The
mail boat called ‘Frances’
To Coney Isle did go
For thirty years undaunted
Come wind and rain and snow.
Willie
Bruen her skipper
He knew the sea so well
And the Shru – na – moila
That twist and roar like hell.
I
went with him one morning
And the metal man we passed
A fishing line with spinner
Was then so deftly cast.
One
big fish soon he hooked
And when he hauled it in
‘You can have it for your supper’
He told me with a grin.
Soon
tied up at Coney Pier
Whilst Willie did his rounds
‘Ebb tide is running fast’, he warned
‘Don’t let her take the ground’.
The
Islanders all loved him
He surely could beguile
They liked to make him cups of tea
And chat away a-while.
With
cut backs at the Post Office
The Coney posts’ no more
And Willie’s old mail boat
Stays idle on the shore.
Retired
as a pilot
Early on this year
His company is sadly missed
Down by the old boat pier.
Captain Frank Devaney – In memory of Willie Bruen
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