One hundred years old.
For a person, 100 years of age is a seldom reached plateau. The Queen will send you a personal letter on your 100 birthday. How nice is that?
Some cars are still around from 100 years ago. We call them cars but really they are just wagons with motors and a simple drive system.
Those of us who are half that age can somewhat appreciate how long a time that represents. And even we think of 100 years and say, ‘Hey, that’s old!’
But what if we are talking about a navy?
100 years? Hey, someone wipe the snot off that kids nose!
In navy terms, 100 years old usually means that you’re just starting to think about puberty. The Brits would look down at you and sneer. ‘I say, you can’t SERIOUSLY be thinking of comparing yourself to US?’
Most of the world’s navies hanging around the 1st century mark would not dare do anything but bow when a warship of Her Majesty’s Navy sails past. Why even that relatively new guy on the block, the United States Navy demands and receives the respect of her fellow navies around the world.
No, those 100 year wonders would bow their heads, dip their flags and stand aside as those older, more experienced fellows sailed mightily past.
All except for one.
The Canadian Navy.
Pull up a chair and let me tell you a story about a kid who grew up fast. Who stepped up when the chips were down and said, ‘Excuse me, I’ll take a crack at that.’
World War I started and Canada
The older established navies raised an eyebrow and gave this mere baby of a naval force a second look, and then ignored it as the war drew to a close.
‘Who was that young lad back there in ’18,’ the old codgers sitting around in their over stuffed leather chairs would ask when talking of those great days of glory. ‘Can’t say I remember,’ was often the answer.
In 1939, the Royal Canadian Navy was still just a kid. He didn’t have much in the way to play with and again a war found him wanting. There was a difference this time however.
That old codger was not sitting back in his stuffy chair with an equally stuffy attitude looking around with pride at his mighty ships of the line which surrounded him. No, not this time. The Royal Navy still had a lot of ships, but too many of them dated back to that previous war and this time, against a strong and powerful foe, he found himself wanting.
Again, that frisky little kid from across the water stepped up. ‘Look Gramps,’ he said with a toothy grin. ‘You hang in there and we’ll be right over.’
‘Hmmpf,’ snorted the old man as he nervously fidgeted in his chair.
Sure enough, the mouthy little Commonwealth kid DID show up. He showed up with…
‘HA!’ The old RN senior nearly fell out of his chair laughing at the site of what the Canadian had shown up with. ‘I say! What the devil do you think you’ll do with those?!’
He pointed down at the fleet of little ships the Canadian had brought with him. They were already showing streaks of rust amongst damage caused by the battering they had taken while crossing the North Atlantic .
‘Look at that one there,’ the RN veteran laughed, medals clinking loudly on his chest. ‘I say! It looks like that one has a REAL gun!’
The Canadian looked up at the old man, and stood his ground. He knew this island nation was being threatened with starvation and needed his help. He also knew the Royal Navy was perhaps a little too steeped in tradition to appreciate that old adage about the amount of fight in the dog being more important than the size of the dog in the fight.
The rest of this story has been told over and over again. How those ‘little ships’ went to sea again and again with the most rag tag bunch of sailors to ever step foot on the deck of a warship.
How that old RN codger went from laughing at the little ships to looking anxiously for them. No longer laughing but now upon seeing one of the multi coloured little Corvettes steaming up the rows of ships in his convoy, breathing a sigh of relief. The Canadians were here – we’ll be okay now.
By the end of this war, that Canadian kid was the third largest on the block and did not have to look up to anybody. Hitler’s U-Boats had almost succeeded reaching their goal of starving out the island nation the old codger called home. Had he lived, the dictator would have stared in total disbelief at the force which brought his vaunted submarines to their knees.
One of them may very well have been the fastest warship in the world. He got a new bunch of destroyers – frigates – escorts – didn’t seem like the Canadian guy could make up his mind what to call them, but they did have one name that no one argued over – sub killers. They were the best in the world at what they did and still are.
A cold war came and went. Soviet submarines were often the fodder for the Canadian kid and his wonder toys. Sometimes the usually quiet Canuck liked to brag.
‘Hey,’ he yelled at the Brits and Yanks one stormy day. ‘Watch what I do with this helicopter and…!’
The old Brit and Yank didn’t catch the rest of what the kid said. It was drowned out by the wind whistling through the wires on their ship’s masts and the waves crashing over their bows. Next thing they knew, there was this oddly painted Sea King lifting from the deck of the kid’s ship.
‘Damn FOOL,’ yelled the Brit over to the Canadian ship bouncing along the waves. Then he just stared in amazement as the helicopter landed…LANDED on the pitching little deck!
‘I say,’ said the stunned Brit.
‘Damn,’ mouthed the shocked American.
That war too finally came to an end one day.
Now there is a new war. A war against...well, a war against a lot of things. Scary things that do not appear under a flag or wearing a uniform, letting you know that they are the enemy. No, this new war is against someone insidious who sneaks up on you and when you least expect it…
The Canadian kid is ready though. He’s older now. Young for a navy mind you but in his short but very exciting history he has earned his place. You see that when one of the Yanks powerful aircraft carrier battle groups sails past carrying more destructive force than those first two wars combined.
But there, amongst the dark gray warships protecting the carrier will almost always be one ship of a different color. A lighter shade of gray with a splash of red maple leaf upon her funnel – a fighter that the men aboard the carrier know will protect them as though the huge flat-top was one of her own.
Yes, the little scrapper is 100 years old today. The Queen won't send him a letter. No, she’ll come over in person to honour this centenarian. Twice he sailed over to protect her homeland and she knows he’s ready to do it again.
Ready…Aye ready.
Happy birthday to Canada
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