Cottage

Like the flying house of old Loretto

James Cook’s birthplace found its half-acre.

Childhood flew for the far-flung map-maker

Turning the globe to a British ghetto.

It was a grim wade on Tahitian seas

Brought these humble bricks to their resting place,

Though whether James spent a night of grace

‘Neath the lowly roof? Ah! Life’s uncertainties!

Steer a course using Melways explicit,

Talk to Satnav but try to be gentle

And it will appear, you can’t miss it.

Admire its aspect, as is your wont,

And mind not to bump your head on the lintel

As you reverence chance in Jolimont.