Author Topic: Jack Dit`s  (Read 7669 times)

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Offline Dave

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Jack Dit`s
« on: April 11, 2008, 09:07:34 PM »
The Last Shanty
by Tom Lewis
Well me father often told me when I was just a lad
A sailor's life was very hard, the food was always bad
But now I've joined the navy, I'm aboard a man-o-war
And now I've found a sailor ain't a sailor any more

    Don't haul on the rope, don't climb up the mast
    If you see a sailing ship it might be your last
    Just get your civies ready for another run ashore
    A sailor ain't a sailor, ain't a sailor anymore
 

Well the killock of our mess he says we've had it soft
It wasn't like this in his day when he was up aloft
We like our bunks and sleeping bags, but what's a hammock for?
Swinging from the deckhead, or lying on the floor?

    Don't haul on the rope, don't climb up the mast
    If you see a sailing ship it might be your last
    Just get your civies ready for another run ashore
    A sailor ain't a sailor, ain't a sailor anymore

Well they gave us an engine that first went up and down
Then with more technology the engine went around
We know our steam and diesel but what's a mainyard for?
A stoker ain't a stoker with a shovel anymore.

    Don't haul on the rope, don't climb up the mast
    If you see a sailing ship it might be your last
    Just get your civies ready for another run ashore
    A sailor ain't a sailor, ain't a sailor anymore

Well they gave us Aldiss lamp so we could do it right
They gave us a radio, we signaled day and night
We know our codes and cyphers but what's a semaphore?
A bunting-tosser doesn't toss the bunting anymore

    Don't haul on the rope, don't climb up the mast
    If you see a sailing ship it might be your last
    Just get your civies ready for another run ashore
    A sailor ain't a sailor, ain't a sailor anymore

Two cans of beer a day and that's your bleeding lot
Now we get an extra one because they've stopped the tot
So we'll put on our civie clothes and find a pub ashore
A sailor's still a sailor just like he was before

    Don't haul on the rope, don't climb up the mast
    If you see a sailing ship it might be your last
    Just get your civies ready for another run ashore
    A sailor ain't a sailor, ain't a sailor anymore

Offline Dave

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Re: Jack Dit`s
« Reply #1 on: April 13, 2008, 04:06:59 PM »

 Agnes Weston (1840 -1918) and her friend Sophia Wintz (1847-1929) were two ladies who tried to save sailors from booze and brothels by providing non-alcoholic drinks in pleasant surroundings. Initially Sophia's mother allowed them to invite sailors from Devonport (Plymouth) to drop into the homely atmosphere of her kitchen. A deputation from HMS Dryad asking Agnes to set up a club, led to the purchase of an old Co-op shop which opened as an enlarged kitchen cum restaurant at Plymouth in 1876. Three sailors talked her into letting them sleep there just before it opened, and then sent her their photo with the inscription "The first birds to roost at The Sailors Rest"and Agnes adopted the name. When HMS Eurydice was lost in 1878, Agnes came to Portsmouth to assist the families in a practical way. This resulted in her opening another Sailors Rest at Portsmouth in 1881. Each had a tea & food bar, games room, and reading/writing room with paper and envelopes supplied. Although she supported the temperance movement, she was not strait-laced, and had drunken sailors taken back to the Rests to sober up. The clubs also provided entertainment with stage acts and dancing. She went on to bank sailors' money, and help provide for their poor families. When Dame Agnes died in 1918, she was the first woman to be accorded a full naval funeral, and Dame Sophia was treated the same in 1929. The two friends are buried together in Weston Mill cemetery. Their work is continued by the controlling trusts.

Offline MikeD

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Re: Jack Dit`s
« Reply #2 on: April 15, 2008, 10:45:47 AM »
I have much to thank Aggie Weston for.  Whilst working in CinC Pompey's office prior to joing the Vic we were on L & RA (had to find our own lodgings and victual ouselves) and nearly always had our dinner in Aggies, Queen St near the Trafalgar Club and was it the Park Hotel between the two?  The performers from the theatre opposite used to frequent that place. 
Round the corner (Commercial Road?) was the Royal Theatre where I saw Winifred Atwell on the Joanna.  The theatres were very popular in the 50s and 60s.
Mayo Mike

Offline stokerstan

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Re: Jack Dit`s
« Reply #3 on: April 15, 2008, 11:04:02 AM »
Ditto, re Mike's remarks about Aggies. But, the Traf. Club served my all time favourite meal.
Braised steak, onions, tomatoes and heaps of chips!!!!!! Traf Club helped to make me the sixteen stone man I am today!!!!!!!

Offline Dave

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Re: Jack Dit`s
« Reply #4 on: April 28, 2008, 06:50:59 PM »
   Old sailors sit
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.
 
They remembered friends
From long ago,
The times they had back then,
The money they spent,
The beer they drank,
In their days as sailing men.
 
Their lives are lived
In the days gone by
With the thoughts that forever last.
Of the bell bottom blues,
Round white hats,
And good times in their past.
 
They recall long nights
With the moon so bright
Far out into the lonely sea.
The thoughts they had
As youthful lads,
When their lives were wild and free.
 
They know so well
How their hearts would swell
When the flag fluttered proud and free.
The underway pennant
Such a beautiful sight
As they plowed through an angry sea.
 
They talked of the chow
Ol' cookie would make
And the shrill of the bos'n pipe.
How salt spray would fall
Like sparks from hell
When a storm struck in the night.
 
They remember old shipmates
Already gone
Who forever hold a spot in their heart,
When sailors were bold,
And friendships would hold,
Until death ripped them apart.
 
They speak of nights
Spent in bawdy houses
On many foreign shore,
Of the beer they'd down
As gathering around,
Telling jokes with a busty whore.
 
Their sailing days
Are gone away,
Never again will they cross the brow.
They have no regrets,
They know they are blessed,
For honoring the sacred vow.
 
Their numbers grow less
With each passing day
As the final muster begins,
There's nothing to lose,
All have paid their dues,
And they'll sail with shipmates again.
 
I've heard them say
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 is commanding the crew.


Offline Dave

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Re: Jack Dit`s
« Reply #5 on: May 05, 2008, 11:06:40 PM »

 Thanks to Tanzi   and    Rudyard

    This was on a wall in the Gym at HMS Ganges

 
          IF

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too:
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise;

If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim,
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same:.
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build'em up with worn-out tools;

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings,
And never breathe a word about your loss:
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings - nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much:
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And - which is more - you'll be a Man, my son!

Rudyard Kipling