Our neighbours refused, we welcomed – ale in arm,
Two ships; Sihab-I Bahri and Miraty Zafar.
Four hundred and sixty Ottomans, a six-and-a-half-month moor
is why Gosport’s been named Turk Town since 1854.
Sea and dust combined, twenty-six sailors died,
cholera and tuberculosis to mention the least.
From Haslar they were sent, to an eternity of rest,
in the cemetery besides Clayhall street.
Still across the creek it flies, Turkish flag in pride,
Abdallah and Hayrunnisa are handed flowers.
Beyond the prison we gaze, as the poppies are placed
over the bodies this town once towered.
Yet, as in Ocean Breeze we feast, this history is uncomplete
besides, Orhan’s is the teenager’s dream.
And as long haired we stand, outside Ramze’s red door,
I gladly name Gosport Turk Town today and since 1854.