What is a matelot

Discussion in 'The Quarterdeck' started by Griff9781, Feb 21, 2007.

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  1. Found this poem after a quick google search thought I`d share it with you`s I think it`s pretty much Bob on. Any one know anymore?


    A Matelot is not born; he is made out of leftovers! God built the world and the animals and then recycled the gash to create this dastardly weapon.He took the leftover roar of the lion, the howl of the hyena, the clumsiness of the ox, the stubbornness of the mule, the slyness of the fox, the wildness of the bull and the pride of a peacock - then added the filthy evil mind of the devil to satisfy his weird sense of humour.

    A Matelot evolved into a crude combination of John Dillinger, Errol Flynn, Beau Brummel and Valentino - a swashbuckling , beer -swilling - lovemaking - LIAR!

    A Matelot likes girls, rum, beer, fights, uckers, runs ashore, pubs, jokes, long leave, his mates and his ticket. He hates officers, rounds, divisions, saluting middies, naval police, painting the side, jaunties, navy scran, his turn in the barrel and signing on!

    A Matelot comes in four colours; white, off white, dirty and filthy - all looking alike under a tan and a uniform.He is brave drinking beer, abusive playing crib, brutal defending his pride and passionate making love. He can start a brawl, create a disaster, offend the law, desert his ship, and make you lose your money, your temper and your mind!

    He can take your sister, your mother, your aunt, and when he is caught get his captain to vouch for his integrity.

    A matelot is loved by all mothers, sisters, aunts and nieces; hated by all fathers, brothers, uncles and nephews.

    He has a girl in every port and a port in every girl. He breaks more hearts, causes more fights and begets more bastards than any other man, yet when he is off to sea he is missed more than any other!

    A matelot is a mean, hard drinking, fast running, mealy mouthed son-of-a-bitch, but when you are in strife he is a strong shoulder to lean on, a pillar of wisdom, and a defender of the faith and cause. He fights for his mate, and dies for his country, without question or hesitation!

    This is a Matelot!
    • Like Like x 2
  2. Try this Old and Bold One.


    Now pay attention for I 'ave a tale to tell & one that I 'eard when I wuz but a lad.

    'Arpin' Party.

    There wuz two Stokers - oppos - on a destroyer out in mid Atlantic.
    One wuz a good guy, name of 'Awkins an' t'other wuz a bad bastard, name of Morgan.

    But the ship wuz torpedoed & sunk wiv all 'ands. Morgan, the bad bastard, wuz not surprised one bit to find 'issen down below shuvvelin' the hinfernal boilers. One day, sweatin' off 'is goolies, therer wuz a tap on 'is shoulder - it wuz 'Awkins, joining 'im wiva shuvell.

    " 'ullo, ops' " 'e said, "watchoo doin' down 'ere - I fort you wuz up top wiv the dab-dabs?"
    "Well I wuz" sez 'Awkins, "but I seem to 'ave blotted me copybook an' it ain't seemed to 'ave werked out."

    "Really, old mate, 'ow wuz that then - do tell! " 'e sez.
    "Well" sez 'Awkins, " it wuz like this - when the tin fish gets us, I finds mesen outside the gilded gates of 'eaven, where they seems to 'ave bin 'spectin' me. So I goes in, ticks me name orf an' gits stuck into me joinin' routine, draws me Pusser 'arp, me Pusser's wings an' me pusser's 'alo and me Pussers No.7's werkin' gown, an' I sling me new 'ammock on a luverley cloud an' gits me 'ead down."

    Next mornin' after "Wakey wakey, call the bleedin' angels" an' after Mornin' Divisions, the Chief Seraph's Mate starts tellin' orf werkin' parties from the right end hof the line.
    "Right, pay 'tension," sez 'e, " from 'ere to 'ere is Pearly gates polishin' Party. 'ere to 'ere is fiery chariots wheel greasin'. look at me you nasty likkle bastard ! 'ere to 'ere is Lord Gods messengers.......... Remainder - 'Arpin Party."

    "So I 'arps from then till stand easy an' from then to Tot Time an' I wuz a bit choker like by then too - after which we secure's fer the day - back to me likkle cloud fer a make 'n mend."

    Next day we gits fell-in an' I boxes clever an' I fall-in on the right, ana Leadin' Angel comes up an' starts frum the left 'and end.
    "Right, pay 'tension," sez 'e, " from 'ere to 'ere is Pearly gates polishin' Party. 'ere to 'ere is fiery chariots wheel greasin'. look at me you nasty likkle bastard ! 'ere to 'ere is Lord Gods messengers.......... Remainder - 'Arpin Party."

    So once agin I 'arps til stand easy, then till Tot Time an' we secures an' I gits me 'ead down an' I am very chokker.

