a folk song…or maybe a poem with a chorus. On a visit to the Isles of Scilly, I was walking the perimeter of St Mary’s, the largest island, when I arrived at Porth Hellick beach where I discovered the following story…of a lost ring, a famous admiral washed ashore from a shipwreck and a contrite woman.
The tradition of wrecking, whereby those that find wreckage and cargo washed ashore had the right to claim it
A FINE EMERALD RING
I sent my girl up to St Mary’s church
For to fetch to my bedside the priest.
As knowing I am not long for this world;
With the good Lord I need to seek peace.
Unburden me, Father, give my soul ease.
It’s thirty years I’ve seen pass
Since I did commit a terrible sin
Which I need you to hear me confess.
I have in my keep a detestable prize
An infamous, sought-after thing.
My curse lay inside this old wooden box;
All I own – is an emerald ring.
CHORUS
Green, the colour of his fine emerald ring;
As green as the envy that burned in my eyes.
And why should his like, have that sort of thing;
When for their lack a child of mine dies?
‘Twas on the night of an October storm
God took my two-year-old son.
And me in much need of solace and peace,
Sought the cliffs to find myself some.
The consolation that I so desired
Did seem to be so far from my reach.
As wreckers picked at the washed up remains
Of poor souls found there on Hellick beach.
Now others came running to get what they could;
All but my own were there on the strand.
I climbed over rocks to find my heartsease
And that’s when I saw his outstretched hand.
CHORUS
Green, the colour of his fine emerald ring
As green as the envy that burned in my eyes
And why should his like have that sort of thing
When for their lack a child of mine dies?
So, I reached for that hand and cursed my luck
As his bubbling breath broke through the brine;
For wreckers cannot rob a living man;
But God can take a dear life of mine.
As weak as the babe who I could not feed,
I lay on him in that silent place.
When no struggle came, I motioned his head
So the tide would cover his face.
My conscience wrestled the conflict within;
To sin or suffer in penury?
A far better fight than any from him
To save his life or his jewellery.
CHORUS
Green, the colour of his fine emerald ring;
As green as the envy that burned in my eyes.
And why should his like have that sort of thing,
When for their lack, a child of mine dies?
Broke free of the sea upon Hellick shore
Should I be the one the Lord indicts?
It came up the beach to finish the job
I just helped it claim its wreckers’ rights.
Dear Admiral, I crave your clemency
‘Twas not the sea that left you for dead
But the desperation and poverty
Of a wretched Scillonian maid.
The zealous search to recover this ring
Was a burden throughout my life.
Stuck in a box ’til my dying day;
Give it back to the Admiral’s wife.
CHORUS
Green, the colour of his fine emerald ring
As green as the envy that burned in my eyes
And why should his like have that sort of thing
When for their lack a child of mine dies?
Green, the colour of his fine emerald ring
As green as the envy that burned in my eyes
Why should his like, have that sort of thing
When for their lack a child of mine dies?
lyrics © gray lightfoot
gray lightfoot 