Verses 1889-1896

They piddled and piffled with iron:  I’d given my orders for steel!
Steel and the first expansions.  It paid, I tell you, it paid,
When we came with our nine-knot freighters and collared the long-run trade!
And they asked me how I did it, and I gave ‘em the Scripture text,
“You keep your light so shining a little in front o’ the next!”
They copied all they could follow, but they couldn’t copy my mind,
And I left ‘em sweating and stealing a year and a half behind.
Then came the armour-contracts, but that was M’Cullough’s side;
He was always best in the Foundry, but better, perhaps, he died.
I went through his private papers; the notes was plainer than print;
And I’m no fool to finish if a man’ll give me a hint.
(I remember his widow was angry.)  So I saw what the drawings meant,
And I started the six-inch rollers, and it paid me sixty per cent —
Sixty per cent with failures, and more than twice we could do,
And a quarter-million to credit, and I saved it all for you!
I thought – it doesn’t matter – you seemed to favour your ma,
But you’re nearer forty than thirty, and I know the kind you are.
Harrer an’ Trinity College!  I ought to ha’ sent you to sea —
But I stood you an education, an’ what have you done for me?
The things I knew was proper you wouldn’t thank me to give,
And the things I knew was rotten you said was the way to live.
For you muddled with books and pictures, an’ china an’ etchin’s an’ fans,
And your rooms at college was beastly – more like a whore’s than a man’s —
Till you married that thin-flanked woman, as white and as stale as a bone,
An’ she gave you your social nonsense; but where’s that kid o’ your own?
I’ve seen your carriages blocking the half o’ the Cromwell Road,
But never the doctor’s brougham to help the missus unload.
(So there isn’t even a grandchild, an’ the Gloster family’s done.)
Not like your mother, she isn’t.  She carried her freight each run.
But they died, the pore little beggars!  At sea she had ‘em – they died.
Only you, an’ you stood it; you haven’t stood much beside.
Weak, a liar, and idle, and mean as a collier’s whelp
Nosing for scraps in the galley.  No help – my son was no help!
So he gets three ‘undred thousand, in trust and the interest paid.
I wouldn’t give it you, Dickie – you see, I made it in trade.
You’re saved from soiling your fingers, and if you have no child,
It all comes back to the business.  Gad, won’t your wife be wild!
‘Calls and calls in her carriage, her ‘andkerchief up to ‘er eye:
“Daddy! dear daddy’s dyin’!” and doing her best to cry.
Grateful?  Oh, yes, I’m grateful, but keep her away from here.
Your mother ‘ud never ha’ stood ‘er, and, anyhow, women are queer..
There’s women will say I’ve married a second time.
Not quite!  But give pore Aggie a hundred, and tell her your lawyers’ll fight.
She was the best o’ the boiling – you’ll meet her before it ends;
I’m in for a row with the mother – I’ll leave you settle my friends:
For a man he must go with a woman, which women don’t understand —
Or the sort that say they can see it they aren’t the marrying brand.
But I wanted to speak o’ your mother that’s Lady Gloster still —
I’m going to up and see her, without it’s hurting the will.
Here!  Take your hand off the bell-pull.  Five thousand’s waiting for you,
If you’ll only listen a minute, and do as I bid you do.
They’ll try to prove me crazy, and, if you bungle, they can;
And I’ve only you to trust to!  (O God, why ain’t he a man?)
There’s some waste money on marbles, the same as M’Cullough tried —
Marbles and mausoleums – but I call that sinful pride.
There’s some ship bodies for burial – we’ve carried ‘em, soldered and packed;
Down in their wills they wrote it, and nobody called them cracked.
But me – I’ve too much money, and people might…  All my fault:
It come o’ hoping for grandsons and buying that Wokin’ vault.
I’m sick o’ the ‘ole dam’ business; I’m going back where I came.
Dick, you’re the son o’ my body, and you’ll take charge o’ the same!
I want to lie by your mother, ten thousand mile away,
And they’ll want to send me to Woking; and that’s where you’ll earn your pay.
I’ve thought it out on the quiet, the same as it ought to be done —
Quiet, and decent, and proper – an’ here’s your orders, my son.
You know the Line?  You don’t, though.  You write to the Board, and tell
Your father’s death has upset you an’ you’re goin’ to cruise for a spell,
An’ you’d like the Mary Gloster – I’ve held her ready for this —
They’ll put her in working order and you’ll take her out as she is.
Yes, it was money idle when I patched her and put her aside
(Thank God, I can pay for my fancies!) – the boat where your mother died,
By the Little Paternosters, as you come to the Union Bank,
We dropped her – I think I told you – and I pricked it off where she sank —
[‘Tiny she looked on the grating – that oily, treacly sea – ]
‘Hundred and eighteen East, remember, and South just three.
Easy bearings to carry – three South – three to the dot;
But I gave M’Andrew a copy in case of dying – or not.
And so you’ll write to M’Andrew, he’s Chief of the Maori Line;
They’ll give him leave, if you ask ‘em and say it’s business o’ mine.
I built three boats for the Maoris, an’ very well pleased they were,
An’ I’ve known Mac since the Fifties, and Mac knew me – and her.
After the first stroke warned me I sent him the money to keep
Against the time you’d claim it, committin’ your dad to the deep;
For you are the son o’ my body, and Mac was my oldest friend,
I’ve never asked ‘im to dinner, but he’ll see it out to the end.
Stiff-necked Glasgow beggar, I’ve heard he’s prayed for my soul,
But he couldn’t lie if you paid him, and he’d starve before he stole!
He’ll take the Mary in ballast – you’ll find her a lively ship;
And you’ll take Sir Anthony Gloster, that goes on ‘is wedding-trip,
Lashed in our old deck-cabin with all three port-holes wide,
The kick o’ the screw beneath him and the round blue seas outside!
Sir Anthony Gloster’s carriage – our ‘ouse-flag flyin’ free —
Ten thousand men on the pay-roll and forty freighters at sea!
He made himself and a million, but this world is a fleetin’ show,
And he’ll go to the wife of ‘is bosom the same as he ought to go —
By the heel of the Paternosters – there isn’t a chance to mistake —
And Mac’ll pay you the money as soon as the bubbles break!
Five thousand for six weeks’ cruising, the staunchest freighter afloat,
And Mac he’ll give you your bonus the minute I’m out o’ the boat!
He’ll take you round to Macassar, and you’ll come back alone;