OLD SALFORD

Ordsall Park, near Dock gates.
Charlie Camilleri. Breakfast plates.
Men on bikes going to Metro-Vicks.
Johnnie Mac Brown on the Boro flicks.
Taxi rides from The Clowes.
Dockers with cardboard in their shoes.
Ladies of the night gave their permission
By Broadwav and the Central Mission.
Green buses and Austin cars,
The Ship Hotel, Cross Lane bars.
Al Reid's pies that fed the masses,
And cheap underwear from George Glass's.
Old prams in a coalyard queue.
A pint of Wilson’s with Billy Donoghue.
Characters on every street -
Cliff Evans and Piccolo Pete,
Dancing nightly on Regent Road,
Freddie Webb of no fixed abode.
All nationalities in The Fox,
At closing time you could learn to box.
Cobbled streets and horse manure,
Debt collectors whose knuckles were sore,
Kids playing hopscotch and ticky hit,
Dirty-faced men from down the pit.
Sunshine in August
And fog in December,
A piece of old Salford
I shall always remember.

LITTLE MIXED UP

Just a line to say I am living,
That I’m not among the dead,
Though I’m getting more forgetful and mixed up in the head.

I’ve got used to my arthritis,
To my dentures I’m resigned,
I can manage my bi-focals, but oh God, I miss my mind.

Sometimes I can’t remember
When I’m standing by the stair
If I should go up for something or have I just come down from there?

And before the fridge so often
My mind is filled with doubt,
Now did I put some food away - or come to take it out?

Sometimes when it’s night time
With my night cap on my head,
I don’t know if I’m retiring or just getting out of bed.

If it’s not my turn to write dear
I hope you won’t get sore,
I may think I have written and don’t want to be a bore

So remember I do love you,
And wished that you lived near,
But now it time to mail this and say “Goodbye” my dear.
-------------------------

At last I stood beside that mailbox
And my face it sure got red –
Instead of mailing this to you, I opened in instead!

MERCHANT SEAMEN

I've read about soldiers & sailors,
of infantry, airmen & tanks,
of battleships, corvettes and cruisers,
of Anzacs, and Froggies and Yanks,
and there’s one other man to remember
who was present at many a fray,
He wears neither medals or ribbons
and derides any show of display.

I'm talking of A.B.'s and firemen
of stewards and greasers and cooks
who manned the big steamers in convoy
(You wont read about them in books).
No uniform gay were they dressed in,
nor marched with their colours unfurled:
They steamed out across the wide oceans
and travelled all over the world.

Their history goes back through the ages
a record of which to be proud
and the bones of their forefathers moulder
with naught but the deep for a shroud,
For armies have swept on to victory
o'er the bodies of those who have died;
'Tis thus that the nations do battle
For country and freedom and pride.

In thousands they sailed from the Homeland
from Liverpool, Hull, and the Clyde,
to London, and Bristol, and Cardiff,
They came back again on the tide.
An old 'four-point-seven' their safeguard.
What nice easy prey for the Huns,
who trailed them with bombers and U-Boats
and sank them with 'tin-fish' and guns.

The epic of gallant OTAKI,
that grim forlorn hope Jervis Bay,
who fought to the last and were beaten
but they joined the illustrious array
whose skeletons lie ‘neath the waters,
whose deeds are remembered today,
and their glory will shine undiminished
long after our flesh turns to clay.

They landed the Anzacs at Suvla
and stranded the old River Clyde,
Off Dunkirk they gathered the remnants
(And still they were not satisfied)
They Battled their way through to Malta
and rescued the troops from Malay;
they brought the eighth army munitions
and took all their prisoners away.

And others 'signed on' in the tankers
and loaded crude oil and octane –
the lifeblood of warships and engines,
of mechanised transport and plane.
But these were the U-Boats chief victims;
What death they were called on to face ;
As men were engulfed by infernos
In ships that were 'sunk without trace'.

They were classed a non-combatant service-
Civilians who fought without guns
and many’s the time they'd have welcomed
a chance of a crack at the Huns.
But somehow in spite of this drawback
The steamers still sailed and arrived
and they fed fifty millions of people
and right to the end we survived.

