The
traditional male sailor was not defined by his looks. He was defined by his
attitude.
He didn’t
cry victimization, bastardization, discrimination or for his Mom when things
didn’t go his way.
He took
responsibility for his own sometimes, self-destructive actions.
He loved
a laugh at anything or anybody. Rank, gender, race, creed or behavior, it didn’t
matter to Jack.
He would
take the piss out of anyone, including himself. If someone took it out of him
he didn’t get offended. It was a natural part of life. If he offended someone else, so be it.
Free from
many of the rules of a polite society, Jack’s manners were somewhat rough and
his ability to swear was legendary.
Jack
loved women. He loved to chase them to the ends of the earth and sometimes he
even caught one (less often than he would have you believe though). His tales
of chase and its conclusion win or lose is the stuff of legends.
Jack’s
favorite drink was beer, and he could drink it like a fish. His actions when
inebriated would, on occasion, land him in trouble. But, he took it on the chin, dis his
punishment and then went and did it all again.
Jack
loved his job. He took an immense pride in what he did. His radar was always the best in the fleet.
His engines always worked better than anyone else’s. His eyes could spot a contact before anyone
else’s and shoot at it first.
It was a
matter of personal pride. Jack was the
consummate professional when he was at work and sober. He was a bit like a
mischievous child. He had a gleam in his eye and a larger than life outlook.
He was as
rough as guts. You had to be pig headed and thick skinned to survive. He worked
hard and played hard. His masters tut-tutted at some of his more exuberant
expressions of 'joie de vivre,' and the occasional bout of number 9’s or stoppage
let him know where his limits were.
The late
20th Century and on, has seen the demise of Jack. The workplace no longer echoes with ribald
comment and bawdy tales. Someone is sure to take offence.
Whereas,
those stories of daring do and ingenuity in the face of adversity, usually
whilst pissed, lack the audacity of the past.
A wicked sense of humor is now a liability, rather than a necessity. Jack has been socially engineered out of existence.
What was
once normal is now offensive. Denting someone else’s over inflated opinion of
their own self-worth is now a crime.
“AND SO A CULTURE DIES.”
As of 15 July, 2019 the Author has been identified as Mike "Ginge" Cundell, ex-Chief stoker submariner from the Royal Navy ...
As of 15 July, 2019 the Author has been identified as Mike "Ginge" Cundell, ex-Chief stoker submariner from the Royal Navy ...
How true this is.
ReplyDeleteDry well said..Sad but true..
ReplyDeleteSome believe Friday, July 31st, 1970 - was the end of “Jack Tar” for The Royal Navy. Unofficially known as “Black Tot Day” - this marked the final day which ratings in The Royal Navy received their daily “Tot” Of Rum. The ration had been discontinued for officers in 1881 - and for Warrant Officers in 1918. Many in The Royal Navy marked this day with a ceremonial burial at sea of a rum cask (certainly empty) or other such appropriate commemoration
ReplyDeleteWhile it certainly is not Navy I was in, in the late, 60s, I would like to give it another shot but alas I am 71 and will leave it to the next generation to figure out.
ReplyDelete