|The Messhall was crowded
with tough young troops
Of four Akbar Divisions hungering
To steal the New Cock's cob of bread,
His butter–grease, a carrot, Spam,
Cheese, or hot potato.
The noise at first was sheer cacophony
Leers, jibes, open threats to 'rip an ear off'
Came in all the dialects of Britain
Until the tight tough shape of 'Curly' Cahill Loomed
in the Galley door,
Looked round the hall
His gaze steady as a Texas Ranger's.
Then silence fell as in a pre–dawn hush.
'Grace!' he said, and together the mobsters
lowered their heads,
Placed one foot forward, said:
'For what we are about to receive, may
The Lord make us truly thankful. Amen.'