Hear-ye, Hear-ye
‘Tis once again time for us to call forth King Neptune from the watery depths and pay tribute to his greatness by sacrificing those vile pollywogs who still walk among us loyal bearers of the shellback seaweed pass.
In other words? Let’s go play in the slime!
I’ve never done a crossing the line ceremony on this size of vessel before; and it was set up a little differently than on my previous ships. For one thing we used the aft-deck pool, which is smaller but allows for more space for people to watch since the deck is larger. It was also much more light hearted than usual. For one thing, the traditional “Anchors Away” that always heralds the entrance of the ship’s staff segue-way’d directly into “Drunken Sailor”
Heigh ho and up she rises
Heigh ho and up she rises
heigh ho and up she rises early in the morning
I am pleased to say that that particular segue way was my idea!
Because an unfortunate gust of wind landed the sacrificial table in the pool prior to the ceremony (and two wogs had to go and fish it back out), we had to douse the wogs while they were standing up, which is difficult when you’re the shortest person on the medical team. By the time we were one set of victims in I was already rainbow coloured, the stuff even got in my hair, which I have to say was new. I am usually able to avoid being hit above the waist! But when you’re below everyone else that becomes kind of difficult.
As per usual tradition, the entertainment department was last. Our own ‘wogs included one ‘Cat, who had been trying all week to get someone to tell him what he was in for, while the rest of us all remained stoically tight lipped (one of the ‘Cats is actually a navy shellback, who was all too quick to tell the others how easy they have it). And, much to their surprise, two of my fellow ‘medics’ who had in fact been masquerading as shellbacks when they really were not, were caught out by Neptune and dragged before his judgement while still in their scrubs. Those poor souls got the dregs of the buckets dropped over their heads and were sent to bake on the side of the pool.
Not that the pool looked very appetizing at that point. The water had long since turned a murky grey kind of colour, if that can even be called a colour. But I couldn’t risk the goop clogging up my own shower, so I took the plunge before someone could throw me in; which someone would have, as evidenced by the one pirate who tried to get away and ended up being picked up and carried down the stairs before someone jumped in the pool with her!
And so once again, having been thoroughly baptized in the murky waters of the aft-deck pool, under the brilliantly bright Brazilian sun, we are granted passage through his majesty’s watery domain