The Mullah’s Great Voyage.

The Mullah of Hullah in Hullaballoo,

(An Arabian Sheikhdom of yore),

Went to visit a venerable Iman he knew

Who had moved to a cold distant shore.

So he journeyed for days on a camel’s hard hump

With a caravan half a mile long,

Taking twenty-two wives, some were pretty, some frumps,

And his children were ninety-nine strong.

There were servants and teachers and nurses of course,

There was nothing that they went without;

They had diplomats, judges, a peace-keeping force

For when twenty-two wives all fall out.

Their travelling camp was set up every night,

Where the Mullah of Hullah played host.

And they walked for a week in the searing sunlight

Till at last they arrived at the coast,

Where they chartered a ship, and they hired a crew,

Bought provisions that emptied the town,

And set sail from the harbour of Hullaballoo,

Along sea routes of evil renown.

For as you and I know the Arabian Sea

Has for centuries suffered a curse;

It’s infested with pirates who’ll come for their tea,

And they’ll eat all the food, and much worse.

As the Mullah of Hullah, his family and crew

Sat for dinner the very first night,

They were called on by corsairs who’d smelt the fish stew

And felt peckish and fancied a bite.

So they dropped the mainsail at the captain’s insistence,

While the Mullah begged Allah for wind.

Then a great Khamsin came and it soon blew a distance

Between them and the pirates: chagrined.

But a Khamsin’s a wind that will blow without ceasing

Fifty days, fifty nights on the trot.

Though the danger from pirates was ever decreasing

The danger of drowning was not.

And soon our intrepid adventurers found

They’d been blown quite off course by the gale,

And they weren’t really sure of just where they were bound,

They just pointed the prow north, and sailed.

When eventually calm came again to the ocean

It turned out they were in the Red Sea

Which by chance and despite all the noise and commotion

Was just where they wanted to be.

To avoid going round all of Africa’s coast,

There’s a shortcut up there to the Med,

Where they sunbathe and snack upon foie gras on toast,

And drink wine till it goes to their head.

And the Captain and crew were quite partial it’s true

To a drop of the Beaujolais wine,

Though back home in the Sheikhdom of Hullaballoo

Alcohol was considered a crime.

So sadly it seems that I have to relate,

By the time that they neared British shores,

The ship’s Captain and crew were in no fit state

To read maps or do seafaring chores.

Though headed to dock at the harbour in Hull,

Where the Iman of Immingham waited,

They dropped anchor instead at the Island of Mull

As their GPS system dictated.

It seems someone had drunkenly typed the name wrong,

And the autopilot did the rest.

But the Mullah, in Mull, felt his family belonged

And decided ‘twas all for the best.  

This explains why the Mullah of Hullah’s desire

To become the new bigwig in Hull

Took him to the terrain of the Tartan attire,

The first kilted Mullah of Mull.