Way back when in history
A lone sailor put to sea
With nothing but some reddened sails
And probably a few different ales
He battled storms and monstrous waves
Bereft of the companionship a sailor craves
Against the elements bravely fought
Till he came upon old London’s port
The Thames was angry, grey and rough
The Easterly wind was up his chuff
Though dearly he’d have liked to stop
Into the Town of Ramsgate to pop
His feisty craft just powered on
Till the Tower of London was long gone
Past the City’s many spires
Under the bridge at Blackfriars
Till suddenly the wind did drop
And he came to an abrupt stop
Beside some steps, as luck would have it
For no dinghy was fastened to his davit
The weary sailor climbed ashore
And as written down in sea dog’s lore
He made for the nearest hostelry
To tell tall tales of his time at sea
His fellow drinkers were enthralled
But by his solitude were appalled
They made a vow, in that very pub
That from that day they’d form a club
For sailing men of like mind
Camaraderie, there to find
They’d open it up to any yachtie
But clearly not to yachtie totty!
Not back in 1857
Their newfound club was female-free heaven
If only our forefathers back then knew
Just what their world was coming to
In a 150 years and not one more
They’d have a female commodore
Back to then, in that distant day
If members needed rooms to stay
There were no boutiques from Anouska Hempel
They needed rooms there at the Temple
The rooms they found at a nearby hotel
Now occupied by the HQ of Shell
But soon, the lure of the open seas
Was just too much for the Templies
And gradually, they made their way
To the site they occupy to this day
The finest location on the east coast
The new club could proudly boast
With views to soothe the sorest eyes
Of boats and seas and open skies
Inside, a sumptuous but cosy bar
To welcome sailors from afar
With comfy chairs, and better yet
A splendid trophy cabinet
With cups for feats beyond the pale
For masterful racing under sail
And on the wall, a wooden plaque
Remembering commodores all the way back
To the start, long before a visit from the Queen
Bestowed a far more regal sheen
And rewarded the yacht club’s years of toil
With the most prestigious prefix, Royal
Yes the plaque boasts a veritable who’s who
Of the wealthy and the well to do
From Barrett to Greenfield, Tuddenham, Tweddell
These fine fellows have served us well
Bu it would have made old Rothschild wild
To think that a woman, meek and mild
Would one day reach the pinnacle
And take her place upon the wall
Yet the world’s moved a hundred and fifty years
And despite her predecessors’ fears
A finer commodore there’s never been
Than the truly great Davena Green
Whose appointment perhaps some derided
But who has so ably presided
Over a year of jubilation
The hundred and fiftieth celebration
Of a club that’s still in fine health
Though it wouldn’t say no to a little more wealth
The past has bequeathed a great legacy
And it is up to us all to see
That the next hundred years will be assured
The recruitment of new blood, secured
Members past, present future, wherever you be
The toast is the future of the RTYC!!!

© Joanne Ross - May 2007