SEAMAN Written byCyril Glencross during WWII.
Have you ever stood on the bridge at midnight, not the bridge o’er a purring stream,
But the bridge of an old tramp steamer, deep laden and broad abeam,
Have you ever peered into the darkness with rain blind salt sprayed eyes,
And cursed the luck that’s brought you to race for so poor a prize.
Have you ever looked for the lighthouse with its cheerful and comforting rays,
That’s told you you’ve made a good shot without a site for days.
Have you ever stood in a dim lit wheelhouse eyes glued to the lubbers’ mark,
And as she’s crawled away crab fashion you swore she steered like the ark.
Have you ever stumbled around the galley, stove top full of sliding pans,
And thought that the seven bell breakfast should have been in served in cans.
Have you ever been down in the stokehold with its fierce and fiery glow,
When the second has shouted for more steam, if you dropped those engines must go.
If you have then you must know the meaning of the story I’m trying to tell,
Of the men that leave home and comfort for the form of modified hell.
O no it’s not all plain sailing of beautiful summer seas,
Sitting around in fancy deckchairs fanned by a gentle breeze.
O no, you sweat to the bone in the tropics and freeze to the core at the poles,
You fight those angry combers that are hungry for human soles.
So when the storm makes your windows rattle and you curse that you can’t sleep,
Do you ever think of those sailor men out there on the roaring deep,
For the only thing that drives them from the walls of eternity,
Is the skill and the strength in that frail iron shell and their faith in the god of the sea.
Roy Glencross
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Although the version I heard by the Bosun on the Wharanui, was a lot more Ribald.
