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Post by Admin on Jun 2, 2013 16:23:40 GMT -5
The Red Duster by David Partridge:
It isn't just a flag to us but part of who we are, It flew astern from every ship we sailed. From Liverpool to Singapore and through the Panama It filled us with a pride which never failed
Sometimes tattered, sometimes torn, raised each day at morning's dawn, It told the world of who we are and where. And across the seven oceans it weathered every storm To keep our country strong, and firm, and fair.
It flew not just in peacetime but bravely went to war Where the conflict raged across a flaming sea, And it shrouds our fallen shipmates upon the ocean floor Who gave their lives to keep our nation free.
No politician's pen stroke can take away the pride That wells within to see that flag unfurled And they'll not besmirch the memory of all of those who died In every ocean on our fragile world.
Our flag must stay until the day we have no ships to sail And the piper sadly wails the last lament, And we'll leave it then to history to tell the famous tale Of a flag which flew with pride where ere it went.
So join the battle, show no fear, let our banner fly, Let it sail through stormy waters and grace the morning sky. And when we all must heed the call to make the final muster, One last request, just let us rest, beneath the old Red Duster. David Partridge 2004
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Post by Admin on Jun 2, 2013 17:14:28 GMT -5
Cicely Fox Smith (1882-1954 / England) The Red Duster (R. N. R. Demobilised) Oh, some will save their Navy pay and take their ease ashore And some will sit at an office desk and go to sea no more, And some will follow the blooming plough and hear the skylark's song, But oh! it's me for the old Red Duster, for that's where I belong. I'll sign and sail in the Lord knows what - I'll go to Lord knows where - From Hudson's Bay I'll beat my way to the Straits of old Le Mair; From Pernambuck to Palembang, and I know I'll not go wrong So long's I'm under the old Red Duster, for that's where I belong. I'll take a turn in the Black Sea trade, a trick on the Gulf Ports run, I'll feel the bite of the Cape Horn cold, and the burn o' the Perim sun; I'll make the round of the blessed lot from the Gunfleet to Hong-Kong, When I get back to the old Red Duster - the place where I belong. I'll ship aboard of the first that comes, and any old thing'll do, And I don't much care if she's sail or steam, or whether she's old or new, There'll be never a tramp too foul for me, nor a spounter smell too strong, So long's I'm under the old Red Duster - for that's where I belong! For Navy chaps are Navy chaps - good luck to all and one! And Navy ways are Navy ways - and now the fighting's done, I'm sick at heart for a shellback's yarn my old-time pals among, And oh! It's me for the old Red Duster, for that's where I belong! Cicely Fox Smith
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