The Sailor
Lieutenant Commander Prinselaar 1989
BM2 Prinselaar 1952
Seaman Recruit Prinselaar 1948
THE SAILOR
I have sailed the mighty Oceans
Weathered many a raging storm
I have seen so many places
Not a one of them my home
I have served on ships of battle
Helped to feed the cannons roar
Watched the fallen slide forever
Through the sea to ocean floor
I've seen the red of flowing lava
I've seen the ice break on our bow
I've seen Fakirs do their magic
To this day I don't know how
I have been in Bhuddist temples
Saw old tribesmen paint their face
Saw more war in parts of Asia
I was glad to leave that place
I've shook with fever from Malaria
I've also frozen in the night
When an icefloe broke our mooring
And I yearned for morning light
In bars from here to other places
I've been drunk,and laughed,and fought
Yes,I've truly been a Sailor
And it's the world that I've been taught
OF GUNS AND FRIENDS
I lie wrapped in folds of armor plate
within my home as gray as slate
I'm far away form land and shore
in peaceful sleep on a man of war
Come light of Day and morning sun
I'll check the functions of my gun
I'll check the Point and then the Train
and then I'll check it all again
For that's the gun that let's me sleep
and keeps me from a grave so deep
I'm now asleep,my mind at peace
but will my battles never cease ?
The years have gone,the gun is rust
so many friends are now just dust
But they are never far from me
although some sleep beneath the sea
For them no songs are ever sung
but they will be forever young
Friends and relations shed their tears
forgotton now these many years
But some of us remember still
remember them,and always will
I ask them now for my release
or will my battles never cease
BOATS
He was one hell of a sailor
A BoatswainsMate all the way through
Crossed hooks on the sleeve of his jumper
the job real men chose to do
In a storm with all hatches battened
He was topside to see all was secure
He double checked all of the tiedowns
then again~just to make sure
You might say he had just one failing
he really liked wearing his whites
He was one sharp looking sailor
on a liberty and seeing the sights
But at sea,when we sailed into battle
dungarees is what we all wore
And if you were killed in the battle
you'd never wear whites anymore
In his case we made an exception
when his life was ended one day
We made sure he was properly dressed
he was special,what more can you say
The crew all stood by the railing
and the Skipper had a few words to say
We saluted and stood at attention
when his body was tilted away
No more G.Q.'s he would answer
no more bloody battles and fights
But when "Boats" left us forever
by GOD,he was wearing his whites.
SEA STORIES
There have been sea stories for thousands of years. Going back to when men first floated on the water,on a log,or on a large number of reeds tied together. These stories differed from conventional stories,in that they were told by men who had ventured on the water,and had risked all of the imagined dangers,and some very real ones,that men encounter on the waters of the world.
There are sea stories that can be told in few words,but most are imaginitive,filled with wondrous events,unbelievable acts of derringdo,beautiful women,and usually involve the teller. Sailors,from all parts of the world,have told these tales to their shipmates,and the same tale may have been revised,or changed entirely,by one of the listeners,so no sea story is entirely true,or entirely false.
The teller of any sea story,must have had some years of experience at sea,and he must have been in a number of far away places,before he can be taken seriously. his language must at all times reflect all of the terms and profanities used by sailors of any era and any seagoing service. It is not a language used by non sailors,landlubbers,and those people who consider sailors to be something less than human.
Sooner or later,every young man going to sea for the first time will hear his first real sea story. He will either swallow it whole,and be filled with wonder at what he was told,or he wil think he has heard an impossible tale,and think that he was considered a fool for even listening. He should have paid close attention,for by listening and remembering he could have become a teller of sea stories himself. He would have felt the strong attraction of such stories to men of the sea.
Sea stories do not always start out the same,but usually they have a short preamble by the teller. The difference between a sea story and a fairy tale is this. A fairy tale always starts out with "Once Upon A Time",and a sea story usually starts out with
"THIS IS NO SHIT"
THE STORM
At sea,and far away from any shore,I felt the first change in the air. A feeling of unease wrapped itself around the ship,and imperceptible things began to occur in the surrounding sea,and the sky above. Small things,and yet noticed by those to whom the sea was home. A check of the barometer,showed a rapid and steady falling of pressure,and from the wind direction the knowledge came that the ship was in the path of a storm.
