Watch the reading of The Soul of the Sea

Part 1 or 5




Part 2 of 5




Part 3 of 5




Part 4 of 5




Part 5 of 5

The Eye of the Storm (Part Eight)

I really like the composition of this image, which reminds me of the frozen chaos of Japanese wave paintings. Here, the curve of the waves on either side has a telescoping effect on the tiny figure at the centre of the maelstrom. Unperturbed, he wields his axe within the yellow halo. Massive part of the ballad too, this one, which details Gilliat's battle with the elements - it's as if the sea, seeing that the Frenchman has salvaged the engines, marshals all her forces to try to reclaim them... along with his soul. In peril, then, on this suitably blustery Sunday: enjoy.

PART VIII: The Eye of the Storm

His senses he scarcely dared believe –
The engines lay aboard!
He readied sail to head for home
And claim his love’s reward.

But looking up, he spied the trick
The sea had played with tide:
The hull still held the funnel’s top
As prisoner inside.

Toward the dawn, the strangest sight –
A light from ocean came…
As if it drew its fuel from night
The sea was filled with flames!

Nor furnace red, nor purple edged,
The flames were pale as ghosts:
Of souls sealed deep in ocean’s tomb
They rose to dance and boast.

The Frenchman knew to heed these signs
For he was weather-wise:
He saw a storm’s arrival which
Calm dawn could not disguise.

So straight to raid his stores of wood –
To anchors he leapt not,
And set to fashion sea defences,
His plans to leave forgot.

With planks and joists, then nails and chains
He hoist his last ramparts
Though afternoon yet lent no hint
Of storm about to start.

The ocean’s green was emerald,
The sky was cast sapphire,
The sun did glint a thousand stars:
The sea, that doe-eyed liar!

A line of birds arrowed for land
As west the cloud appeared,
And next the sky from blue to grey
A shadowy mountain reared.

The sun eclipsed, enfolded in
Its gloomy, slow embrace,
From earth to sky the granite cliff
Encircled him in space.

The wall of cloud a ceiling formed
Then crash! The thunder clapped:
And all the fury of the sea
Around Les Douvres wrapped.

Flashes of lightning, splashes of rain –
Then came the wind and waves,
In voice like hordes of chainless beasts
That roared and shrieked and raved.

Hour after hour, blow upon blow
The foam flew higher and higher,
Volleys exploding on the rocks
As loud as musket fire!

Inside his fortress fought the knight
And bold the siege defied:
His hammer strikes repairing breaks
Each thunder clap replied.

A sudden brightness breached the sky
As if the storm had ceased;
The window closed as swell uprose
And rolled in from the east…

Gigantic pillars on their sides,
Huge cylinders of glass –
They shattered over each defence
As one by one they passed.

Within the last, the shape of fins –
It seemed a living thing!
Its monstrous death upon the rocks
Away his beams did fling.

The waters seethed between the rocks –
His castle wall was down!
They sought the stronghold of the sloop,
And engines for their crown…

Above a blaze of lightning showed
Disaster was at hand:
Durande was also breaking up
And on the sloop would land.

Its mass was swinging on a hinge
With sad and grinding noise –
One half would fall safe, the other
Over his boat was poised.

The waters seethed, the hinges creaked,
His hour was almost run –
At last he grasped the means to meet
His enemies as one!

A danger is a power to some –
He mounted on the wreck,
And balanced by his axe began
To cut away the deck.

The planks were bent like leaves of books –
Beneath his feet they shook;
His strokes were notes of proud defiance
For the life he had forsook.

A furious eye upon him flexed
But hurled its lightning blind;
Its winds it whirled like ropes round night:
The storm had lost its mind.

His axe in air, the Frenchman paused –
One half about to fall –
It fell, and caught between the rocks
To form another wall.

And now the sea could only rage
Against its passage blocked,
For sloop and engine both secured
And safe inside were locked.

Its final vengeance on the wreck
Had made the storm his tool:
So turning to his vanquished foe,
He cried full-throat: “You fool!”