    On day free, I gits fell-in in the middle of the Angel Squad an' a PO Angel comes up an' takes 2 parties frum the right, 2 frum the left - an' then he sez to us idiots in the middle - remainder 'arpin'."

    So I've 'ad enough an' I sez, "I've 'ad enough" an' I frows down me 'arp down a cloud an' I sez, "I'm chokker wiv 'arpin' I ain't doin' it no more."
    So the Leadin' Angel calls the Chief Angel, oo sez, "wassa matter wiv yoo my son" 'e sez.
    I sez, "I'm bloody chokker wiv 'arpin' & i ain't a doing' it no more".

    So the Chief Angel calls the Chief Seraph's Mate an' we goes frew the 'ole fing once more.
    "Ok" 'e sez, "Archangels report" an' the next day the Master o' 'Arps marches me in to see the Duty Archangel.

    "Orf 'alo - Acting Ordinary Angel 'Awkins, Sir, did act wiv predudice to good horder an' 'eavenly discilpine in the 'e did refuse to 'arp"
    "Is that right" sez the Archangel, "yus, sir" sez I , " an' I'm bleedin' chokker wiv 'arpin'"
    "welly well" sez the Archangel, "Creators report - next case"

    The next day the Master o' 'Arps marches me in to see the Bloke - the Creator 'imself.
    "Well" sez the Creator, "wot 'ave yoo got to say for yerself"

    So I tells 'im an 'e sez "Acting Ordinary Angel 'Awkins, all acting angels 'as to do their bit at 'arpin when they comes here, speshlly the ordinary angels like you - tis diffrent for Uppercloud Angels or Sparker Angels, an; speshally Bootie Angels, cos Bootie Angels can do wrong."

    "Well I is very sorry but I is chokker wiv 'arpin' an' I done wanna be doin' it no more, anyway I wuz a Stoker & no one goes nowhere wivout us lot."

    "Right Acting Ordinary Angel 'awkins" he sez, " there's nuffin more I can do - I 'as to do fings by the books - yoo force my harm - scale!" 'e sez.
    "SCALE" sez the Master o' 'Arps " firty days number E11's - right turn, quick marchleftrightleftright wheel - 'alt"

    So me 'ole mucker 'ere I am! this is wot 'appens wen yoo refooses to be 'arpin' party - but I fink it wuz cos of all those Booties not likin' us stokers.

    Reproduced wiv great respect to an annony mouse contributer to HMS Kenya Assoc - I 've bin looking for this since the Jossman was but a lad.


  3. Here is yet another sent to me in a different form edited to fit


    Who said we don’t understand other Services

    A very salty Submarine Coxswain and a crusty Infantry Sergeant Major are sitting in a bar debating the merits of how hard their respective careers were. “I did over 30 years boy and man in my Regiment,†the Sergeant declares proudly, “Fought in just about every war and conflict from 1940 until the early 70’sâ€

    “Only 3 months with the Colours and lifted off the beach at Dunkirk, running up and down the beach to avoid them Stukas no RAF fighter cover for us. Next it was off to North Africa, sand and blood then more bloody sand, 88’s and Panzer kicking the shit out of us. A nice rest before the delights of Italy for me, no such luck it’s the Forgotten Fourteenth Army, clawed our way inch by inch back into Burma. Dysentery, Mosquitoes, Sores and Boils; the Jungle was hard, Japs they were the easy part.â€

    “Home after VJ Day?, not bloody likely. The War Office thought a short holiday in Palestine to chase the Stern Gang around would be nice for us regulars. Hated by Jews, Arabs and rich whites alike. They are still fighting over a postage stamp, well they would would’nt they. Then, would you Adam and Eve it, they send us to Korea. 5000 of us, 40,000 Chinks after 6 days of holding up human wave after human wave, being slammed every which way, we get captured. Six months of rice and water in a freezing POW camp.I lost 3 stone in weight before we get home.â€

    “Then I make Staff Sgt. thinking I have got a right result not being sent to Malaya, but no Suez, Cyprus, Borneo and, Aden poor bloody infantry. Cop a Blighty in Sarawak, operated on in field hospital, CasEvac to Singa’s. Then home for nine months in hospital before I am fit. Restricted to Depot Duties as the Regimental Sergeant Major. Who, in this world, did I upset.â€

    The Coxswain takes long slow pull on his glass of ‘Woods’ looks up at the ceiling and says, “ I thought so, all bloody shore drafts.â


  4. And yet another


    THE DEMISE OF JACK TAR.The traditional male sailor was not defined by his looks. He was defined by his attitude; his name was Jack Tar.He was a happy go lucky sort of a bloke; he took the good times with the bad. He didn't cry victimisation, bastardisation, discrimination or for his mum 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 behaviour, 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 polite society, Jack's manners were somewhat rough.His ability to swear was legendary. He would stand up for his mates. Jack was extravagant with his support to those he thought needed it. He may have been right or wrong, but that didn’t' t matter. Jack's mate was one of the luckiest people alive.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 the chase and its conclusion win or lose, is the stuff of legends.Jack's favourite 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, did 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. Where as, 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 humour 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


  5. Here is a realy yukky one probaly first penned in the US of A, it has that ring about it. But then they have silver Dolphins so it has been altered to fit Pusser.


