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POETS' CORNER
A poem published in the ‘High Peak Echo’ in June 1994 by a history columnist Denys Ainsworth.
The poem arrived on Denys’s desk anonymously but it was obviously by someone who knew a lot of MN histry as it mentions events in world war one & two.
I can’t recall who sent it to me from the UK but as it is ‘High Peak’ area I think it may have been Ron Singleton of Marple which is in that area
MERCHANT SEAMEN
I’ve read about soldiers and sailors,
of infantry, airmen and tanks,
of battleships, corvettes and cruisers,
of Anzacs and Froggies and Yanks,
and there’s one other a man to remember,
who was present at many a fray.
He wears neither medals nor ribbons
And derides any show of display.
I’m talking of A.B.’s and firemen,
of stewards and greasers and cooks,
who manned the big steamers in convoy.
(You won’t read about them in books).
No uniform gay where they dressed in,
nor marched with their colours unfurled;
They steamed out across the wide oceans,
and travelled all over the world.
In thousands they sailed from the homeland.
From Liverpool, Hull and the Clyde,
To London, and Bristol, and Cardiff,
they came back again on the tide.
An old four-point-seven their safeguard.
What nice easy prey for the Huns,
who trailed them with bombers and U-Boats
and sank them with ‘tin-fish’ and guns.
The epic of gallant OTAKI,
That grim forlorn hope Jervis Bay
who fought to the last and were beaten,
but joined the illustrious array,
whose skeletons lie ‘neath the waters’,
whose deeds are remembered today.
And their glory will shine undiminished
Long after our flesh turns to clay.
They landed the Anzacs at Suvla and stranded the old River Clyde,
Off Dunkirk they gathered the remmants’
(And still they were not satisfied).
They battled their way through to Malta, and rescued the troops from Malay,
They brought the eighth army munitions and took their prisoners away.
And others ‘signed on’ in the tankers’ and loaded crude oil and octane.
The lifeblood of warships and engines, of mechanised transport and plane.
But these were the ‘U-Boats’ chief victims.
What death they were called to face,
As men where engulfed by infernos in ships that were ‘sunk without trace’.
They were classed a ‘non combatant’ service,
civilians who fought without guns.
And many’s the time they’d have welcomed
a chance of a crack at the Huns.
But somehow in spite of this drawback
The steamers still sailed and arrived,
And they fed fifty million people
And right to the end we survived.
When the master of Masters holds judgement.
And devils dark have flown,
when the clerk of the heavenly council.
decrees that the names shall be shown.
They will stand out in glittering letters
inscribed with the ‘blood they have shed’,
Names of ships – and the seamen who manned them,
Then the ocean can give up its dead.
Anonymous
***
The above poem mentions three famous ships, over the next day or two I will put their story and photos in the 'Historic Ships' section.
(ed. 26/08/05)
VINDI BOY POETS
IT IS REALLY A SUPRISE TO ME JUST HOW MANY OF OUR OLD VINDI BOYS, HAIRY ARSED, TOUGH, HARD CASE SEAMEN HAVE IN THEIR MELLOWING YEARS BECOME SUCH GOOD POETS!
COLIN RODGERS
Of Bewdley in Worcestershire has been delving into dittys humorous and serious for some years now - here are a selection of his works.
***
THANK YOU VINDICATRIX.
Looking back on life at Vindi,
Snowing, icy, freezing, windy.
Weather should have been a warning,
Two months of hell were then just dawning.
We left the train and followed our guide,
Dodging the ice in case of a slide.
Our guide gave us hints of what was to come
And I felt like going back home to my Mum.
We got to the camp, lined up double quick,
Were warned what would happen were we to jump ship.
At that stage a feeling of fear had arisen,
As this was the first time I’d been in a prison.
They showed us our quarters with long rows of beds,
With one grubby pillow to cradle our heads.
Each had one blanket, old, threadbare and thin.
“I must wear pyjamas next to my skin”.
Ablutions were dealt with in a hut just next door,
Where most times the water just froze on the floor.
There was cold water for washing, cold water for showers,
So it’s not too surprising, we weren’t there for hours.
We each dumped our kit onto our chosen bed,
Then went to the ship to get ourselves fed.
The food seemed to be in such short supply,
As all we could get was a lump of Sea Pie.
Sea Pie was dished up by the robotic cook
Who would aim at your plate with barely a look,
But should your plate be too slow in it’s moves
You could have Sea Pie all over your shoes.
