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619 OUT
OF 41 Been
out most of the night and tossed down a few. Too
many pints, what’s an old swabby to do? Twas
the last night in Dunoon, it was time to depart. For
those fine Scottish Lassies will break a sub sailor's heart. Sailing
out of Holy Loch, heading down the Firth Of Clyde. Setting
course for the open ocean, beneath the waves she will hide. She
is the old Andrew Jackson, a fine boat indeed. Made
many a patrol when her country was in need. You
better be salty or your gills will turn green. When
you’re in the North Atlantic on that old submarine. The
crew is well trained, they are the ship's soul. For
there’s no room for a mistake, on a deterrent patrol. Someday
they’ll return, with sea stories to tell. Possibly
into Charleston and those pretty southern belles. Then
they’ll fly back to Groton at the end of the run. And a
night at the El Rancho can be lots of fun. That
boat was one of the best, her sailors still say. She
even launched a missile for a proud J.F.K. The
AJ is gone now, her hull put to rest. Her
sailors met every challenge, they passed every test. Being
a submariner is more than just running a sub. There’s
camaraderie with shipmates and Argylle street pubs. There
were friends like Glenn Barbour, who has since passed away. May
his soul rest in peace, for this we do pray. By John
Chaffey
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