And now that the turmoil is ended,
our enemies vanquished and fled,
we'll pray that the living will foster
the spirit of those who are dead.
When the next generation takes over
this country we now hold in lease
will be theirs - may they cherish its freedom
and walk down the pathways of peace.

When the Master of Masters holds judgement
and the devils dark angels have flown,
When the clerk of the heavenly council
decrees that the names shall be known
They will stand out in glittering letters
inscribed with the blood they have shed;
Names of Ships - and the seamen who manned them;
then the ocean can give up its dead.

Thirty west on Christmas Day,
We’re homeward bound or so they say.
The wind and sea come from nor-west,
She pitches deep with every crest.

Our course now altered to three-one-o,
And it’s on the bow we take the blow.
Hove to now twice in just one crossing,
This always trying, incessant tossing.

Six days to go ‘til New Year’s Eve,
That’s when we hope to take our leave.
Only nine hundred more miles to go,
This old ship doesn’t half go slow.

Christmas at home is what they said,
Now New Year’s hopes are almost dead.
Once more the course is changed to east,
Maybe our dinner we’ll get at least.

Across the decks the seas wash green,
How could the weather be so mean?
So we think of home ahead,
Blue skies, calm seas – was I mislead.

© Derrick J Howarth
Deck Apprentice
S.S. Manchester Mariner
25th December 1960

The Scene is set - on the Quarterdeck of H.M.S. Victory.

Admiral Lord Nelson (played by Capt Michael Taylor) is ready for battle.

Captain Thomas Hardy (played by Capt Eoan Edwards) is ready for his orders -

BUT - the year is not 1805 - it is 2005 - and Political Correctness is the buzz-word.

Nelson: "Order the signal, Hardy."

Hardy: "Aye, sir."

Nelson: "Hold on, that's not what I dictated to the signal officer. What's the meaning of this?"

Hardy: "Sorry sir?"

Nelson (reading aloud): "England expects every person to do his duty, regardless of race, gender, sexual orientation, religious persuasion or disability". "What gobbledygook is this?"

Hardy: "Admiralty policy, I'm afraid, sir. We're an equal opportunities employer now. We had the devil's own job getting 'England' past the censors, lest it be considered racist."

Nelson: "Gadzooks, Hardy. Hand me my pipe and tobacco."

Hardy: "Sorry sir. All naval vessels have been designated smoke-free working environments."

Nelson: "In that case, break open the rum ration. Let us splice the main brace to steel the men before battle."

Hardy: "The rum ration has been abolished, Admiral. It's part of the Government's policy on binge drinking."

Nelson: "Good heavens, Hardy. I suppose we'd better get on with it....full speed ahead."

Hardy: "I think you'll find that there's a 4 knot speed limit in this stretch of water."

Nelson: "Damn it man! We are on the eve of the greatest sea battle in history. We must advance with all dispatch. Report from the crow's nest please."

Hardy: "That won't be possible, sir."

Nelson: "What?"

Hardy: "Health and safety have closed the crow's nest, sir. No harness. And they said that rope ladder doesn't meet regulations. They won't let anyone up there until a proper scaffolding can be erected."

Nelson: "Then get me the ship's carpenter without delay, Hardy."

Hardy: "He's busy knocking up a wheelchair access to the fo'c'sle, Admiral."

Nelson: "Wheelchair access? I've never heard anything so absurd."

Hardy: "Health and safety again, sir. We have to provide a barrier-free environment for the
differently abled."

Nelson: "Differently abled? I've only one arm and one eye and I refuse even to hear mention of the word. I didn't rise to the rank of admiral by playing the disability card."

Hardy: "Actually, sir, you did. The Royal Navy is under- represented in the areas of visual impairment and limb deficiency."

Nelson: "Whatever next? Give me full sail. The salt spray beckons."

Hardy: "A couple of problems there too, sir. Health and safety won't let the crew up the rigging without hard hats. And they don't want anyone breathing in too much salt - haven't you seen the adverts?"

Nelson: "I've never heard such infamy. Break out the cannon and tell the men to stand by to engage the enemy."

Hardy: "The men are a bit worried about shooting at anyone, Admiral."

Nelson: "What? This is mutiny."