From blackest night to dawning light
His battle cry was heard,
For from the gloom there dashed a shape –
He blinked to glimpse a bird!

The only sound a surly growl
As rain stopped all around:
The storm had ceased as sudden as
A plank that fell to ground.

His victory quick gripped his limbs,
Fatigue pulsed through and through –
Then tumbling in his sloop, he slept,
As above the seagulls flew.

“The greater the trial,” said the priest,
“The more cause to rejoice…”
“Then follow deep to where the fiend
Did dwell,” replied the voice.

Exhibition Open

The exhibition is officially open today, after a really enjoyable private view last night.

Inside the gallery there are original watercolours, prints of 15 images, copies of the ballad and a film - so lots to keep any visitor busy!

A few of the orginals have been sold, but prints of all the images are still available...

Meanwhile, we are now seeking sponsorship to help us combine the ballad and illustrations together in a book: spread the word!

A Bed among the Birds (Part Six)

PART VI: A Bed among the Birds

The Frenchman turned his thoughts toward
His shelter and his mooring,
For though the wind was breathing soft
Soon it could be roaring.

He gazed along the chain of rocks,
Les Douvres to the ‘Man’:
The Man stood like a citadel –
Its size gave him his plan.

Beneath that hulk of granite hewn
There stretched a sort of creek;
He steered his sloop inside its gate
His harbour there to seek.

His sloop safe moored, the sun had soared,
The tide was now full low;
Gazing from the Man to Douvres
His fears began to grow.

Between the two, the smaller rocks
Did form a corridor
Divided by the surf and squall
As sharp as tooth and claw.

No time to lose, he could not choose
His place to lay his head:
If he must labour day and night,
Les Douvres must be his bed.

He packed his sack upon his back
And hopped from rock to rock;
Arriving there, he climbed to reach
The steamer’s grisly dock.

The hull was split, the planks all ripped,
Each gust a tremor sent –
But paddles, chain and engine whole,
The funnel not even bent!

The sea had kept the ship alive
As might a cat a mouse;
Below it washed across red rocks
Like blood in a slaughterhouse.

He could not sleep aboard Durande
For fear that she would plummet:
His home must be the plateau on
The greater Douvre’s summit.

Its glossy sides too smooth to scale
And slippery as soap,
He thrust his hopes on the trusty
Sling and grasp of his rope.

His rope he threw, the aim was true –
Up flew the grappling hook:
Two times it scratched and slipped, the third –
It latched inside a nook.

Hand over hand he hauled himself
Atop the precipice
As far below the foam did seethe
At the foot of the abyss.

A bed once found inside a niche,
His problems both were solved;
He lay awake and watched above –
The darkening sky revolved!

The circling birds returning whirled
A halo thick as night;
Denied their nests upon the peak
To the Man they did alight.

The squawking chorus there denounced
The impostor on their rock:
In weeks to come, each conference
His task would seem to mock.

------------------------------------------

The adventure continues as Gilliat finds a bed among the birds atop the Greater Douvre. One of my favourite illustrations of the lot, this one...

The Vanishing Captain (Part Five)

PART V: The Vanishing Captain

His good deed done, by set of sun
The Frenchman was back at sea,
Tacking toward Les Douvres rocks
To answer Lethierry’s plea.

At dawn against the horizon
A majestic ‘H’ did rise:
The pillars held Durande aloft
As if boasting of their prize.

In breaking light, the sloop drew close
Beneath the pillars’ height –
The rocks were wet as wrestlers who
Still sweated from a fight.

Those sides that rose so dark and steep
Now gleamed like moonlit armour:
How could he bring the engine down
Yet manage not to harm her?

And where had Captain Clubin gone,
The skipper of Durande,
Who refused to leave the steamer
Till he brought her back to land?

The crew and all aboard Durande
To lifeboat he had banished,
But left alone upon those rocks
By morning he had vanished.

