Crossing The Line day. Nothing else of any note happened, in fact.
The festivities began at 1400, when ‘Clear lower deck’ was piped ( i.e. everyone muster on the Flight Deck). A sort of swimming pool had been rigged on the deck, consisting of simply a canvas box, supported on a steel framework, and filled with water. Placed at one end was a line of three seats, stoutly bolted to a bar, which in turn was remarkable only because it allowed the seats to be tilted backwards with great ease, thus depositing the occupants of the seats neatly into the water. There were also rather safer seats positioned adjacent to the pool, upon which the Captain and other dignitaries would place themselves.
The Flight Deck filled up rapidly, with just about everyone on the ship not actually on watch clad in a wide variety of garments, ranging from normal rig of the day to a guy dressed as Batman, several flashers, all ludicrously over-endowed, and just about all other forms of dress you can imagine, and, probably, a good few that you can’t.
The flashers’ ‘equipment’ consisted of the plastic ‘missile’ fired from a rifle which is used to run the first line from one ship to another during a replenishment at sea. It’s about a foot long and perhaps two inches in diameter, and several of them had been painted in interesting colours, and a couple had lights installed at the ends, presumably to help the ‘organ’ find its way inside something. Or someone, but I don’t want to think about that.
The forward aircraft lift was the chosen mode of transport for King Neptune and his entourage, and as it ascended we saw his Herald leading the Skeleton Guard (a guard of skeletons, predictably enough), a couple of mermaids, his wife, the bears and the police, as well as the barber and all the other regulars. The party made its noisy way towards the scene of the ceremony, the bears assaulting anyone they fancied along the way. The Captain greeted King Neptune, and was introduced to most of the rest of the party, and a series of speeches were made, all in rhyme.
The formalities over, the real fun began, with the Captain being the first to suffer at the hands of the Barber. He was liberally covered in a sort of white muck which may have looked like shaving soap from a distance but which obviously wasn’t. He was then shaved with a four foot razor, and then tipped backwards into the pool. The Commander followed, along with numerous other officers, and then the long list of defaulters started, all their crimes being set to rhyme, and all getting exactly the same treatment. While all this was going on, the police and the bears were loose in the crowd, seizing anyone they liked the look of and giving them an impromptu bath, to the great delight of everyone who didn’t get a bath.
All in all, a great time was had by all, even, I suspect, by the crew of the RAF Nimrod which flew over on several occasions, probably wondering what the bloody hell we were up to. By three thirty, all was over.
Until the next time.