Post by Administrator on Apr 12, 2014 19:56:57 GMT
A TRIBUTE TO THE FORGOTTEN MAN:
The siren shrieks its farewell note, and proudly on her way
The brand-new giant liner moves in grandeur down the Bay.
A marvelous creation, her builders’ joy and pride,
The great hope of the owners as she floats upon the tide.
The passengers in festive mood, ‘mid laughter, jest and quip,
With keen delight enjoy the great ship’s maiden trip.
She’s sure to break the record, she’ll do thirty knots or more,
Is the hope of all on board as she leaves her native shore.
Upon the bridge the Captain, a skipper proud and bold,
Bedecked in glorious raiments, navy blue and gold.
All eyes are fixed upon him, and it’s going to his head,
As he stops to drop the pilot, then rings ‘full speed ahead’.
And ‘down below’ the battle starts for the trophy of the seas,
By engineers – not clad in gold – but greasy dungarees.
On deck the scene is bly and gay – fair ladies, song and wine,
But hell is popping down below, beneath the Plimsol line.
The Chief raps out his orders to the men on watch below.
His men obey his mandates, about their tasks they go.
Steam pressure must not fluctuate, the bearings not run hot,
Revs must not be allowed to drop to make the thirty knots.
At dinner on the first night out the Captain proudly boasts:
‘We’ll surely break the record’, as the gallant ship he toasts.
But breaking records puts no grey hair on his head,
His contribution ended when he ordered ‘full speed ahead’.
Through weary days and sleepless nights to consummate his dream
The engineers slave ceaselessly till Ambrose Light’s abeam.
The record has been broken with thirty-one point four,
The captain wears another stripe, he’s now a ‘Commodore’.
And thus he gets the credit for what other men have done
He boasts to press and radio the victory he has won.
Neglecting e’en to mention as he swings his ballyhoo
The men of brain and brawn and guts, who shoved the great ship through.
The moral of this poem then is quite conclusively,
The glory seldom goes to those who win the victory.
To keep this simple thought in mind about a record trip,
The man behind the throttle is the man who drives the ship.
This is so true in many walks of life
Author not known. K
The siren shrieks its farewell note, and proudly on her way
The brand-new giant liner moves in grandeur down the Bay.
A marvelous creation, her builders’ joy and pride,
The great hope of the owners as she floats upon the tide.
The passengers in festive mood, ‘mid laughter, jest and quip,
With keen delight enjoy the great ship’s maiden trip.
She’s sure to break the record, she’ll do thirty knots or more,
Is the hope of all on board as she leaves her native shore.
Upon the bridge the Captain, a skipper proud and bold,
Bedecked in glorious raiments, navy blue and gold.
All eyes are fixed upon him, and it’s going to his head,
As he stops to drop the pilot, then rings ‘full speed ahead’.
And ‘down below’ the battle starts for the trophy of the seas,
By engineers – not clad in gold – but greasy dungarees.
On deck the scene is bly and gay – fair ladies, song and wine,
But hell is popping down below, beneath the Plimsol line.
The Chief raps out his orders to the men on watch below.
His men obey his mandates, about their tasks they go.
Steam pressure must not fluctuate, the bearings not run hot,
Revs must not be allowed to drop to make the thirty knots.
At dinner on the first night out the Captain proudly boasts:
‘We’ll surely break the record’, as the gallant ship he toasts.
But breaking records puts no grey hair on his head,
His contribution ended when he ordered ‘full speed ahead’.
Through weary days and sleepless nights to consummate his dream
The engineers slave ceaselessly till Ambrose Light’s abeam.
The record has been broken with thirty-one point four,
The captain wears another stripe, he’s now a ‘Commodore’.
And thus he gets the credit for what other men have done
He boasts to press and radio the victory he has won.
Neglecting e’en to mention as he swings his ballyhoo
The men of brain and brawn and guts, who shoved the great ship through.
The moral of this poem then is quite conclusively,
The glory seldom goes to those who win the victory.
To keep this simple thought in mind about a record trip,
The man behind the throttle is the man who drives the ship.
This is so true in many walks of life
Author not known. K