Marching Men and Sinking Ships

Marching Men Sinking Ships

Parade training was now intense, we were using rifles now on the parade ground, this was to practice marching with a gun and also to practice our ability to salute with a weapon, this was in preparation for our passing out parade. The next time we were on divisions we would be the guard of honour.
Time had moved on and now it was our turn to laugh at the new entries in their awkward ways, saluting the wrong people and tripping over each other.

We were spending more of our time with adventure training, compass reading, hill climbing and still those early morning runs, waking up the bootie's before going to breakfast.
A weekend sleeping rough in the Welsh Brecon Beacons orienteering and eating Pussers ration packs this provided a different type of break from the normal. The walking was tiring but we did manage to get a night at a local bar, no lassie’s this time, just old Welsh sheep farmers and the local ale. We had heard stories! We laughed at the thought and even though the sheep looked tempting to some of the Weegie’s, they were so pissed that the sheep were quite safe.

We looked forward to range training, using the different types of weapons, it was quite frightening at first but it became fun as confidence grew in our own abilities to overcome the new and unknown, I managed to excel on the firing range, enough to be awarded my marksmanship badge.

On one day we went fire fighting in a mock ship, oil fires of all different sizes were started throughout the ship. Tackling blazing, fires between decks was not easy and the training we were given provided a good insight into what to expect if it were ever to happen in real life. It was obvious now, more than ever since I had arrived in Plymouth that team work was so important.
Every day there was new tasks to complete, new things to learn including the (Naval language), Jack speak , it was so strange, completly new and very explicit but I knew it was the way of communicating, and it would be for the forseable future.

The training I knew had to be tough and realistic to provide the reality that was required to ensure that, even though recruits, on reaching our first ship we would hit the ground running.

Another day was spent on another mock ship, this occasion the task was to prevent it sinking. We approached the task with huge enthusiasm, mallets, wooden bungs, shrapnel boxes and wooden spars. The exercise starts with an explosion, the water starts rising straight away it is coming out of holes in the bulkhead out of broken pipe work and through hatch covers, the task was to stop it before it got to a certain level. Unfortunately we sunk, and unfortunately the consolation bag meal that we had for lunch never made up for the disappointment.

The ship was just a box on hydraulic legs that tipped as the water came in, it was very realistic, and as the water was rising it became more important to stop the leaks, especially when the level reached just below the family jewels, alarm bells, sirens, flashing lights caused a total cacophony, then there was no lights, we tried in vain to stem the flow of water in the dark but to no avail.

The time had almost come for our Part One training to end, HMS Raleigh was now embedded in our lives and it was a period that will never be forgotten. I was still just a boy but inside I felt I had almost come of age. Friendships were built and the shared experiences of that short time together were to provide strong bonds.

It was our last week and on the Wednesday we were due to do NBCD training and the dreaded Gas chamber, we had been fitted for our new Gas masks in the third week and now they had arrived it was time to see if they worked.

The masks had a small disc on the side like a key ring, it had our official identity number, date of birth and our religion, not a nice thought!

We marched to the gas chamber with trepidation, the fear of the unknown, it was probably the slowest pace possible without it being blatantly obvious.

On arrival we found it was another box, this time it was made of stone with a concrete lid and it had a very strong looking metal door. On entering, the feelings of nervousness were quite overpowering, the Petty Officer who was doing the dirty deed was very jovial, "nothing to worry about there is a 100% passmark required for this test he said in a protensious manner", funny guy, I thought!

We were instructed in the correct way to put a gas mask on, "any other way would not be effective", he said. As fast as _ _ _ _, was my interpretation of that comment.

The gas used was CS gas, we all had to get inside the room which meant it was busy in there, the exit was closed, we were informed that once we had proved that the mask worked, we were to remove our masks and take a lung full of gas and then vacate the compartment as quick as possible. that needn't have been said, my bodies natural reactions I knew were going to kick in.

The gas pellet was lit, and we all just stood around looking vacantly at each other, "Gas, Gas, Gas" was shouted, on went the mask having to release it from it's haversack. Two lads ran for the door straight away "to slow shouted the Petty Officer", he was grinning to himself.

We stood around for a few minutes It felt hot in there, and I could feel a burning sensation on my skin, "don't rub it Wedge, you will make it worse"!

