A Fanshawe Misadventure

Mostly by Bob Magill

Come gather round beside me boys and listen to me song
It’s got a thousand verses but I won’t detain you long
Concerning  me adventures as I sailed the raging foam
Out on the Sea of Fanshawe, two thousand feet from home
Now I never would mislead you boys nor would I tell you lies
But sailin’ on Lake Fanshawe is not for timid boys
When the cold winds  howlin’ from the east and the waves are getting high
Wiser men would stay ashore, but not the Fanshawe guys
And so it was a Wednesday, the hour it was three
The winds were light, about eight knots, a-blowing from the east
The weatherman on channel ten had on his happy face
So we all cast off into the fray for our weekly sailing race
Now Mr. B had set the course, on Fanshawe he’s no beginner
We’d round number three, then up to five and finish in time for dinner
The buzzer buzzed and off we charged, all fighting for position
Through A and B to number three like we were on a mission 

We soon were on a lovely reach in a northerly direction
Side by side past the Burgess dock, a magnificent sailboat collection
With gleams in our eyes and bones in our teeth, we fought with all our might
‘Till number six was far astern and five would soon be in sight

 But then, a sudden fog rolled in, a fog so thick and profound
I couldn’t see the front of my boat let alone where it was bound
Into that gloomy grey we forged, the air as thick as glue
All sure that good old number five would soon come into view
Well dinner time it came and went, and still we struggled on
Quitting a Fanshawe Yacht Club race is a thing that’s never done
For doggedness , the Fanshawe men are very highly rated
But the mystery of number five, continued unabated

Now I’d like to say that on this day, when that glorious race was done
We crossed the line all side by side and all of us had won
But I’ll hang my head and tell the truth with all the shame it carries
We all ran aground in a nice little town a bit further north called St. Marys