I wrote this one after a walking holiday in Dorset hosted by Jay and Jon from the folk group Ninebarrow. Poole harbour was used as practice for the D-Day landings. It's quite rare for me to write a ballad these days, but it felt right.
The Purbeck Boy
In the mellow cloak of summer
I played on dappled lanes
and climbed up to the Ridgeway
and dreamed of roaring Mains
where I would sail a mighty ship
in pirate days of old
with sword and musket I would search
for silver and for gold.
Though I was just a boy back then
and now I am a man
my heart still drums to Purbeck's beat;
my blood flows through this land.
The Dartford Warbler in the furze,
the adder on the trail;
Old Harry's white and battered sides,
the ruin on the hill
will never fail to comfort me
and harden in my core;
fight all the darkness in my mind
as we prepare for war.
I grip my gun in shaking hands
as we set out to sea
no Spanish Main, no treasure, just
the coast of Normandy.
I pray to God with all my strength
as we splash on the shore
that I may roam the verdant fields
and Purbeck's hills once more.
On Juno Hell has risen up
and Gold turns slowly red
where bullets fly and meet with flesh
and waves comfort the dead.
So far from there the Warbler sings;
the sun lights up the lanes
and seabirds nest on ancient cliffs
til I return again.
Tim Fellows June 2021
