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!