Here is my Latest Project...I wrote this Poem Today...For all the Young Loggers in the Forest Industry....
The Cold Deck Pile at Suicide Rock
Come all you young, tough riggin’ boys,
And listen while I relate
To the tale of a High-ball Logger
And his untimely fate.
The tale of this bold young logging boy,
So manly was he, and brave;
‘Twas at the log pile near Suicide Rock
Where he met his eternal grave.
‘Twas on a bright Sunday morning in May,
As you will quickly hear,
The logs were piled up, mountain high –
We could not keep the Landing clear.
The foreman cried, “Turn out brave lads,
Have hearts devoid of fear!
We’ll break the pile at Suicide Rock,
Then to Vancouver town we’ll steer.
Some of the boys were willing,
And some of the boys were not;
To work on a Sunday log pile –
They didn’t think we ought.
But some of our bravest loggers
Did volunteer to go,
To break the pile at Suicide Rock
With their new guy, Mike Monroe.
They hadn’t rolled off too many logs
When they heard a clear voice sing,
“I want you guys to be on your guard
For the pile will soon start to swing.”
These words were scarcely spoken
When the log mass did let go,
And it carried away six logger boys
And the young logger – Mike Monroe.
The rest of the loggers heard the news
And headed from camp at Boulder Creek
In search of their fallen comrades,
Their expectations were very bleak.
They found their mangled comrades
Under the pile of Logs below.
And with the crushed and bleeding bodies
Was the corpse of Mike Monroe.
They dragged him out of his Hemlock grave
And brushed back his raven hair,
But there were no fair forms among them yet,
Whose cries would fill the air.
Then the first fair maid arrived at the pile,
And her cries were heard down below
Down in the valley each villager knew
‘Twas her lover, young Mike Monroe.
Milly Monroe was this young girl’s name
and she married her high-school friend;
She and her widowed mother, dear,
Lived at Camp near River’s Bend.
The wages left by Mike Monroe
The boss to Milly did pay,
And the loggers took up a collection,
A generous purse next day.
They buried the loggers in sorrow,
‘Twas on the twelfth of May,
Come all of you bold riggin’ boys,
For all your comrades you must pray;
Now, engraved upon a Hemlock tree
That beside a grave did grow,
Was the name and date of the sad, sad fate
Of the young logger, named Mike Monroe.
Scarcely two months later,
The grief broke Milly’s heart,
She looked on death as sweet relief
And Death would play its part.
Her last request was granted, she let everybody know,
She wished to lie beside her lover –
The Young Logger....Mike Monroe.
Gord Barney Dec 1 2019