to the tune of ‘Old Smoky’

When Father went nautical A sail boat he bought For exploring the harbour From starboard to port.

The wind was behind them They ran with the tide Till Pete trimmed the foresail And went over the side.

The boat lurched and quivered The boom it did swing The horizon it tilted As the boat dropped Dad in

A ferry was passing And hailed them with glee “Hold tight we are coming To clasp you from sea.”

They hauled Pete to safety And picked up the mass Of flotsam and jetsam And Dad’s can of gas.

He went down the third time With the outboard in hand; On the end of a boathook He was dragged onto land.

In spite of this wetting He pursued his ideal And camping in Blue Twit Is the latest appeal.