Sand-eeling

One from the archive this week, from 05/10/2005. For another account of sand-eeling, see:

https://tonymusings.blogspot.com/2018/11/jersey-our-island-travelling-blind-part_30.html

Sand-eeling
(based on a reminiscence of the 1950s)

The full moon, and the lowest tide

Tonight, we will walk bleary-eyed

Down the slip at La Rocque, then

Scrambling over the rocks again

Will ply our hooks, scratch sand

We, the sand-eelers, happy band

Take the slippery sliver sand eels

Into our baskets, as moon reveals

Them glistening in her pale light

For stalwarts, a pastime to excite. 

In olden days, all the family came

Along with neighbours, grandame

Bringing knitting, sat on the rocks

By slipway, brought by the old box

shaped Jersey vans, or by dog-carts

When the eelers left, young upstarts

Old folk told stories of greater catches

They had made, lighting with matches

Clay pipes, look out at rock and shingle

Where the youngsters now do mingle. 

Sand-eeling is a battle for the strong

For only the fittest can now belong

Over a mile and half of rocky coast

Avoiding gullies, and then almost

Slipping on seaweed, there to reach

The end of rocks, the sandy beach

The water's edge, begin the eeling

Some are standing, others kneeling

And when a hundred or so caught

Return to picnic feast now sought. 

Then all drink cider, eat cold pork,

Baked apple dumplings, even uncork

The odd bottle of wine, smuggled in

By some fishermen, the family's kin

Fry the eels, delicious in Jersey butter

And sounds of pleasure eaters utter

But now sand-eeling is done by few

Keeping old ways, but a bare residue

And at La Rocque, under full moon

Only ghostly memories do commune.