J. Dillon
01-27-2003, 10:30 AM
Time for another yarn. I call this one
"Quarters"
The compartment was alive. Men were fussing with uniforms. Dress whites. They hardly noticed the twittering Bos'n's call. Even the announcement over the P.A. stirred no reaction. They knew what it was about. In the "Plan of the Day" posted the night before, the usual were listed; watches, reveille, chow call, etc. Activities for the coming day, but near the top a few simple words:
07:00 Set the special sea and anchor detail.
07:30. Man the rails.
08:00 Colors
08:00 Anchor in Augusta Bay, Sicily.
I looked at my watch. 07:15. I still had to roll up my neckerchief. George who bunked right across from me was good at helping fix a tight roll. I soon was tying in the square knot. Several of my shipmates were putting a final spit shine on sparkling shoes. Others were shaping white hats to give them a "salty" look.
Aircraft on the flight deck had been respotted the night before. Space had to be made for the tradition of Navies since before Lord Nelson. The common sailor plays a significant part in the up coming experience. I was to be a part of it.
We tumbled up the short ladder to gain the flight deck. A mass of sailors all in whites milled about, not yet in any order. The USS Coral Sea just ghosted along, barely moving. Thick fog enveloped the ship. Just a hint of the "Island" a few hundred feet away. Nothing of a shore line.
A prolonged blast of the fog horn jolted the morning air. For a few seconds it drowned out the sound of the sea in our wake. Through the muddle of props, jets, wheels and wings, I could see the ship's band assembling. Polished brass glistened now and then, catching sunlight burning its way through a diminishing mist.
Boom.... .Boom.......Saluting guns roared away. Muffled echoes returned from unseen shores.
You could smell gunpowder in the damp air.
We all knew where to stand along the rail. The rising breeze came down the crowded deck. I could feel my collar move a bit and noticed shipmates' neckerchiefs askew.. The fog was lifting. Order came to the ranks of men along the rail. We were at "parade rest". I stole a glance at my watch. 07:55. The Bos'n's call twittered once again. ATTENTION ON DECK, cried the P.A. I could just make out the shore, outlines of hills, hints of color, structures. The wind strengthened. I could feel its coolness on my face. All at once the strains of the Star Spangled Banner filled the damp cool air. Between those glorious notes a fluttering sound filtered to my senses. Glancing over my shoulder I could see it, the Stars and Stripes rippling from the gaff ...and behind Old Glory.. breaking through the lifting fog...Mt. Etna, miles away, her snowy summit gleaming white under the Italian sun. My eyes welled up a bit, and with the memory of that moment, still do.
Jack Dillon USS CORAL SEA V 2 Division 49 to 52
"Quarters"
The compartment was alive. Men were fussing with uniforms. Dress whites. They hardly noticed the twittering Bos'n's call. Even the announcement over the P.A. stirred no reaction. They knew what it was about. In the "Plan of the Day" posted the night before, the usual were listed; watches, reveille, chow call, etc. Activities for the coming day, but near the top a few simple words:
07:00 Set the special sea and anchor detail.
07:30. Man the rails.
08:00 Colors
08:00 Anchor in Augusta Bay, Sicily.
I looked at my watch. 07:15. I still had to roll up my neckerchief. George who bunked right across from me was good at helping fix a tight roll. I soon was tying in the square knot. Several of my shipmates were putting a final spit shine on sparkling shoes. Others were shaping white hats to give them a "salty" look.
Aircraft on the flight deck had been respotted the night before. Space had to be made for the tradition of Navies since before Lord Nelson. The common sailor plays a significant part in the up coming experience. I was to be a part of it.
We tumbled up the short ladder to gain the flight deck. A mass of sailors all in whites milled about, not yet in any order. The USS Coral Sea just ghosted along, barely moving. Thick fog enveloped the ship. Just a hint of the "Island" a few hundred feet away. Nothing of a shore line.
A prolonged blast of the fog horn jolted the morning air. For a few seconds it drowned out the sound of the sea in our wake. Through the muddle of props, jets, wheels and wings, I could see the ship's band assembling. Polished brass glistened now and then, catching sunlight burning its way through a diminishing mist.
Boom.... .Boom.......Saluting guns roared away. Muffled echoes returned from unseen shores.
You could smell gunpowder in the damp air.
We all knew where to stand along the rail. The rising breeze came down the crowded deck. I could feel my collar move a bit and noticed shipmates' neckerchiefs askew.. The fog was lifting. Order came to the ranks of men along the rail. We were at "parade rest". I stole a glance at my watch. 07:55. The Bos'n's call twittered once again. ATTENTION ON DECK, cried the P.A. I could just make out the shore, outlines of hills, hints of color, structures. The wind strengthened. I could feel its coolness on my face. All at once the strains of the Star Spangled Banner filled the damp cool air. Between those glorious notes a fluttering sound filtered to my senses. Glancing over my shoulder I could see it, the Stars and Stripes rippling from the gaff ...and behind Old Glory.. breaking through the lifting fog...Mt. Etna, miles away, her snowy summit gleaming white under the Italian sun. My eyes welled up a bit, and with the memory of that moment, still do.
Jack Dillon USS CORAL SEA V 2 Division 49 to 52