Up Spirits: Ode to a tot of rum There once was a time in H.M.Ships, When the magic hour had come. The leading hands of every mess ... ... Prepared to collect the rum. The smell of Jamaican filled the air As the ritual began A daily tot of Nelsons Blood Was a favourite to every man. When the Rum Bosun stood, his measure poised To serve every man his tot. Two fingers always in the cup Making sure that the Queen got her lot. The ticker off was there, of course His pencil at the ready, With a sipper given from each mans tot His hand was no longer steady. The rum rat sat, his eyes aglow His whiskers twitching well He liked his rum so much it seems He could get pissed on the smell. Sometimes the tots were passed around As each man paid his debts Favour, rubber, game of crib Could cost a couple of wets. Then came the time to sup the Queens God Bless Her was the toast A watchful eye, as each man supped. So the Rum Bosun got the most. Once the rum had been consumed And nothing left to pour; The dits began, as the Grog took charge, Of favourite runs ashore. A feed, a fight, a couple of pints Was part of a run ashore. A game of darts was in there too Then all night with a Pompey Lil. No longer though, does the scent of rum Pervade her Majestys boats. No more to sup Lord Nelsons Blood And give the Queen her toasts. So to all who drank Lord Nelsons Blood And heard the Klaxons blast May old shipmates meet and share a wet Spinning dits of the good times passed. A toast then to Horatio And another to the Queen. And may we all, wherever we are Remember where weve been! Amen to that! Up Spirits, Stand Fast the Holy Ghost..
Posted on: Mon, 24 Nov 2014 08:34:30 +0000
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