The Saga of Ferry Bridge
by Skylark Durstan of Portland

Before this inlet had a name
Or knew a human face,
Before the early cavemen came
It was a pleasant place.

The Anglo Saxons gave it a name
with others of its kind,
And inlets such as this became
The Fleet "time out of mind".

The Roman soldiers came this way
Resistance put to rout,
The Roundheads later came to stay
And starved the King's men out.

St. George's church to consecrate
Was Bishop Newton sent,
But when he saw the Fleet in spate
Retreat was his intent.

The Ferryman, not knowing why,
Decided there and then,
The dear man should be carried high
By Portland quarrymen.

A Prodical on reaching here
Allowed himself to smile,
For him this was no barrier
But a gateway to the Isle.

The storm of eighteen twenty four
We will not dwell upon,
Wyke woke up to a mighty roar
And most of Fleet was gone.

It's seen the railway come and go
The Ferry boat as well,
Primed with the little that we know
What stories they would tell.

Within its well known hostelry
The anglers tell their tales,
Short sometimes on veracity
They drew the lines at Whales.

In two world wars the men of arms
Encamped around this place,
The bouncing bomb of Wallis Barnes
Was tested in this space.

The memories of tradgedy
Are never far away,
The seas own mournful litany
Is chanted night and day.

On stormy days a wind sock flies
The bridge demands respect,
And he who common sense defies
May perish in neglect.

Small industries cling round its throat
And struggle to survive,
Against the tide they stay afloat
To keep their hopes alive.

We hope the oyster farm does well
Naive I know but nice,
Could someone find inside a shell
A pearl of greatest price.

The Fleet is rich in history
Enough to make a book,
Shades of mood and mystery
Are every where you look.

Wyke Regis should be proud to be
The trustee of Small Mouth,
Protecting for Posterity
This "Jewel" of the South.