The time had arrived "take off your masks, breath in and then leave in an orderly fashion", leaving was easy, but certainly not in an orderly fashion, survival mode kicked in, we all went for the door at the same time, arms were thrashing to reach the exit first, the room was very small but the door seemed so far away.

Eventually outside vomiting seemed the most common response, burning eyes, breathlessness, there were sailors falling over, running around and some were crying, "sounds like a night on Union street", I thought, eventually composure was regained, I was glad that it was over, never again I thought.

The two lads who ran for the door had to re-enter the box, they put their masks on before entering but they were now in the more unfortunate knowledgeable position of having seen the effects of the gas and they are going have to go through it.

After a few minutes they came flying back out and their reactions were as expected, this time it felt amusing to see, and now the Petty Officers earlier grin was understandable.

Pussers Ration Packs:

Survival food rations that come in different menu's, there is always a bar of chocolate, tea, a tin opener and some toilet paper the other ingredients vary, however, it usually all goes in one pot, even the pudding. the only thing missing is the christmas cracker joke to improve the moral.

Drugs, Alcohol and Venereal disease

The time past so quick that the light hearted banter took the evening, buying rounds of drinks was a new experience, never before had I the money or even the inclination to spend my time in this way. Ladies were showing great interest in the fresh faces in uniform, it would seem we were a great attraction even here as if they had never before seen a sailor. Likely they were interested in relieving us of more than our money.
There were six of us in all and that meant if we managed it, six pints would be consumed, this seemed to be a reasonable amount and we all agreed to retire in a soberly manner and return to camp after that point. Best laid plans of mice and men, the noise grew louder as the evening moved on, the old salts watched on in amusement as the next generation of pretenders followed on in their steps.
The sixth pint on the table and almost time to depart, I was being eyed by a good looking girl, we had caught eyes several times during the short time that we were in the bar, she had more courage than I because she made the first move, she had friends with her and they were egging her on. She stopped in front of me, while all around looked on silently, she said in a broad Janner accent, “can I touch yer dickie for luck”, my face must have been a picture and going red quickly. This was obviously not the first time she had said it and it was said in a fashion that it was obviously her party trick. I got the feeling all her friends knew what my reaction was going to be, the old salts were laughing into there beers at my obvious embarrassment. I replied “naw thanks”. The last pint went down quicker than the first and we left for the ferry back to Torpoint.
The evening had been great fun really and I was feeling quite encouraged by the young girls advances, we staggered our way along Union street and eventually sobered up enough to get back to HMS Raleigh and passed the gate staff. Others in the class had not been quite so lucky there were stories of vomiting, fighting and also one very expensive leg over, others never made it back in time and as a consequence we all suffered.
The next day started slow as most were “under the weather” but it was Saturday, everyone had been enthused at the enjoyment we had from our short period of relief from camp life. The weekend was our own but it was spent getting over the Friday night and preparing for whatever came next on Monday morning.

Captains Rounds:
We were informed that failure was just not acceptable, everything had to be cleaned, more than cleaned, all surfaces had to be spotless, all metal polished, windows without smears, curtains Ironed and tied with a white bow, heads and bathrooms squeaky clean, inside of overheads, carpets hoovered, beds made in good old naval fashion, the list was endless. We worked all night without sleep the end result was in our eyes, perfect, we finished off with a personal touch stacking all our hats like champagne glasses with the cap tallies facing the front.
While Captain’s rounds were being carried out we marched to the cinema, not to see the latest blockbuster, no, this was billed as Drugs, Alcohol and Venereal disease. After an hour of screwed up faces of horror I was glad yon lassie never got to touch ma dickie.

Not only had we passed rounds we had also won the Captains cake for the best Mess.
The cake was wonderful and in our enthusiasm and lack of plates we made an absolute mess, just in time for an impromptu visit from the accomodation Petty Officer who then rescrubbed the whole block because of the state of our mess. We were not popular. Who could imagine winning the cake and then rescrubbing all in the same day.


A Sailors Dickie:
Is the blue vest and collar that is worn by a sailor that hang over the back of his suit.
Historically worn to prevent tar from the pony tail getting on the clothes. The three white stripes on the collar are also historically said to commemorate the three battles won by Nelson.

In Naval folklore if a young maiden rubbed a sailors dickie it was supposed to bring them good luck.

