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The Last Patrol
The boat is moored against the trot, Your final trip is nigh; Itís time to make the passage now, To that sub base in the sky.
The creware closed up waiting, The skipper then commands; Let go foríd let go aft, As on the bridge he stands.
The lines are slipped. The engines turn. The boat has now left the side; You head toward the harbour mouth, As out to sea you glide.
The sky is blue the weather bright The way ahead is clear; itís good to be at sea again, Thereís nothing more to fear.
Itís time to dive the boat now, The klaxon twice resounds; The casing dips below the wave, To your destiny you are bound.
So as you start your last patrol, We remember you this day; And perhaps weíIl all crew up again, In the future for always.
They shall rise again.
(written by an unknown sub mariner from Australia sent in by Peter Turner son of H. List, SR 8062, lost in the sinking)
| last updated:
13 July 2013