Submariners AssociationBarrow in Furness Branch
The Demise Of Jack Tar
by Ginge Cundell
The traditional British 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 bloke. He took the good times with the bad. He didn't cry victimisation, bastardisation, discrimination, for his mum for his often self destructive actions. He loved to laugh at anything or anybody rank, race, gender, creed or behaviour, it didn't matter to Jack, he would take the micky out of anyone, including himself, and if someone took it out of him he didn't get offended, it was a natural part of life.
Jack loved his job, he took immense pride in what he did, his radar was ever the best in the fleet, his engines always worked better than anyone else's. His eyes could spot a contact before anyone else, and shoot at it first. Jack was 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 joy de vivre, and occasional bouts of number 9's or stoppage of leave let him know where the limits were.
The late 20th century has seen the demise of Jack. The workplace no longer echoes to ribald comment and bawdy tales, where someone is sure to take offence. Where as those stories of "daring do" and ingenuity in the face of adversity, usually whilst drunk, 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, doing what came naturally to Jack is now considered offensive. Denting someone else's over inflated opinion of their self worth is now a crime. Political correctness has usurped Jack's world, friendship and neighbourliness are from a time now lost. Yet Jack's world was a microcosm of the time, 30 plus matelots would live on a small mess deck, sure there would be disagreements and the occasional fisticuffs, but there it ended, respect for senior hands led to mess deck rules being observed, personal hygiene and respect for each other's space meant learning to live together.
It took a special person to live, eat, sleep and sometimes work in the same space, one had to be tolerant, gregarious, and forgiving of others. Protestants lived with Catholics, but no one ever asked "what religion are you" whites with blacks, Geordies with Glaswegians, Scousers with Mancunians, Cockneys with Brummies, Welsh with Irish, no one ever wanted to know another's politics. Indeed those that today are considered natural enemies were then best of pals and Jack's creed was look after your 'oppo', Jack was no Philistine he would not knowingly walk by on the other side, his natural curiosity made him a Samaritan, sometimes to his cost.
Jack could moan and complain
about his lot, about his ship, but
woe betide any one ashore who
had something disrespectful to
say about it, insult one sailor you
insulted them all, Jack's gospel
was togetherness.
And so a culture dies!
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