Nature meant, had Fate allowed, him to command a t.b.d.,
Both his parents gladly vowed him to the service of the sea,
But the Navy doctors ploughed him for some itis of the knee.
Yet, in spite of this embargo, he had spent each Oxford vac.
In a tramp as supercargo or on board a fishing-smack,
Till of sailors' lore and argot he was full as he could pack.
In the sphere of gerund-grinding Johnson wasn't a success;
Boys are overprone to finding fault with masters who transgress
Rules which they consider binding in regard to form and dress.
Johnson's taste was always slightly outré in his ties and caps;
Furthermore he never rightly saw the fun of booby traps;
And he clouted, none too lightly, boys who larked with watertaps.
Some considered him half-witted, or at best a harmless freak;
Some reluctantly admitted that he knew a lot of Greek;
All agreed he was unfitted for the calling of a "beak."
So, reluctantly returning to their mid-autumnal grind,
Nearly all the boys, on learning Mr. Johnson had resigned,
Showed the usual undiscerning acquiescence of their kind.
Thus he passed unmourned, unheeded, by nine boys in ev'ry ten,
And as week to week succeeded, bringing Christmas near again,
Quite a miracle was needed to recall him to their ken.
Deeds that merit lasting glory almost daily leap to light;
But one morning brought a story which was "excellently bright,"
And the Head, rotunda ore, read it out in Hall that night.
'Twas a tale of nerve unshrinking—of a "sweeper" off the Tyne,
Which had rescued from a sinking trawler, shattered by a mine,
Though a submarine was slinking in her wake, a crew of nine.
Well, you won't be slow in guessing at the gallant skipper's name,
Or from whom the most caressing message to the hero came—
Boys are generous in redressing wrongs for which they are to blame.