GEOFF THE DRINKER (Navy style)

As I briefly mentioned earlier, because of the nature of our work, we were heavily involved with the Navy Section.

These lads were in my opinion some of the best on the Island.

Anyway, I don’t know how they fixed it, but Yorkie and I became “Honorary Matelots” so to speak. We always had our mid morning breaks in the Shipwrights’ shop, went out on the boats every opportunity that arose, and the best and most amazing thing was they managed, by fair means or foul, to get us included on the Rum Role.

It used to be a tradition in the Navy  (now tragically extinct), for each man to receive a daily tot of rum. This liquid, an amberish tinted form of suicide, was some of the most potent stuff I’ve ever passed over my tonsils. It came in various dilutions according to the occasion.

There were 2 to ones, 3 to ones, with the best being the “Splice the Main Brace”. That was the killer. NEATO, no water, no form of abuse carried out on the nectar.

This was the issue on very special occasions, and as I recall there were only two specials in my 12 months.

Although it was only called a “Tot”, the amount you were issued defied the logic of the word. It invariably ended up as almost a pint glass full. Who’s complaining?

It took Yorkie and myself a while to come to terms with its mind numbing powers, but eventually we both became quite hardened old matelots.

This brings us to the saga of Geoff. As I said before, he’d not been there, not done it etc etc.

In his own words, “I used to see quite a lot off on my previous tour”

We’d seen his abilities in the NAAFI when it came to different types of liquid numbing agents. He would succumb quite quickly, so where his Tot abilities came from remains a mystery to this day.

We mentioned his unconfirmed tot-drinking prowess to our nautical friends and their immediate response was to tell us to invite Geoff round for the Saturday session.

Saturday arrives. Tot time arrives. Chatty, Yorkie and Geoff arrive. The Matelots are primed and ready. Nobody, especially a glowing baker, is going to out drink one of them.

We now come to the specific terms used by matelots when giving non naval types a drop of their rum.

Sippers.  As it sounds, when the glass is proffered all you dare consume is no more than a sip. I can assure you, they don’t miss a thing when it comes to giving away their precious tot.

Wetters. This is approximately 2 –3 sippers’ worth. Not a complete mouthful, but enough to let your taste buds realise they could be in danger of being dissolved.

Gulpers. Now this was a matelot’s way of letting you know you really were a considered friend. As much as you could get in your mouth without actually swallowing. An honour was being bestowed upon you when you received a gulper.

It was also a naval tradition that if you were in the company of a whole shoal of sailors and one gave you a sipper, wetter or gulper, they all proceeded to give you the same. I often wonder whether it was generosity or some form of sadism.

So it doesn’t take a mathematician to work out that when there were up to 30+ matelots around even “sippers” could have a devastating effect on the metabolism.

Back to the story. Geoff was by now possibly thinking that he should have kept his mouth shut. Picture the scenario. Naval lines, a huge shoal of sailors, 3 squaddies, two being honorary matelots and one “Pongo” being led to the slaughter. 

Generosity was the order of the day. Geoff was to receive Gulpers.  Sadly Geoff’s mind may have been willing but his body wasn’t. Soon it was plain to see that he was not coping as well as he anticipated. It didn’t take long for our dough basher to leave the land of the conscious and enter the land of complete oblivion. I’d been there, so I can really sympathise.

Real practical jokers these naval types. “What shall we do with him?” seemed to be the cry of the day. Soon they came up with the idea that his suntan could do with upgrading. After a short but spirited Kangaroo Court it was decided that only certain areas of his anatomy deserved a special tan.

Operation Panic Tan.

Dig hole in sand (coral) large enough to contain the lifeless form of Geoff. Place Geoff in hole less any items of clothing. Replace sand carefully ensuring that certain portions of the anatomy are allowed to remain exposed. These parts being at the top (the head) and the middle (guess what?). Leave to soak up the Pacific sunshine until “cooked” to a nice shade of crimson.

Splash head at regular intervals with copious quantities of sea water to prevent sunstroke, check pulse now and again to ensure he was still with us.

Geoff never boasted about his drinking abilities again. He never really walked the same again either.

The moral of the story being never let a sailor hear that a pongo can drink more tots than he can.

A special thanks to the naval lads for their friendship during our tour of duty.

  ©: P.B.Chatfield 22 Jul. 01