[BITList] voyage of disaster

[Malcolm]

THE VOYAGE OF DISASTER


Don't talk to me of the ocean,
Don't talk to me of the sea,
I've done with the briny for ever,
Dry land in the future for me.



What first brought things to a fair crisis
Was the luck that we had the last trip.
>From the moment we first left the harbour,
There was nothing went right with the ship.



She was launched on a Friday to start with
But that's not the worst as you'll hear.
The Owners they being teetotal,
Had her christened with stone ginger beer.



Stone ginger pop at a penny a bottle,
Not even with dry ginger ale.
It's no wonder the luck was against us,
Surprisin' I'm tellin' this tale.



>From the first, things went regular contrary,
For as soon as the anchor was weighed,
The tugs were a-pullin' and strainin'
But not an inch of the voyage she made.



Of course, we all thought as she'd grounded,
But the stoutest heart quailed when we found
That she'd move not ahead, nor astern Sir,
But she'd spin like a top, round and round.



Well you'd hardly believe what had happened,
But when they was fixin' the mast,
They'd drove it right down through the keel Sir,
And into the mud it had passed.



And there was we, stuck on a pivot
That was stickin' yards deep in the sludge,
So you'll own that it wasn't surprisin'
The tug couldn't get us to budge.



Well they fixed it again right and proper
And we got out as far as the Nore,
Where the tugboat, of course, went and left us
And we thought as our troubles was o'er.



But that's where we made a slight error,
For the Captain, the crew loudly hails
And tells us to jump and look lively,
And set to a-hoistin' the sails.



"Aye Aye" says we, 
And the Mate up aloft took a gaze
And the language he used I shall never forget 
If I live to the end of me days.



So we all took a look as was natural
And what d'you think as we find?
There wasn't no sails there to hoist Sir,
We'd been and we'd left 'em behind.



So we had to be towed back to London
And there was our sails on the quay.
The Old Man he kept outta the way Sir
'Til once more we'd set out for the sea.



Due South was the course by the compass
But owin' you see to the fog,
We'd to feel our way pretty careful,
"Dead Reckoning" it's called by the log.



And the weather as should of got warmer,
Grew colder each day, it was plain.
We sighted some land though one day Sir,
Which the Skipper, he fancied, was Spain.



He took a good look through his glasses
And the Mate had a squint at it too -
There was mountains all covered with snow Sir
And ice as was plain to the view.



"I've never seen Spain like that" said the Mate,
"It's too snowy by far

"We,d best send a boat to the harbour"
"And find out where the Dickins we are".



Well the boat wasn't long in returnin'
And the men was all grinning, we saw.
That made the Old Man fairly boilin'
And he wasn't sweet-tempered before.



"Where the Dickins" he yells "has we got to?
"Is it Spain or Gibralter or what"?
"It's Iceland" the Mate says respectful.
"That's the nearest to Spain as we've got".



Well I can't do fair justice
To the words that came out of his mouth.
For a week we'd been sailin' due North Sir
When the course should have been pretty well South.



But it wasn't his fault after all Sir,
For the sun coming out, we soon found
That the bloke who had fixed up the compass
Had stuck the card on the wrong way round.


Well, we'd many mishaps after that Sir
Though nothin' much happened to me,
What we found when we did get to Melbourne
Must have worried the Owners you see



For when they opened up the hatches,
The Mate he said "Well I'll be blowed",
The holds they was stark, starin' empty.
The cargo had never been stowed !!

 

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