    We Are Submarine Sailors

    "We are not the first of them and we will not be the last. Our heritage runs back to the first submarine. This heritage line continues forward into an unseen future. The one before trains each generation. This will remain so until there is no more use for submarines, which will be never.

    If one of us goes aboard a new or old submarine, we are comfortable with the men there. They are we, and we are they. Stand us in a line in all our dress uniforms or naked in our coffins, we are the same. We are and forever will be submarine sailors. We are one.
    We can have everything taken from us, uniforms, medals, our sanity and our lives, but we will always be recognized by others and ourselves as a submariner. This status cannot be removed from us. Our Dolphins worn on our chests then, hung on our walls now, or later pinned on moldering uniforms in our graves mark us forever. We are first, last, and always men that stepped forward and worked long and hard to become what we are. We are unique among sailors for we sail down deep into dark and always dangerous waters. We do this not with foolhardy go-to-hell bravery, but with cool calculation and care. We challenge the dangers with training and practice. We know that the time for bravery will come when two shipmates close themselves in a flooding compartment, knowing that the whole boat and crew depends on them to control the flooding.

    We believe in each other, because we must. Alone at sea, the crew and a pressure hull are all we have to reach the surface again. Men with confidence in each other dive and surface submarines countless times. Each man trained by others holds the lives of those shipmates in his hands.

    Dolphins are the symbol of this tradition. Submarine hulls have numbers and men have hearts and souls. We carry those numbers in our hearts in life, and they mark our souls in death. Gold Dolphins are the symbol of this.

    To us Dolphins are it; no other symbol matters or means anything as important as they do. "



  6. Spot on guys...very entertaining!! :grin: :grin:
  7. Sounds like standard Matelots banyan by the Dinks.


    Aussie sailors face sex romp claims
    Saturday 28 June 2003, 8:05 AM

    Australian sailors had sex on the beach and pranced naked with rolled-up burning paper stuck between their buttocks during a drunken stay on a US island outpost, it was reported.
    A number of complaints of misconduct followed the 24-hour shore leave on Diego Garcia, the US base dubbed "Gilligan's Island with guns", The Weekend Australian newspaper reports.
    It says the allegations include widespread drunkenness among the crews of HMAS Adelaide and HMAS Kanimbla, urinating in public, overt public male-to-male kissing and abuse of foreign military personnel.
    But it reports the Australian Defence Force only investigated a handful of complaints because military police found insufficient evidence to identify the other offenders.
    Disciplinary action had also been taken against two sailors, one for the "dance of the flamers", where rolled paper inserted between the buttocks was set alight, and the other for public exposure, it said

    Diego Garcia is a British dependency located in the middle of the Indian Ocean 4,800 km south of Iraq and out of cyclone range. It was developed as a joint US-UK air and naval refueling and support station during the cold war.


  8. You just can't take "Jack" anywhere can you??!!! :oops: :oops:

    Yes you can and have a cracking good time!!! :grin: :grin:
  9. Seems to me that Jack was trying to instill some culture into the local society. Lets face it African dance troops come to the UK and dance bare breasted on the stage at the theatre, this is called CULTURE.
    The Dance of the Flaming ********* is a tribal dance performed by skilled members of the RN. It has been taught to various navies around the world and many have adopted it. I would like to put a petition on the Downing street website supporting our cultural heritage. However though we could expect at least 1.7 million signatures we know that Tony would just ignore it.
  10. Nutty, I am an aussie and had an ex, who was in forces. Thanks for clearing up why it didn't work! Can move on with life now ;)
  11. Dinkyschooner

    I thought you said you rather had a thing for men in uniform, have we now convinced you that we are all partially mad and you should really settle for an arrogant non military doctor who will be OTS most of the time.


