Back in the day, the keepers kept
Their Lighthouse Kitchen clean and swept,
All spick and span and full of cheer
They cooked their food and ate it here.
While wicked winds raged round outside,
And ocean waves swelled with the tide,
The men inside made tasty meals
Peeling spuds and buttering ‘heels’
Of fresh baked bread; stirred sumptuous stews
And kept everything on hand, to use
In all these culinary delights
That passed the time on duty nights.
Between the windings of the winch
They’d flavour soups with just a pinch
Of this or that kept in the cupboards,
Never empty like Mrs Hubbard’s.
The cupboards had a lot of shelves
Divided, by the men themselves,
Into cubbies for ready stocks
Of whatever they fancied from their tucker box.
The cupboards and the dresser too,
Filled with stripey china, blue,
Were central to the Keepers’ lives
Who lived alone, without their wives.
Those three strong men – so often busy
Up the tower, at heights made dizzy,
By surging surf and stinging storm –
They loved their kitchen, snug and warm.
They welcomed guests and made them tea
From a Kettle boiling merrily.
The stove fire lit, with a pie in the oven
The keepers thought they were in heaven.
No-one thought they’d soon be gone
The lighthouse left alone, forlorn.
The cupboards empty, oven cold,
Walls and surfaces specked with mould.
And then with no-one left to care
The place was stripped and soon left bare.
But Lighthouse life and story leapt
Into my heart and so I kept
The cupboards and the dresser too
A chair, a table, a bed, not new,
But full of history, not lost,
Worth so much more than what they cost.
I use them every single day
They’re in my work, my rest and play.
They’re part of home, they make me smile.
I love them for their soul and style.