Voyage of Pearl of the Seas

By Ruth Finnegan

An award-winning unput-downable tale of two children building a boat from a log they find buried in the sand and sailing off to far-off fantastic lands in a stormy sea-driven adventure with their faithful - but accident-prone - dog Holly. There they learn much wisdom from a king who, like God, has many names'. After an incredible sacrifice o

• Language: English
• Publisher: Balestier Press
• Release date: Jan 1, 2018
• ISBN: 9781911221340

Ruth Finnegan

Ruth Finnegan is a visiting research professor and emeritus professor in the faculty of social sciences at the Open University in the U.K. Finnegan's work Finnegan's work touches on controversial issues about the nature of popular culture, the anthropology and sociology of music, and the quality of people's pathways in modern urban life. Her books include, The Hidden Musicians: Music-Making in an English Town, Communicating: The Multiple Modes of Human Interconnection, Tales of the City: A Study of Narrative and Urban Life, South Pacific Oral Traditions (edited with Margaret Orbell); and Oral Poetry: Its Nature, Significance, and Social Context.

Book preview

1

Seashore and dog

‘COME ON KATE,’ SHOUTED CHRIS, and whistled to Holly who was busily sniffing round the shells and beetles in the rocks at the edge of the shore, ‘let’s paddle’,

‘Okay. Hurry up then slowcoach,’ Kate yelled back as she watched Chris slowly rolling up his battered tattered fading jeans.

‘All right for you,’ he grumbled, ‘just a short skirt’.

But anyway he followed Kate into the wavelets at the water’s edge, Holly in front of them both and under all their legs (how do dogs do it, even the littlest ones?). How Holly could run too—when the mood took her! (she was a very clever little dog. And obedient too. Always. Except when—oh just except when she wasn’t, you know what I mean).

‘Holly even easier,’ retorted Kate.

So they all three splashed gleefully in the sea, Holly leaping high as the skies, the heavens, the heaping upon heaping heaps, leaping heaping sweeping, and higher still in gleeful flightful lightsome delighting delight. Barking, sparking, larking.

‘Magic, isn’t she,’ whispered Kate.

Kate splashed Chris even bigger than she’d meant, then ran off giggling as the splash lashed dashed bashed him. Hard. So he pretended to chase her up the shore.

Next they decided to build a rampart against the sea. They knew all right that the springtime tide would top it, but that was all part of the fun. Chris did the heavy work. Of course. Kate, queen of the castle, sat on top of her ramparts and watched approvingly – yes she was the queen, of course - and the dirty rascal Chris (except he wasn’t) stretched his full length on the sand (‘Gosh he’s grown,’ thought Kate). Surely his length, strength, width, wiseness would keep off the waves?

Well, you know ... So did Kate, really. Up came a big wave and ... (we don’t need to tell you do we).

Chris tried not to be cross—he’d been told off about that before. (Well alright, he wasn’t perfect, heroes seldom are. But nor was Kate, really. Just not in the same way as him (and just wait till we get to the counting bit)). All Chris could do was wring the water out of his shirt. Try to. Kate tried to hide her smile (all right for girlies, tight tee shirts, innit?).

‘Race you!’ shouted Chris. And off he set up the shore before Kate could even get started (cheat!)

Not fair!

Yes, but look! He turned round, stopped suddenly at a halt, FULL STOP! holding his side and gasping like a— well whatever people gasp like when they’re pretending ...

‘Oh, what a stitch,’ he gasped in pain (well ...).

So Kate won and leapt up and down in delight, Holly helping, yelping, yapping, hurray, soaking them both! Kate knew, really, but still ... Nice for a girl to win for once!

2

‘Pearl of the Sea’ and bad-hat counting

‘KATE KATE.’ CHRIS’S EXCITED SHOUT rang across the shore, even louder than the winding wind, the whistling breeze, the flustering fluttering wavelets., ‘Quick quick, come quick’.

But Kate was deep in a fairytale novel full of dreams and did not want to be disturbed. And even when she wasn’t reading, her secret vi- —well reading wasn’t really a ‘vice’ was it whatever her mum said? More like a ‘voice’. (Oh there you go again Katey Kate, voices and vices and wises and songses, and three-sonicked word-fullnesses sound-ringing in her head—we’ll just have to get used to it, you, so just—well, manage!)—well when she wasn’t reading it was good just to sit silent on the shore, scooping sand grains in her hands, falling them through her fingers, grain by grain, counted, countless. Or feeling the clouds and the moon, numbering the stars …

Numbering? No! She had never been able to cope with numbers.

Yes you got it right. She’d never been any use with that. Not! That was the stuff she’d had to put up with at school before they were let out to play.

Yes she’d learnt her times-tables and grammar and maps of the world (if only … ) and pound shillings pence (those were the bad old days, you know before thy had proper money. The magic days). And today—oh!!

‘Now class, multiply 3679 by 107, add 13, think a bit, then take away 13, what have you got Kate?’

But Kate had forgotten to take away the 13, she’d added it all right but then … oh horrible number. And they were all laughing at her! Ohh!

At least Chris wouldn’t laugh so she’d better pay him some attention.

‘Mmm? Oh it’s you Chris. Well not now ... I’m reading. Lovely words ...’

That reminded her … (off goes her mind again. Wool-gathering (wool, pull, fool, full gathering-ing … ). Yes, that was Kate for you!).

She’d been in school trouble t’other day all right. Scratched on the loo wall. Again.

If you sprinkle

As you tinkle

Be a sweetie

Wipe the seatie.

Well, it was good advice, wasn’t it? But no thanks did she get. Lines ! ‘And this shall be your text: I must not, must not never write four lines of dirty ditties on toilet walls when one, one will do. I must shun from all long verses, prose (prose!) must be lean and mean, I MUST NOT! .’

Kate tried, she really did, and missed supper (‘lean’ indeed) to do