Grey sea, grey sky, grey ship – The World
It’s just one drab and dreary hue.
Save where the whitened wake is parted.
And ever does our path pursue.
His Poems
Lightest Africa, Darkest England
O Capetown the carefree with your lights all aglow,
Tis little the dangers of darkness you know.
The hardness of walls that you simply can’t see
The lie-in-wait kerb stones that trip you with glee.
When you open your doors and step out at night,
You see the lamps gleaming, so steady and bright.
We stand by our doorways in darkness profound,
For the thousandth time over ‘that Man’ we confound.
And if we are reckless and we hurry our stride,
With something or someone we’re bound to collide.
Apologies they automatic do come,
A post or lady they both remain dumb.
So Capetown the carefree, we lie in your bay,
Admiring the night you’ve turned into day.
But though all your lights they gleam ever so bright,
We’d change them all gladly for England tonight!
Poem by his sister, Madge
Joe’s sister, Madge, became a catholic nun and at an early age was sent to Ceylon (Shri Lanka). She only returned to England in the seventies. This poem was written by her to commemorate Joe’s death on his anniversary 25th July 1949 – he would have been 38:
To Our Dear Joseph on his 4th birthday in heaven:
Dear loved one! Four long summers past it ended –
Your pure young life and all our joy in you;
‘Mid crash and roar of guns the ocean splendid
Upon your dying eyes in radiance grew
Dear is the loss but yours th’ eternal gladness
Of heaven’s bliss, we mourn not your sweet fate
How could we mourn that you have no more sadness?
Mourn that you are with Christ emancipate:
Ah no! We thank God. He lent you to us:
Your face, your voice, your smile dwell in our mind.
We will not think of you as gone, but with us,
For ever living in our hearts enshrined.
Nazareth 1942
Nazareth – by Joseph Peter Cummings – 1943
‘Mid dust-cloud and fumes the bus grinds to a still
Unloads, then reloads, and has roared up the hill.
And softly peace steals to the sun-soaked white walls
And a deep, holy hush over Nazareth falls.
There’s a cool, quiet church standing near to the road;
‘Tis built o’er the place where once Jesus abode
With Mary and Joseph so long, long ago,
That sacred spot soon this pilgrim will know.
There’s a tiny French nun at the gate to be found,
Her privileged task – to guide pilgrims around.
Six soldiers accost her – she motions us in
And each shows a sign of his feeling within.
The old crumbling walls – the world we’ve forgot
In this nearness to Christ in this so hallowed spot.
We kneel in the room where once Jesus did live
And in divers tongues our humble thanks give.
Three Negroes, two Anzacs, the French nun and I,
We knelt there in silence as minutes sped by.
Departing, reluctant to return to the world
Where Christian ‘gainst Christian in battle is hurled.
As the bus groaned its way to the top of the hill
I looked back and could see quiet Nazareth still.
The old road that Christ and Crusaders once knew …
The bus topped the hill and it faded from view.
Joseph Cummings R.I.P.
Killed in action at sea a few months later.