Janner:
Any English person born within ten miles of the sea, especially someone from Plymouth

Under the weather:
During storms the lookout in the crows nest was pretty miserable, and he was continually soaked with cold, harsh spray, often causing him to become ill.

Rescrubbing:
This is the unpleasant act of doing the same actions all over again, usually after a failure.

Lady of the Night

The kit muster went well! Standing next to my bed, to attention, having just saluted and blurted out that I was ready for inspection, was on my list of worst ever experiences. I need not have worried, the inspecting Officer seemed to know how nervous I was, and he showed more interest in why I had wanted to be a sailor than in the quality of my hand stitching or sharpness of my creases.

Standing on parade or being inspected was becoming part of daily life but in the future when all the bullshit was over, it would become far less common an event. The operational and technical Royal Navy was different but without the initial training and discipline, the backbone, the essentials of the job could not have been achieved.

Having past with "flying colours" we were allowed to go “ashore”, Our first jaunt was not going to be to eventful we all had to go in uniform, be inspected before leaving on the Liberty boat (another blue bus), we also had to go in groups of no more than six and no less than four, we could not visit any public houses, tattoo artist or ladies of the night! “As if”!

Plymouth, the very home of the Royal Navy were pubs and red light area’s were only separated by tattoo artists was like a bright light to a moth. We arrived by way of the Torpoint ferry after a short bus ride from the camp.
We had to pass Aggie Westons on the way, we had been told about the Sailors rest by sea daddy as part of one of his “sea dits” it was nice to see part of naval history.
It wasn’t far to the centre of town and "Union Street", the forbidden land. The patrons of this area named it the strip as it was just one strait road with bars, dance halls, flashing lights and lots of ladies.
The fact that we were in our uniforms and were only sixteen was a slight hindrance but we stuck at it and were soon allowed into a bar.
Uniforms were not usually worn by off duty sailors so it made it very obvious that we were still in training and also underage.
The Naval patrols cruised the strip in search of anyone drunk or doing something that would bring the Navy into disrepute.
Keeping a low profile was going to be a priority. I had had alcohol before but not in any quantity, the hooching bars were full of "old salts" only to happy to be bought a beer and tell a story, I was more interested in sightseeing than listening.

Unfortunately we only had (Blue station cards), which meant like Cinderella we had to be back in past the camp gates by a set time, sometime it was refered to as cinderella leave, any fun and enjoyment was to be crushed into just a few hours, not a good idea when it was the first time as sailors we had seen alcohol and woman.

Liberty boat:
On most naval ships one of the boats is designated the Liberty boat, it would be used to transfer sailors for some leisure time to the nearest harbour, even on a shore establishment the tradition is carried on and it is possible to miss the liberty boat as it can just be a designated time.



Going ashore:
In the same manner can be the movement away from a ship or out of an establishment.


Flying Colours:
If a fleet won a clear victory the ships would sail back to port with their colours proudly flying from their masts.

"Sea Dit”:
Royal Navy expression for a tale, story or anecdote.
Sailors tend to “spin their dits” when feeling relaxed and sociable - often (in times past) after the mid-day issue of grog, or during a make and mend (a half day free of duties) or, best of all, when putting the world to rights in the bar of the Fleet Canteen . Some dits are tall tales, where accuracy may take second place to sensation. verification of the dits between eye witnesses to the events described were often wildly inaccurate.

Blue Station Card:
Blue station card was given to sailors under the age of seventeen and a half this card was to be handed in on returning from shore, the navy take the responsibility like parents to make sure that the younger sailors are tucked up in bed before a certain time.

Old Salts, Men who have spent most of there lives in and around the Royal Navy, always willing to share a dit and give advice.

