Harold Holt

I’m slowly turning the great steel bolt
On the National archive vault
To tell you ‘bout a mystery
From Australia's dark history
The tale of ‘Ol Harold Holt

He was Prime Minister seventeen
Who went swimming then was never seen
Some people say
It was the CIA
Or perhaps a Chinese submarine

He knew that beach like the back of his hand
That's why no one could understand
How their Prime Minister
Could meet a fate so sinister
To them the whole thing seemed planned

The story that the press spread around
Was that the leader of the country had drowned
But how could they say
What happened that day
For his body was never found

Now you might think that it's a bit grim
For us to make light of his last swim
But us Aussies are sardonic
So in black humour most ironic
We named a public pool after him

And if you pass by that pool at night
When the still Melbourne air is just right
You might hear from inside
His ghost on the water slide
Moaning ‘neath the pale moonlight