None yet suspected the skipper
Had been seduced by sin –
None knew he’d cast aside virtue
As snakes do shed their skin…

-----------------------------------

A really dramatic illustration for this descriptive section in which the reader discovers the scale of the task facing Gilliat; meanwhile, the mystery surrounding Durande's captain deepens... more tomorrow!

Interview in the Press

Charlie is interviewed about her artwork in the Press today ahead of the exhibition's opening this Friday night. See p.16 of your Press for more!

The Horn of the Beast (Part Four)

PART IV: The Horn of the Beast

No sooner did he hear these words,
Gilliat away did turn
To fit his sloop and set his sails,
His lady’s love to earn.

He set his course along Les Banques
And through the rocks steered true;
At Kidormur aghast he saw
A man admired the view!

For there the waves had worn some steps
Up to a polished seat –
But not for little was that throne
Known as ‘the Horn of the Beast’.

The breakers there burst like banshees
Upon the water’s rise:
At times the ocean is as fatal
As a woman’s eyes.

He waved, he wailed, then close he sailed
As up the tide did creep,
And at the rock his fears confirmed:
The man was fast asleep!

He took the stranger’s foot then shook
And woke him with the shock,
“Now climb aboard,” cried Gilliat,
“Or perish on this rock!”

Aboard the sloop, the black-clad man
Explained he was a priest
But new arrived, who had not known
The dangers of ‘the Beast’.

At dock he said, “You saved my life!”
Handing over a bible;
They bid farewell not in the least
Suspecting they were rivals.

-------------------------------------

The plot thickens! With the introduction of a new character in the shape of a priest, Hugo's tale takes another twist here. Likewise, with its silhouette and shadows, Charlie's illustration has a wonderful sense of mystery about it...

The Princess and the Dragon (Part Three)

PART III: The Princess and the Dragon

Four years flew as the young girl grew
And bloomed just like a flower,
And with each year that fluttered past
His heart more in her power.

He spent his days with fishing nets
Upon the brimming sea;
By night he crept across her lawn
To play pipes beneath a tree.

Alone at sea he dreamed of her
Then watched her in her bower;
Day after day, night after night
His heart more in her power.

She seemed sunrise in human form,
Her coming shed a light,
And should she but choose to smile – why!
His joy was at its height.

Her uncle scarce could let her go,
His garden’s prettiest flower:
Lethierry kept her safe at home,
The princess in his tower.

But he had won his fame at sea
And felt at home with fish;
In town at pains, on deck at ease,
The breeze still made him wish.

And so he launched a ship of steam
Which made him rich on land:
His second niece to Deruchette,
He named the boat Durande!

But steam was sin to island folk,
A beast of omen dire –
They saw a volcano belching smoke,
A dragon breathing fire…

So when one day that ship of steam
Was lost in fog and mist,
They said it brought the wrath of God
That such a thing exist.

“To speak of steam means long ago –
How links this with your crime?”
So spoke the priest, but thus the voice,
“All will be clear in time.”

News arrived that most had survived
Saved by a passing ship:
The pillars of Les Douvres held
The steamer in their grip.

The crowds soon ran to Lethierry
To tell him of his boat,
Which trapped between the Douvres
Only Heaven underwrote.

He heard how waves had thrown the boat,
Then came the strangest fact:
Though twenty feet above the sea,
The engines were intact!

No sailor spoke of salvage –
It would only leave two wrecks:
No ship could anchor off those rocks,
No crew would risk their necks.

Beside the uncle sat his niece –
Then, taking hold his hand,
Said she: “I’d gladly marry he
Who could bring back Durande.”

At this, Lethierry leaped and shrieked:
“The engine still has life!
Save the machine which made the steam –
My niece shall be your wife!”

--------------------------------------------

'The game is afoot!' as Holmes might say... this part really sets the plot of Hugo's tale in motion. This is also one of my favourite illustrations from the exhibition: I think the cool colours really capture the mood of the harbour in winter. More images and verses every couple of days from now until the opening: stay tuned!

Extra Invites

For those of you who received a flier at the Victor Hugo music festival last night, simply email speak@soulofthesea.co.uk with your name and any extra guests and we will add you to the list for the opening night... look forward to seeing you!

