Temerarious
Sunday Wee Hours. Too Early To Be Religious. Maybe Later
Never heard of it! Recently a friend subscribed me to A Word A Day from Wordsmith, my kind of outside the box preference for the peculiar. Unusual cars, can’t stand to drive a car like yours or theirs. New and different words, odd hobbies, peculiar food. Favorite breakfast, six oysters on a slice of whole wheat bread, baked in the toaster oven. Favorite pizza, thin crust, mushrooms, double anchovies and a side glop of Hellmann’s. Favorite breakfast cafe, buffet line top deck of the Disney Wonder. Favorite meat, lamb. Fried mullet. Steamed okra. Collards. Favorite music, Anglican Chant.
Great words last week, temerarious best ever. Tracking the comments led to a poem and a painting that returned to mind days at sea, especially on a destroyer where now and then my assignment was in a 5”/38 gun mount during training exercises -- which VA determined entitled me to free hearing aids in later life.
But the poem
The Fighting Téméraire
It was eight bells ringing,
For the morning watch was done,
And the gunner's lads were singing
As they polished every gun.
It was eight bells ringing,
And the gunner's lads were singing,
For the ship she rode a-swinging,
As they polished every gun.
Oh! to see the linstock lighting,
Téméraire! Téméraire!
Oh! to hear the round shot biting,
Téméraire! Téméraire!
Oh! to see the linstock lighting,
And to hear the round shot biting,
For we're all in love with fighting
On the fighting Téméraire.
It was noontide ringing,
And the battle just begun,
When the ship her way was winging,
As they loaded every gun.
It was noontide ringing,
When the ship her way was winging,
And the gunner's lads were singing
As they loaded every gun.
There'll be many grim and gory,
Téméraire! Téméraire!
There'll be few to tell the story,
Téméraire! Téméraire!
There'll be many grim and gory,
There'll be few to tell the story,
But we'll all be one in glory
With the Fighting Téméraire.
There's a far bell ringing
At the setting of the sun,
And a phantom voice is singing
Of the great days done.
There's a far bell ringing,
And a phantom voice is singing
Of renown for ever clinging
To the great days done.
Now the sunset breezes shiver,
Téméraire! Téméraire!
And she's fading down the river,
Téméraire! Téméraire!
Now the sunset's breezes shiver,
And she's fading down the river,
But in England's song for ever
She's the Fighting Téméraire.
For the morning watch was done,
And the gunner's lads were singing
As they polished every gun.
It was eight bells ringing,
And the gunner's lads were singing,
For the ship she rode a-swinging,
As they polished every gun.
Oh! to see the linstock lighting,
Téméraire! Téméraire!
Oh! to hear the round shot biting,
Téméraire! Téméraire!
Oh! to see the linstock lighting,
And to hear the round shot biting,
For we're all in love with fighting
On the fighting Téméraire.
It was noontide ringing,
And the battle just begun,
When the ship her way was winging,
As they loaded every gun.
It was noontide ringing,
When the ship her way was winging,
And the gunner's lads were singing
As they loaded every gun.
There'll be many grim and gory,
Téméraire! Téméraire!
There'll be few to tell the story,
Téméraire! Téméraire!
There'll be many grim and gory,
There'll be few to tell the story,
But we'll all be one in glory
With the Fighting Téméraire.
There's a far bell ringing
At the setting of the sun,
And a phantom voice is singing
Of the great days done.
There's a far bell ringing,
And a phantom voice is singing
Of renown for ever clinging
To the great days done.
Now the sunset breezes shiver,
Téméraire! Téméraire!
And she's fading down the river,
Téméraire! Téméraire!
Now the sunset's breezes shiver,
And she's fading down the river,
But in England's song for ever
She's the Fighting Téméraire.
Sir Henry Newbolt
Yes, we’re all in love with fighting, aren’t we, nothing changes. Which is why only grandmothers should be heads of state.
But ah, the piece de resistance
The Fighting Temeraire tugged to her last berth to be broken up is an oil painting, 1839, by English artist J. M. W. Turner that depicts a 98-gun ship of the line which was distinguished at the Battle of Trafalgar, 1805, HMS Temeraire being towed toward final berth in Rotherhithe to be broken up for scrap. National Gallery, London. (tks, Wikipedia)
TW in +Time