Sea Pie was a mess that just sat there and looked
Like a load of old muck that’s barely been cooked,
There were hundreds of big juicy Cockroaches too,
Which added a flavour a little like stew.
Sometimes in cocoa and sometimes in tea,
They would put lots of powder we weren’t s’posed to see,
I’m told it was bromide to cut down our perks
And now that I’m sixty the ruddy stuff works.
After the Vindi I went off to sea.
I travelled the world and saw it for free,
I looked back and thought, ”the critics were wrong”
For the Vindi had made us respectful but strong.
Thank you Vindi.
-----oooo000oooo-----
Colin D. Rodgers.2000.
***
What Future?
Nature provides all the basics we need,
So we should conserve, not give in to greed.
Our world needs protection from those who don’t care
For what they are doing will lay the Earth bare.
We have global warming from Earth’s fossil fuels
But continue to use them because we are fools.
Then deforestation at a fantastic rate
Continues in spite of world wide debate.
The two major causes of nature's decline
Are brought on by one thing that’s got out of line.
The world population continues to grow
In spite of warnings from those who should know.
High population has made us compete
To own more land or have more to eat,
So now we have a great race for the lead
And will destroy this Planet because of our greed.
So let’s just imagine a picture in words,
That world population has been cut by two thirds,
There would then be less need for us all to compete
And life on this Planet could be a right treat.
There’d be land for the farmers without cutting trees,
We could stop using fuels and damned C.F.C.’s,
We could replant rain forest all over the Earth
And show Mother Nature we know what she’s worth.
----------oooo000oooo----------
Colin D. Rodgers. 1999.
***
Roy Derham. M.B.E.
Seventy thousand young British boys
Who answered the call of the sea,
Were put through the rigours of Vindi
And included both you and Me.
Of the seventy thousand boys
Were many, who over the years,
Have felt nostalgia tugging them back
To see the old place, through tears.
Of all those grateful to Vindi,
Only one had the courage to act,
YOU formed our wonderful T.S.V.A.
Its success is a well known fact.
Once our Association was launched
Nostalgia helped keep it moving
And with a man like you at the helm
It could only continue improving.
You steered us through some dangerous shoals
When others would have run us aground.
You put T.S.V.A. on the map,
We were happy to have you around.
Reunions are very special,
Annual islands of pleasure,
Set in a sea of tranquillity,
With everyone searching for treasure.
You pulled rank on Mother Nature
Arranging for two days of sun
Especially for the Vindi weekend
So everyone joined in the fun.
I feel that I must thank you
For the interest you brought to my life
And the pleasure old Vindi has given
To me and also my Wife.
You have given ten years of your life
To thousands of lads just like me,
Who thought it was well deserved
When you got the M.B.E.
Now you feel the need to retire,
To step back into normal life,
To spend more time with your Family,
Especially Sheila, your Wife.
We let you go with reluctance
But knowing you will be around
Should we ever need your advice
To prevent us going aground.
So Roy Derham. M.B.E.
And also Sheila, your Wife,
The best of luck from both of us,
Enjoy the rest of your life.
-----ooo000ooo-----
Colin D. Rodgers. May 2002.
***
Butter Beans.
Butter Beans can make you windy,
Some people call it a fart
And if your partner has Butter Beans
You tend to sit further apart.
I know someone who goes Bowling
After a very good helping of these
And when she stoops to send off her bowl,
She can blow the leaves off the trees.
Some of this wind can be smelly,
Telling others what you have done
But at least it gives a good warning
So we close up our nostrils and run.
Butter Bean wind seems much stronger
Than anything else known to man.
It can blow dirty great holes in trousers
Or lift you right up off the pan.
One Butter Bean addict was flying
When all of the engines went down,
He stuck his arse through the window
And rescued the plane, which turned brown.
A bean addict doesn’t need a Jacuzzi,
He can agitate water quite well
The only problem, if sharing a tub
Is the evil and fiendish bad smell.
So treat Butter Beans with care and respect,
Don’t have them whilst in a crowd,
Or the dramatic results will not only smell,
But be long, lingering and loud.
You can get Butter Beans dried,
You can get Butter Beans canned,
But whatever you do
Don’t have second-hand.
----------ooooo000ooooo----------
I don’t think I should own up to this.
Colin D. Rodgers.23.04.2005
***
Vindi Christmas
Imagine Christmas at Vindi.
The comfort, the warmth and the food.
Perhaps Sea Pie with stuffing
To create a festive mood.
Drinking pints of Adams Ale
With Cockroach Christmas pud.
Compared to what you have today
Does not sound very good.
