My grandfather on my mother’s side, Robert Hjort, was a Danish immigrant born in 1908. He came over on a ship with his family in 1910. In World War II, he joined the Navy and served on a destroyer tasked to guard the convoys bringing supplies to the United Kingdom.
The picture to the right was probably taken in 1941, shortly after he joined the Navy. He’s pictured with his son, also Robert Hjort, more familiarly known in the family as Bob.
Apparently, they gave my grandfather too much free time on board the warship, some of which he spent composing and distributing military-related poetry, really stories, to his shipmates. He was also a whiz at memorizing these types of things, so I’m sure that he regaled his shipmates with his productions. I know that I saw at least two of them all nicely typed up when I was younger, but Mr. Snyder is the only one I’ve been able to find.
So, here it is, a World War II story in poetic form, published online for the first time…
Ben Snyder was an Ensign – so meek and shy.
We thought a lot of him, sort of a regular guy.
Remember how seasick he got, and frequently had to lay on the deck.
We often thought it raining. It was only Snyder puking down our neck.
Horizontal Joe we called him, a stooge to the officers was he.
He sure longed for good old Texas whenever we put to sea.
Murphy & I often cussed him, but he listened to our tales of woe.
He often tried to help people, this guy we all called Joe.
Then came Bronson aboard this ship, a little Caesar as it were.
He changed our lovable Snyder to a nasty snarling cur.
Snyder was sent to school, damage control to study.
He came back pompous and proud, with complexion ruddy.
Right away he wrote a book, in it he told all he knew.
It was a teeny weeny book he gave to all the crew.
Now we had to study – sort of kindergarten it were.
“You’ll learn this or else,” said Snyder the cur.
Somewhere along the line Snyder got the narrow ribbon of gold.
No longer an ensign was he, but now an officer bold.
He now broke up card games – took the money off the deck.
What he did with the money we never knew, but he was a pain in the neck.
Murphy and I want a transfer, we’re tired of all this crap.
Snyder double-crossed us. We’re title A now, he’s got us in his lap.
He’s a pretty good navigator, that we will admit.
It is when he’s so damn bossy that gives us conniption fits.
We’ve seen officers come, we’ve seen officers go.
BUT we can’t seem to get rid of Horizontal Joe.
Notice how he snaps at Ensigns, and has them in a stew.
An officer now – says he, “I’ll tell them what to do.”
Oh give us back our Ensign, the guy we all did love.
Take the JG and drown him, over the side, help shove.
I’m saving lumber for good old Horizontal Joe,
To make a going-away box if he ever gets ready to go.
Capt. make out a chit, tell me I may build this box.
Pack up your clothes, Snyder, don’t forget your sox.
I can’t get my transfer, and Snyder refuses to leave.
So, Capt., dear Capt, pull something out of your sleeve.
I’m slowly going batty around this guy named Joe.
If it weren’t for being married, over the hill I would go.
Finally my tour is up, by golly I’m through.
I’m quitting the Navy, Snyder, FAREWELL to you.
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