We boys were punished almost every day.
A fish-slice whack to help you on your way.
The punishments depended on the misdeed;
To make us boys, in the future, rules to heed.
One of the simplest was for any lad that swore,
Gargling liquid soap on the Quarterdeck floor.
“A’hoy, A’hoy, I am a foul mouthed boy!” to yell.
After awhile, with a belly full of soap, not feeling well.
Doubling around the Parade, rifle over the head;
After a few circuits, you wished you were dead.
Up and down Laundry Hill altered your ways;
I had a spot of that in fact, for about seven days.
The punishment for the most heinous crime,
No not running or jumping, or marking time.
The worst punishment I can still recall,
One which I wanted nothing to do with at all.
It was administered if caught trying to break out of ship;
A crime that it was imperative in the bud to nip.
The punishment one got was ‘cuts’ with a long rattan cane;
6 first offence, 12 if you were stupid enough to try it again.
Dressed in tight canvas trousers, nothing else, and what’s more,
Pulled over a vaulting horse, feet therefore were off the floor.
With arms and ankles held, the punishment began,
A full overhead sweep with the cane of thin rattan.
A couple of lads from our hut tried to run away,
I can see the results still, now to this very day.
Their bottoms beaten, and bruised black and blue,
Not the sort of thing you’d like to happen to you.
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