Bill

His age on the ship's books is fifty-four: It's stood at that this twenty years or more. He's had no schooling, so he makes his mark With a fist that's gnarled and hard and brown as bark. He remembers the great days of the tea clippers Back in the 'fifties, when the racing skippers Cracked on to glory - served in great old ships That were lost or burned or wrecked or gone to chips When we were in our cradles. Ay, he knew Once Captain Forbes of the Marco Polo too - 'A sandy bloke he was - ginger for pluck As the saying goes - but sp'iled by too much luck.' He makes square sennet better than all the rest: Even our bosun's got to give him best.