I came out to South Africa; I thought it would be fun,
Building houses in the Township, and taking in the sun.
But when I got to Cape Town, Niall Mellon cracked his whip,
I nearly said “I’ve changed my mind”, but I just bit my lip.
I had come to work with builders, on Niall's Initiative,
Three hundred and sixty volunteers with time and skills to give.
The logistics of the venture, near impossible to meet,
Were planned and executed well, by Hugh and Marguerite.
The men and women of HQ were working day and night,
They wore the cleanest T-shirts, which were always very white!
Yellow, Red, Orange and Blue, made up the other teams,
And last but certainly not least, there came the mighty Greens.
I tried to help some roofers, but I hadn't got a clue,
And they would tell be where to go, as well as what to do.
I quickly realised that they were in another league,
'Cos even on that first half-day; I was suffering fatigue.
Paul Casey was our leader, and he could crack the gags,
Like when he stopped his Con-Saw, and spluttered "Who needs fags?"
Will was the quietest of the three, perhaps that was by choice,
Paul 2, I couldn't understand, before he lost his voice!
I worked with these 'professionals', towards our final goal,
And learned about a plasterer, and a breakfast roll.
If our work ever fell behind, which is simply not allowed,
They'd be quick to point the finger, and blame 'that Bally crowd'.
I could tell these lads were roofers, by the way they liked to slate,
But they never sent me out for air, or even the 'Long Wait'.
They said I was a carpenter, which sounded like a lie,
They explained I passed them up a saw, and therefore qualify.
I worked with these 'professionals', towards our final goal,
And learned about a plasterer, and a breakfast roll.
If our work ever fell behind, which is simply not allowed,
They'd be quick to point the finger, and blame 'that Bally crowd'.
They needed help with plastering - I said I'd do my twist,
They said I might be good because the action's in the wrist.
I tried it for a day of two, but couldn't get the trick,
It landed in my hair and face, and sometimes . on the brick.
Our foreman was Liam Mullen, in no Ivory Tower he sat,
He pounced on every problem, like a true Kilkenny Cat.
His assistant, Larry Cody, must have barely seen his bed,
As so often he resembled Fr. Jack, from Fr. Ted.
Princess Fiona worked flat out, to keep us all hydrated,
A never-ending, vital job, I'd say is under-rated.
Fiona went that extra mile, to meet the lads' demands,
And if their muscles stiffened, she'd relieve them with her hands.
Jim Bob our Quarter-Master, I have to sing his praises,
He tended to me when I called, with daily cuts and grazes.
There was no other surgery, which, to his, could compare,
The waiting-room served coffee, and on some days, an éclair.
Regardless of the judges' call, one show house reigns supreme,
It's no surprise to hear it's by those Jolly Giants in Green.
Commiserations Oranges, and Yellows, Reds and Blues,
In one way you're all winners, more precisely, you all lose.
The Bishop came to visit us, although he's seventy-five,
And delivered such a heart-felt speech, he could not be more alive.
He said God was looking down at us, as we go that extra mile,
Amid much pain and suffering, our work here makes him smile.
And it's all thanks to Niall Mellon, who highlighted this neglect,
We're here to sing your praises, which I hope you will accept.
So please all raise your glasses, and give a rousing cheer,
To Niall and all the volunteers - I'll see you here next year.
