On joining a Bank Line ship in mid-winter
It doesn’t seem so long ago,
winches – hissing and clanking in the snow,
A lovely smell of oil with steam,
and Copra resting on the beams.
Hoses, cables, boards, and battens,
lie around in a random fashion,
There was nothing quite like a Bank Line ship,
home at last, from a two year trip.
See the cabins, mostly white,
narrow bunks with quilts tucked tight,
Soon, the tea, thick and treacly,
brought by stewards, ever so meekly.
An alien world, it should be known,
but some of us, we called it home!