Last night, Norm O’Neal, my friend and shipmate from the USS Hollister (DD 873), my first tour in 1968-1969, forwarded this poem, sent to him by another shipmate Robin (somewhere i have Robin’s last name, but i’m too lazy to look it up now).
Yesterday, after our usual Friday morning golf, Rod Stark, Marty Linville, and i regaled Jeff Middlebrook with military tales, mostly Rod and i recalling old times in Thailand; Sasebo, Japan; Pusan, Korea, and the majority about ribald and raucous Subic Bay within the towns of Subic City and Olongapo, Philippines.
i have been writing my Democrat Tuesday column about storms at sea for the past several days, thinking about my times aboard Navy ships.
The timing for this poem was perfect. Besides, i like it a lot.
{Copied and posted without edit; i was tempted to edit and used proper capitalization, but for some reason, it seems more like a sailor’s poem this way. Perhaps this is because it looks more like the Navy messages we used to get at sea}
AND CHEW THE FAT
ABOUT THINGS THAT USED TO BE,
OF THE THINGS THEY’VE SEEN,
THE PLACES THEY’VE BEEN,
WHEN THEY VENTURED OUT TO SEA.
FROM LONG AGO,
THE TIMES THEY HAD BACK THEN.
THE MONEY THEY SPENT,
THE BEER THEY DRANK,
IN THEIR DAYS AS SAILING MEN.
IN DAYS GONE BY,
WITH THOUGHTS THAT FOREVER LAST.
OF BELL BOTTOM BLUES,
WINGED WHITE HATS,
AND GOOD TIMES IN THEIR PAST.
WITH A MOON SO BRIGHT
FAR OUT ON A LONELY SEA.
THE THOUGHTS THEY HAD
AS YOUTHFUL LADS,
WHEN THEIR LIVES WERE WILD AND FREE.
HOW THEIR HEARTS WOULD SWELL
WHEN OLD GLORY FLUTTERED PROUD AND FREE.
THE UNDERWAY PENNANT
SUCH A BEAUTIFUL SIGHT
AS THEY PLOWED THROUGH AN ANGRY SEA.
OL’ COOKIE WOULD MAKE
AND THE SHRILL OF THE BOS UN’S PIPE.
HOW SALT SPRAY WOULD FALL
LIKE SPARKS FROM HELL
WHEN A STORM STRUCK IN THE NIGHT.
ALREADY GONE
WHO FOREVER HOLD A SPOT IN THEIR HEART,
WHEN SAILORS WERE BOLD, AND
FRIENDSHIPS WOULD HOLD,
UNTIL DEATH RIPPED THEM APART.
IN PIG ALLEY AND GUT
ON MANY A FOREIGN SHORE,
OF THE BEER THEY’D DOWN
AS GATHERING AROUND,
TELLING JOKES AND SEA STORIES GALORE.
ARE GONE AWAY,
NEVER AGAIN WILL THEY CROSS THE BROW.
THEY HAVE NO REGRETS,
THEY KNOW THEY ARE BLESSED,
FOR HONORING A SACRED VOW.
WITH EACH PASSING DAY
AS THE FINAL MUSTER BEGINS,
THERE’S NOTHING TO LOSE,
ALL HAVE PAID DUES,
AND THEY’LL SAIL WITH SHIPMATES AGAIN.
BEFORE GETTING UNDERWAY
THAT THERE’S STILL SOME SAILING TO DO,
THEY’LL SAY WITH A GRIN
THAT THEIR SHIP HAS COME IN
AND THE GOOD LORD NEEDS A GOOD CREW.