“Swallowing the anchor” is the phrase sailors use to describe coming ashore permanently. Consider you give up on the vast horizon, the lift and movement of the ship, the routine of ship work and watches, and watching the celestial movements in an intimate fashion never found ashore. Another thing you give up coming ashore is language. The overhead becomes the ceiling, the bathroom the “head,” and a holiday can refer to a messy spot left while cleaning. The dining room is, of course, the mess or mess deck, and who would want to eat in a mess? Bluntly, you give up an entire life.
Funnily, this all has to do with the year I was born. It was the year that my mother convinced my father to swallow the anchor. Note that I did not say coerced; I said convinced. As a result of my father coming ashore, I received a complete maritime education by age nine. His urge to be at sea needed an outlet. I grew up with a good helping of the romance of the sea.
Now, so that you don’t go away thinking it’s all romance. Let me offer you a favorite quote regarding life at sea: “Six days shalt thou labor and do all thou art able. And on the seventh — holystone the decks and scrape the cable.” That’s right, every bit of romance is balanced by hard work. It’s like the Sunday sailor aboard a friend’s boat. They haul on the mainsheet and think they are sailors. But they are nowhere to be found when the bottom needs scraping and painting or the varnish has to be “wooded.” My father ensured that I had a balanced education – swabbing decks and putting a shine on brass.
So, life at sea is hard to leave behind, but many old sailors will also tell you that life ashore is an easy berth. Perhaps those complaining about swallowing the anchor protest just a bit too much? When things would get a bit contentious with my mother, my father would grumble about going to the hiring hall and “go looking for a ship,” but of course, he never did. Having taken a few trips out in hurricanes, nasty chop, and with bad cooks, I have my suspicions why.
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My great-granddad made a similar decision and ended up in Missoula Montana. I don’t know if he missed being at lake (he was a Great Lakes sailor).
The Lakes are treacherous sailing. with nasty storms that blow up with little warning, and very cold waters. There are stories of sailors who go looking for palces where if you show them an anchor they ask what it is – and that’s were the sailor ” swallows the anchor.”
I can understand his urge it return to the sea. I’s where his warm memories lay, of comradeship and camaraderie with ship mates.
I never worked on the sea, but I-missed my friendship when i retired of free choice.
Good point. I miss doing boat shows for the same reason. the feeling of community and friendship show after show, year after year.
Season’s Greetings.