Hardy: "It's not that, sir. It's just that they're afraid of being charged with murder if they actually kill anyone. There's a couple of legal-aid lawyers on board, watching everyone like hawks."

Nelson: "Then how are we to sink the Frenchies and the Spanish?"

Hardy: "Actually, sir, we're not."

Nelson: "We're not?"

Hardy: "No, sir. The Frenchies and the Spanish are our European partners now. According to the Common Fisheries Policy, we shouldn't even be in this stretch of water. We could get hit with claim for compensation."

Nelson: "But you must hate a Frenchman as you hate the devil."

Hardy: "I wouldn't let the ship's diversity coordinator hear you saying that sir. You'll be up on disciplinary."

Nelson: "You must consider every man an enemy, who speaks ill of your King."

Hardy: "Not any more, sir. We must be inclusive in this multicultural age. Now put on your Kevlar vest; it's the rules. It could save your life"

Nelson: "Don't tell me - health and safety. Whatever happened to rum, sodomy and the lash?"

Hardy: As I explained, sir, rum is off the menu! And there's a ban on corporal punishment."

Nelson: "What about sodomy?"Hardy: "I believe that is now legal, sir."

Nelson: "In that case ...KISS ME , HARDY".

RULE BRITANNIA..!!

The Ice

It is the ice that sailors hate,
It slows them down and makes them late.
It floats around in deadly hunks
And keeps them from their well-earned bunks.

On drawing near the lookout’s doubled,
It’s obvious that the Old Man’s troubled.
Not far ahead – an awesome sight
Through which a Breaker ploughs with might.

This field so vast – you can’t believe,
You wonder if your eyes deceive.
Then slow ahead and in we slice,
Following the Breaker through the ice.

It bends and breaks, groans and creaks,
It’s cracks and pools that one now seeks.
Then with a crunch, a shake, a shudder,
Our ship won’t answer to her rudder.

She follows up a crack until
With a lurch and jolt we stop quite still.
The Old Man says, “that’s that we’re stuck”.
“The Breaker’s coming back Sir – look”!

She sweeps along close by our side,
The pressure eased we now can slide.
Then breaks for us a track ahead,
And so once more we’re slowly led.

As shades of night begin to drop
The time has come for us to stop.
And when the dawn comes up at last,
Once more we see we’re held quite fast.

The Breaker sets us free again
And takes us to a well-cleared lane.
The ice around breaks with our swell,
So to the Breaker – “Thanks, farewell”.

© Derrick J Howarth
3rd Mate
S.S. Manchester Miller
March 1965

THE SEA

Those blue – green hills with snowy caps,
So smooth no man can ever climb.
Nor can be found on charts or maps,
And disappear from time to time.

Or in their place, moors cold and grey
On which no paths or tracks are found.
And as we make our lonely way,
There’s nothing but a surging sound.

And now the grey gives way to green,
Our journey’s end draws near.
Some fellow travellers now are seen
And the cry of birds we hear.          

© Derrick J Howarth
2nd Mate  M.V. Cairnesk
August 1966

ROYAL MAIL TO MONTREAL

The dawn just breaks, the cry “Let go”.
The telegraphs ring down dead slow.
Between the ships we quietly steal,
And then we’re out and through Mode Wheel.

Barton, Irlam, Latchford too,
When outward bound they seem so few.
Through fields and towns we wind afar,
Then down the Mersey and past the Bar.

The course is set for Chicken Rock,
Then nor’- nor’ west past Belfast Lough.
Past Malin Head and Inishtrahull,
Still westwards on through the lonely lull.

The wind’s ag’in us, the bow ploughs under,
Foam and spray crash down like thunder.
She pitches, rolls, creaks and shakes,
Salt around the funnel cakes.

Across the Western we toss and turn,
For the St Lawrence and the calm we yearn.
Through fog and ice our track we trace,
On o’er the Banks and past Cape Race.

The ship ploughs on through Cabot Strait,
“Just two more days now” sighs the Mate.
Through Quebec and past Three Rivers,
Now speeding on, the wind is with us.
To Montreal which is our port,
And now the mail’s our foremost thought.

© Derrick J Howarth
3rd Mate
S.S. Manchester Miller
March 1965