So have a Merry Christmas
And a Happy New Year too,
With all your friends and family
To share this time with you.
-----ooo000ooo-----
Colin D. Rodgers. 2000.
Trevor Castleton
Of Stokes Valley, Wellington NZ is a good friend of Colin Rogers and they often spar with each other via the email in humorous verse. Like Colin, Trevor is happy with both humorous and serious themes
Below a selection of Trev's poems.
THE TWELVE TO FOUR
Have you ever stood the lookout on the twelve to four at night?
In the vast Pacific Ocean with the sky a wondrous sight.
The mast head gently weaving through a panoply of stars.
Which one is that bright planet? Is it Jupiter or Mars?
While stars of incandescence ripple from the cleaving bow,
Like the blinding flash of diamonds on a princess’s royal brow.
You gaze upon this wonder in the knowledge that you’re blest,
And dream of all the sailors gone before and to their rest,
Then comes a sudden splatter that makes the heartbeat quickens,
And you know that you’ve been shat on by one of Mother Carey’s Chicken’s.
Trevor Castleton 3/10/02
TWO OF FAT AND ONE OF LEAN
Who called the Cook a bastard?
Is the well known sailor’s cry,
Who called the bastard a Cook?
The crew yells in reply.
Yet I’ve sailed with Cooks who could earn their crust,
At the Savoy or any Hilton,
Who can make a macaroni cheese,
Taste like the finest Stilton.
But I must admit and it’s no bullshit,
My last ship was a better feeder,
Than this rusty old tub and it’s Board ‘o Trade grub,
And a cook who’s a drunken bleeder.
T.Castleton 2003
***
EDDIE’S LAST TRIP
Hey Eddie! That was a nifty trick,
That night when you nipped out so quick.
I spoke to you on Saturday,
(The day before you slipped away).
You said Val and you had a special day,
And was sure your problem had gone away.
Through Newtown’s shops you enjoyed a stroll,
Then drove out to the North-City Mall.
You took your time, there was no hurry,
In the Food Hall you had a “red hot” curry.
The best you’d had for a long, long time,
And vowed you’d go out there again!
You told me on the phone that night,
“I think at last I’m coming right!”
But then next morning you sailed away.
I wonder where you are today?
Perhaps in some exotic Bar,
Hummin’ and strummin’ that old guitar.
Or in some galley, in the coal fire’s glow’
Frying the blackpan for the watch below.
My bet is that you’re under way,
Course due North for Tiger Bay.
Trevor Castleton 12 March 2003
***
David Partridge
Of Bulli NSW
David's poems over the last few years have become world famous amongst the seagoing fraternity and his poems are becoming known in the wider arena via friends and families and the publishing of his poems especially 'Heroes' in newspapers when they have an MN war time article etc.
Back home in OZ his poems have won awards in prestigious Poet competitions
Heroes
Don’t speak to me of heroes until you’ve heard the tale
Of Britain’s Merchant seamen who sailed through storm and gale
To keep those lifelines open in our nation’s hour of need
When a tyrant cast a shadow across our island breed.
Captains, greasers, cabin boys, mates and engineers
Heard the call to duty and cast aside their fears.
They stoked those hungry boilers and stood behind the wheel
While cooks and stewards manned the guns on coffins made of steel.
They moved in icy convoys from Scapa to Murmansk
And crossed the western ocean, never seeking thanks.
They sailed the South Atlantic where raiders lay in wait
And kept the food lines open to Malta and the Cape.
Tracked by silent U-boats which hunted from below,
Shelled by mighty cannons and fighters flying low,
They clung to burning lifeboats where the sea had turned to flame
And watched their shipmates disappear to everlasting fame.
I speak not of a handful but thirty thousand plus,
Some whose names we’ll never know in whom we placed our trust.
They never knew the honour of medals on their chests
Or marching bands and victory and glory and the rest.
The ocean is their resting place, their tombstone is the wind,
The seabirds’ cry their last goodbye to family and friend.
Freighters, troopships, liners, and tankers by the score,
Fishing boats and coasters, two thousand ships and more
Flew that proud Red Duster as they sank beneath the waves
And took those countless heroes to lonely ocean graves.
Their legacy is freedom to those who hold it dear,
To walk with clear horizons and never hide in fear.
So when you speak of heroes remember those at sea
From Britain’s Merchant Navy who died to keep us free.
