WHO DONE IT - ship's poem
WHO DONE IT
Here’s to the men
Who make up the crew
Of the Landing Ship Medium
Number 42
They work damn hard
And sleep when they can
You can tell at first sight
That each one is all man.
Forty nine men
Working as one
Cursing and sweating,
Yet having fun.
The ship, a new kind
A strange looking craft
Rides like a wild horse
She hasn’t much draft.
She tosses and rolls,
Shivers and shakes,
Got more wiggles
Than a barrel of snakes.
But I spite of all this
Rabble and rout
The crew of 42
Knows what it’s about.
We sight strange lands
A beach, a tree,
When we long for life
As it used to be.
A home, a wife,
A dog and some kids
Not wire rope, grommets
Prickers and fids.
We lay in our bunks
And dream of our bed.
We remember her looks
And just what she said.
The food comes in trays
And all of us wish
We could swap the darn thing
For an old fashioned dish.
But on we go
Eating and sleeping
Constantly scrubbing
Scraping and sweeping.
We keep the ship clean
As surely we must,
Gathering up paint scales
Bread crumbs and rust.
We are all volunteers
(like heck we did)
To come to sea
On this ocean skid.
So you see, all of us knew
What was in store.
After all that’s happened
Could there be more?
The engines break down
We rig for tow,
But the engineroom shouts
We’re ready, let’s go.
So go we did,
We’re on our way
To contact the enemy
And make him pay.
For the damage he’s done
For the hits he’s scored
And for making us ride
This shuffle board.
We’ll hit the beach
And wipe him clean,
Man: this LSM
Is a fighting machine.
When the war is over
And the fighting done,
We’ll turn in our gear
And home we’ll run.
When we reach our place
And open the door,
Please let things be
As they were before.
- C. Ray Johnston, MoM1, USNR 1945