A thousand,howling,screaming,banshees,tearing and clawing at every vestige of things man made. Salt spray blowing horizontally,sanding things painted,and causing pain to unprotected flesh. The sea twisting in its agony of tumultuous violence,forming itself into huge shapes to overwhelm and drown all things in its path. The ship, fighting for its life,its metal screeching and moaning in the agony of its battle. Metal parts breaking off,some to fly and disappear into oblivion,and others crashing into
other metal parts to add to the cacophony of sounds. All movement now is in every plane conceivable. Up,down,and sideways become confused. Men,some too sick to care,and others fighting to save the ship,and themselves,thrown about
as breaking balls on a pool table. Hatches warp and become inlets for streams of sea water,cascading down ladders to flood footlockers,short out electrical systems,and cause decks to become slides to hell. A day,a night,and then again,the storm maintains its assault.Its screams grow louder as it causes the sea to create mightier and mightier fists of water to pound and subjugate this metal thing heaving on its bosom,and then King Neptune relents.The ship and its crew have passed the ultimate of tests.The winds cease their howl of death,and the seas lose their maddened foaming crests and are satisfied to slide silently underneath the keel.We have been allowed to live.THIS TIME!
NOTE: In 1951,aboard the U.S.S. Watts, DD-567,a Fletcher class destroyer,we refueled from the U.S.S. Midway,CVA-41, and then separated from her to ride out a hurricane.After three days we were able to proceed into calmer waters,and were ordered into drydock,because of the immense amount of damage we sustained. Mount #2,a 5"-38,had been twisted completely out of alignment,and could not be operated.The forward 40 MM gun tubs were smashed flat,and all of the ammunition ready boxes for those mounts had been washed overboard.The after hatch,near the stern,had been warped,and all of the after berthing spaces were partially flooded.Two of the crew sustained multiple fractures,and had nearly been
swept overboard while trying to go aft using the main deck.
During the storm,a handful of men were able to function,and saved the ship.
NAVY DAY
There was a time when the armed forces all had their own special day,and the Navy's day to show off a little to all the civilians was NAVY DAY. I was a day when every ship was scrubbed and polished from stem to stern,and after that, every man aboard got into his dress canvas,and got ready to make the best possible appearance to all of the visitors who would be coming aboard.
Not only was the ship clean,but it was colorful with signal flags,and a brand new ensign and union jack. A lot of ships even prepared snacks and coffee or lemonade,which were served on the mess decks.It was our day to sell the Navy,and in a way it was kind of fun too,because we had a chance to meet a lot of local girls who would otherwise not even look at a sailor. The young boys would all want to join the Navy, after being shown our gun mounts,and the fathers would tell us of the time when they were in the service. Once the base was opened to the civilians,and they headed for the ships, our life was not our own for the day. Our ship was invaded
by people off the beach,and we weren't even safe in our berthing spaces. It was fun alright,but also a great pain in the ass.
The bad part of all this was the fact that we were expected to act like we were all a bunch of gentlemen,and God knows, that was asking a lot from a bunch of sailors.Our language
was a mixture of American English and Naval terminology,
with a fair amount of descriptive profanity thrown in. Our
words were not meant to shock anyone,it was just the way we
talked among ourselves,but it was not the kind of language
we used when we were among ladies,that was an unwritten code. All bets were off if we were in the bars frequented by members of the fleet,since the ladies in those places were not really ladies,but nevertheless served an important function in maintaining the high morale of the American Sailor.
Our officers,being gentlemen,were seldom heard to use the language of the enlisted types,unless provoked beyond reason. Regardless of their rank,they were still totally
knowledgeable of all of the terminology used by the lower ranks,and under normal circumstances paid no heed to the flow of profanities used aboard ship. Navy was definitely an exception,and the O.O.D. did not want the crew to embarrass our civilian guests. To make sure all hands understood what was wanted,the O.O.D. went to the Quarterdeck,and instructed the Chief Petty Officer on watch to have the word passed over the ships P.A. system,regarding the use of profanity while we had visitors,including women,aboard our ship. We had speakers all over the shipand they could be heard,loud and clear,as far as a couple of ships away. The Chief told the messenger of the watch to pass the word,and the messenger,a Seaman Duece of long standing,stepped up to the
P.A.,and passed this word "NOW HEAR THIS,NOW HEAR THIS, ALL HANDS REFRAIN FROM USING PROFANITY. THERE'S CUNT ABOARD"
***The laughter could have been heard a mile away,and we made NAVY DAY history.
THE BENJO DITCH
Any sailor acquainted with most of the various customs of the far east,has had some experiences with BENJOS and BENJO ditches. The modern nations of the Orient have to a large degree eliminated the Benjo ditch,but even in the most modern hotels,there is a good chance that the Benjo is still part of the fixtures. To the inexperienced it is definitely a moment to remember,when you first encounter the Japanese Benjo. Here you are,after all kinds of foods which are totally strange and foreign,creating a condition which demands an immediate and urgent relief of the situation.
You ask for the mens room,and when you arrive there in almost a panic,you find only a place to put your feet while you squat over a hole. You have just been introduced to the BENJO,the Oriental answer to the Occidental toilet bowl.
