POOR TRACE
by Jon Crowley Never would Tracy have sailed round the world, In the ord'nary course of events. She'd never done anything like it before, The excitement she felt was immense. For Trace, you should know, was a stay-at-home type. (Or had been, right up to today). She'd always been happy with Mummy and Dad And helping her brother at play. But one day she read of the 'Marie Celeste', And a woman was wanted as crew. And without really thinking of what it entailed She decided that's what she would do. So she bought a cagoule and a stout pair of shoes And a bag for her ham-and-egg sandwiches, And a book, which enabled our heroine to say 'I'm lost!' in a number of languages. And she went down to Plymouth, and met with the crew Who were waiting for Trace's arrival. But I'm sorry to say that they laughed when they saw The equipment she'd brought for survival. They sat and they chatted, and very soon found That she hadn't a clue about yachts, Nor of charts, nor of flags, or echo-location, Or night-navigation, or knots. So they looked at each other, her shipmates-to-be, And they reached an unspoken decision. And later that night in the 'Admiral's Arms' As she gazed at the Sky television They bought her a supper, prawn cocktail, it was, Then a steak, and a lovely Peach Melba; And they plied her with drinks of the powerful kind Till she knew not Madras from the Elbe. Then off they all scarpered, jumped into the boat, Cast off, and set course for the Med. And when the next morning Trace opened her eyes With a thumping great pain in her head, She was lost and deserted, the crew were all gone Not one could she find in the place. And hence, in the papers, the headlines next day: 'Crew Disappears Without Trace'.
The end