Simple Sailor

Discussion in 'The Quarterdeck' started by babystew, May 3, 2006.

Welcome to the Navy Net aka Rum Ration

The UK's largest and busiest UNofficial RN website.

The heart of the site is the forum area, including:

  1. He was getting old and paunchy, and his hair was falling fast
    and he sat around the legion, telling stories of his past

    Of a patrol that he once served on, and the deeds that he had done
    in his exploits with his oppo's they were heroes everyone

    And tho' sometimes to his neighbours, his tales became a joke
    all his buddies listened quitely, for they knew of where he spoke

    But we'll hear his tales no longer, for ol' jack has passed away,
    and the worlds a little poorer, for a sailor died today

    He won't be mourned by many, just his children and his wife
    for he lived an ordinary, very quite sort of life

    He held a job and raised a family, going quietly on his way
    and the world won't note his passing, tho' a sailor died today

    when politicians leave this earth, their bodies lie in state
    while thousands note their passing and proclaim that they were great

    Papers tell of their life stories, from the time that they were young
    but the passing of a sailor, goes unnoticed and unsung

    Is the greatest contribution to the welfare of our land
    some jerk who breaks his promise and con's his fellow man

    Or the ordinary sailor, who in times of war and strife
    goes off to serve his country and offers up his life

    The politicians stipend and the style in which he lives
    are often disproportinate to the service that he gives

    While the ordinary sailor who offered up his all
    is paid off with a medal and a pension that is small

    It's so easy to forget them for it is so many times
    that our jacks and johns and jimmys went to battle but we know

    It's not the politicians with their compromise and ploys
    who won for us our freedom that our country now enjoys

    Should you find yourself in danger with your enemies at hand
    would you really want some copout with his ever waffling stand

    Or would you want a sailor his home his country his kin
    just a common sailor who would fight until the end

    He was just a ordinary sailor and his ranks are growing thin
    but his presence should remind us we may need his like again

    For when countries are in conflict we find the sailors part
    is to clean up all the troubles that politicians start

    If we cannot do him honour while he's here to hear the praise
    then at least let's give him homage at the ending of his day's

    Perhaps just a simple headline in the paper that might say


    " OUR COUNTRY IS IN MOURNING: A SAILOR DIED TODAY"
     
  2. Where did you find that little gem? Nearly brought tears to the eyes. Very topical given all that has gone on recently re blair and company, football (heroes my arse!).

    Where did you find that little gem? Nearly brought tears to the eyes. Very topical given all that has gone on recently re blair and company, football (heroes my arse!).
     
  3. That is a bloody excellent piece of poetry. I'm sure it means as much to matloets as 'The Blinking Marine' does to Bootnecks.

    Who wrote it?
     
  4. Can't beat that babystew who ever penned it. Excellent

    Nutty
     
  5. does anybody have the words to the blinking marine?
     
  6. THE BLINKIN' MARINE

    He ain't exactly a Tommy, he ain't exactly a Tar,
    He ain't too cocky or nothing, but the best blokes never are.
    They christened him leatherneck, jolly and a ruddy good bullock he's been,
    For if there's war,
    Afloat or ashore,
    They call him a blinkin' Marine.

    When poor little Belgium was wobbly and o'er run by a torrent of Huns,
    Antwerp lay naked and listened wide-eyed to the bombs and the guns.
    It was just a chance in a million for Willie he wasn't so green
    But we weren't far wrong
    When we sent him along,
    That leather-necked bloke, the Marine

    He's frozen in ice of the Arctic; he's sweated in African heat,
    He's smiled at the welcome of Ypres,
    He's popped off the guns with the fleet.
    But where trouble is brewing or something wants doing,
    They send for the blinkin' Marine.

    They say that all dumps have a dud shell, well -- I once saw a Hun that was kind,
    I once saw a Yank that had no swank and a skipper who had never been minded'
    But if you saw the mole at Zeebrugge,
    when machine guns were sweeping it clean.
    Then you'll all agree there's no such thing, in this world, as a dud Marine.

    When Earth's little canter is over
    And the sun burns the colour of lead,
    And the last bugle call is sounding to summon the quick and the dead,
    There may be a panic by people, who don't know what discipline means,
    But I'll wager my pay that the first to obey,
    Will be -- the last of the blinkin' Marines.

    Written by Rudyard Kipling - 1917-1918
     
  7. THE BLINKIN' MARINE

    He ain't exactly a Tommy, he ain't exactly a Tar,
    He ain't too cocky or nothing, but the best blokes never are.
    They christened him leatherneck, jolly and a ruddy good bullock he's been,
    For if there's war,
    Afloat or ashore,
    They call him a blinkin' Marine.

    When poor little Belgium was wobbly and o'er run by a torrent of Huns,
    Antwerp lay naked and listened wide-eyed to the bombs and the guns.
    It was just a chance in a million for Willie he wasn't so green
    But we weren't far wrong
    When we sent him along,
    That leather-necked bloke, the Marine

    He's frozen in ice of the Arctic; he's sweated in African heat,
    He's smiled at the welcome of Ypres,
    He's popped off the guns with the fleet.
    But where trouble is brewing or something wants doing,
    They send for the blinkin' Marine.

