Home For Christmas — Old Style Poem by Cicely Fox Smith

'I'm goin' to get 'er 'ome
For Christmas,' said the skipper
O' the clipper

Flyin' Foam
. . .

Built on the Clyde, an' built to go,
By Bell an' Burnie for Keith an' Co.,
She was a beauty, she was a mover,
An' our ol' man was the man to shove 'er!

We cleared the 'Eads the fust of October:
It was 'All 'ands aft,' afore we was sober,
An' 'Boys,' says 'e, 'on board this packet
You'll 'ave to jump or else stand the racket . . . '

''Cos I mean to get 'er 'ome
For Christmas,' said the skipper
O' the clipper

Flyin' Foam
.

Off o' Cape Stiff it blowed a teaser -
A reg'lar snorter, a beast of a freezer -
It blowed bad, an' it blowed bitter,
With lumps o' seas that froze when they 'it 'er,

With hail as stung like shot in our faces,
An' ice like iron on sheets an' braces:
But 'ailin' an' freezin' an' snowin' an' blowin',
'E stuck to 'is topsails, 'e kept 'er goin' -

'Cos I mean to get 'er 'ome
For Christmas, did the skipper
O' the clipper

Flyin' Foam
.

She took 'er Trade an' she run from the South
With everything set an' a bone in 'er mouth,
She snored along with 'er lee rail under,
An' 'er main to'gal'ntsail bust like thunder!

It was breezing up an' the sea a smother,
But we laid aloft an' we bent another -
For 'e says, says 'e, 'By the Great Lord Harry,
She must darn well drag what she can't darn carry,'

'But I'm goin' to git 'er 'ome
For Christmas,' said the skipper
O' the clipper

Flyin' Foam
.

We 'and't 'ardly struck the Channel
When a fog come down as thick as flannel:
You couldn't see, an' you couldn't 'ear,
An' all you could do was stand an' steer.

An' where we was, well, there warn't no knowin',
But we blowed the 'orn an' we kep' on goin',
Till all of a suddent the fog got thinner,
An' there was the Foreland, as I'm a sinner . . .

An 'e'd got 'er 'ome
For Christmas, 'ad the skipper
O' the clipper

Flyin' Foam
.