Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone … W.H. Auden

Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon in front of them
Volleyed and thundered …Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Stormed at with shot and shell,
Boldly they rode and well,
Into the jaws of Death … Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Then as if a mirage at sea a village of ramshackle homes
Single story on a sandbank all with gardens of the strangest design
A flea farm, gooseberry bushes and butterflies in net cages … Michael Wolf

The Mushroom is the Elf of Plants … Emily Dickinson



Cannon Rocks is one of several coastal villages between Port Elizabeth and East London.

The name is said to derive from cannons retrieved from the wrecks of Portuguese sailing ships that sank in the area – some of the many ships that have come to grief along the shore over the centuries.

After a short walk below the mounted cannons, one is met by water gushing out of this pipe – the origin or purpose of which I cannot tell, although the water looks clean.

The beach is a haven for peace.