came flooding back when I came across the site, I served onboard
1979 - 1983 as Seacat Systems Maintainer. Some old familiar faces in
the phot's and lots of names remembered and here are some which you
might recognise - Jim O'Hara, Jan Goddard, Pete Cook, Steve Jones,
Shrimps Shrimplin, Gino Genovese, Trevor Day, Billy Rutter and Jamie
forward to hearing from anyone!
Click on photo to enlarge
your sound is on and listen to this
the pilot say?
memories of a long gone ritual which many remember and few
In the Navy of the 70s,
the beginning of the rot,
The day they killed the Andrew was
the day they stopped the tot.
Oh! They don't go east of Suez, or
west of Panama,
When your belly's full of limers,
you can't go very far.
The legend on the rum tub is still
there to be seen,
But the motto looks quite silly on
the side of a goffer machine!
You will hear the old sailors
saying, "It'll never be the same".
And when they talk of bubbly they
don't mean French Champagne.
Did Jack flinch at Trafalgar, as he
faced shot and shell?
With a tot inside his belly, our
Jack would sail through hell.
At ten to twelve each forenoon,
since the Andrew first began,
Jack drinks the 'blood of Nelson'
from Jutland to Japan.
Their Lordships drink their sherry
and cry, "More efficiency!"
But what works on paper doesn't
always work at sea.
Now Jack is a humble sailor, who
doesn't ask a lot
and, after Jutland and Trafalgar,
who dares to stop his tot?
He's always done his duty to Country
and the Throne
And all he asks is fairness, and to
leave his tot alone.
You soothed my nerves and
warmed my limbs
And cheered my dismal heart,
Procurred my wants, obliged my whims
and now it's time to part.
'Mid endless perils of the deep,
and miseries untold,
you summoned sweet forgetful sleep,
cocooned me from the cold.
Tens years ago, the 'pound o' leaf',
that cast its fragrant spell
about the ship, expired in grief
and sadness of farewell.
Though guests may find the pantry
whene'er they chose to come,
your hospitality was there;
a tot of Pusser's rum
Two hundred years and more you
the storm tossed sailor's need.
Now you've been killed by spite
from jealousy and greed,
and petty clerks with scrawny necks
who never saw a wave,
nor felt the spray nor heaving
consign you to your grave.
Alas! However I protest
to save myself from hurt,
they tell me that it's for the best
to keep us all alert.
And so the time has come, old
to take the final sup.
Our tears are shed. This is the end.
Goodbye, and 'Bottoms Up'.
them fear those belonging to Danae'