Benbow an officer

Nearly 300 years ago, when the British Royal Navy was in its infancy, four Captains mutinied and left their Admiral to be destroyed by the enemy. His career in the Navy begins in 1678 fighting pirates in the Mediterranean. Before long he is driven out by his temper and harsh tongue, court martialled for insulting a fellow officer. He returns to the sea in command of his own merchantman and establishes his bloodthirsty reputation by delivering the heads of several pirates to the authorities in Cadiz.
In 1688 the Glorious Revolution finds him back in the Navy under William of Orange, fighting the French. He fearlessly takes floating bombs into enemy harbours and explodes them in an effort to destroy St. Malo and Dunkirk. As a Rear Admiral he is given the task of pursuing the French privateer Du Bart into the North Sea.
During the brief peace with France William sends him to the Caribbean to rid the West Indies of pirates. He chases the notorious Captain Kidd up the American coast till he is caught in Boston.
War with France resumes in 1701 and William sends Benbow back to the West Indies to intercept the Spanish galleons. Eventually he collides with his second in command, Colonel Richard Kirkby who leads three other captains in rebellion. The ensuing mutiny and trial are well detailed.
Despite overwhelming odds Benbow fought on. After his leg was destroyed by chain shot he had his wooden bed brought up to the ships Quarterdeck and continued to direct the battle from this remarkable command post.
This is a factual and historical account.

Benbow Block

Cross country runs, parade training, class work, marching, the days were just so full of exercise. Eat, there was no limit to what we could have, the galley was just time consuming but as long as you threw it down you could just about eat as much as you want, not such a good idea if the running or assault course was in the afternoon however, we did have those who tried.
We started to work as a team, we marched as one body, we played as one team, we worked as one unit and whenever tea was mentioned we all looked forward to a dip in the fanny together, real teamwork! We had lived in each other’s pockets now for almost six weeks. It was strange because we were in such close confines all the time we new each others families, each others likes and dislikes, we could understand each others moods, even those who you would not normally accept as a friend became someone to whome you would give your last Rollo.
Keeping standards high was becoming more than a personal achievement, now it was more of an community cause, if one fails we all fail, Looking back, this was institutionalising, I suppose we had just about achieved what was expected of us in first phase training.

At the end of six weeks we left our hut behind, we were moved to the futuristic building that was called Benbow block, the Weegies seemed more impressed than the rest of us at the move, carpets, single beds, toilet with doors, Fluorescent lighting and a hoover instead of a brush.

Now we could use the camp laundry and soon we would be allowed out of the hallowed gates from which we had been bound by our lowly status.

Within a week we got our first kit muster, we had to look at the seaman’s manual
to find out how to do it, my dirty pile was bigger than what I had laid out on my bed for the inspection. Everything had to be folded the same size as the seamans manual including the oilskin coat. (no way).


Bedding and every thing just had to be perfect, almost everything that we had been issued with had to be on show and in it's dedicated position according to the naval bible.
The accommodation was no exception we cleaned it from top to bottom, we cleaned the windows using newspaper and vinegar. The toilets were scrubbed, there was an air of doom, who was going to let the side down would we all fail, we had to stand by our beds as the inspection commenced I had a lump in my stomach and a sphincter muscle doing half a crown threepenny bit.

Pay and Parade

Losing track of time what week was it, I wasn't sure anymore, I had forgoten about home, I was starting to enjoy the life, all this adventure and they were paying us to do it. The first payday had come and gone, we all received the same, a casual payment it came to our hut with an officer and a very large dour faced Regulator (Navy Copper), we all had to sign for it.
The second time we got paid was different, Sea daddy had warned us to make sure our kit was spotless; we marched as usual, this time to the galley. We stood in line for what seemed an eternity while the line of sailors meandered around the place like a hoki-koki at a very large wedding. Eventually I arrived at the front, a Regulator barked “Off caps, one pace forward, name, ID No,” the money was counted out in front of me by an Officer and then unceremoniously dropped in my hat, “ right turn, one pace forward march,” I was then stood in front of the Master at Arms he made me recount my money, I could feel his eyes checking over my uniform for even the slightest imperfection.

Slops, was the camp clothing store nothing to do with pink, they always had a queue on pay day, people getting new boots or hats, I recon the Master at Arms got a take.

This happened every fortnight, I was paid £29, more money than I knew what to do with, I set up an allotment, sending my Mum £5, she received a book and she could cash it in at the post office, I never changed it until I got married many years later.

Marching drill was now everyday under the watchful eye of the Gunnery Chief and his Petty Officer Gunners,the collective name was GI's. We had to turn out in our best uniform and march around the parade ground once every two weeks for the leaving class. The GI's would be affronted if anything was not just Ship shape and Bristol fashion.
The Gunnery Chief was short with ginger hair and a ginger beard, it was obvious he enjoyed the power that went with his position, he used to promise that if anyone turned up on parade with better boots than his, they would be allowed a stay of execution and get the afternoon off, I never heard of anyone managing it.

