Navy Days
Randy-Fatso And The Skipper.
A little ship was homeward bound to Pompey one fine day
And a chill wind blew across the waves whipping up a fine salt spray.
Three solitary matelots on the bridge scanning threatening seas and sky
Shared thoughts going back down the years to happy days gone by.
The Port look-out, a three badge salt remembering with a grin
That party he'd met in Main Street, two quid and all night in...
And then there was that Spanish bit a bird so straight and true
That when he went back for his wallet he found that bird had flew.
But best of all without a doubt had been that Maltese Maid,
So slim, so dark, so finely shaped, the best of all the trade.
Around the world his memory went but with one outstanding thought...
How lucky he had been to have a girl in every port.
His 'oppo on the starboard side, an AB of twenty-three
Had thoughts quite different from the man who'd spent his life at sea.
His thoughts went back to 'Big Eats' at Malta down the 'Gut',
Of steak, eggs and fish and chips and a bar of fruit and nut.
No matter how the meal was served he'd ply his fork and spoon
And sadly stare at his empty plate thinking he'd finished all too soon.
His aim in life when on a run ashore was to find the nearest shop
Where he could get the biggest meal and eat the biggest chop.
No doubt this lad still young in years was really not too wise
For he'd developed a stomach that was quite a bloomin' size.
One more figure stood upon that bridge, gold braid and a cap with a peak
And the thoughts inside his nodding head were of things he'd rather not speak.
A list of night-clubs topped the bill and of course the old Pink Gin...
And a bevy of girls from every race with whom he'd often sin.
A privileged officers life he'd led and what a time he'd had
As he thought of all those bygone days conveniently forgetting the bad.
'Life comes but once,' he thought to himself, 'So you make of it what is best.
'Thank G-d', he murmured quietly, 'We're home-ward bound for a rest'.
Just then an angel passing over the ship happened to hear the one word 'Home',
And blessing all aboard that ship, said, 'It is your fate to roam'.
Well Randy, Fatso and the Skipper the moral is I suppose, you did your time, be proud,
And even if the weather's bad out there, there's an angel in every cloud.
~~~
British Bill © 1992
Go to Bill's Next Poem
Return to British Bill's Homepage