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It was 1974. Our ship HMCS Saguenay was with the NATO squadron and was on a port visit to Norfolk Virginia.
All ships in the squadron with the exception of the American ship, had bars onboard. The Americans had been guests on most ships of the squadron in other ports, with a part of the hospitality being liquid refreshments. They decided that it was payback time when we entered Norfolk, their home port. They therefore threw separate parties for the three tiers of ranks – Leading Seamen and Below, Chiefs and Petty Officers, and Officers.
The party for the lower ranks was held at a large recreational park near the base. Busses picked up the party-goers at their ships and drove them to the venue, where there was a seemingly inexhaustible supply of beer and all kinds of barbeque pits where hungry sailors could pig out on hotdogs and hamburgers.
Soon after the party got underway the field became segregated into national groups. All groups chose spots in a grove of maples where there were picnic tables. The camps of each group – Americans, Portuguese, British, Norwegian, Belgians, Canadians and Dutch – were separated by about 100 feet. Soon, the separate parties were in full swing, with visits back and forth between nationalities.
The Canadian contingent consisted of about thirty guys, including myself and Wayne Robertson. Wayne and I had been in Cornwallis (basic training base) together back in 1963/64 and the Saguenay was the third ship on which we had sailed together. We were in fact, the best of friends; he’d even been the best man at my wedding four years earlier. While we were best friends, we had a peculiar habit – we used to get into fist fights with each other when we were drinking. The day of the big NATO party was no exception.
The party started at about 13:00. By 17:00, we were both in the fighting mood and went at each other for some stupid reason, only to make up after our shipmates dragged us apart. Then the both of us sat down together and as usual, we were all full of remorse, and back to being best friends again.
The party wound down at sunset and all nationalities started making their way back to the busses. Wayne and I staggered to the busses with our arms around each others shoulders. While walking towards the busses we made a pact. He said, “If anyone says something bad about you, I’ll rip his head off.” In return, I said, “And if anyone says a cross word about you, I’ll do the same.”
As we approached the waiting busses, a guy named Hayman, a steward from the ship, poked his head out of one of the windows towards the back and yelled, “Hey Hawke, you old cockjaw!” With that, Wayne yelled, “Don’t you call my best buddy a cockjaw,” and went after Hayman who immediately pulled his head back inside the bus.
That didn’t deter Wayne though. By using the back wheel of the bus as a step, he climbed into the bus through the still open window. Once inside, he found Hayman and started laying a beating upon the back of his head. Then one of the American sailors stepped in and said, “Hey, stop beating that boy.” He grabbed Wayne and tried to pull him off his victim while doing so. Then to everybody’s amazement, Wayne yelled, “F--K OFF YANK,” and landed a haymaker on the side of the guy’s head. Before the guy could recover, Wayne jumped headfirst out the same window through which he had entered and landed at me feet.
Now, there was a bunch of our shipmates – Gary Peverell, Steve Goodchild, Tom Henneberry, Colin Vale and a few others – on the other side of the bus in a line trying to get onboard. One saw Wayne fly out the window on the driver’s side and yelled, “Hey, those yanks threw Robbie out the window!” With that, they lunged for the door trying to get at a bunch of Americans who were exiting in hot pursuit of Wayne. Then a donnybrook broke out; it started small, but within one minute at least 75 sailors were in a great brawl. The shore patrol (military police) must have been expecting trouble because paddy wagons arrived on the scene within one minute.
Part way through the brawl, Wayne and I ended up face-to-face on the ground, having both been knocked down simultaneously. We burst out laughing and exclaimed, “We started this! We started this! Let’s get outta here.” We crawled amongst the combatants legs to the edge of the battlefield, got up once clear of the fighting and walked slowly away laughing. Upon taking a backwards look we saw a dust bowl illuminated by the flashing red lights and a great commotion still in progress. I can’t remember how many sailors ended up with black eyes and other bruises that night, but there were a few.
Being hospitable chaps, the shore patrol just drove the worst offenders back to their respective ships in the paddy wagons, rather than taking them to the crowbar hotel. Wayne, a few others and I, on the other hand, went bar hopping.
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