Post by Administrator on Oct 6, 2016 19:37:01 GMT
TANKERMEN
If once you were a Tankerman you recall those torrid days,
Of seamen at their best and worst in so many ways,
You steamed those tankers up the gulf to where the deserts meet,
To load the oil in Aberdan shimmering in the heat.
You sailed `em up the Red Sea or Maracaibo lakes,
Or out the port of Galveston in the southern states,
You may have worked for Esso or the British tanker fleet,
The tramps of John. I. Jacobs or the `T 2`s once elite.
With no domestic fridge, and air scoops made from drums,
Jaspers feeding nightly on old discarded crumbs,
A saucer for the butter for it melted right away,
Flying fish upon the deck at the dawn of day.
Tanker men were `nutters` in mariner’s folk lore,
Imprisoned in an `oil can` and rarely went ashore,
So it wasn’t so surprising they were characters or quaint,
Eccentric were the Pump men - as teetotallers they ain`t,
You’ll not forget cleaning tanks by `Butterworth` or `pigs`,
The daily tot of welcome rum and duty free the cigs,
But Tankermen were seamen and knew the ruddy score,
Convinced the truly madmen were them that toiled ashore.