    They say that all dumps have a dud shell, well -- I once saw a Hun that was kind,
    I once saw a Yank that had no swank and a skipper who had never been mined'
    But if you saw the mole at Zeebrugge,
    when machine guns were sweeping it clean.
    Then you'll all agree there's no such thing, in this world, as a dud Marine.

    When Earth's little canter is over
    And the sun burns the colour of lead,
    And the last bugle call is sounding to summon the quick and the dead,
    There may be a panic by people, who don't know what discipline means,
    But I'll wager my pay that the first to obey,
    Will be -- the last of the blinkin' Marines.
     
  8. I win, just :wink:.
     
  9. thanks



    to you both!
     
  10. Saw the top one first some years ago in the Handlers Herald,perhaps some chockhead knows who wrote it.Good innit?
     
  11. As this is turning into Poets' Corner, how do you like this one? Pass the bucket when you've done with it....

    I Am the American Sailor
    ---------------------------------------------------------------------
    Hear my voice, America!
    Though I speak through the mist of 200 years,
    My shout for freedom will echo through liberty's halls for many
    centuries to come. Hear me speak, for my words are of truth and justice, and
    the rights of man.
    For those ideals I have spilled my blood upon the world's
    troubled waters. Listen well, for my time is eternal -yours is but a moment.

    I am the spirit of heroes past and future.
    I am the American Sailor. I was born upon the icy shores at Plymouth,
    rocked upon the waves of the Atlantic, and nursed in the wilderness of
    Virginia. I cut my teeth on New England codfish, and I was clothed in
    southern cotton. I built muscle at the halyards of New Bedford whalers, and
    I gained my sea legs high atop mizzen of yankee clipper ships.

    Yes, I am the American Sailor, one of the greatest seamen the world
    has ever known.
    The sea is my home and my words are tempered by the
    sound of paddle wheels on the Mississippi
    and the song of whales off Greenland's barren shore.
    My eyes have grown dim from the glare of
    sunshine on blue water, and my heart is full of star-strewn nights
    under the Southern Cross.
    My hands are raw from winter storms while
    sailing down round the Horn, and they are blistered from the heat of
    cannon broadside while defending our nation.

    I am the American Sailor,
    and I have seen the sunset of a thousand distant, lonely lands.
    I am the American Sailor. It was I who stood tall beside John Paul
    Jones as he shouted, "I have not yet begun to fight!"

    I fought upon
    the Lake Erie with Perry, and I rode with
    Stephen Decatur into Tripoli harbor to burn Philadelphia.
    I met Guerriere aboard Constitution, and I was
    lashed to the mast with Admiral Farragut at Mobile Bay.

    I have heard the clang of Confederate shot against the sides of Monitor.
    I have suffered the cold with Peary at the North Pole and I responded when
    Dewy said, "You may fire when ready Gridley," at Manila Bay.
    It was I who transported supplies through submarine infested waters when our soldier's
    were called "over there." I was there as Admiral Byrd crossed the South
    Pole. It was I who went down with the Arizona at Pearl Harbor,
    who supported our troops at Inchon,
    and patrolled dark deadly waters of the Mekong Delta.

    I am the American Sailor and I wear many faces.
    I am a pilot soaring across God's blue canopy and
    I am a Seabee atop a dusty bulldozer in the South Pacific.
    I am a corpsman nursing the wounded in the jungle,
    and I am a torpedoman in the Nautilus deep beneath the North Pole.
    I am hard and I am strong.

    But it was my eyes that filled with tears when my brother
    went down with the Thresher, and it was my heart that rejoiced when
    Commander Shepherd rocketed into orbit above the earth.
    It was I who languished in a Viet Cong prison camp,
    and it was I who walked upon the moon.
    It was I who saved the Stark and the Samuel B. Roberts in the mine
    infested waters of the Persian Gulf.
    It was I who pulled my brothers from
    the smoke filled compartments of the Bonefish and
    wept when my shipmates died on the Iowa and White Plains.

    When called again, I was there, on the
    tip of the spear for Operations Desert Shield and Desert Storm.

    I am the American Sailor.
    I am woman, I am man,
    I am white and black, yellow, red and brown.
    I am Jew, Muslim, Christian, and Buddhist.
    I am Irish, Filipino, African, French, Chinese, and Indian.

    And my standard is the outstretched hand of Liberty.
    Today, I serve around the world; on land, in air, on and under the sea.
    I serve
    proudly, at peace once again,
    but with the fervent prayer that I need
    not be called again.

    Tell your children of me. Tell them of my
    sacrifice, and how my spirit soars above their country.
    I have spread the mantle of my nation over the ocean,
    and I will guard her forever.
    I am
    her heritage and yours.

    I am the American Sailor.
     
  12. Could have added "English, Welsh, Scot, German, Russian, Pole, Spaniard, Italian, Scandinavian, Vietnamese, Belgian, Dutch etc etc etc"
     
  13. Pipe down American Sailor you Sprog, you havn't been in long enough for a NAAFI run.

    Joking, it's nice although very American.
     
  14. The British poem is just.........a little understated, the American a bit more boastfull. But if you are the junior Sprog you have to shout to get mothers attention.
     
  15. 200 years? Is that all? Bloody part timers.
     

Share This Page