Some WWII submarine poetry on this Memorial Day week-end in honor of my dad, a WWII submarine combat veteran.
by Leslie Nelson Jennings
There is a port of no return, where ships
May ride at anchor for a little space
And then, some starless night, the cable slips,
Leaving an eddy at the mooring place . . .
Gulls, veer no longer. Sailor, rest your oar.
No tangled wreckage will be washed ashore.
by Richard G. Voge, Lieutenant Commander, USN
Battleships are title B.
That’s Lesson One in strategy.
They are the backbone of the Fleet.
Their fighting power can’t be beat.
They dominate the raging Main
While swinging ’round the anchor chain,
And bravely guard your home and mine
While anchored out there all in line.
They fill the Japs with fear and hate
From well inside the Golden Gate.
Now Lesson Two in strategy–
Our subs and planes are title C.
Just send them out on any mission
And win your battles by attrition.
Where’er you send the subs or planes
They’re bound to chalk up lots of gains–
And losses, too, but what the hell.
Who cares about their personnel?
For planes are chauffeured by young studs;
Lieutenant Commanders run the subs.
Lifeguard duty, my dad served on subs that rescued airmen that had to ditch their aircraft. 86 American submarines spent a total of 3,272 days on Lifeguard stations during the war, and rescued 504 airmen.