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Ah, Yes, the Life of a Sailor
By
Bob Orrick
28 August 2003
It has often been said that we tend to recall only the most favourable times at the expense of the unfavourable ones. Most sailors, former and current, would no doubt agree with that long-ago-established aphorism. That said, the next thought becomes how to gauge the most favourable times and how to expunge the least favourable ones.
For me, two constants come to the fore: commanding officers and shipmates. Without either or both, my naval life would have been of little consequence. As a signalman, I was within the commanding officer's environment most of my time at sea; therefore, a pleasant, knowledgeable and 'human' captain was a blessing not to be trifled with.
Shipmates came in all shapes and sizes and temperaments. Some were up front in all things while others tended to be a bit more backdoor. A few were scallywags - but pleasant enough scallywags - and a few were downright scoundrels. I harboured a common bond with the scallywags and tried to avoid the scoundrels. Others will attest to my success or failure in that regard.
For those who have lived the 'sailor's life onboard,' no detailed explanation need be given as to what that entailed. One golden truism shines through, however, and that is that a shipmate is a godsend for a new draftee onboard an unfamiliar ship with yet-unknown routines. The 'winger' becomes the saviour and the unknown becomes the known. Thus, a bond is born.
That bond at times was stretched to the breaking point but, like high-quality elastic, always returned to its original shape. The bond might be stressed under duress but held fast through thick and thin. A good run ashore with a winger to do whatever comes naturally usually cemented the bond and ensured that there would be a sunrise the next morning. There were times, admittedly, when the sunshine tended to wreck havoc with the eyeballs, more red than blue, and whose 'aim' more resembled fog than dew. Ah, the days of seven seas and tiddly jumpers too tight for comfort but considered all the rage.
Sailors learned early on to be responsible, reliable and re-useable. They also learned not to volunteer for things, even the most interesting events, for as sure as sailors drank rum the event would turn out to be something less than pleasant.
A sailor learned that he was but one link in a chain; but he also knew that the entire strength of the chain rested on his link. Waver under fire and the ship might be lost. Trust among shipmates became an unspoken but not unthought ideal that was, for the most part, achieved. A sailor quickly learned to be on time, especially when going on watch. The idea that what goes round comes round caused reliability among watch turnovers. A sailor became re-useable each time he repeated the same, boring drill a thousand times until, "You'll do it until you get it right!" Ah, yes, the life of a sailor.
There was a time when girls ran after [or was that away from?] sailors who stood out spectacularly in their magnificent blue uniforms. About that same time, mothers were warning their daughters that sailors were not to be tempted, not to be encouraged, and if at all possible, to be avoided like the plague. Ah, yes, the life of a sailor.
Today, the ships have changed drastically; gone are the hammocks, the broadside messing, the near-constant wet messdecks, and the uncertainty of making harbour. In their place are vessels that boast a habitability that was not dreamed of fifty, sixty or more years ago. The bunks, if not Four Seasons quality, are comfortable; the cafeterias are among the most accommodating environments; the messdecks are dry, and there is little to cause a ship not to make homeport. Ah, yes, the life of a sailor, today.
Through it all despite the best and worst that Nature could and did throw at sailors, they survived. Today, those sailors are the seniors of this country; the very backbone that holds this fractured confederation together. Granted, some are becoming a bit long in the tooth, but that is only in their bodies; their minds are as sharp and as quick-witted as any other who calls himself Canadian. The pity is that the country - the governments, particularly in Ottawa - do not see veterans who saved democracy and provided a cushy lifestyle for the politicians and mandarins who speak evilly of Canada's veterans, they see only a few gnarled, garrulous, ancients who cost the taxpayers time and money for having survived the wars and for having lived so long. Ah, yes, the life of a sailor.
Those who follow in the footsteps of those who went before know that they, too, will leave a legacy to be looked on in decades to come. What will their legacy be, one wonders. Will it be a sense of accomplishment or will it be a feeling of supreme frustration brought about by government stupidity created by politicians who think more of their handsome pensions than they do the sailors who saved their democracy so many years ago.
Let us go into the sunset with our heads held high and our ensign flying smartly at the stern, never to be hauled down.
Bob Orrick is a private tutor of English grammar, literature, poetry and Canadian history to off-shore youngsters. His pupils hail from such places as Taiwan, China, Japan, Hong Kong, Korea and Venezuela. He was previously in international marketing, was a ministerial assistant to a provincial cabinet minister, spent a few years as a reporter then editor of a community newspaper and enjoyed a career in the Royal Canadian Navy.
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