These were once fine sailing smacks, many a craftsman’s pride and joy. Now they are worthless hulks. They are decaying shadows of a former glory, left to rot on muddy banks of the River Nene. Their history and tales are lost forever, and their stalwart crews lie putrefying in grave’s chasms. Now they are silent, without speech. For them there are no cursing words; no laughter, fears or triumphs; no hard grind, blisters, ice and snow; raw wind or the warm glow of the summer sun, a surging sea and spindrift-blown sails. A bountiful sea harvest is no longer theirs for rejoicing, nor do they have times of want or storm; only calm do they know.
The sun has set, and no one remembers them, save you and me.
Graveyard of Lost Species
Brandy Hole Boat Graveyard and Boat Disposal
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