The little town of Banjo Bay
Sits proudly in the cove
Welcoming her sons home from their toil
Her harbour filled with laughter
Her streets bedecked with love
A place for growing up and growing old
The evening sun shines down
Upon a restless rolling sea
That brings the weary fisherman to port
It gently laps the peeling paint
of Lady Eveline
And sprays the silvery beard of dear Old Salt
Happily he turns the tiller
Firmly in his hand
Looking to the harbour of his heart
And there he sees sweet Eveline
Waiting on the sand
Waving of her pretty gingham scarf
He deftly slips the anchor
The longer for to spy
She who every day waves from the shore
And thinks “Who else in all the world
Is luckier than I
Truly I could wish for nothing more”
Long years now since little fingers
Clutched her slender hand
And little feet among the sand dunes played
One sacrificed to King and country
in a foreign land
One lost beneath the waves of Banjo Bay
For forty years and longer
Every day while out at sea
He dreamed about that pretty gingham scarf
The scarf she always waves
As she stands waiting on the quay
The gift he gave the day he won her heart
But endlessly the tides must turn
And so it is for they
Ebb and flow go on with measured pace
Even love as deep as theirs
Cannot keep time at bay
And soon the sickened reaper shows his face
The evening sun shines down
Upon a restless, rolling sea
No pretty gingham now to wave him home
It’s with a heavy heart
He leaves the Lady Eveline
To walk along the silent mile alone
An empty room, a lonely bed,
no-one to hug and kiss
no slender hand to stroke his silvery beard
no will to see tomorrow
no need to toil or fish
nobody there to share the golden years
With a sail of lost tomorrows
and a rudder forged in pain
her splintered deck awash with broken dreams
the lonely Lady Eveline
puts out to sea again
carried on a melancholy breeze
The sad, forgotten fisherman
Stands proudly on the deck
Gazing to the lights of Banjo Bay
His calloused fingers gently knot
The gingham at his neck
And with a sigh he sadly turns away
No baited hook or tangled line
No weight or snarling net
No deck to swab or anchor to be thrown
No map or compass does he bring
The final course is set
His memories will bring him safely home
The morning star shines down
Upon the lights of Banjo Bay
Yet nought is there to see for they who gaze
But the scarlet of another sunrise
Heralding the day
And a scarf of gingham floating on the waves