Obviously,whatever goes down that hole between your feet,has to go somewhere,and that is where the Benjo ditch takes over.It is,in its most crude form,nothing more than an open ditch,gravity fed,and going towards wherever it was designed to go. In the towns and cities usually visited by the fleet, the main Benjo ditch usually ends up in the harbor,along with the effluence from all of the ships at anchor.Inolden days,and even to modern times,some,or all what went down the hole,was collected by men with a long pole and two baskets, one at each end. The baskets were known as "Honey Buckets", but the odor was definitely not that of honey. All the stuff collected ended up fertilizing some farmers field,and that in return ensured that sailors or unwary tourists sampling the foods of the Orient would keep the baskets filled to overflowing.
One fine evening,a shipmate and I were very busy sampling all of the delights readily available in the town of Sasebo.
We had somehow managed to find ourselves a wee bit out of bounds,but that was where all of the better entertainment was to be found,so we had made the decision to kind of ignore the rules. We had quite a bit to drink,and we were
probably getting slightly noisy,and getting Mamasan pissed off,and all of a sudden there stood two Shore Patrolmen in the door,and obviously looking for wayward sailors like us.
We might have been drunk,but we were not stupid,so we took off like a ruptured duck out the back door and down the alley. The two S.P.'s were not far behind,and we had to run like hell to stay ahead of them. Those guys were in HOT pursuit. My shipmate could run faster than me and he was slowly pulling away,when I saw my chance to evade capture.
After turning a couple of sharp corners so the S.P.'s couldn't see me,I ran up a narrow stairway in a building,and then stood perfectly still. The S.P.'s could still hear my shipmate ahead making tracks,and they just continued following the sound he made,and missed me completely.
Patting myself on the back for my successful escape,I headed in the opposite direction,and towards the pier where I could catch a liberty launch back to my ship.
My shipmate had beaten me back to the pier,and had also
evaded capture. The S.P.'s had made the decision that even after all their trouble in trying to catch him,they didn't even want to get close to him. They learned about desperation,and my shipmate had learned a lesson too,one he and all of his shipmates would never forget.
IF YOU'RE GOING TO TRY JUMPING A BENJO DITCH-DON'T MISS!
SHELLBACK
I don't know about the resy of you guys,but to me one of the highpoints of my Naval career,was the day I became a real genuine unadulterated member of that exalted group of salty bastards known as "Shellbacks".
It's something that has an aura of mysticism,totally steeped in the traditions of the sea,and carried with it the right to look down on lesser men of the sea,who had never had the good fortune to sail in the southern hemisphere of our planet.Let's face it,lots of guys crossed the 180th meridian,and got a "Golden Dragon" certificate,but that just don't have the power of being a "Shellback".If you're a sailor,you can through life being a common "Pollywog",but
even if you made it to Chief,or slightly less,Admiral,you'd still be nothing but a "Pollywog" unless you'd crossed that magical line,the Equator,and became a true salty dog "Shellback".
I was fortunate enough to be aboard the U.S.S.Midway,CVA-41,
in 1954-55,when she departed "Shit City" in Virginia and headed for Bremerton,Washington,by going all the way around the world.At that time she was one of the largest Aircraft Carriers in the fleet.She still had a straight flight deck,lots of 5 inch fifties,some 3 inch ear busters,a detachment of fleet Marines,Squadrons of "Cougars"and "Banshees",an a whole shipload of Pollywogs destined for greatness.
We made one stop in Mayport,Florida,to pick up our squadrons,and then headed for Capetown,South Africa.I firmly believe that King Neptune knew our destination,and had prepared a prior initiation by having us go through the first hurricane of the season off the Bahamas.It was a rough one,but we sustained only minor damage to some of the hangar bay doors going to the sponson decks.Having weathered that,we continued on our way towards Capetown.
Since we were headed due south and would be crossing the Equator,all of our existing Shellbacks began making plans
for the eventful day when we would have to be initiated,and the entire ship became a huge nest if intrigue,with secret meetings,and thoughts of retaliation by the Pollywogs,who were in the majority.There were eerie sounding announcements on the ships' P.A. system warning all Pollywogs to beware.It was apparent that us Pollywogs were in for some really bad shit,and we grew more desperate as we got closer to that magical line.One meeting of the Shellback organizers was washed out due to a 2 1/2 inch nozzle spraying the assembly at full force and causing a minor riot and a bunch of pissed off Chiefs.
The entire ship was going bananas.Whole divisions were showing up at morning quarters wearing weird combinations of uniforms.You name it,they were wearing it.An inspection team would have gone apeshit.Rank didn't have any meaning during this time,and two Commanders were standing lookout on the leading edge of the flight deck wearing skivvy shorts,their
uniform blouse,hats on backwards,and tennis shoes with black socks.They each had two baseball bats taped together and were using them as binoculars looking for the Equator.We were all caught up in the excitement,and although we looked forward to the initiation like getting a square needle in the left nut,we felt it would be worth it just to become real Shellbacks.
