The Royal Regatta

Come with me, I'll take you, to the land of Yesterday.

To the port of Harwich, near a pleasant sandy bay.

We are in the nineteen thirties,  King George the fifth upon the throne.

From high above us in the sky, you can hear an engine's drone.

You'll see a flying boat approach, if you look to the south.

It comes to rest off Felixtowe, inside the harbour mouth.

The giant hangars can be seen, from the Harwich shore,

As can the sea- plane landing cranes, two miles away or more.

Let us take an evening stroll, along the Harwich Quay.

As it's Royal Regatta Week, there'll be a lot to see.

Those people on the landing stage, on the Ha'penny Pier,

Are the owners guests and crews, they come here every year.

They come ashore in tenders, few can afford to own.

From ocean going racing yachts, owned, by millionaires alone.

The local lads, have turned out, to make a coin or two.

They will entertain the owners, the captains and their crew..

Climbing on the railway trucks, on lines beside the quay,

They dive for coins which gentry, toss into the sea.

Tomorrow is the big day, they'll start the ocean race.

You'll see the yachts prepared to go, each one in it's place.

"Shamrock" and "White Heather", are the first to break away.

Did you see that golden flash, out in the sunlit bay?

From behind "Endeavour", the King's "Britannia" is in sight.

Her burnished copper bottom, reflects the morning light.

We won't see sights like this again, this era soon will end.

I fear that before very long, war clouds will descend.

                                                                                                        Ray Baker

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