It's a girl!!

It had been forty-six years since I had been to sea so it was with much excitement that I stood on the quarter-deck of HMCS St.John’s a few weeks ago waiting for the lines to be brought in and the ship to move off down the harbour.

The order to ‘single up’ was passed and I noted the quarter-deck party worked as one, as hand over hand they brought the first stern line in. A few minutes passed and the order to ‘let go aft’ was given and once again the party showed great team work in bringing the last line in. They then scurried about making the quarter-deck ready for sea; ropes ‘flaked’ neatly out on the deck in a seaman like manner; everything looking quite tidly. I was thinking, “What a fine lot of seamen! They handled that just like we used to do.” I did, however, notice that one of the men had rather long hair. “Good grief,” says I, “that man is a girl!! How can a girl do a job like that?? Gad zooks, in my day. . .” Then I remembered Ordinary Seaman Bevington.”

Ordinary Seaman Bevington was a wardroom steward. He really wanted to be a seaman. On an afternoon when we were returning from some deployment we were making ready to come alongside in Halifax. Bevington joined us on the quarter deck and picked up a heaving line, informing Petty Officer Huffman that he would like the opportunity to throw the line ashore to one of the dockyard maties. Huffman, I suppose thinking this would free one of his men for handling the hawser, agreed.

As we approached the jetty and Bevington was within easy distance of throwing the weighted end of his heaving line ashore, we began to drift away from the jetty. Bevington froze. He just stood there with the heaving line coiled in his right hand.

"Jesus Christ, Bevington," Huffman hollered, "Throw the god damned line!"

Bevington did just that . . . but he neglected to hold on to the end – the end which he should have tied to our hawser on the ship. The line snaked out, the monkey's fist landed on the jetty but the tail end fell into the harbour. We drifted away but with some brilliant helm and engine room orders, the skipper brought the stern alongside again and we were able to get a line to the jetty. The PO literally kicked Bevington's butt off the quarter deck, threatening to personally neuter him should he ever show his face there again.

Watching the young female bosun’s mate handling the ropes now, I figured she could hold her own on deck with any of the men, more so should they be like our Bevington.