The dreaded day finally arrived,and King Neptune,Davy Jones,
the Royal Court,and the Royal Babies(the fattest guys aboard ship),all gathered together on a raised platform amidships on the flight deck.By division,all us poor Pollywogs were to be introduced to the Court and then properly initiated into the mysteries of the deep.A group of Shellback Pirates, swinging seawater soaked Shillelies (a tube made of canvas filled with kapok) lined us up in rows facing the court,soaked us with fire hoses,and after getting us on our knees with our foreheads touching the deck,proceeded to pound our butts with those Shillelies(OUCH).I acquired an immediate painful respect for his salty highness,knowing I would never ever willingly sit in his presence.
Then,one by one we were presented to the court and had our faces pushed into the bellies of the Royal Babies,which were smeared with graphite grease.As we came up someone threw a handful of flour in our face,which gave us a sickly appearance,making the Royal Medic order us to say AAAAAAHH.
When we did The Medic squirted liquid quinine in our mouth out of an oil can.Since this was not something which brought
any smiles we were deemed near death and placed in a water filled wooden coffin.The lid was then slammed shut.When the lid was opened,two burly mean looking Pirates asked what I wanted to be,and being of sound mind,I shouted "Shellback, dammit.Shellback"! That was the secret code,and I was allowed to proceed to the Royal barber for my haircut,which was done by a maniac with tin snips.When he finished my
wooden barber chair was tipped over backwards and I was in a makeshift pool which I had to climb out of while being
hosed down by firehoses.The only thing left was to run the gauntlet of a bunch of screaming,laughing Shellbacks swinging their Shillelies,and after running into a large cargo net,I was among the initiated.
I can't say it was a solemn moment,but it sure was the highpoint of the whole cruise.I now was a real seagoing,
Salty as hell,SHELLBACK.
U.S.S. MIDWAY CVA-41
The Day We Retook San Juan Hill
The USS Watts,accompanied by another Fletcher class destroyer,and a submarine,took a weekend off from our shakedown cruise at Guantanamo Bay,and proceeded to Santiago de Cuba,a thriving city in Oriente province,and near the famous San Juan Hill,which the Rough Riders,under the leadership of Teddy Roosevelt,liberated from the Spanish forces.
There were many events which are better left untold,but they all started with a visit to the Bacardi Rum factory,which also produced the infamous "Hateuy" beer,known as "The One Eyed Indian".Drinking free rum and beer,most of us were off to a great start,and at one point it was suggested that a few of us capable of movement should go to San Juan Hill to pay our respects to the gallant men who had fought there.
Three stalwart Boatswains Mates,including myself,promptly hired a taxi to take us there,and being of a sharing nature,we immediately offered the driver to partake of our plentiful supply of rum.From that moment on we not only had a driver,but a traveling companion,fellow imbiber,and a friend for life.
Once we had arrived at the historical site,we decided that it was only proper and necessary that we re-enact the famous charge up that hill.Since we obviously had to have some opposition,to make it more realistic,we assigned the role of Spanish soldier to our driver,since he looked the part and spoke fluent Cuban Spanish.Clutching our individual bottles of rum,the army of three proceeded walking down the hill.The sun was high,and the temperature on the warm side,so it did not take long for us liberators to realize that it would be a little tougher going back up,and decided to reverse course and start our attack.Waving our bottles and hollering to the best of our ability,we began charging,but quickly slowed to more of a crawl.The combination of rum,heat,and the angle of the hill made going back up a truly heroic effort on our part,with the full knowledge that we had an opposing force
also armed with rum,waiting to mow us down as we approached.
We were elated to find ourselves back on top of the hill,without suffering a single casualty.The only problem was the fact that our enemy was nowhere to be seen.As we gathered our gallant group,and were looking at the empty taxi,it became a day of infamy when our driver stepped from behind a monument and then made a "Rat tat tat tat" sound,and informed us that he had just killed us all.We were devastated,and defeated,and fast running out of solace provided by our rum supply,so we capitulated and got back in the taxi for our ride back to the delights of the city.That is when the driver celebrated his phenomenol military success by planting a lead foot on the gas pedal,a hand on the horn,and driving pell mell down a narrow,twisting,so called street all the way back,without touching the brakes once.
Three Navy Rough Riders rolled out of that taxi,stone cold sober,fully aware that we were the luckiest sailors alive that day.We had suffered the pains of combat and had survived to tell the tale.Of course we told a slightly different version,and heaped glory on ourselves with the telling,and this is the first time that the real story has been told
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