David Partridge 2002
***
The Red Ensign
You may have been a Vindi Boy or even a Gravesend Lad. Perhaps you went to Arethusa or Prince of Wales or could be you never attended any of the sea schools and just drifted into a life at sea. You may have been a deckie or a steward, a greaser or a cook or even a captain, purser or chief engineer, it matters not. We were all British Merchant seamen and there was one thing which was common to us all and that was the flag under which we sailed, the Red Ensign. Affectionately known to us all as the Red Duster it first appeared in 1674 and from 1824 it flew from every British Merchant ship and has been seen in every port in every country in the world. It flew astern from every ship in which the members of our fraternity sailed and it was the first thing we would look for when entering a foreign port and during the golden years of British shipping from post-war until the 70s it far outnumbered the flags of any other of the seafaring nations. It not only flew on high but shrouded those who had passed on upon the high seas and it rests on the ocean floor with those who fell in conflict. It is as much a part of being a seaman as are the precious memories we retain and there is not one of us who would have sailed under any other banner.
Last year it was decided by some ill-advised politicians who obviously have no sense of history in their hearts or maritime heritage in their veins that our flag has had its day and it was time to besmirch it with some EU symbol. Fortunately the British seamen of the world rose in horror as one and the pollies backed away for the time being but beware, for they are still there!
As one of the few still employed in the industry I know only too well how uncommon our flag is now and its rare appearance is a moment to be relished and that is why it must be retained forever in its original form.
The attempt by the EU to destroy part of our heritage led me to pick up my trusty HB pencil and the following is my contribution to the fight.
Red Duster
It isn’t just a flag to us but part of who we are,
It flew astern from every ship we sailed.
From Liverpool to Singapore and through the Panama
It filled us with a pride which never failed
Sometimes tattered, sometimes torn, raised each day at morning’s dawn,
It told the world of who we are and where.
And across the seven oceans it weathered every storm
To keep our country strong, and firm, and fair.
It flew not just in peacetime but bravely went to war
Where the conflict raged across a flaming sea,
And it shrouds our fallen shipmates upon the ocean floor
Who gave their lives to keep our nation free.
No politician’s pen stroke can take away the pride
That wells within to see that flag unfurled
And they’ll not besmirch the memory of all of those who died
In every ocean on our fragile world.
Our flag must stay until the day we have no ships to sail
And the piper sadly wails the last lament,
And we’ll leave it then to history to tell the famous tale
Of a flag which flew with pride where ere it went.
So join the battle, show no fear, let our banner fly,
Let it sail through stormy waters and grace the morning sky.
And when we all must heed the call to make the final muster,
One last request, just let us rest, beneath the old Red Duster.
David Partridge 2004
***
Vindi Boy.
‘Hey there new boy, got a fag? You’re never going home’.
My welcome to the Vindi and not just mine alone
For every new kid heard that call as they passed in through the gate
And stood before the watch-house to listen to their fate.
Scousers, Jocks and Geordies too, they came from far and wide,
Cockneys, Taffys, Brummies and lads from Humberside.
Carrot crunching farm boys and city slicker kids
Were moulded into seamen, what miracles they did.
She once had been a sailing ship with a long and chequered past
But the sails had long been taken down, along with spars and masts.
She gently lay in Sharpness cut, she’d sadly sail no more,
A home now to those hopeful kids all knocking on life’s door.
They taught us how to row a boat and how to steer a ship
And how to tie a bowline and rig a double whip.
We learned to box the compass and how to hand the log
And the signals that a ship should give when stranded in a fog.
They taught us of diseases that sailors some times catch
And how to top a derrick and batten down a hatch.
They fed us bread and bromide to lessen certain joys
But it wasn’t nearly strong enough to stop boys being boys.
We scrounged for food and licked the tasteless morsels from our plates
One cigarette was somehow shared around a dozen mates.
Some kids couldn’t take it and did the midnight run,
Fleeing in the darkness, running home to Mum.
They taught us independence, they taught us how to cope,
How to make decisions and never give up hope.
They taught us how to stand alone, who to trust and when,
But the most important lesson, they taught us to be men.
The old ‘uns tell us stories of kids who were so brave,
Kids too young to go to war, kids too young to shave.
Of ships that flew our ensign as they sank beneath the waves
And took too many Vindi boys to lonely ocean graves.
If you ever meet a Vindi boy, sit down and talk awhile,
For he’ll surely have a tale to tell, one to make you smile
Or one that might just bring a tear as he rambles through the night
And tells of misty heroes who perished in the fight.
If you’re ever down in Sharpness, pause and stand awhile,
You’ll hear the sound of marching then you’ll start to smile
As you start to sing those songs again and remember all those mates
Who shared the great adventure which started at those gates.