We were lined up like the cutlery on the Queens dining table, we were inspected at least twice before we got near the parade ground and the at least another twice while we were there. Standing for always over an hour, and in any weather usually listening to the Royal Marines band playing historical moral building music, not very well!
Then the relief seeing the VIP return to the dais.

It’s amazing how, even after you have been immobile for so long, your legs can still move when the parade staff scream “by the left quick march”, it takes at least four steps before the blood gets down to the feet and by then, normally, no one is instep with anyone else. We always seemed to get a Gunnery Petty Officer to ourselves running up and down the line barking orders, we never managed to go around the parade ground in one, we had become so accustomed to the low waling voice from the dais area shouting out, “around again Sir”, our class Officer never seemed to mind, his marching was as bad as ours.

Sou Wester

Premature voluntary release, (PVR), it was used in most conversations between recruits, I expect it was because the training was hard and the discipline was probably a new concept to many. PVR was like a tainted way of leaving the navy early, set in by the establishment for the few who just couldn't cope with the life style, for some it was like a hidden trap-door that opened when it was known that they were not going to make it.
We lost several Weegies in the first week, and I must admit I was tempted myself, I remember thinking about all my school friends,unemployed and playing football everyday. It was but a passing phase.
Having learnt on paper how a three in one whaler worked we soon were given the chance to put theory into practice, we were let loose in the confines of Plymouth dockyard. With the possibility of rain we had to wear oil-skin coats and a Fisherman's hat, later in
life I found out the hat was called a sou wester.

We boarded our whalers on the opposite side of the Tamar River, and set off using the boats engine, we went in and about several old frigates that were anchored in the middle of the river, they were in "mothballs", after we all had a shot of going ahead and astern, we then had to put up the mast and sail the whaler, all the words that we had read about in the naval manual were being used, and also many more that certainly were not, however they were being used in a nautical fashion.
We were sailing around, the rain had not arrived as had been predicted, the sun was beating down and there we were all trussed up in oil-skins and life jackets like an advert for the RNLI. Tourist boats were passing us with people in tee shirts and shorts. These boats I later found out were romantically called fanny boats, this had absolutely no relationship to the fanny in a previous post. They waved and smiled but it wasn't hard to imagine what they must have been saying under their breath. We were not allowed to wave back, these tourists were now called civilians, normal people but different, the difference I was not going to learn about for many years.We dropped the sail, and the anchor, we then made the boat ready for it's third mode of transport and finally I got to put my rowlock in a gunwale"out oars", We then pulled together or in fact we didn't do anything of the sort but after some encouraging naval slang we did get under way and we eventually made land with the threat of "no evening meal" hanging over us. All that was missing from my first day at sea was grog and a sea shanty.
In the 1890's the Montague Whaler was adopted by the Royal Navy as a general purpose sea boat being named after Admiral Montague who was responsible for its development. Either 25 or 27ft long they were used throughout the fleet for more than 150 years. They were excellent sea boats and as lifeboats have made voyages of thousands of miles. Naturally the Navy raced them with ferocious competition between ships and shore bases for the trophy in the form of a cockerel, so that the winner could have the accolade of being called the "cock o' the fleet". It wasn't until latterly that an engine was introduced. The Montague has not been manufactured since the 1960's but the design has been used and changed in more recently made boats.The navy now use Rubber or Fibre glass boats.

Bamby on Ice

The first week soon became the second, we were not allowed off the camp for the first eight weeks and evening entertainment was non- existent. We had to study in the evenings and keep our kit in a perfect condition. Hours could be spent polishing parade boots and getting the creases just right on clothing. We tried using starch to keep the folds in but it stained the white front that sailors wear under the jacket. We did learn tricks and shortcuts to make the appearance perfect however, if they were found out, the consequences were quite harsh.

Duties:
These really were only very basic at first, and mainly were for the upkeep and general cleanliness of our own surroundings. The thought of cleaning communal heads and bathrooms was not pleasant but we all had to take our turn.

Saturday we played football and inter class rivalry was encouraged in sport as in every other area, The aches and pains of so much sport was soon to become something of the past and muscle started to replace skinny 
schoolboy puppy fat. The slow onset of puberty started to speed up, and with a camp of hundreds of hormonal pinball wizards, the sighting of a skirt would cause great commotion and send the weak of mind and body to the nearest toilet. Groatsie was one who could not contain himself.

