The freighters and the tankers

Rest in Bedford Bay.

All have their sailing orders

And plan to sail this day.

Fort Anne, Baron Elgin, Zaanland, Ganymedes and Coracero

Set sail for dear old England.

The crews all know the score.

Galley boys and coal trimmers,

Peggies, just a few,Firemen, ABs and officersMake up a motley crew.

Some come from dear old England

And some from far away,Norway, Greece and Holland,Durban and Bombay.

Muslims, Hindus and Christians,

And some with no known God,All from allied nations,And some you may find odd.

All tightly bound together

With only one belief,That by helping one anotherNone may come to grief.

In wind and snow they're set to go

Across the treacherous sea.

What lies below they cannot know,

The horror that's to be.

In innocence, and fully dressed,

They hit their bunks each night.

They dream of home and being blessed,

And then awake in fright.

The ship's alarm has sounded,

They can no longer sleep.

The young boys are confounded

But have their rules to keep.

They open sleep-starved eyes

Their lips with fear sealed tightTheir panic grows and terrors riseOf facing death that night.

They cannot see the wolf pack,

Whose silhouettes are too low,They know they cannot turn back,There is nowhere to go.

A deafening explosion

Means a freighter has been lost.

Its men are in the ocean,

All too soon to pay the cost.

Their lifebelt lights are blinking,

Their shouts are loud and clear.

We know they will be thinking

There is no rescue near.

Five minutes they are given

Before they freeze to death.

They're on their way to Heaven

With one last worldly breath.

A thunderous ball of amber

Ruses quickly in the sky.

"It's from a crippled tanker",

We hear our shipmates cry.

There's little hope for the tanker's crew,

The sea's a roaring fire,The price that's paid by the fewTo sate man's war desire.

Carnage continues three more nights

Till air support is in range.

Aircraft with their long-haul flights

Herald a welcome change.

The only thing against them now

Are the hurricane winds and cold,And treacherous seas of ice and snow,By fewer men the tale is old.

The final cost was counted.

Twenty-two ships had been lost

As well as many crewmen,A shocking, dreadful cost.

It's the price that's paid for petrol,

Sugar and meat and bread,Guns and planes and tanks and oil,For Britain must be fed.

But the story is not ended,

For in a week or soThe ships will be directedTo cross the sea once more.

RAYMOND HICKS, cabin boy on the Dutch ship Ganymedes