I’m proud to be a Vindi boy, proud to wear that badge,
Glad I knew the ocean’s rage and sailed beneath our flag.
We’re scattered ‘round this planet now, we were inclined to roam,
But no matter what they told us then, we finally made it home.
David Partridge Vindi Boy Oct-Dec 1956
***
Watering Holes.
Have you had a drink in Betty’s Bar or an ale in Charlie Brown’s?
And what about old Doris’s place in steamy Kingston Town.
Delmonico’s in Capetown sold Brandy snapps galore
To Union-Castle sailors who liked a run ashore.
Monty’s down in Sydney was a seaman’s Shangri-La
And Ma Gleason’s place in Auckland the best sly groggin’ bar.
The Dog House bar in Panama was famous ‘round the world
For ice cold Cuba Libres and sweetly scented girls.
In Danny’s Bar in Antwerp be careful where you grope
For things might not be what they seem, it might just be a bloke.
The Masons and the Steps were known to the boys from kay gee five,
And the Bootle Arms in Liverpool could really come alive.
There’s a Lone star bar in every port down South America way,
And the Texas Bar in Santos is where sailors went to play.
Joe Beef’s bar in Montreal and the Jungle up in Leith
Were places where you’d watch your lip if you needed all your teeth.
There’s lots of ports I’ve never seen in my wanderin’ sailor’s life
And some I wish I’d never seen where I ended up in strife.
But if you’re working on a tanker or some rusty, run-down tramp
You’ll always find a watering hole where seamen swing the lamp.
David Partridge.
***
The Bridge.
That bridge across the Severn was twenty two spans wide
And we used it as a counter, starting on the other side.
For a ‘bridge boy’ at the Vindi had twenty two days more
And he counted off those arches from Wales to England’s shore.
When only seven spans remained he knew he’d stood the test,
He then became a ‘pool boy’, the envy of the rest.
For a ‘pool boy’ at the Vindi had seven days to go,
Seven spans to Gloucestershire, seven days so slow.
It’s a pity that the engineers who built the famous bridge
Never knew the story of all those Vindi kids
Who used those spans and arches to wish away their days,
Time they’d gladly use again in many different ways.
That bridge is part of history now along with our old ship
But it lives in all our memories as part of that great trip
Along life’s chequered highway that led us from the place
Where a bridge became a stepping-stone
At the start of life’s long race.
David Partridge.
***
Tattoos.
I’ve seen snakes and ships and girlfriends’ names
And daggers dripping with red.
I’ve seen dancing girls and death’s head skulls
And tombstones of those who are dead.
I’ve seen Mickey Mouse and Yogi Bear and mermaids sitting on rocks,
And ladies in their underwear, tattooed on Scousers and Jocks.
Some are so bad they must have been pissed
And some have the spelling all wrong.
Some were started in old London Town and finished off in Hong Kong.
They’re on arms and legs and shoulders and chests
And some where the sun doesn’t shine.
Sailors like anchors and favourite ports
And the flag of the Blue Funnel line.
In Rio once I saw a tattoo, surely the worst of all time,
A row of dots across his neck with, ‘Cut along dotted line’.
Tigers and dragons and spiders’ webs
I’ve even seen Desperate Dan
And one poor soul displayed on his back an intricate map of Japan.
Some must ask as the years go by if that picture was worth all the pain.
There would be very few would have that tattoo
If they had their time over again.
I’ve sat beside some mates of mine as the needle ravaged their skin
But I’m happy to say there was never a time
I was tempted to ever join in.
David Partridge.
***
Codeine Annie.
Broken leg or whooping cough, dental pain or ‘flu,
She’d reach out for that codeine box, ‘Here you go, take two’.
Scabies or Malaria or terminal disease,
She’d slide those pills across the desk, ‘Now off you go, take these’.
No matter what the illness was or how intense the pain,
‘These little pills will fix you up, you’ll feel as right as rain’.
She cared about us Vindi boys, we never doubted that,
She’d give us tea and tab-nabs and have a little chat.
But that homely face could wear a smile of cruel anticipation
As thirty boys rolled up their sleeves to get their vaccination.
Malingerers were common, they’d lie, deceive and cheat
For just one night in sick-bay with freshly laundered sheets.
It’s just as well she never served on foreign-going ships,
Her remedies and potions for things that sting and itch
Would never help a sailor who’d fallen in the trap
For I never heard of codeine clearing up the clap.
Long years have passed and now at last I find her name was Mimi,
But one and all, we’ll always call her dear old Codeine Annie.
David Partridge.
