Hollowell Words

Gloria o'Gloria

On winning the Warwick Trophy
at Northampton Sailing Club (NSC).
It took the scoring committee several
hours to adjunicate protests and scores.

Our sailors at HSC are the elite
And have made poor NSC weep
2012 when it last sat our shelf
All this silver adds to our wealth
For yet again the Warwick Trophy is ours to keep!

'Twas the youth of Hollowell that stole the day,
They only came along to sail and play.
We had the fast, we had the slow,
Waiting for the scores, where will the trophy go?
Alas, its NSC turn to cry in their beer
Hollowell raise an almighty cheer.
We lift the trophy and hear the crowd say,
'The Hollowell team were the best on the day...'

Gloria o'Gloria II

By Mr C. Who found the others teams a bit more 'competitve'.

Slight wee boatie flying spume in the air,
Painful pulling straining mainsheet and mast,
Tired mind addled beyond all thought and care,
Hiking hard till the finish line is passed.

Gloria o'Gloria III

My Reply

Oh pur wee Barney in his Streakie
For the Warwick Trophy he is meekly
Following the rules while others aboot
Take up the water and give him nought
Nay room ta give –it is rightly fraught
Ne’r mind Mr Creaser - but you have forgot
Ta leave the poetry tay the grumpy Scot
Or I’ be right over and punch yer throat!

Sunday's Race Report

To A Hollowell Mouse

Oh little mice besides Loch Hollowell,
Don't you go to the great big bell,
When you are hungry and starvation lean,
Please stay away from the GP fourteen.

Yes, its big enough to keep your families fed,
Yes, small razored pieces make a comfy bed,
But, forbidden fruits that hang nice and low,
Too much powdered doses make your legs run slow.

Unless you want to go to mousey hell,
Eat the Toppers and Aero's, but not the Bell.
Where ghostly, prowling felines wail and moan,
Please just leave my GP alone.

The Hollowell moose’ is a social creature
And that is not just it’s most attractive feature.
They don’t understand. Why just one in a boat?
See the sad and lonely singles as they float.

To be socialable you must have two
One on the tiller another as crew
‘I wanna’ be alone’ is the singles cry.
‘We’re having a party!’ the doubles reply.

So please little mices go eat Solos and Streaker
And gobble up Lasers by the meter.
The Phantom as well, it should go.
The Splash and Comet will make you grow.

But rodent dear…do avoid the big Dart.
Get the wrong wind and you will... (be disqualified).
Toppers and Opi’s make their sails holy.
Leave me to party and eat just the lonely!

To The Great White Shark

At Hollowell the mice's play,
Amongst the rotting boats all day.
But they hid away when it's dark,
Because of the Great White Shark.

"The Great White Shark?" I hear you cry,
"There's no such thing, it's all a lie",
But it's an easy thing to prove,
Look at all the boats that never move.

Once 'pon a time they were a joy,
With fathers sailing with their boy,
Or husbands sailing with the wife,
In their boat called 'Trouble & Strife'.

Where are they now, they've disappeared,
You know, that fellow with the beard,
The nice couple with the nasty brats,
That gentleman who wore strange hats.

Their boats left rotting in our dinghy park,
But their souls are taken by the great white shark.
(though their direct debits we still take),
Perhaps, they are at the bottom of the lake?

Close both your eyes, picture the scene,
A summers evening, serene,
A stroll along the muddy beach,
But at the waters edge, you're just in reach.

A shadow lurking by a powerboat shed,
Is tempted by your loitering tread,
A wave, a splash, a silent scream,
Then one less member for the Warwick team.

At Hollowell the mices play,
Amongst the rotting boats all day.
But they are hidden when it's dark,
Because they're scared of the Great White Shark.

Passed Glory

Above the beach, hidden in the trees,
Well beyond the reservoirs' reach,
Lies hopes and dreams of days gone passed.
Shades of green match the mould of decay
As the she slowly goes natures way.

Lying barely covered on the grass,
Old club labels give glory to her past.
Her ending is soon and without ceremony.
Your once pride and joy is a distant memory

The road to hell is paved with good intentions
Spurned by you - she now never gets a mention
No one now hears her cries of despair
As decay slowly eats her heart away.

A Winters Day In The Park (By Mr C.)

The distant midnight bell of Brixworth church,
Echoes across the water dark and still.
The frost is whitely settling on the grass,
The cattle distant shapes upon the hill
beyond the far shore of the reservoir.

The trees stand bleak and dark bereft of leaves,
That fell before in autumn's windy days,
The moon stands clearly in the starry sky,
And luminates the gentle misty haze
that sits above the water black and cold.

The rows of boats stand dimly in the field,
The living ones are closer to the shore,
Whilst further up the slope in longer grass,
The dead and dying that are sailed no more,
returning to the earth from whence they came.

