Wednesday, July 29, 2015


Faster than Swift Nick he flew,
king of smugglers John Andrew.
From the hamlet of old Saltburn sped
(Dick Turpin's Black Bess can be read
as a romantic-novel, a fictional-piece).
Coastguards fired at he and beast.
Like lightning galloped his horse
only the moon to light their course.
In a far-off tavern he'd appear.
A lady alibi said "Sure, he was here."
Nobody would believe John could ride
so fast from old Saltburn's seaside
and arrive there at the stated hour
he was seen. No horse had the power.
John was therefore not the man
they thought king of the smuggler-gang.
But his luck was not to last
and into York Castle Prison he was cast.
Some say a nighttime lightning flash
reveals John's ghost in a mad dash.
Others say when the moon's up high
you'll see him ride with his lady alibi
on his way back to old Saltburn gone.
The lovers in the saddle forever one.

I'm told that he never grew
to maturity
just flew and flew and flew
to his destiny
with the grave; joined Death.
Will he now for ever rest?

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