Birthday Beer

At least I have lifted the clothes I intend taking to somewhere near a suitcase, it’s a start.
But it came after a couple of hours at the Rugby Club, the new cafe/cocktail area is all but complete and will be ready for the start of the coming season.
Then at midday it was down town to meet four old friends from my days in the Navy, one of whom I hadn’t seen for forty-three years and one who I discovered today lives in Falmouth.
As is the way of these things more alcohol than could be accepted as good for you was consumed and by early evening when they left I had what is known in Naval circles as a ‘pleasant glow’ on.
I happily wended my way home via a KFC stop.
The diet did not go well today but a poem reminds me of why ‘we’ do it.

OLD SAILORS
Old sailors like to drink a bit, and talk of days of yore,
To greet the hands that sailed the ships, that now have gone before,
These lads have seen the best of men, and often times the worst,
But now they love a drink or two, to quench their salty thirst.

Recalling nights in foreign bars when they stood upon the table,
To sing the songs of sailor men that were heard for ‘most a cable
Reciting verse like Dead Eye Dick, Magrew and Eskimo Nell,
The rousing words of ballads, and of Kipling, they would tell.

It’s swell to go out with your mates again to have a drop of cheer,
To recall the days of a dinner time session, when still in your working gear.
Yes, it’s good to meet another crew, and those from a previous ship,
To have a yarn and a laugh once more, a tot, and a merry quip.

A storm, a fire or injury, whatever lay in store,
Was covered by resourcefulness, you’d never see ashore.
These are the times they talk about, and recall with honest pleasure
“Come on Boys another one - here’s a double measure.”

They rode the mighty oceans when the seas were rolling white,
And they saw the hungry days, when the land was out of sight.
Then came wondering home again, no matter where they’ve been,
Sighting whales and flying fish where the blue sea turns to green.

So it’s wonderful to chew the fat, right up to seven bells,
To argue with your ‘shell-back’ friends, ‘till the Landlord loudly yells.
They remember ports in distant lands, the one’s well known to sailors,
And the hand-stitched suits they swaggered in - made by the Chinese tailors.

It matters not, what rank you were, when the barman takes your money
Or how they spin the hyperbole to make the facts so funny,
It does ‘em good to swing the lamp and talk of many things,
For they will chat to anyone, from lonely tramp to Kings.

The wife, she says “your crackers” to go sinking pints once more,
But in her heart she knows - when you roll through the door,
That you’ve sailed the Western Ocean, and your time was not in vain,
‘Cause those old men were shipmates - brought back to life again.