'Pigs', Gentlemen and Professionals: Officers and the Lower Deck in the Royal Navy
Visitors unfamiliar with the Royal Navy have often imagined a service divided into two separate worlds: officers above and ratings below, with little understanding between them. Popular films and television programmes frequently reinforced this idea, presenting sailors and officers as permanently opposed groups separated by tradition and attitude.
The reality experienced by many sailors was considerably more complicated.
During the early 1970s, the Royal Navy remained a highly structured organisation. Rank mattered, uniforms mattered and everyone understood where they stood within the chain of command. A lieutenant was not the same as an able seaman, and nobody pretended otherwise. Yet the existence of hierarchy did not automatically mean hostility.
Among the lower deck, officers were often referred to irreverently. The traditional nickname "Pig" was well known, although its use depended very much on context. Like much naval language, it could be insulting, humorous or simply a sign of familiarity depending upon who was using it and why.
Despite the jokes, most sailors understood the difference between mocking the institution and judging the individual. The majority of officers encountered by the lower deck were regarded as professional people who knew their jobs and treated their sailors properly.
That distinction was important.
Respect in a warship was rarely gained simply through wearing a particular uniform. It came from competence. An officer who understood the job, made sensible decisions and looked after the efficiency of the ship generally earned the respect of those working under him, regardless of rank.
Conversely, an officer who appeared inefficient or who failed to understand the realities of working life at sea could quickly lose credibility. The lower deck could be remarkably tolerant of many faults, but incompetence was difficult to forgive. In a naval environment, where people depended upon each other, professional ability mattered.
During HMS Glamorgan's visit to Istanbul in about 1973, a small incident involving the ship's liberty boat demonstrated this aspect of naval culture. The Officer of the Day became increasingly frustrated when the boat crew did not immediately respond to his attempts to attract their attention from the ship.
From the perspective of the boat crew, however, their priority was the task immediately in front of them: safely transferring passengers between the cutter and the shore. They were not ignoring responsibility; they believed they were carrying out their responsibility.
The incident became memorable because of what followed, but the reaction it produced among those involved also reflected something familiar about naval life. Rank alone did not prevent someone becoming the subject of lower-deck humour. Once credibility had been lost, the consequences could be immediate and merciless.
This was not because sailors believed officers had no authority. The opposite was true. The chain of command was fundamental to naval efficiency. But authority worked best when accompanied by competence and an understanding of the people expected to carry out the work.
The relationship between officers and ratings was therefore not one of constant conflict, despite the impression sometimes created by entertainment and popular culture. It was a professional relationship shaped by necessity. The ship had to operate, and everyone aboard had a part to play.
Good officers were valued because they made the ship work better. Experienced senior ratings were respected because they possessed practical knowledge gained through years of doing the job. Each side relied upon the other.
There were, of course, exceptions. Every organisation contains individuals who fail to meet the standards expected of them. The Royal Navy was no different. Such people were often remembered precisely because they stood out from the majority.
Among sailors there was a widespread belief that seriously ineffective individuals rarely remained a permanent feature of shipboard life. Whether through promotion, appointment elsewhere or simply moving on to another role, they tended eventually to disappear from the immediate concern of those who had served with them.
What mattered most was not background, accent or social origin, but whether a person could do the job and whether others could rely upon them.
The Royal Navy of the early 1970s was not the two-dimensional world often portrayed in fiction. It was a working organisation made up of people who understood their differences but also understood their shared purpose.
Officers commanded. Ratings carried out the practical work that kept ships operating. Both were necessary.
And while sailors might complain, joke and occasionally take great pleasure when someone lost a little dignity, that was often part of the informal culture of a service where everyone knew that competence mattered more than appearances.
Istanbul part 5 - Silent Signals: The Unwritten Language of the Lower Deck
Primary source: RN-007
RN-E-137
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