Travesty in Truro

​Travesty In Truro
 
Gather around my children.
There is much tingling terror in today’s world
but let Daddy tell you of the ultimate.
A story that is embedded in my memories.
The travesty of Truro.
 
The time started so calm.
Air, skies were clean, refreshing.
A team together, preparing for combat,
arriving to our simple lodgings.
Smiling, laughing to see each other.
The aura of band unity.
 
A relaxing, early night
the games began for all warriors,
gracing the battlefields with integrity.
Each one person showing dedication
to each one, members held each other up.
All for one and one for all.
 
An end of the day festive feast
to celebrate victories was held.
There was talk and laughter,
a strengthening bond
to those looking on.
 
The longer we stayed
you could feel the shift.
People getting louder, rowdier
with each drink of toxic elixir.
Some did not know when to stop,
making them unrecognizable.
 
When we made it back to our night shelter
the animal bombast was really
coming forward in some.
The party before the full victory had begun.
 
Sleep was hard for some of us
as the party goers were loud and robust.
Nothing was going to turn out their fire
for night-time activities
that went until the morning light.
 
When the battle fiend was taken
half of our crew had their eyes shut,
running around aimlessly,
driven by no sleep, strong ale
or addictive white powder.
 
Several of them tried to be the prime shooter,
pitching cannonballs that never hit the target
causing several slow blows to our defence.
The sight to the eyes was turning embarrassing.
Could not look anymore.
 
Teammates started turning on each other,
yelling insults of anger.
The goodwill of the day before, gone.
 
One of our leaders stopped instructing,
screaming at everyone like a madman
letting syphilis seep into their brain.
Veins bulging in his eyes.
The opposition had to hold him back with warnings.
 
The team of sisters was tearing apart,
beaten, tattered, bloodied
with scars that would never vanish
as they lay in defeat
crawling to their retreat.
 
Not one was the same after.
The images of teammates
beating each other mentally.
Blood bruised inside the skin.
 
Telling you all of this now
makes the heartache.
Reliving how the only
colour in the end was rage.
 
The tale should only live
where the bloodshed occurred.
Shake involuntarily anytime I think
of the travesty in Truro
 
July 20, 2025
©Andrew Scott – Just a Maritime Boy 2025