Three Swans and Then One
When you've said goodbye without knowing it
When do you know that you’re seeing someone for the last time? Not because they’ve died or you’ve died, but because your friendship simply dissolves. Nothing explains it. You simply don’t hear from them for a long while and then the long while becomes so long that you find you’ve probably lost the chance to ask any questions. You’ve simply lost touch. Is it for good? You don’t know. What did you do wrong? Anything? It’s too late to discover.
This is a song about parting and not knowing it was a last parting. Not knowing if it was a last parting.
The old me would have gotten to the bottom of this before now – this un-friendship mystery. But the me of today looks back on other friendships that seemed so sturdy and then one day fell apart. It wasn’t dramatic, necessarily. No big fight or misunderstanding. Just a realization on my part or theirs that it was all over. Why? I truly never knew.
In one case, I dreamed about my friend for years. She turned up all over the scene in dreamland. I don’t see her there so much anymore and I’ve never seen her again in real life, not for twenty years.
I know I’m flawed. I’m over-expressive. I’m not guarded. Or I wasn’t. I suppose a little bit of me is now. A little bit of me has become more British, more reserved, slower to believe in a friendship. But as soon as I feel that friendship joy, I become a little girl again, always thinking of my beautiful wonderful one-of-a-kind tried and true friend. I’m too eager, too all-in.
I once wrote another song about this. It’s called “Friendship” and I go through all of the abandoned technology and communication devices from tin can and string to seances. They’re a metaphor for what I lost. The thread was broken. The fax machine, obsolete.
Was it a kind of foretelling that as a child I loved “Puff the Magic Dragon” so much and I cried every time that Johnny Paper came no more?
“Three Swans” takes place in the Yorkshire town of Selby where the earliest representation of the “stars and stripes” form part of a window in the abbey. It’s the crest of the Washington family. Yes, those Washingtons who played such a big part in the thirteen colonies that became the United States of America.
Selby Abbey’s symbol is the three swans which were given to the Abbey’s founder, Benedict of Auxerre. That’s how John Washington and swans found their way into my song.
This song is probably one of my most abstract songs. It’s tricky to be concrete about something as it’s disappearing. I began writing it on the train home from Selby.
The imagery floats in and out. The words are sometimes difficult to hear amongst the instruments and perhaps the listener only gets glimpses of words. There’s an idea: “to glimpse a word.” There are windows, there’s water, things are reflected back in an imprecise way. The movement of the swans in the water creates ripples which further obscure any reflection of the friendship.
There’s the noise of the train. The urgency of the train’s arrival. There’s the echo of voices in a singing space where a concert was vaguely discussed, but which never materialized. The echo distorts the sound of singing and carries the sound away.
And there’s me babbling at the train station like a person trying to float upon words, to hold them like a life vest that I didn’t know I needed at the time. Finally I’m absorbed into the submarine of the train car or was it my friend who departed first? It’s hard to remember now.

This is a song of the fading impressions of what seemed like an indelible friendship.
I’m really susceptible to a purple cartoon blob on the internet named “itslennnie.” One day lennnie talked about how people come into our lives and we never know for how long. I think this was meant to be about someone we love dying. But at the time I saw this particular film of lennnie’s, I was grieving for friendship because I’d lost two friends in one go not long after another friend had actually died. As lennnie said, I thought they’d be with me through the whole film, but they weren’t. I was angry, sad, in disbelief, in denial. I went through a lot of the stages of grief even though my friends were still alive.
Seeing this cartoon made me realize that it was ok that they didn’t stay until the end of the film. I guess sometimes I still wonder if they just went out for popcorn and they’ll be back. But, even then, I might have left the audience myself. So, what I’ve chosen to do is be glad that we made a lot of good memories together. I hope they think of me that way, too, but I’ll never know.
I’m glad that I know you right now this minute and that we are friends or best friends or the slightest of acquaintances and I’m prepared for us to know each other for a time. If it’s a short while or a long while, only time will tell. But if you ever think I’m not calling or writing or sending paper airplanes like I used to and I’ve made you sad, could you let me know? Maybe, I just went out for popcorn. Maybe, I was just feeding the swans and I’ll be right back. It’s ok if you to ask. I’d rather be in your life than in your dreams.
Love from your friend right HERE,
Jeni
Three Swans
I was so sorry to be parting
I filled up all the time
with useless information
from the cupboard of my mind –
insurance claims, fallen leaves,
dust and broken glass,
Virginia Woolf and refugees
from the clutter of my past.
Three swans a-swimming,
(so) serene and full of grace.
Could it be they’re telling us,
this must be the place?
When our good John Washington
was wrecked upon the sea,
little did he know
he’d found a new country.
And what of us, dear brother,
our manifest destiny?
Our country lives in perfect fifths
and endless cups of tea.
I’m sure we saw the burning bush
in a brightly lit cafe,
turned into a ballroom,
stepped out to a stage
where we built a fine cathedral
made of sound on sound –
a story of a miner
and sunlight heaven bound.
Three swans carved in sandstone,
in truth or just a myth,
like Helena’s great conversion
which launched a thousand ships.
Again, I find I’m talking
with one minute ’til the train.
Safe journey, my dear brother,
until we meet again.
© 2021, Jeni Hankins, BMI, and Alfred Hickling.
Jeni Hankins, Vocals, Alfred Hickling, Guitar, and Sam Inglis further bells and whistles.Hey! I’m going to Nashville to work on my house. I haven’t seen my house for nearly two years and there are porch railings to paint and gutters to clean. But what’s best of all is that I’m playing a concert at NashYarnFest on April 18th! And even if you can’t come to Nashville, the festival and my concert can come to you. My show and talks from four other speakers, plus a spin around the festival, are all part of the virtual ticket. It’s $35 and the broadcast will be available for a week afterward for folks in other time zones to catch up on anything you missed. Read more about it here: NashYarnFest.
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As always, your post is timely and relevant. I’m cleaning up my art studio and found an old box full of letters from 40 years ago, messages from people I don’t even remember and some from friends who just stopped being friends one day. People who sent me cards and letters, saying how much they valued me and loved me, and then sometime in midlife, got slower to respond to my messages, cancelled meetings over and over, didn’t return phone calls until I finally got the hint. Like yourself, I think that when I was young, I was maybe a bit much for some people. Boisterous and excitable. I’m much more settled now. And realize I don’t really need friendships like I used to. I’m not lonely anymore. In fact, I actually crave more solitude than what I get. Friendships like seasons come and go. Some friendships have been rekindled after decades of silence. And some have endured. Some have endured in almost complete silence with yearly phone calls and occasional visits every 2 or 3 years. Yet they do endure, and we pick up right where we left off when we do finally hear from one another.
At the age of 55 I can honestly say that the friendship I value the most is with myself. I’ve come to prefer my company to most others save a few special people. And new friendships have grown and even without a common history they feel solid because they are built around right now and how our lives look at this moment.
I don’t know what to do with all these letters. Some I’ll throw away. Some I might squirrel away in a water proof bag inside a hollow tree near me. A mystery for some future person to find. Some I’ll keep. The ones from my mom for the time when she is gone from this earth and I just need to hear her voice one more time. Some I plan to return to the person who wrote them because I bet they’ve forgotten some of the events they wrote about and it might be fun for them to remember. And some I’ll burn at the next winter solstice and remember what was and let it all go free.
Thanks again for taking the trouble to blog. I always find your words make me feel introspective. And we all need more of that❤️
Very touching 😍 xoxox