Grace

Grace

On 7 September, 1838, Grace Darling and her father, a lighthouse keeper on the coast of Northumberland, saved the lives of nine survivors from the wrecked steamship, the Forfarshire.  Grace was born exactly 200 years ago on 24 November, 1815.

It’s a rough and stormy night

So draw up close to the fire.

The wind and the rain shake the window pane

And the draught from the door freezes your back

So while the chimney moans with the gale,

Put on another log,

Let the flames climb higher.
That's better.

Now listen.

Off the coast of Northumberland

There shone the Longstone Light,

But in spite of the light that brightly shone

A ship hit the rocks by the islands there

And broke herself in two

In the rain and the gales that blew from the north,  

On a cold September night.

The keeper of the Longstone Light

Turned to his daughter there,

‘My eyes are old and I cannot see

So far into the foam

But can you see a ship out there,

So far away from home?’

‘Father, there’s a ship out there

And she's far too close to shore.

There’s a ship upon the rocks

And she’s split herself in two.’

‘My eyes are old and I cannot see

So far into the foam

But can you see some men out there,

So far away from home?’

‘On the ship there’s not a soul

Not a soul upon the deck,

Nor on the bridge or on the stern.

Not a soul that I can see.’

‘Then search the waves and the rocks beyond.

Search every inch of the sea.

There may be one has reached the rock

And is looking to the land.’

‘Out on the rock beside the ship

There’s nine that I can see

They are on the rock at the end of the bay

And pounded by the sea.

Let’s go now, father, launch the boat,

Let’s go and bring them home.’

And they put on coats and put on scarves,

But scarcely did they talk,

And then they closed the lighthouse door,

As if out for a Sunday walk.

They made for their boat

Lying high up on the shore,

Just the two of them and their little boat,

As they’d often done before.

And not a word did the father say

For there was work to do,

But he thought to himself along the way,

‘It’s more than strength is needed here,

And she’s the only one

Can manage the boat in a sea like this

Can help me bring them home.’

They said not a word but quietly did

The jobs that had to be done.

They pushed the boat across the sand

And took their places on the boards

With an oar in either hand.

And not a word did the father say

For there was work to do.

The gale blew from the north that night

And the rain lashed at their backs,

Wave after wave broke over the boat,

As they rowed far out in the bay,

But he thought to himself in the freezing spray

As he saw her bend to the stroke,

‘Among the rocks in a little boat

Among the rocks and the foam,

This is no place for you.

Though you pull on the oar like the bravest man,

I’ll be glad to see you home.’

And so they rowed out into the gale

Away from the firm, sure land.

They calmly rowed towards the rocks

With their mind on the job in hand.

‘Steady now, Grace, for the rocks we face

Will rip us apart for fun.

Steady the bow and ride the wave

Then down in the trough in that moment of calm

Row for the rock and make her firm.’

They made for the rock and William jumped  

To care for the shivering men,

And Grace kept the boat away from the rocks

Rode the waves away from the rocks

Among the running foam.

She knew that one false pull on the oar

Just one false touch on either side,

And they would never again see home.

‘Just five can we take, just five of you,

But we’ll be back again.’

So they took them in and the boat settled down

Much lower in the sea,

But they rowed her home, they calmly rowed

Till they reached the sandy shore.

Then they turned around and pointed her bow

To the open sea again.

They rowed and gathered the other four,

And glad they were to turn their backs

On the rocks in the raging sea,

And make for land once more.

When all of the nine were safe on the sand

They pulled the boat from the waves.

They pulled her up the windswept beach

To a place that the sea could never reach,

However rough and however wild

Its white waves hammered the shore.

And they made all fast,

And they let her rest

In the lee of a rock on the soft sandy beach,

For they needed her no more.

And then they went up hand in hand

To the house where the light was bright

And the last to go in the little room

With their sodden salt clothes

On their skin that froze

With blisters on their calloused hands

Were Grace and her father, the keeper

Of the Longstone Light.

And the London papers sent their men

To tell the world of the news.

From London in comfort up they came

To look for heroism and fame,

And the man and the girl

Could not understand

Why they were known throughout the land.

And the men in gloves and silk neckties

So polite and elegant in the wind,

Smiled and shook their blistered hands.

And as they walked down to the shore

And stared at the rocks so far away,

They turned and said to the London men,

‘We did our job, no more.’