The services are renown for the nicknames that people get called, most are harmless and boring, but some can be hurtful and derogatory. As a class we found that most people were just called by their second names at first, for obvious reasons, a shout of “Jock” would have made everyone turn around. We did however have some Macs, Tams, and Jimmy’s and they seemed to
be reasonable and quite affectionate in a mature way. We did unfortunately have a few wallies and dicks, which had nothing to do with what they had been called at birth.

We were soon to make friends, but class, social circles, dialect and intelligence were a factor, probably subconsciously!

I have always had some attraction to befriending people who have trouble being accepted and even in this environment it was no different. The trouble with having such a trait is you are then
associated by default. It can quite be painful at times but it soon sorts out real friends.

Never to be a sheep, I made friends with a Glaswegian called Groatsie.
Groatsie was unfortunate in many ways physically he was in poor shape
and when they gave out the looks he must have turned up late. He did have a brilliant sense of humour, and his one-line answers to
criticism were just to die for.

Groatsie had two left feet when it came to football and in all other sports he was like Bamby on Ice, he was quite intelligent and had no difficulties with the studies or keeping his kit perfect. The main problems came when we marched, his legs and arms never quite knew how to work together, and because his feet were huge he would be tripping himself and others up. This more than anything brought attention to him all the time and it was the trigger for bullying.

Poor Groatsie became the butt of many of the jokes and bye the third week he was starting to have trouble. Groatsie used take a shower when most others were in bed, I never gave it another thought,but one night he had to have a communal shower with
the rest of us after  a mud run, Groatsie was never shy, but when it came to showering he was.
Some thought he was just dirty but the truth was 
now obvious, it wasn't the acne on his back, or his physically
bent over and weak appearance, no, he had more Willy than the rest of us put together. Rather than being a blessing,Groatsie seen himself as a freak, any confidence that he had, diminished
over the following hours.
Groatsie left the navy the following day

Fanny Adams

Crime:

On 24 August 1867 at about 1.30pm, Fanny's mother Harriet Adams let Fanny and her friend Millie Warner, both 8 years old, and Fanny's sister Lizzie aged 7, go up Tanhouse Lane towards Flood Meadow. In the lane they met Frederick Baker, a 24-year-old solicitor's clerk. Baker offered Millie and Lizzie a three halfpence to go and spend and offered Fanny a halfpenny to accompany him towards Shalden, a couple of miles north of Alton. She took the coin but refused to go. He carried her into a hop field, out of sight of the other girls.
At about 5pm, Millie and Lizzie returned home. Neighbour Mrs Gardiner asked them where Fanny was and they told her what happened. Mrs Gardiner told Mrs Adams and they went up the lane where they came upon Baker coming back. They questioned him, he said he gave the girls money for sweets, but that was all. His respectability meant the women let him go on his way.
At about 7pm Fanny was still missing and neighbours went searching. They found Fanny's body in the hop field, horribly butchered. Her head and legs had been severed and her eyes put out. Her torso had been emptied and her organs scattered. It would take several days for all of her remains to be found.
Mrs Adams ran to The Butts field where her husband, bricklayer George Adams, was playing cricket. She told him what had happened then collapsed. Adams got his shotgun from home and set off to find the perpetrator but neighbours stopped him.

That evening Police Superintendent William Cheyney arrested Baker where he worked at the offices of solicitor William Clement in the High Street and led him through an angry mob to the police station. There was blood on his shirt and trousers, which he could not explain, but he protested his innocence. He was searched and found to have two small blood-stained knives on him.

Witnesses put Baker in the area and returning to his office at about 3pm then going out again. Baker's workmate, fellow clerk Maurice Biddle, reported that, when drinking in the Swan that evening, Baker had said he might leave town. When Biddle replied that he might have trouble getting another job, Baker said, chillingly with hindsight, "I could go as a butcher". On the 26th August, the police found Baker's diary in his office. It contained a damning entry:
24th August, Saturday — killed a young girl. It was fine and hot.
On Tuesday the 27th, Deputy County Coroner Robert Harfield held an inquest. Painter William Walker had found a stone with blood, long hair and flesh; police surgeon Dr Louis Leslie had carried out a post mortem and concluded death was by a blow to the head and the stone was the murder weapon. Baker said nothing, except that he was innocent. The jury returned a verdict of willful murder. On the 29th the local magistrates committed Baker for trial at the Winchester County Assizes. The police had difficulty protecting him from the mob.