In the meantime, more verses and illustrations coming tomorrow (Saturday). Stay posted!

The Devil's Henchman (Part Two)

PART II: The Devil’s Henchman

They said his mother came from France –
They said she fled the blade –
They saw she brought a baby son:
Of him they were afraid!

She reared him in a haunted house
Among empires of spiders,
But anything that she did need
The Lord did there provide her.

They said the boy was Satan’s son
And his mother Satan’s bride,
Though she raised a fine young man
Till death took her from his side.

She left her son a trunk which had
Inside a wedding dress
To be a gift from her above
His chosen wife to bless.

The girls all said they hated him
Though they thought him handsome –
He stood as proud as any mast
As ever graced St Sampson’s!

But till that morn with Deruchette
He had not sought a bride:
His first love was his fishing sloop,
The buoys of the ocean wide...

He knew the Creux, the Alligande,
The Tremies and Sardrette,
The oval Anfre, triple Rousse
And white ball of Corbette!

They said that he had sold his soul
To sail that sloop so well,
And all the fish he hauled aboard
Had swum straight up from hell.

They said his skill with wind and tide
Made him the devil’s henchman:
No pilot like him island-wide
And worse – he was a Frenchman!

-------------------------------------

This is the second part, following on from The Word in the Snow: here, we discover the islanders' distrust of Gilliat due to his mother's arrival from France after the Revolution. Charlie's illustration perfectly captures the whispering gossips of St Sampson's... and special thanks must go to our rugged model for Gilliat, Ed Bois! More coming in the next couple of days...

The Word in the Snow (Part One)

PART I: The Word in the Snow

This all began one Christmas morn
When snow lay on the ground:
The island like an empty page,
The bells the only sound.

Behind a maid, a fisher came
As through the snow she led;
From time to time she twisted round
Or blithely turned her head…

So bending at her slender waist
A word in snow she wrote –
Then with a glance and flick of hair,
Away the maid did float.

The fisher trudged in heavy boots,
Each print a dungeon lock;
And when he stumbled on the word,
His legs were clamped with shock.

There gazing on those strokes in white,
His heart was set aflame:
The word he read a message sent –
The letters spelled his name.

From then, the fisher Gilliat
Did dream of Deruchette:
His name there writ upon the snow
He never would forget.

But by the spring the butterfly
Had fluttered back to play:
The winter snows seemed long ago,
His name melted away.

-----------------------------------

As promised, a preview of the first of Charlie's illustrations! This is the first section in the ballad after the Prologue, describing how the fisherman Gilliat fell in love with the beautiful maid Deruchette. Stay tuned for more previews of the illustrations and the ballad in the coming days...

The Prologue

PROLOGUE

The priest in his confession box
Was all alone that night
When the footsteps on the flagstones
Fell loud as hammer strikes.

They pounded through the open nave
Until they reached the door;
Those steps echoed inside the box
And shook it to its core.

The priest was all alone that night
As slowly he slid the screen,
Revealing through the grille a shape
Too shadowed to be seen.

“Forgive me, father,” said the shape,
“Against the Lord I’ve sinned.”
The voice whispered so low it seemed
The air itself had thinned.

“Tell me, my son, what you have done:
Your soul shall be absolved.”
But through the grille, the shape stayed still –
The heart of the priest grew cold.

The candles quivered in their stands;
At length the shape did speak:
“My story you must hear before
Forgiveness I can seek.”

The voice, the grille, that shape so still –
Inside the priest felt locked:
He watched the candles flicker like
The ticking of a clock.

“Then tell your story,” said the priest
Aware he had no choice:
He listened captive at the grille
And so began the voice…

----------------------------------------

This is the opening of the ballad, set in a church confessional box. We were lucky enough to count with the services of Father Michael Hore of St Joseph's to give a really authentic voice and presence to this part in the film. The Prologue and the Epilogue of The Soul of the Sea are new additions to Victor Hugo's original tale and one of the main reasons we felt that it was more appropriate to give the ballad a slightly modified title to the novel The Toilers of the Sea. I hope that they will provide an interesting path into the past for new readers: after all, the priest is hearing the story for the first time too...

