Body odour, or just imagination

Returning to the camp was a relief there was now purpose to my life again and the solemnity of the previous weeks was soon behind me and humour was again breaking through the clouds.
I was no longer with the same class of trainees as I had previously, they had moved on to different subjects and I had no way of catching up, so, there was now a slight predicament what to do with me until I could pick up were I had left off with the next class.
It was going to be several weeks because of the forthcoming leave periods. The list of jobs I could have been given was vast and many were interesting, I didn’t want to be gate staff as that meant shift work and being so junior I would have no doubt had the permanent night shift. I could have been given the harbour training ship; at least that would have felt like a step nearer, actually being in the navy. The armoury could have been good fun, loads of time on the ranges. No, none of these jobs were for me.

I started at the “Piggery” the very next morning. Collingwood had its own pig farm, they had dozens of pigs and they all needed feeding and cleaning out. Talk about shit jobs, I had never seen a pig but I imagined them to be a reasonably small and docile animal, I was not prepared for what I met, the most awesome bad tempered porkers in the world, and “shit” you would have to see it to believe it, these monsters threw it out horizontally, sometimes several feet.
Looking back there should have been a health and safety induction for the job, they could bite hard, stand on your feet, squash you against any movable or immovable object, they could urinate over you, shit on you and if they were in an amorous mood well, I’m not even going to go there.
The first job of the day was to visit each dining hall in turn to recover all the slops from the previous day’s meals and also that morning’s breakfast, it included all perished food, raw food and grease that had or hadn’t made it to the ovens.
We then placed the tons of waste food into a container that was poured down a chute were we had to run our hands through it to remove any cutlery, glass, salt sellers or Iranians that might have got into the slop by accident.
It was amazing some of the stuff that was recovered from the slop; the slop was then boiled for a long time in a pressure vessel were it was maintained at a set temperature.
This was the time when we cleaned out the pig pens, after the pigs had been removed, I must add. Nothing had prepared me for this task; it’s not like picking up horse crap from fresh straw or even picking up after your dog. This was almost biological warfare, all in one overalls, worn, so the legs were outside the wellies, never mind a pitch fork to pick it up, this stuff was just like the porkers had been on vindalloo, come to think of it they probably had been. It had to be diluted with water to get it down the drains; I was brushing, whilst up to my knees in it for over an hour.
The most dangerous time of the day was when the pigs were at the troughs, the food when ready was piped from the pressure vessel along pipe work to the many feeding stations, the pigs knew it was coming, it was the time to make sure you were well out of their way.
The only good thing about the job was I finished early, however any time gained was lost in the shower trying to be rid of the smell.
Eating in the dining hall never had the same attraction again. I always thought I could smell the pigs and I was also sure other people could smell them as well.

It was probably just imagination.

SEA DANCER

After the initial shock and pain of the hospital visit my instincts guided me to be there for my dad, after all I was not in any position to help my mum, only prayer and time is going to provide a prognosis. The first night passed, with no change, however I was told that was good, the days followed on until I had been there for over two weeks, the life threatening injuries were under control and my mum was out of danger.
My relationship with my dad was pretty much as normal, however, I knew he was grieving, after all he had lost the physical and able person he had fallen in love with. My mum had survived beyond expectations and the scars would heal, but she was looking at a life in a wheel chair with the possibility of double incontinence.
My mother had also been in the Navy, having been several years as a cook before leaving to ply her new found trade on the unexpecting public, she was very tallented, she made all her own clothes and unfortunately mine as well as I grew up.
She was a fabulous dancer, very good looking and would not get the chance to sit down if she was at the dancing. She became a very popular barmaid, the best woman darts player in the town and almost unbeatable dominoe player. Betty as she was known was never to be the same again.
I decided to return to HMS Collingwood, knowing she was on the mend and going to be eventually transferred to a paraplegic unit in an Edinburgh hospital.

It was to be a changing point in all our lives.

