It is hardly possible that I can evoke a colourless affection for plunder when I recall the familiar association of it with matters nautical of which I am generally exceedingly fond. Nonetheless I will say it had in fact occurred to me that plunder may indeed have a less than marauding implication; say for example, the ill-gotten gains of life – those peculiarly rough but always welcome insights that come from mistake, silliness, misadventure, loss or failure. Apart however from that twist or manipulation, I don’t suppose plunder has an altogether favourable caste. Blackbeard the Pirate may have infused the word with the same popular fervour enjoyed by Robin Hood and his merry men.
The forgiving feature of plunder is for me nothing to do with purloining or embezzlement; rather, it is the frequency of colours, livery, insignia, regalia and kit with the nautical experience. I wager that if one had to choose “army, navy or air force” each of us would choose something different for different reasons. Whatever the choice, the one for me would be navy. This is obviously entirely metaphorical. Yet there is unwitting substance to the choice. I just know I haven’t my late father’s gusto (or eyesight) for whirring about in the air; the army was never something to which I aspired (I’ve always hated walking); but being on the sea inevitably moves me.
It is this root credential that permeates much of which we’ve undertaken in the past decade. It has been a transition from land to sea. Indeed I have always held my nose well in the air when having to compare the attributes of the sea even with fresh bodies of water. My choice is strictly the Atlantic Ocean. By most standards a landlubber’s view of the Atlantic Ocean from the west coast of South Carolina, Georgia and Florida is not considered a horribly convincing nautical adventure; but for me it accomplishes not only the very legitimate parallel to the sea (with details discoverable far beyond the limit of my lifetime) but preserves that ironic conviction of mine to the automobile. It may be the automobile which unites my late father and me in our otherwise varied preferences. The sea by the way unites me to the Loyalists of our family name who sailed from England then came to America and Upper Canada.
Born Abt 1756 Hawnby, Ryedale, North Yorkshire, England
Died 5 Nov 1837 Fort Lawrence, Cumberland, Nova Scotia, Canada
Buried Point de Bute, Westmorland, New Brunswick, Canada
Family Abigail CAIN, b. Abt 1754, Hingham, Plymouth, Massachusetts, United States d. 5 Apr 1836, Fort Lawrence, Cumberland, Nova Scotia, Canada (Age ~ 82 years) Married 4 Nov 1779 Fort Lawrence, Cumberland, Nova Scotia, Canada
Father Arthur CAIN, d. Date Unknown, , , New England, United States
Mother Lydia TOWNSEND, d. Date Unknown
Married 13 Dec 1749 Hingham, Plymouth, Massachusetts, United States
Father William CHAPMAN, c. 12 Oct 1729, Hawnby, Ryedale, North Yorkshire, England d. Bef 1805 …. (Age ~ 75 years)
Mother Mary IBBITSON, b. 26 Jun 1732, Helmsley, Ryedale, North Yorkshire, England d. Bef 1788, Point de Bute, Westmorland, New Brunswick, Canada (Age < 55 years)
Married 21 Jan 1755 Hawnby, Ryedale, North Yorkshire, England
Like many people my fondness for the sea is not what I see but what I don’t see as I gaze wistfully upon the distant horizon. Something there is about the proximity to the sea that engenders a regretful and aimless curiosity. Nonetheless I am thankful to preserve my coastal position. We both enjoy having the ability in these circumstances to get up and go – as indeed we have done on other occasions. Meanwhile I continue to entertain my nautical bent with whatever reality I am privileged to encounter in our perambulations along the Atlantic coast.