Photo by Roisin from BBC Radio Guernsey for BBC website promoting an interview with TB broadcast 01 09 03 | ||||||
THE GREY LADY In daylight, as in this picture (left by Eileen Mignot), this stone looks like, well - a stone. But as the sun sets over the Casquets, the light strikes sideways to reveal the faint trace of a sad face on the seaward side. And with the evening mist rising from the sea, from a distance, this becomes a lonely, ghostly figure, staring forever south... Mother and father were farmers, down in the Picaterre With ten hungry mouths and the taxes, there was never a penny to spare And the youngest of all was a slip of a girl, with skin like the sheen on a shell Trusting and true, she bloomed as she grew and when they named her Faith, They named her well
One day she was down on the shoreline, petticoats tucked high out of reach Turning the rocks for the ormers*, she wanders far out from the beach And Raulin he's seen as the tide's rushed between, and fearless he's plunged in the swell And her heart fairly raced as she clung to his waist and when they named her Faith, They named her well
That night they lay in the Bonneterre, with the braken and furze overhead And soon she was telling her Father, that Raulin and she must be wed But he's promised her hand to a much older man, with land that will fit his so well She lowers her eyes, though she's wanted to die and when they named her Faith, They named her well
But Oh! The union was cursed from thge outset Oh! He was selfish and brutish and strange And Raulin he watched from a distance Rage like a drug in his veins One night he can stand it no more He's burst like a wind through the door A rock from the beach in his fist And there's a puddle of blood on the floor Raulin, Raulin - how we have sinned! You'll hang the nets the wind
But Raulin's a man of resources, there's a ship in the harbour at Braye He can swim for her anchor and safety, some place they call Botany Bay And he's stood on the sand and just kissed her hand saying always keep watch for my sail Care for our son, and I will return and when they named her Faith, They named her well
As dawn comes again to the island, she's standing so still on the cliff His sail on the southern horizon, her very soul frozen with grief And under her shawl the baby so cold, she feels she is under some spell Lost and alone is she turning to stone? and when they named her Faith, They named her well
* Ormers are a Channel Island delicacy, members of the abalone family - like a big ear-shaped limpet! | ||