High Dependency Unit

Arrival in Scotland didn’t have that, “you take the high road and I’ll take the low road feel about it this time”.
I met my father at our home, it felt a bit like meeting the Captain, for the first time in my life I was unsure of what I was going to say, I was unsure of my Mums circumstances and it made for an uncomfortable atmosphere, I have to explain, my father had been in the Royal Navy for over twenty seven years and had left prior to me joining, we had never been close and on many occasions I think I joined to get out of his way. We had never had much to say to each other and here we were both suffering in our own emotions.
My Dad had never shown any feeling or emotion so he was always hard to measure. Dad was an orphan, his own mother had died shortly after child birth and for many years he thought she had died during child birth. He was the last born of five sisters and three brothers; they were all split up and grew up in foster care and children’s homes.
He was in a state, unshaven and smelling of alcohol, he looked like he had not slept, his eyes were bloodshot and he had obviously not been to bed. “how is mum, what happened, where is she,” all the questions that had been going through my head all night were now coming out, not giving him any time to answer. Is she alive?
For the first time in my life I could see my Dads eyes welling up. “Mum has been in an accident in her car, she is critical but alive, she has broken her back in three places along with several other bones, she lost a lot of blood through bad cuts to her face, skull and other injuries”. “She is in Edinburgh Infirmary; you can visit any time you want.”
I don’t know why, but I was expecting him to put his arms around me, he never did.

I arrived at the hospital alone, everything was all a haze but I still remember being asked my age and was I alone. The doctor in charge insisted I should be escorted as it was my first visit and it may be upsetting.
Many emotions were entering and leaving my mind and I wondered if I was really mature enough to carry this out, the nurse took me through to the high dependency unit, where I was taken to my mothers bed side, her face was unrecognisable as a face and certainly not of anyone that I had known.
Fortunately she was maintained in an unconscious state; even in 1975 the ward looked state of the art and the machines were everywhere around her. I only stayed for a few moments, it was enough!
I asked the doctor what was happening and what her chances of survival were going to be, he said “ 50/50 but lets just take one day at a time, if she makes it through the night then the chances will increase.”
The next three weeks saw her out of danger but. My mums body had been damaged so much that she was never going to fully recover.

Homophobic Era

Although in training and still the complete green horn, life as a trainee was becoming more bearable, naval traditions and some unnecessary bullshit was still being applied but in general I was having a good time. Evenings were spent at the NAAFI listening to the same music over and over again; Collingwood accommodation had television rooms which were really ITV or BBC smoking chambers, a most unpleasant way to enjoy an evening.
Generally after the days class work, I played sport for an hour, shower and changed into smart clean civilian clothing and then it was off to evening dinner. There was a dress code even when in relaxed mode. Jeans and sports clothing was not acceptable, not even to eat a meal.
HMS Collingwood had four dining halls for junior rates, the camp had thousands of trainees, thousands into four meant organised chaos, the food was different in each dining room and the menu was always known the day before.
It was sometimes easier to take the most unpopular choice just to not have to stand in a queue for twenty minutes. Vegetarianism was not an option in the navy in fact it would have probably been seen as self inflicted injury and would have warranted some form of punishment.

While I was there, the camp was being used by the MOD to train up the Iranian Navy. I believe it was part of a package in preparation to selling on our old and spent ships. It was not uncommon to see two men holding hands, or even kissing, part of there culture we were told, but in 1975 homophobia was the accepted normal attitude by the general public, but it was still extreme in the services.
Any negative interaction would have been treated most severely, misdemeanour, it would have been less of an offence to have been caught shagging the captains daughter behind the NAFFI.
So it was definitely hands off the Iranians.
Training was entering its final stages with only a few weeks to go before passing out. One afternoon I was told to report to the command building, it was half way through a lesson on transformer rectifiers and totally unexpected, I was escorted by my divisional officer and we marched together for what seemed like an eternity, my head was full of anxiety and I never spoke, all my exam results had been average or above and I was sure I had not done anything wrong. My divisional officer, who I had spoken to only on one other occasion remained quiet and gave no indication of why I had been summoned, we arrived to be escorted to the captains office were we entered almost straight away.

