Third Day of Christmas
symbolizing variously, according to one tradition or another, the Magi gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh
or
these three: Faith, Hope, and Love.
And the greatest of these is Love, άγάπη (agápē) https://www.dictionary.com/e/greek-words-for-love/ in one collection, or possibly gold in the other collection; although the assignment of Xn symbolism comes later. It seems to have been just a song first, maybe a song to sing as a memory game at holiday gatherings.
Jumping in first, AI offers its usual flat "just the facts, ma'am" answer about the song, Wikipedia does a more human job https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Twelve_Days_of_Christmas_(song)
I do know that when we sang the song in the Norfolk Naval Base officers' club at the 1958 or 1959 Christmas party of our destroyer squadron wardroom officers, our verse to stand and sing filled with Christmas spirits was "Five gold rings," and we were instructed by one of the officers, maybe our skipper, that it was "gold" not "golden." I do remember that I sang the loudest of anyone that night, and I'm pretty sure Linda drove us home after.
What do I remember about the wardroom officers I served with my first sea duty? First names only, the ones I remember. So far as I have been able to find, all or most of these men are long dead.
Charles, our captain, wrote the fitness reports that got me a below the zone promotion to lieutenant, which I don't think the Navy allows anymore.
Charlie, the XO: when the ship was in port, he used to pick up women in bars and, pulling their hand, drag them staggering through the wardroom where we were eating supper, to his cabin just forward of the wardroom.
Bill, the Ops Officer, an academy graduate, taught me about wines. When Bill came aboard I was the third senior officer and had a choice cabin off the wardroom on the main deck: exercising his seniority, Bill took my stateroom!
George, the Gunnery Officer, coached me in conning the ship on a figure eight man overboard drill. On a later tour of duty, George was one of a TDY group to Rio de Janeiro, Brazil. On leaving, in a plane carrying the Navy Band, over Rio Bay the plane collided with another plane. In those transport planes, the passenger seats faced backwards, to the rear. George was seated to the rear of the aircraft. One of few survivors, George reported hearing a collision, then sudden silence. He rose up in his seat to look around, and saw empty space. He was in the tail of the plane, that was floating back and forth like a leaf, until it landed in the harbor and George managed to get out.
Bill, another Bill. Also an Annapolis graduate, came to the ship direct from the academy, driving his brand new car, a 1958 Chevrolet Impala, which I drove a couple of times: lacking power steering, it was tough to steer. A strange sort of snob ringknocker! Bill openly showed contempt for any officer who was not from Annapolis, including our ship's captain. He's the only officer I ever knew who failed of the automatic promotion from ensign to lieutenant (junior grade) at eighteen months, and he left the Navy at the end of his obligated service.
Ron, drove a Triumph TR2 or TR3, British racing green, which I once drove from Portsmouth, VA around the long way (my choice) to the Destroyer Sub Piers at Norfolk Naval Base.
Jules was a very nice very young for his age officer of Italian ancestry, whose family spoke Italian at home. When we had spaghetti in the wardroom, Jules taught us that the red stuff we spread on top of the pasta was not sauce, but gravy. And I watched him twirl his spaghetti with his fork, no knife.
Chuck, another young officer, Charles must have been a popular name in those days, was suddenly gone one morning. He had been reported dating a ship's company enlisted man, was arrested by Naval Intelligence and processed out of the Navy.
Maybe America was not as Great as we thought it was.
Don, my best friend aboard ship, and my below decks stateroom companion after I moved out of the stateroom that Bill claimed. I had the top bunk and, leaning against the ship's skin at night when underway, went to sleep to the sound of the sea rushing by just a fraction of an inch from my ear. Don was, admirably, a slob who intensely disliked being in the military and under orders. From NROTC, his service might best be described as grudging! But we were buddies with lots to discuss. From Boston, Don had graduated from Harvard, majoring in Russian. He was an Episcopalian from a Boston parish that, instead of coffee, served sherry and mimosas every Sunday, and afterward at home they had bloody Marys and martinis before Sunday dinner. Don taught me about rums and scotches and brandies. Don was married to an extraordinarily flashy girl named Pam (we were 22, 23, remember), though I never understood her apparent attraction to him. When the ship was in Guantanamo Bay for two months refresher training after our shipyard overhaul, Don and I used to check out a sailboat every Saturday, and sail all day with an iced down tub of Heineken, then finish the day and evening at the officers' club. Don was disappointed and appalled when I submitted my request to transfer ("augment" was the word) from Naval Reserve to Regular Navy and stay in the Navy for a career. At the end of his three-year service obligation, Don returned to Harvard for his Masters and PhD, and served his career as Russian language and history professor at a college in western Canada. We stayed in touch by mail for a few years, then it dropped away. When I read his obituary, I saw that Don had a different wife, also a college professor, and several children.
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Up before two o'clock, it's now half past four - - think I'll leave the third day of Christmas there and go back to bed. It's Saturday in a life that for me has become all Saturdays, nomesane?
Three French hens, two turtle doves, and a partridge in a pear tree.
RSF&PTL
T89&c
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