    PS if you are not up to speed on your rythming slang

    "Dink-doos" = "roos"

    Hence a "Dink" is a "roo" is a "Kangroo" is a Australian
  12. Here`s another from a google search for ya,
    OF ALL THOSE who wander in and out of our midst there is none more widely discussed nor so little understood as a Matelot. Cloaked in the anonymity of uniform, classified in the ledger as a number and regarded in the drafting office as just one unit to move here or there, irrespective of class, race or religion, he nevertheless contrives to rise above it all and emerge as an individual, uniquely different from his neighbour in the same rig, able to wear his uniform in a thousand ways, all frowned upon by Their Lordships, yet all just inside the law of the clothing class, and to generally act the living lie to the adage that regimentation is soul-destroying. He will drip, moan and howl about his job, his ship and the Service, yet should any outsider dare run down these same things, he will demolish the critic with a flow of invective as picturesque as it is blistering.

    A Matelot can be all things to all men at all times. In the messdeck argument he will don the profundity of a lawyer and discourse at great length and detail on subjects about which he knows nothing. A piped order can change him without pause for breath, or alteration of tone, from a happy optimist to a cynical pessimist. On board, ashore, on duty or on leave, waking or sleeping, he seems eternally to be at the mercy of some mysterious `dozen', the expiration of which he will likely, sadly, hopefully, winsomely, imploringly, scathingly, or frantically, entreat to `Roll on'. And when the `12' has duly rolled by he goes to the ship's office and asks for another ten. This being granted, here turns to his mess and ever after raises the cry, `Roll on my pensh' ! In this matter, as in many others, he is his own deceiver.

    In his ship is no one as `hard done by' as he. He will voice this sentiment as he performs some difficult or dangerous task for which he claims, `Some blankety-blank browned him off'. Yet, if discreet inquiries are made, it will usually be found that, unknown to anyone, he volunteered for the job in the first place. If, however, he finds that his chum working with him has volunteered also, he will go into fits of laughter and deliver a long lecture about never volunteering. When ashore a Matelot is, by his own light, a paragon of virtue. He seeks lurid experiences and strange adventures, not so much for his own satisfaction but for his subject of conversation at next morning's breakfast table. If he doesn't find these adventures - and he rarely does - then he just invents them. Should a young, storm-tossed irresponsible actually involve himself in trouble ashore, the punishment he receives from authority is many times lighter than that received from his own messmates; for the motto which guides a Matelot is the one which says 'Never get found out'.

    A Matelot is a person who goes to Home Park with the express purpose of cheering the visiting side. If he can do this from the middle of a crowd of Argyle supporters, so much the better. Yet hear the same Matelot speak when his ship is at Portsmouth, `Come to Guzz if you want to see football'. His favourite pastime is to start an argument in a hitherto quiet pub, leaving silently when the noise is at its zenith. He is a jack-of-all-trades and master of them all. He is a dishwasher and a plasterer; a model-maker; a midwife; a dressmaker and a cook; an electrician and a child's nurse. When a job comes up which he has not the faintest idea about, he will set about it with a curious mixture of common sense and brazen `flannel', which convinces any onlooker that he is watching the original inventor at work.

    The phrase which a Matelot never uses is `I don't know'. This in itself leads him into strange places. He is a born navigator and he takes his bearings from naval tailors and public-houses. The phrase `out of bounds' intrigues him greatly, no matter what obstacles authority places in his path - such places will draw him as a magnet to find out why they are out of bounds. He lives for the `first boat' ashore and then wonders who is making a fortune out of suppers he does not eat. He is fully convinced that he and his kind are being perpetually `seen off'. But the fact is that the business expert who can put one over on jack has yet to be born.

    He is a man whose natural nautical up-bringings and training have coated him with a shallow veneer of artificiality. But beneath this, and it is never far below the surface, is a deepness not to be found in other men. He distrusts the rites of the Church but very willingly he attends a service at sea. There on the same oceans in their many moods he places his faith in God, the ship, and her captain. He never talks over much about such things, because he is aware that those who have not attended such a service cannot possibly understand. A Matelot is a suitable combination of applied indifference and deep concern. He is humour with a pusser's sausage; near truth at the defaulter's table; Casanova with bell-bottoms; a bon viveur with a pint of beer. He is, my friends, A MATELOT
  13. Matelot = Dying breed
  14. FILO Brigade
  15. Decided to make this a sticky as it gave me a few chuckles!
  16. A matelot is someone who isnt ready to grow up, they want to get drunk, have loads of sex, mess around but still get payed. We are people who was to grown up for school, but not grown up for the big bad world, until a situation requires us to be, ie: war, fire,etc
  17. eh?
  18. Hig, Have you got your schoolie head on again?
  19. Not at all Slim, It`s my fault, I just dont understand English anymore, must be old age.
  20. No its OK old chap, your grasp of the English language is as good as it ever was. Unfortunately the writer of the statement is not writing in Queens English. :twisted:
    Its probably good enough for a pass at GCSE level though :lol:

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