John Bower - On Patrol

When we come back to England then, with all the warring done,
And paint and polish come up the side to rule on tube and gun,
We'll know before the anchor's down, the tidings won't be new.
Lizard along to the Isle of Wight,
Every lamp was burning bright,
Northern Lights or Trinity House – we had the news from you!

AS we were running the Channel along, with a rising wind abeam,
Steering home from an escort trip as fast as she could steam,
I'd just come up, relieving Bill, to look for Fritz again,
When I turns to the Skipper an', "Sir," I says, "I 'ears an aeroplane."
An' sure enough, from out o' the clouds astern, we seed 'im come,
An' down the wind the engine sang with a reg'lar oarin' 'um.
The Skipper 'e puts 'is glasses down, an' smilin' says to me,
"We needn't be pointin' guns at 'im – 'e's one o' the R.F.C.
We don't expect to meet the Boche, or any o' his machines,
From here to France an' back again – except for submarines."
An' 'e looks again at the 'plane above, an' says, "I do believe
It's a fightin' bus – good luck to them – an' lots of London leave."

An' jolly good luck, says I, says I,
To you that's overhead;
An' may you never go dry, go dry,
Or want for a decent bed.
With yer gaudy patch, says I, says I,
Of Red an' White an' Blue —
Oh, may the bullets go by, go by,
An' not be findin' you.
Astonishing luck, says I, says I,
To you an' yer aeroplane;
An' if it's yer joss to die, to die,
When you go back again —
May the enemy say as you drop below,
An' you start your final dive:
"Three of us left to see him go,
An' it must be nice for him to know,
That wasn't afraid o' five."

WHEN the breaking wavelets pass all sparkling to the sky,
When beyond their crests we see the slender masts go by,
When the glimpses alternate in bubbles white and green,
And funnels grey against the sky show clear and fair between,
When the word is passed along – "Stern and beam and bow" —
"Action stations fore and aft – all torpedoes now!"
When the hissing tubes are still, as if with bated breath
They waited for the word to loose the silver bolts of death,
When the Watch beneath the Sea shall crown the great Desire,
And hear the coughing rush of air that greets the word to fire,
We'll ask for no advantage, Lord – but only we would pray
That they may meet this boat of ours upon their outward way.

THE moment we have waited long
Is closing on us fast,
When, cutting short the turret-gong,
We'll hear the Cordite's Battle-song
That hails the Day at last.
The clashing rams come driving forth
To meet the waiting shell,
And far away to East and North
Our targets steam to meet Thy Wrath,
And dare the Gates of Hell.
We do not ask Thee, Lord, to-day
To stay the sinking sun —
But hear Thy steel-clad servants pray,
And keep, O Lord, Thy mists away
Until Thy work is done.

THROUGH the dark night
And the fury of battle
Pass the destroyers in showers of spray.
As the Wolf-pack to the flank of the cattle,
We shall close in on them – shadows of grey.
In from ahead,
Through shell-flashes red,
We shall come down to them, after the Day.
Whistle and crash
Of salvo and volley
Round us and into us while we attack.
Light on our target they'll flash in their folly,
Splitting our ears with the shrapnel-crack.

Fire as they will,
We'll come to them still,
Roar as they may at us – Back – Go Back!
White though the sea
To the shell-flashes foaming,
We shall be there at the death of the Hun.
Only we pray for a star in the gloaming
(Light for torpedoes and none for a gun).
Lord – of Thy Grace
Make it a race,
Over the sea with the night to run.

A tale is told of a captain bold
Of E-boat Seventy-two;
She steered to eastward – pitched and rolled, and Poulson swore at her, damp and cold,
As E-boat captains do.

And off the mouth of the German Bight,
With Borkum on the bow,
She saw the smoke of a German fleet – MIND YOUR FINGERS – SEVENTY FEET!
We're in for business now…

(For enemy ships are hard to find —
You have to take them quick;
So copy the Eastern vulture's rule, that waits for days for an Army mule —
Always ready to click.)

Out to the west from Helgoland
The big grey cruiser steered,
And the glinting rays of a rising sun flashed on funnel and mast and gun,
And – Admiral Schultz's beard.

Down the wind the E-boat came
And passed the searching screen;
Nobody guessed the boat was there, till they heard the wallop and saw the flare —
Where the pride of the fleet had been.

'Twixt white and green of dancing waves
The racing tracks were seen,
And Poulson watching them get there, cried — Hold the crockery – Starboard side!
For the kick of a magazine!

The escort ran and the cruisers ran
At the thought of an English snare;
Scattered and spread to left and right, to the friendly arms of the German Bight,
And left the ocean bare.

Then the coffee was spilt, the E-boat rolled
To a deuce of a shaking bang;
To the sound of the hammer of Aser-Thor, victory-song of Naval War,
The hull of the E-boat rang.

And Poulson swinging the eye-piece round,
Lifted eyebrows high,
For far aloft, when the smoke had cleared, he saw the flash of a golden beard
Against the empty sky.

"Admiral over! Surface , lads!
He's flying a belted sword;
Pipe the side or stern or bow, stand to attention smartly now —
Wherever he comes aboard."

The Admiral landed Cabré-wise
And high the fountains burst —
(What is the meaning of Cabré-wise? To men of the air it signifies —
His after-end was first).

They piped the side, and still they stood
To watch him struggle and heave,
As he fought the slope of the rounded deck (for none could pull at an Admiral's neck
Without the Admiral's leave).

They took him below, and sat him down
On the edge of the Captain's bed, —
Treatment vile for a foemen caught, they gave him a bottle of Navy Port —
Fiery, dark, and red.

They landed him at a Naval Base,
With S. two-twenty D.
Supplied – a large and bearded Hun: Grosse Admirals, angry, One —
For draft to Admiraltee.

And Grosse-Admiral Schultz von Schmidt,
Graf von Hansa-Zoom,
Faded away to Donnington Hall, to an English park with a guarded wall
– To an elegant private room.

And there he paced the carpet up,
And paced the carpet down,
"Alte Himmel!" – the prisoners cried – "Some one's trod on the German pride,
And dared the Hansa frown!"

The Admiral called for a fountain pen
And Reference Sheets 1 1 A letter-form which enables the sender to address his Seniors more abruptly than he would dare to do without its assistance. galore,
And silence fell on the smoking-room – for Grosse-Admiral Hansa-Zoom
Was throwing a Gage of War.