In the Press again

We are in the Press again today - at the bottom of the Arts page - a nice photo of Pete who quite literally stands out of the page, and some good comments from volunteers both young and old(er).

Tomorrow I'll be publishing the Prologue here, followed by the first part together with the first of Charlie's illustrations on Saturday. Stay posted!

Poster and Invites Ready

We've finished the poster to promote the exhibition! A big thankyou to James Colmer, our graphic designer, who's really excelled himself with this one.

The illustration, which shows Gilliat wrestling with the devil fish in Part X, will also form the backdrop for the invitations. Charlie has painted another 15 pictures to tell the story alongside the ballad, some of which we'll be previewing here over the next few days. Stay posted! If you were a reader at the weekend, there'll be an invite in the post for you in the next few days.

In other news, Pete and Magnus have returned to the Town Church under cover of darkness to film the prologue and epilogue with Father Michael: these scenes will be candlelit and have quite a different atmosphere to the main story...

A Big Thankyou

A big thankyou to everyone who took part in yesterday's filming at the Town Church.

The readings were of an incredibly high quality given the tight schedule within which volunteers had to prepare their verses. We had close to 50 volunteers and it was terrific to have such a variety of ages, faces and voices: it really brought the story back to life.

Stay posted this week for some previews of the illustrations in the exhibition as well as the poster which will be going up around the island to promote it.

Next week I will be posting some excerpts from the ballad so people can get an idea of the different sections of the story ahead of the opening evening on Friday 3rd October.

All readers are of course invited to the opening and welcome to bring family and friends. If readers bringing extra guests could let us know, this would be a big help in staying on top of numbers and refreshments:

speak@soulofthesea.co.uk

Lights, Camera... Action!

We are all set now for the recording of the ballad at the Town Church this Saturday, sponsored by the Guernsey Arts Commission.

Magnus has been surveying the church this week with Pete Root from Paul and Peter Productions and they have found some great spots for readers to perform.

At the latest count, we have close to 50 volunteers to read, which is fantastic news. Special thanks go to the many readers who have phoned up to lend their voices after reading the coverage in the Press or hearing it on the radio. It's been inspiring to hear people's connections with the novel and memories of reading Toilers. Les Beaucamps High have also provided a welcome boost to our numbers with around 20 students participating. There are a couple of starlets from La Mare De Carteret High coming down too.

Thanks too to Richard De La Rue of the International Victor Hugo festival who is plugging us in his newsletters. In return, we are encouraging those interested to pick up a leaflet at the church ahead of next week's wonderful music festival in the island.

Stay posted next week for photos of Saturday's reading, the exhibition's poster, and some excerpts from the ballad.

A la perchoine!

In the Press / On the Radio

'The Soul of the Sea' is featured in today's Guernsey Press. The story is on page 16 of the paper, leading the arts coverage.

Magnus will also be speaking on BBC Radio Guernsey tomorrow (Thursday) at around 10.15am.

We are currently seeking islanders to come forward to take part in our film of the ballad: you can find more details in the post below.

To register your interest, send an email with your name and age to:

speak@soulofthesea.co.uk

Deadline to register is Monday 8th September.

A chance to star in our film

Roll up, roll up to star in The Soul of the Sea...

The Soul of the Sea exhibition will feature a filmed reading of the new ballad featuring many of the different faces and voices of the Guernsey community.

As part of the film, we are seeking a diverse range of islanders to take part and each read a few verses of the poem. We are particularly interested in people with a connection to the sea as well as incomers to Guernsey with different accents.

The filming is scheduled to take place at the Town Church on Saturday 13th September from 3pm onwards.

The event is supported by the Guernsey Arts Commission: Paul and Peter Productions will be in charge of the filming arrangements.

For your chance to take part, register with your name and age to receive more information:

speak@soulofthesea.co.uk