THE SONG OF THE TRIMMER.

Digger (Invercargill RSA), Issue 24, 27 August 1920, Page 1

THE SONG OF THE TRIMMER.

He knows the songs o' sailormen, their jolly life and free, An' 'ow they finds a wife in every port; But when us blokes wot trims the coal goes out upon a spree We sings a song o' quite a different sort. When the 'ooker's doo for sailing, Ho! The Chief is cussin' prime, An' the oi' man's pacin' topsides in a st-ink ; For the stags as does the trimmin' job ain't come aboard to time, Cos we 'ad to 'ave another little drink. They'll log ns in the rnornin' while tho Second goes around Through tlie bunkers witli a spanner in 'is paw ; 'An 'e'll sliove us on to "doocers" till the rest is fit an' sound. An' 'e'll threaten to break someone's | blinkin' jaw. The smart fore-cabiu passengers is frequent down below, To try their 'and a-sbavelling the coal; So we cadges fags an' matches, an' sits down to 'ave a blow, An' watch them do the wheelin' in a roll ! Ho ! it-'a nice to run yer barrer to the pocket gapin' wide, Down the midships bunkers, in ihe i slush-lamp's gleam ; When the glass is up to hoilin' an the water overside Is near to ninety, churnin' through the stream. Yus, it's fine to struggle forrard frum the fiddley to the peak, A,s we run the Eastin' down to make the Hoi*n : An' she takes the gre-y-hacks over, while w,e waits to jnake a break For the fo'c'sle scuttle when the nex' one's gorn. An' down where oi Nick s fnin an a-beating 'is tatoo, Us st-ags '11 meet 'im, shovels in our 'ands ; An' 'e'll call the watch together on the plates for a shivvoo, With a blackpan from the shinin' angel bands. —"Blow Georgie," in the "Ruahmean Review."