The situation seemed totally bizarre to me, however I knew that there must be something wrong. The captain stood as I entered the room and welcomed me as if he had known me forever, “sit down we have had some bad news” he said, “your mother has been in a car crash and is critical in an Edinburgh hospital”, his face was open and he paused for a second for my reaction, it was as he expected I believe, I burst into tears, I was still only sixteen and control over my emotions had not yet matured.
Sobbing uncontrollably he continued to speak, however I had stopped listening. My next recollection was sitting in the guards van, beside the mail sacks on the night train to Scotland, still quietly sobbing.

The Matter Horn

Physical training was still compulsory but in addition I started doing karate, the style was Kyokushinkai. Kyokushin is deeply rooted in the philosophies of self-improvement, discipline and hard training. In this form of karate, students all must take part in hard sparring to prepare them for full contact fighting.
Unlike some forms of karate, kyokushin places high emphasis on full contact fighting which is done without any gloves or protective equipment. This apparent brutality is tempered somewhat by the fact that you are not allowed to use a non-kick or non-knee strike to hit your opponent in the face, this greatly reduced the possibility of serious injury. Knees or kicks to the head and face, on the other hand, are allowed.
When I took up the discipline bare knuckle punching had just been banned.
I continued the training for many years even though club membership was not an option because of my navy commitments. I did however continue to do my training at sea when the opportunity allowed. On many occasions I would be found in the lotus position in an engineering compartment somewhere in the bowels of one of her majesty’s ships. One of the first times my wife met me I had been running along the cliff tops on the Isle of White in my Gi. I must have looked like I had escaped from HM Prison Parkhurst.

LOTUS POSITION

















Part two training continued at a pace, but lots of opportunities to play football, rugby, go swimming or even canoeing.
Adventure training is always part of every planned training period; it gives the divisional system a chance to assess leadership potential and participants to learn team work and leadership skills. Our class went to the New forest were we helped to refurbish an old farm building.
It was so cold that on the first night I put my sleeping bag inside a plastic survival bag, in the morning I was so wet inside my bag I thought I had wet myself, when I found out I wasn’t the only one who had the problem it was pointed out that it was because the body moisture had been unable to escape.
We slept in tents for the weekend; I shared with a Weegie called Ziggy, why Ziggy, I don’t know his second name was Barber normally that would give him a nickname of Ali. Anyway Ziggy was a laugh and was always telling jokes but he did have a habit of getting in the shit, to wise for his own good! He spent the weekend in the forest growing the most enormous zit on his chin; we actually started a sweep stake to see when it would burst.
We arrived back at the camp on Monday night and the zit was still holding out, it was massive and had deformed the side of Ziggys face but he was scared to go to the sick bay incase they lanced it.
Wednesday arrived and it was fanny night at the Collingwood club.










The Matter horn was now bright red and it looked as if there was more than one head but no peak, but it was yellow all around the tops, obviously full of puss.
Ziggy would normally hold the dance floor for the whole evening when he danced, he was good, it never mattered to him weather or not there was woman dancing at the same time.
Bye tea time he was in so much pain and the thought of not going to the club was so overwhelming he new that something had to be done, we tried a bread poltis, no, all he did was scream and kept taking it off.
In the end we tied him voluntary to his bed; he wanted someone to punch him, that didn’t seam an option, so we agreed that on the count of three I would squeeze it. Bye this team we had an audience, poor old Ziggy, we counted to two at least four times and he kept on backing out. In the end his head was held in a grip and I just grabbed it, it wouldn’t burst. Ziggy was screaming and I had to release him, it looked really angry now and had defiantly changed shape. Tears were running down his face, he wasn’t crying, it was the pain making his eyes water. I made a final grab squeezing as hard as I could between both my thumbs, it gave, not once but twice there was two separate heads, the relief on his face I’ll never forget, there was puss everywhere.
We all went dancing.