The Last Boat Home, or, Panic on Rannoch Moor
(to be sung, ballad style, to a lilting Scottish tune)
Heading uphill to Rannoch Moor,
the petrol light came on.
There was petrol not too far away:
behind me – at Tyndrum.
What to do? It wasn’t far.
I could easily choose to turn,
but if I went back and took the time
I’d miss the last boat home.
When in doubt, my motto is,
always keep moving on.
Twenty-four miles to Glen Coe:
that shouldn’t take me long.
I ploughed ahead, behind a bus,
willing myself to calm.
Surely it was worth the risk,
to catch the last boat home?
I fixed my gaze on the petrol gauge,
steadily creeping down.
By the edge of Glen Coe it was south of left,
I was driving on the fumes.
A wind arose and shook the car,
The rain came pouring down.
I really began to doubt that I
could make the last boat home.
A petrol station saved my hash,
and I filled her up and went on
The wind and rain began to lash,
but I drove my poor car home.
Across Corran ferry, the last dash back
with only an hour to go.
I drove like a fool through tempestuous air,
and arrived in Lochaline with minutes to spare,
but I caught the last boat home.
Yvonne Marjot is a British-born New Zealander living on an island off the west coast of Scotland. So far she’s self-published four e-novels to Amazon for Kindle, and won the poetry award at Britwriters Awards 2012. Her first volume of poetry, The Knitted Curiosity Cabinet, has just been published by Indigo Dreams Publishing.