No Bed of Roses:

[Administrator]

The Ensign and the Plank

When you’ve pulled a man from the
freezing sea,
All black with ship’s oil fuel –
You’ve cleaned him off, seen his wounds
And wondered what to do –
You see the whiteness of his ribs,
Where steam has skinned him too –
The guilt you feel when you look at him,
Feeling glad it wasn’t you –

And all you have to ease the pain
Is aspirin and “God” –
You fear to look him in the eye,
For the question you know will be there –
The answer you know is certain death,
And there’s nothing more you can do –
You light him a fag and give him your tot,
As he looks for the rest of his crew.

When you lay him down on the iron deck
Knowing that’s his lot –
Briefly wondering if you did right
By giving him your tot.
For the rest of the watch, with a sail
maker’s palm
With needle and the thread –
You sew him in his canvas shroud,
With the rest of last night’s dead –

A dummy shell between their feet
Makes certain that they’ll sink –
You sit and sew ‘till the morning glow
Amid the mess and stink.
By dawn’s grey light you carry them aft
To the ensign and the plank –
The hands off watch gather around
All bleary-eyed and dank –

Then the skipper with Bible, says the
Sailor’s Prayer
“Our Father, which art in Heaven” (we
hope you’re really there)

One by one, the dead are gone, slid from
the greasy plank –
The hands go forward, feeling chilled
Thinking of those that were slain
With the certain knowledge, in a while
we’ll do it all again.
Each one, being still alive, gives a silent
prayer of thanks,
Wondering, with a cold dark fear,
Will I be next on the plank?

Stan Kirby – Ping Bosun, HMS Asphodel

SOURCE - LINK