At his trial on the 5th of December, the defence contested Millie Warner's identification of Baker and claimed the knives found were too small for the crime anyway. They also argued insanity: Baker's father had been violent, a cousin had been in asylums, his sister had died of a brain fever and he himself had attempted suicide after a love affair.

Justice Mellor invited the jury to consider a verdict of not responsible by reason of insanity, but they returned a guilty verdict after just fifteen minutes. On the 24th of December, Christmas eve, Baker was hanged outside Winchester Gaol. The crime had become notorious and a crowd of 5,000 attended the execution. Before his death, Baker wrote to the Adamses expressing his sorrow for what he had done "in an unguarded hour" and seeking their forgiveness. Baker's execution was the last to take place at Winchester.

Fanny was buried in Alton cemetery. Her grave is still there today. The headstone reads:
Sacred to the memory of Fanny Adams aged 8 years and 4 months who was cruelly murdered August 24th, 1867

What is a fanny

A Naval Fanny
Aftrer the first few days of settling in, the feelings of being the new boys on the block was strong, so we tried to strut our stuff, it wasn't easy with forty eight, two left feet. We watched in awe as a class that was further into training went past us, they marched as one, they moved in a majestic way that showed us up for what we were. We had been told we had to make way for senior classes, it was obvious why, it was to show the standards that we had to attain. Even though the overall feeling was, what a load of show offs! it was just pure jealousy.

Class resumed for training.

We marched to class, we were shouted at from windows, from behind and also from in front, we were shouted at by Officers, Senior rates, Junior rates, and Nobodies, "silence", they shouted, "swing your arms, get in step". "Class leader take charge of that shambles", eventually it was like water off a ducks back it was all said so often.
I began to believe that spies had been placed around the camp just to give us grief and report on our movements.

Classes started become interesting:
What is meant by free board, gunwales, running tackle; how many men does it take to man a three in one whaler; and what is a three in one whaler?. What is a rollock?. (rowlock). Sounds moderatly related to the human body.

A rowlock (British) or oarlock (US) is a device that attaches an oar to a boat. When a boat is rowed, the rowlock acts as a fulcrum, and, in doing so, the propulsive force that the rower exerts on the water with the oar is transferred to the boat by the thrust force exerted on the rowlock.

The days seemed to go so quick, we went running at 0600, every morning we ran for two miles around the camp always culminating with a thirty second screaming and shouting session in the marines barracks, it was always strange there never seemed to be any reaction, our instructor was always so keen to send us in to run amok along the long wooden corridor of their accommodation but he said "make sure you get out quick before you get caught". The noise we made was deafining.

Breakfast, parade training, more classes, then stand easy! stand easy was the most wonderful of naval traditions about ten thirty, the bosun's whistle would sound out over the camp followed by a deep melodic voice from the camp broadcast of "stand eeeeasy".

This was when we could relax and have a cup of tea, tradition was that the tea was made in a fanny! a fanny was a very large receptacle, usually made of aluminium, but historically made from tin, enough for everyone to fill there cup by dipping it in it. The tea was folded in a muslin cloth, probably the first tea bag. Latterly anything that held tea was called a fanny! but fanny was a name used for many receptacles used by sailors!


In 1869 new rations of tinned mutton were introduced for British seamen. They were unimpressed by it, and decided it must be the butchered remains of Fanny Adams. The way her body had been strewn over a wide area presumably encouraged speculation that parts of her had been found at the Royal Navy victualling yard in Deptford, which was a large facility which included stores, a bakery and an abbatoir.
"Fanny Adams" became slang for mutton or stew and then for anything worthless - from which comes the current usage of "Sweet Fanny Adams" for "nothing at all" (often shortened to "Sweet F. A."), or with similar meaning as a euphemism for "fuck all".
Incidentally, this is not the only example of tasteless Royal Navy slang relating to unpopular rations: even today, tins of steak and kidney pudding are known as "baby's head".The large tins the muttons were delivered in were reused as mess tins. Mess tins or cooking pots are still known as Fannys.