Naval tradition dictates that any ship crossing the equator must pay respects to King Neptune - the Lord of the Seas.
Welcome to the Crossing of the Line Ceremony - a baptism of fire that is the onboard cruise-ship equivalent of a university hazing. The line crossing ceremony is a time-honoured event on board ships and has been a favourite pastime of brave passengers and sadistic crew for time immemorial.
Amongst much fanfare, “King Neptune” arrives on the pool deck to judge the Pollywogs, those sailors and passengers who have not previously crossed the Equator by ship. After a very public court appearance, trumped-up charges and indiscretions are read out to an assembled crowd of qualified sailors (shellbacks). They are then judged and subjected to any number of embarrassing and humiliating punishments. There is always a long list of passengers willing to partake in the festivities - something akin to a grilling on the big red chair on a Graham Norton Show - with the added dubious pleasure of a wet sticky dunk in the pool.
Charges against the errant passengers are usually wide and varied; wearing their life jacket during formal night or failing to wear a tie at dinner where it seems the odds are rigged well in the judges favour, for a guilty charge is always greeted by a raucous and boisterous cry of “keelhaul them” and “walk the plank” from the assembled jury.
In the 19th century and earlier, the ceremony could be quite brutal, even sadistic with the pollywogs being beaten and sometimes thrown over the side of the ship and dragged along behind it. Some were “keelhauled”, a practice where a sailor is thrown over one side of the ship and dragged under the keel to the other. It was a death defying sport in those days with some sailors not making it out alive and others being so put off by the event that they jumped ship at the nearest port of call.
They would never do that to us - well not without making sure that we had paid our bar bill first.
It is thought that the ceremony originated about 400 years ago, mainly as a morale booster for sailors departing on long sea voyages while rounding the “headland” on their way out of harbour or to break up a long monotonous voyage. Sometimes it was also an initiation rite that could prove to the other sailors whether or not you had the mettle and fortitude to last the long, lonely and brutal journey.
Famous initiates include such illuminates as Charles Darwin on the HMS Beagle who was placed on a plank and dunked in a bath after being forced to eat inedible “goo” - he later described this in his diaries during his rounding of the Horn. Princess Elizabeth as a 21 year old, partook in the ceremonies on her trip with her parents to South Africa in 1947, but was saved the embarrassment of a dunking, instead having a wet sponge placed on her forehead. - while that may have been more dignified - doesn’t seem half as much fun.
Evolution has played some part in the ceremony over the years. Prior to WW2 in the US navy, “Black facing” was a major part of the event, but with integration and modern thinking it was quite rightly phased out. Navies around the world until recent times, regularly held the event, but have been discouraged to do so by modern public pressure and the new “PC” world. One infamous incident aboard an Australian Submarine in 1995, documented by an Australian television company, horrified and disgusted Australian civilians so much that the practice within the Australian forces was discontinued. I won’t go into what happened, needless to say - there were Australians involved.
However it is still a popular event on any cruise-ship fortunate enough to cross the equator.
Now today after the “trial”, the hazing has evolved into a ceremony where once again the unlikeliest members of the crew take the opportunity to cross-dress and cover the Pollywogs in a goo made up of such restaurant essentials as spaghetti sauce and old custard before being made to parade in front of us and kiss a rather indecently large and putrid fish before being thrown in the pool.
The surviving participants’ are rewarded with a certificate proclaiming their status and bragging rights for their next land-lubbered dinner party.
In the meantime, the pool on board needs an extensive clean and I’ll avoid the fish at dinner.
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