Whilst in the dead still night there is no wind,
Yet hear the tapping halyard in the dark,
The quiet rustling of the ghosts of leaves,
That fell in seasons past upon the park
with earthy memories of the summer breeze.

The chill and silent peace of winters night
Reveals the almost soundless creaks and cracks,
As shrouds and forestays turn to rods of iron,
And water sodden freezing wood contracts,
And splits the peeling varnish from the grain.

When winter wanes and passes into spring,
And winds and rain and frost are northwards bound,
And leaf buds blossom greenly on the trees,
The rotting keels sink further to the ground,
And new life grows to hide the paupers graves.

The Plague (2020)

Wee slimy creepy virus we dinna keen a much abot ye.
Yer size is tiny, and yer spreading power
is absolutely.
The chaos you caused is quite intense.
Ma’ Series wins you have put in suspense.
2020 wid been better withoot ye!

Boris says you must stay at hame.
Spread the bug and you’ll get
the blame.
You must obey the law of the land.
So, the sailing up til’ now has been a wee bit bland.

The Summer Series I was surely going to win.
But locked in my hoose, I am ready fer the loony bin.
Ma’ social life you have destroyed.
Six months with Mrs E has made me paranoid.
I’ve had the whisky and headin’ for the gin!.


But ner’ mind the Club Champs are on their way.
Just before the evenings get dark and grey.
We dinna ken what will happen,
But a good bla’ is expected and sails will be a flappin’.
And if ya’ all stay away - that I’ll just make ma’ day!

I Am a Lockdown Sailor......

I am a lockdown sailor.
So far from the sea but I’ll still sing.
For it’s a long time since first lockdown.
So, a wee shanty is just the thing.
I am ready with Hollowell T’shirt and my new boat sticker.
But has my sailing kit shrunk, or have I got bigger?

Yo Ho Ho and a bottle of beer - Hollowell sailing is nearly here.
Yo, Ho, Ho, and a bottle of beer. - I bet its price will go up this year.

I’ve just polished my bottom.
My scuppers are nice and clean.
My foils (AC75) are in fine fettle.
Whatever all that may mean.
My technique I have perfected.
On the computer non-stop
See that mouse in the boat.
Well, it’s in for a shock!

Yo, Ho, Ho, and a bottle of beer – you’ll be sitting outside the rest of the year!
Yo, Ho, Ho, and a bottle of beer – no galley, so its sandwiches for you, I fear.

I have booked all my duties,
And paid all my boat fees.
I’ve been jabbed and stabbed,
Sterilized and cleaned.
Hoovered, polished and quarantined.
Just waiting now on Boris to give us the ‘all clear’.
But all he needs to do first, is to comb his hair!

Yo, Ho, Ho, and a bottle of rum – Why have I got a lockdown bum?
Yo, Ho, Ho, and a bottle of rum – Hollowell sailing here I come.

If I hear again. “Next slide, please. I’ll have a fit.
And our Commodore he has this plea.
Alas, poor soul, its about that number six.
Outside your bubble you cannot mix.
He needs five more for with him to sit!

Yo Ho, Ho, and a bottle of beer – we might see the Commodore sailing this year!
Yo Ho, Ho, and a bottle of beer – we might not see the Commodore sailing this year!

If You Can Keep on Sailing.......

If you can keep your head when all about you,
are losing theirs at the windward mark.
If you can laugh at yourself when for 10th time,
you right your boat and carry on.

If you can improve your sailing by trying and trying,
You will deserve admiration my son.
If on a wet cold day still have some fun.
Then for us, you are the one.

If you can keep your head when all about you,
are losing theirs at the windward mark.
If you can laugh at yourself when for 10th time,
you right your boat and carry on.

If you can improve your sailing by trying and trying,
You will deserve admiration my son.
If on a wet cold day still have some fun.
Then for us, you are the one.

If you can deal with new kit—and not make new kit your master.
And find in the end it’s just taking part that matters.
If the course is for asymmetirics and not for you.
And you laugh and know your turn will come.

Then welcome to Hollowell my son, welcome.

If you can hit the mark and do your turns,
without looking to see who saw you first,
then well-done sailor well done.
If at the end of the race the scores are wrong,
and you shrug your shoulders and carry on.

Then you are with us, my son you are one of us.

If on the start line you get pushed aside
and you do not let it hurt your pride,
If a north winds blows with great force
And you take all day to get around the course.

If you can meet with others and have a laugh.
And not let the rules be your bible.
Then come with us, come with us.
If you get home having lost the race
Make sure at least it’s with good grace.

You are at Hollowell my boy, welcome home.

BUT if you see a grumpy old git in an old GP,
coming up behind you
Let him through me boy, let him through