A Matchstick Fleet; to Hobart bound,
With hangers-on all milling round,
Sailed out from Sydney harbourside
Filled with high hopes and macho pride.
The Bureau had forecast a gale
An hour after they set sail,
With winds that howled and seas that roared,
..A forecast that would be ignored!
For who would be the first to quit?
What skipper would his fear admit?
What crewman would forego his pride
If he alone let down the side?
Nor would the yachting club decree
The risk too great to go to sea!
And so they sailed toward peril plain,
..Neptune defied in his domain!
Out through the heads, out past the lee,
To fury in the Tasman sea!
Their families will long regret..
They bet their lives,...And lost the bet!
Frank Halliwell