NAVAL “MARY ANNS”

Greymouth Evening Star, 16 January 1928, Page 9

NAVAL “MARY ANNS”

HARD WORK AND CONDITIONS.

During the war a touching friendship sprang up between the battleship and the Yarmouth drifter, writes H. V. Norton i nan English exchange. Such ill-assorted friendships some- ’ tiines exist between Great Danes and fox-terriers of doubtful parentage. The Yarmouth fishing smacks were invariably seen in those days nestling beneath the grey flanks of 25,0000-ton battle ships, engaged in light bandinage or in transactions connected with potatos, or something of the kind. It is a true saying that you never know your friends until adversity reveals them to you; and the Fleet found its friends, suddenly and unexpectedly, in these wise little taxi cabs of the sea, always ready to wheel on a roaring, hissing swell, and to do something useful for the big grey ladies. It seems to me a romance that the Lords of Admiralty, who are not ,as a rule, touched by sentiment or given greatly to generosity, should have decreed that the battleships and their friends in adversity shall not be separated in these times of temporary peace. So you will find that each battleship now has attached to her for discipline, rations, and every kind of duty, a Yarmouth drifter, whose official capacity is'that of a maid of all work. The drifters are the Mary Anns of the Navy. Now thdt the drifter h,as entered the Navy she has been smartened according to regulations. Her sloping, villainous, piratical-looking fo’c’sle no longer shines silver with fish scales and she no longer lurches into harbour like a Christmas tree hung with mines and other flotsam of the deep. Her brass (though this will be contradicted in high quarters) shines (what there is of it), her woodwork is scrubbed white (or as white as possible), and the hold, once sacred to herring and now sacred to a young lieutenant or sub, is known with absolute solemnity as the ward room.

Whqn you see something tossing violently on the bosom of the waters you can be sure that you have seen the dflifter. You can see her most days reeling and bucketing through a head sea with a pale green lieutenant on her bridge, a grimy stoker petty officer coming up for air, and if you could see into the allgeed wardroom, you would observe an applegreen snotty rolling from side to side in the top bunk, wondering why he ever went to sea, and how ever Britannia can be said to rule the waves. The duty which endears the drifter to the Navy is that of postman. She brings the mails. It is perfectly amazing how she brings the mails; but, as a matter of fact, hei’ life would not be worth living if she failed to bring them, for the mail is the most sacred thing in the Navy. When she comes alongside with the mails, - a fringe of varied heads appear high up on the battleship, and a number of people look down to see a marine standing in the reeling drifter besides two precious sacks. At this moment the., drifter is, indeed, sacred. She is a link with wives and sweethearts. These bags contain the letters which in half an hour will spread a dead silence in the wardroom and gunroom, in every part of the ship. lir the drifter at that moment is news of homes and children, photographs—everything that, in fact, hurts so beautifully in the Navy. The wives of the Navy have, of course, never seen the drifter edge up with the mails. They have never seen the face of the man who stretches out his hand for a letter which is not there. He makes a bad joke, whistles, and disappears for a bit until the other fellows have read their letters, and then he wanders in and orders a pink' gin. (Perhaps —to-mor-row?). The drifter can hurt like the devil. When the fleet makes a move the drifters attached to each ship’form a little fleet of their own, and “proceed” coastwise in a manner known to them, avoiding rough weather if possible (which is not often), and following the battleships as rapidly as the5 r can. Sometimes, in recompense for discomforts endured, the crew? of drifters draw what is termed “hard-lying money” (those who receive this are naturally known as “hard-liars,” but what degree of misery qualifies a drifter’s crew to this doubtful benefit is not, it seems, laid down in naval procedure). “Please take over from me —I’m going to be sick!” which is a request sometimes heard on the bridge, does not, as far as I can see, establish hardship. You must, it appears, have an uncomfortable bed!

On such occasions, as the drifters set out on their adventures, the fleet of Mary Anns is commanded by the senior lieutenant, ■who, as soon as higher authoritw has steamed below the sky-line, becomes know'll officially by the self-styled title of “A.C.D.,” or admiral commanding drifters. The “admiral” is generally a young man, who owns his first razor ,and has not broken himself of the midshipman’s love of good cigarettes. It is sometimes his real first command. He amuses himself by sending out fleet orders to all the other 'smoothfaced young' men on the bridges of his disreputable squadron: “Admiral wishes meeting commanding officers,” he runs upon the masthead. if the seas would make it impossible for a. seal to keep an appointment with an iceberg his trusty commanding officer may indulge in back chat, pointing out that, failing wings, the meeting is impossible, whereupon the “admiral” may hoist the signal: “All right. Only wanted know who’s got the beer.” In the morning, -when the drifter fleet sets out on its journey, the “admiral,” instead of ordering “single line ahead,” has been known to greet his squadron with: “Good 'morning, my children! Follow father!” This has exactly the same result. If by chance a drifter, owing to the hazards and perils of the sea, or to the misjudgment of the young man on the bridge, grazes the stern of the one ahead, the “admiral” becomes immediately curious. t “Did you, or did you not, kiss that girl?” he signals. “I did,” comes the answer. “Are your intentions serious?” asks the “admiral.”

“They are not,” is the reply. “Then kindly observe the proprieties,” orders the “admiral.” The least pleasant task which falls to the drifter is to tow the target for gun practice. She goes oif to the horizon towing at a respectful interval, a large black canvas screen mounted on floats. Her friend the battleship on the other horizon then prepares to send over heavy stuff. It must be unpleasant —but not bad enough for “hard-lying” money. When the drifter hauls down her flag, the big 13.5 guns in the battleship try to hit the target, Some-

times the drifter’s flag is shot up with amazing alacrity, and the following dialogue takes place over the ocean: Battleship: Why did you dip your flag? Drifter (pathetically): Because you nearly hit me. If you have ever seen anything nearly hit by a 13.5 shell you will realise that a drifter’s life is not all jam!