For all SAILORS
(Author Unknown)
I like the Navy. I like standing on the bridge wing
at sunrise, with salt
spray in my face, and clean ocean winds whipping in from the four
quarters
of the globe - the ship beneath me feeling like a living thing as
her
engines drive her through the sea. I like the sounds
of the Navy - the piercing trill of the boatswains pipe,
the syncopated clangor of the ship's bell on the quarterdeck, the
harsh
squawk of the 1MC and the strong language and laughter of sailors
at work.
I like the vessels of the Navy - nervous darting destroyers, plodding
Fleet auxiliaries, sleek submarines and steady solid carriers. I
like the
proud sonorous names of Navy capital ships: Midway, Lexington, Saratoga,
Coral Sea - memorials of great battles won. I like the lean angular
names
of Navy 'tin-cans': Barney, Dahlgren, Mullinix, McCloy - mementos
of
heroes who went before us.
I like the tempo of a Navy band blaring through
the topside speakers, as
we pull away from the oiler, after refueling at sea. I like liberty
call
and the spicy scent of a foreign port. I even like all-hands-working
parties as my ship fills herself with the multitude of supplies,
both
mundane and exotic, which she needs to cut her ties to the land and
carry
out her mission, anywhere on the globe, where there is water to float
her.
I like sailors, men from all parts of the land,
farms of the Midwest, small towns of New England, from the cities,
the mountains and the prairies, from all walks of life. I trust
and depend on them as they trust
and depend on me - for professional competence, for comradeship,
for
courage. In a word, they are "shipmates."
I like the surge of adventure in my heart when
the word is passed "Now
station the special sea and anchor detail - all hands to quarters
for
leaving port." I like the infectious thrill of sighting home again,
with
the waving hands of welcome from family and friends waiting pierside.
The
work is hard and dangerous, the going rough at times, the parting
from
loved ones painful, but the companionship of robust Navy laughter,
the
'all for one and one for all' philosophy of the sea is ever present.
I like the serenity of the sea after a day
of hard ship's work, as flying
fish flit across the wave tops, and sunset gives way to night. I
like the
feel of the Navy in darkness, the masthead lights, the red and
green
navigation lights and stern light, the pulsating phosphorescence
of radar
repeaters - they cut through the dusk and join with the mirror of
stars
overhead.
And I like drifting off to sleep lulled by
the myriad noises large and
small, that tell me that my ship is alive and well, and that my shipmates
on watch will keep me safe. I like quiet mid-watches with the
aroma of
strong coffee - the lifeblood of the Navy - permeating everywhere.
And I
like hectic watches when the exacting minuet of haze-gray shapes
racing at
flank speed, keeps all hands on a razor edge of alertness.
I like the sudden electricity of "General quarters, general quarters,
all
hands man your battle stations," followed by the hurried clamor of
running
feet on ladders, and the resounding thump of watertight doors, as
the ship
transforms herself in a few brief seconds, from a peaceful work place
to a
weapon of war - ready for anything. And I like the sight of space
age
equipment manned by youngsters clad in dungarees, and sound-powered
phones
that their grandfathers would still recognize. I like the traditions
of
the Navy, and the men and women who made them.
I like the proud names of Navy heroes: Halsey, Nimitz, Perry, Farragut,
John Paul Jones. A sailor can find much in the Navy: comrades-in-arms,
pride in self and country, mastery of the seaman's trade. An adolescent
can find adulthood.
In years to come, when sailors are home from
the sea, they will still
remember with fondness and respect - the ocean in all its moods -
the
impossible shimmering mirror calm and the storm-tossed green water
surging
over the bow. And then there will come again, a faint whiff of stack
gas,
a faint echo of engine and rudder orders, a vision of the bright
bunting
of signal flags snapping at the yardarm, a refrain of hearty laughter
in
the wardroom, and chief's quarters and messdecks. Gone ashore
for good
they will grow wistful about their Navy days, when the seas belonged
to
them and a new port of call was ever over the horizon. Remembering
this,
they will stand taller and say, "I WAS A SAILOR. I WAS PART
OF THE NAVY & THE NAVY WILL ALWAYS BE PART OF ME!"
(Sent to me by my first LPO, RD1 Kent Smith, when
I was a young, forgetable seaman apprentice on the radar gang of
the USS Renshaw (DD 499) way back in 1964 in Pearl Harbor.)
Since we're here, try John Masefield
- his poetry did a lot to form my restless soul with Sea
Fever
