Grandfather's poem about "General Quarters"
By: Jack Howard Hatfield; My Grandfather
(For non-Navy personnel, G.Q. is “General Quarters”)
Now these G.Q.’s we’re having
It’s a hell of a thing,
You no more get into the shower
When that damn thing begins to ring.
Or when it’s in the evening
And you want to relax,
That damn bell starts its ringing
So we gotta be making tracks.
Perhaps we’re in the chow line
And there it’s really bad,
For if you get hit with a cup of Joe
You’re liable to get mad.
Maybe it comes at midnight
You bang a shin and say, “Darn,”
But reach your gun even sooner
To find that it’s a false alarm.
Ever since I’ve been aboard
That gong’s been in good working order,
Sometimes I’d like to tell them
To take it South of the border.
When it’s not G.Q. we’re having
It’s other kind of drills,
That are very dry and boring
When G.Q. has many thrills.
I guess these drills are needed
They never do much harm,
But they really scare the hell out of us
Until we find, it’s a false alarm.