RUSHCUTTER'S REFRAIN

Nigel Yonge

(Rushcutter, a Contessa 43, crossed westwards last summer from Falmouth to Newport, Rhode Island. Aboard were skipper Tim and five crew, including the author.)

To cross the Great Atlantic North

Three thousand miles of spume and froth

Bumpy waves and close-hauled sailing

We're damp and cold - tho' not much bailing.

Our clothing soaked and bedding wet,

And mal de mer, let's not forget.

We knew that this might be our lot

And was precisely what we got!

And then more sunny days came by

With all our clothes put out to dry

On deck from stem right up to bow

We're like a Chinese laundry now.

From storm to calm and back again

Rushcutter shouldered through the Main

While doughty Tim repaired the light

In compass bowl, to crews' delight.

Cameron's beard and Nigel's too

Grew on apace, and all the crew

Observed the stubble change to hair

As weather went from foul to fair.

The halliard sheave on top of mast

Got jammed -- 'twas quite a stir at first

'Til mid-Atlantic bosun's chair

Was rigged, and Philip made repair.

Impeller failed quite frequently

Necessitating one, two, three

Or more repairs, by day and night,

So speed and log could read aright.

In galley, all the crew took turn

To cook, brew up, and heat the urn

(Contents of which our efforts grew

From pigswill through to Cordon Bleu!)

The Edwards, both the young and old,

Of previous crossings often told.

We could not match these Sea Dogs' tales

So watched and logged the sight of whales.

Sail-shaking calms and lack of wind

Extended passage -- thus declined

Our stores and bread. So gas was lit,

A loaf was baked, and all the wit

Of crew said "Good". Another whimsy

Uttered "What a clever Timsy!"

A ruder one said, "I'll declare

I've tasted worse, tho' can't think where".

The heads got blocked -- a dirty deed

Was necessary to proceed.

Repair was shortly put in train

And crapping started once again.

With morale high and spirits gay

We thus proceeded on our way

With gin and beer -- we six are one.

Good Lord, is this Day 21?

Provisions lasted well. No doubt,

And only longlife milk ran out

The day before we reached our laager --

Newport, Rhode Island's ample harbour.

From moored up yacht to shower we raced

Hot water's luxury we faced.

A cleaned up crew to laundry came

With bedding, clothes, all washed the same.

T'was four-and-twenty days non-stop,

And as into our bunks we got

All clean and dry, we dreamt of ... well,

Which stories to our friends we'd tell.

In later years, round roaring fire,

We'll never of this voyage tire

Of stretching anecdotes -- some flip

It was a most stupendous trip.