shore leave
The ship, in the bay, had a load of grain from the fertile soil
of Ukraine, loaded in Odesa, and sent on its way across the Black Sea.
In the Dardanelles, a stop for inspections to see if the ship had
gods other than grain, not on the manifest.
She voyaged the Mediterranean to the Strait of Gibraltar, turned
sharply, starboard, up the coast of Portugal and anchored in Cascais.
Some of the crew was going ashore, shopping and drinking a few beers
as they waited for the launch on the larboard of the ship.
The ship was due to be unloaded in Lisbon on Monday, where other
crew members could go ashore and see the sight of the great city.
The lot, god’s will, for a seaman to be eternally outsider, passing
through, but only at home on the high seas.
Chase the breakers out of the harbour
before the customs boat appears.
Strike the sails and tack to larboard
then comes the old familiar fear.
Will they run us, or will they gun us?
Damn these sails, catch the wind.
Spume and foam roll and spin us,
forgive us Lord for we have sinned.
Packed to the gunwales with contraband
trying to make a dishonest living.
Running close twixt rocks and strand,
not only the sea is unforgiving.
Soon we'll be in open water,
run the mizzen, strike the main.
Then, God willing, well outrun her
and run a windward spray again.
Captain Waller
Good Aussie, Captain Waller,
from his deck chair he would holler, (on the bridge)
As the Stuka dive bomber, (German ju87)
dropped a bomb away,
Harrrrd a port or or harrrd a starboard,
side step the bomb to larboard,
and they always missed old Stuart,
in 1941 I say.
The Aussies held Tobruk,
kept Rommell’s goose well cooked,
Old Stuart ran the gauntlet,
fed em, gravy, the Aussie way,
Shot down a few planes,
In her day.
attacked any submarine again,
depth charging, I’m a saying,
When she wasn’t attacking the Italian navy,
She wasn’t in the game.
Scrap iron flotilla, W War1 tin can,
Stuart punched above her weight, again,
Attacked three 8 inch cruisers in the dark,
her 4 inch guns did bloody bark,
torpedoes left em sinking, I’d explain.
Of Hector Waller nemesis of the Italian Navy in the Med.
Don Johnson
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