Sadly, in the interest of time, Jim Findlay had to cut some material from his speech at the Gareloch Dinner. The new Convenor thought you might all appreciate still being able to appreciate his Burns-inspired ‘Address to Peter (with haggis overtones)’.
Happy New Year! And it is nearly time for Burns Supper… (I heard the club have one!).
Cultural note (mindful of our international audience and friends in the FKY!): ‘Address to a Haggis’ is a poem by Robert Burns – Scotland’s national bard (poet) – which is read out at a Burns Supper. It celebrates the haggis which is the king of puddings (sausages rather than desserts).
Address to Peter (with haggis overtones)
Fair fa Thalia’s sonsie face
Convenor’s yacht o’ Gareloch Class
Around the marks you take your place
Second, first and never last
Weel are ye worthy o’ a dram
As langs my arm
.
The Helmsmans place you occupy
Below the coaming, ‘cept your eyes
Your tiller held above your heid
Just in case a tack you need
While through your veins the red blood roars
Like tidal flows
.
His Ensign, see Commander Peter raise
My yacht is long enough for this he says
When underneath the Club Burgee
His pride in Navy and the sea
Oh what a glorious sight
Golden hull and varnish bright
.
Then bow to stern they tack and gybe
It’s Deil tak the hindmost on the Clyde
Til all the boats are scattered wide
And spinnakers in tatters lie
Auld Charley D, maist like to win
his red flag flies
.
Is there that ower his post-race brew
Or protest meet to mak him stew
Or starboard boat that came too close
Or crew that points the rightful course
Talks down the fine points of the rule
To win at any cost
.
Poor devil, see him hold his course
The wrong decision, oh how rash
His guid topsides at risk o bash
No rights at mark
Tho’ water called and red flag flies
Poor grasp of rules the space denies
.
But mark Thalia’s canvas spread
Her wily crew, refreshed and fed
No confrontation, need for rules
Clear air and water are the tools
That give the boys their right of way
And sometimes well-earned victory
.
Ye G.O.D.’s wha sailors love so much
On Tuesday nights and Sunday lunch
The Gareloch wants no reaching course
With long procession
But if you wish a beat that’s best
Gie them force 4 out the west
.