Tail-gate Charlie

TAIL-GATE CHARLIE

  

From HMS Sultan I was drafted to HMS Valiant, because she was in refit I was billeted in HMS Pembroke. Pembroke was Victorian and had served as a naval establishment since 1903, sighted on the shores of the Medway, Pembroke was attached to the Naval Base at Chatham and was one of few naval bases able to  refits of Nuclear submarines.

The accommodation was of good quality with six able ratings and one leading rate to each mess. All the junior ratings from the submarine where in one accommodation block.I joined on a Saturday but most of the ships company where either on duty or on weekend off.

Refitting boats only had skeleton crews, this was the term given to having just enough people to do the reduced workload, so It never actually surprised me that I never met anybody from the Valiant until the Monday morning.

I ensured I was down at the Nuclear complex in the dockyard in good time only to find that there was no one there expecting me.  I was eventually asked by a very scruffy unshaven bloke smelling of sweat and beer who I was and had I taken all my outstanding leave?, as quick as a flash, I replied no! If they had no record of me joining then I might as well get something out of it! This was an opportunity not to be missed, I later became aware that there is no such thing as a free lunch. I was given a travel warrant and three weeks off. 

I was still unattached and could have gone anywhere but I decided to go home to Burntisland, as it turned out it was probably the last time that I would spend anymore than a just weekend at home.

Apart from the usual faces and old men propping up the bars I soon realised it was a waste of good leave.

While at home my well badgered Dad took me out for some driving lessons, I hasten to add he was short of patience and if it wasn’t for the promise of a few beers and a full tank of petrol at the end of it, it just wouldn’t have happened.

Driving lessons were not really the name for it, I got fifteen to twenty minutes going back and forward on a derelict airfield.

I knew very little about cars but I soon found out what an engine sump was,  I managed to find the only second world war crater in the airfield! It was really just a hole but it gave credibility to the damage caused.

I had lit the blue touch paper and proceeded to be told what an arse I was. I never answered back because I would have ended up paying for the repair.

My dad and cars were not two words that fitted well together. I remember as a child we were travelling to Yorkshire from Fife, It was like the journey up the Congo to my parents. I sat behind my dad as he was driving, mum was navigator and I was acting tail-gate Charlie, my duties were to inform dad of any cars overtaking him in his blind spot. The scene was set for the journey, we set off very early as not to encounter any other traffic, by mile one, dad was already on fag two.

We stopped at the borders for breakfast dad insisted on having soup! Why? The spoon in his hand shook so much there was very little soup getting to his mouth. He said to my mum, he had never had butterflies as bad in his life, he continued eating with his hand shaking soup everywhere, he said he even felt the nerves in his bum jangling! I never did tell him, I was tapping the underside of his car seat with my feet, I would have been dead. 
Dad gave up driving not long after that journey, he said it was his nerves, I recon it interrupted with his drinking hobby.

I returned To HMS Pembroke  after my leave and to my new mess. I was the leading hand in charge of the mess.

As I have previously mentioned I was a very young leading hand, I never knew how I was going to cope in my position responsibility, I soon found out the only difference was the increase in pay and the ability to loose it If I fucked up.

I walked into my mess, there in front of me was a six foot black guy with a beard, I introduced myself tentatively, after all I had never talked to a black guy before, we never had any in Scotland, this was my first encounter and I am not being racisct I can't even spell it. I was nervous, I needn’t have been, he did speak English and didn't bite. his name was Willy. It was hard to keep a straight face, when he  smiled his whole face opened up, he looked about thirty, it was hard to tell, turned out he was only nineteen, Willy came from London, his surname was Williamson I never found out his first name. 
We became good friends. 

silhouettes

Dolphin was just another good experience on the road to sea, I was drafted after twelve weeks to HMS Sultan, and my training was to continue at Rutherford block the Royal Navy Nuclear training facility, training now started in earnest, I was obviously going to be going on nuclear submarines not surprising really as Diesel submarines were few and far between. 

Ernest Rutherford is one of the most illustrious scientists of all time. 

He is to the atom what Darwin is to evolution, Newton to mechanics, Faraday to electricity and Einstein to relativity. His pathway from rural child to immortality is a fascinating one.

Rutherford's works ensure his immortality. As the The New York Times stated, in a eulogy accompanying the announcement of his unexpected and unnecessary death in 1937.
" It is given to but few men to achieve immortality, still less to achieve Olympian rank, during their own lifetime. Lord Rutherford achieved both. In a generation that witnessed one of the greatest revolutions in the entire history of science he was universally acknowledged as the leading explorer of the vast infinitely complex universe within the atom, a universe that he was first to penetrate."

Not for him the fame based on one discovery. He radically altered our understanding of nature on three separate occasions. Through brilliantly conceived experiments, and with special insight, he explained the perplexing problem of radioactivity as the spontaneous disintegration of atoms (they were not necessarily stable entities as had been assumed since the time of the ancient Greeks), he determined the structure of the atom and he was the world's first successful alchemist (he converted nitrogen into oxygen). Or put another way, he was first to split the atom. 

Any of his secondary discoveries, such as dating the age of the Earth, would have given fame to a lesser scientist. For example, the first method invented to detect individual nuclear particles by electrical means, the Rutherford-Geiger detector, evolved into the Geiger-Muller tube. The modern smoke detector, responsible for saving so many lives in house fires, can be traced back to 1899 when, at McGill University in Canada, Rutherford blew tobacco smoke into his ionisation chamber and observed the change in ionisation.

The accommodation at Sultan was luxurious compared to the stables, only six to a room and carpets on the floor. I was in with some decent guys and really looked forward to the course.

HMS Sultan had a bop every Thursday, it was brilliant as it was always full of local girls looking for a lumbar, and it was the little things that made naval life bearable.

Well part two training started, it was all physics and maths, learning the intricacies of the reactor plant systems and even worse learning how to sketch them inclusive of every valve and major component, identifying every one was not easy. Exams were regular and studying in the evenings was recommended. Failure did not mean return to general service so there was no escape from becoming a submariner, it was an option that was talked about. I think everybody on my course was a pressed man. 

Nuclear physics didn’t come naturally and there were some aspects of the course that I just had to accept rather than understand, I never expected to climb any ladders and with just an average intelligence, I had no illusion that I would reach the dizzy heights. So I suppose I was happy with the situation.  I knew I had a career path and how fast and how much I achieved was entirely up to me.

One of my first recollections of Rutherford block was the nasty block petty officer who really enjoyed the sound of his own voice and the power that he felt he had to reign over  those junour to him. He was the worst kind of senior rate, the type who had favourites and treated them with a different stick. I made a conscious decision, I would never be like him If I ever made petty officer..

Back to the mess every night a bit of studying, a bit of scran and then a few beers somewhere in Gosport, Life was good. 

Our mess looked out over the WRENS quarters, most nights we used to put the lights out and for a short time watch the silhouettes of the wrens in various states of undress we used to keep a chalk board tally of who did what and when, we gave them names, even though they were anonamous, there routines were almost like clockwork. It was hilarious trying to put a name to a body shape. “simple things please tiny minds”.

The course continued, whilst there I received advancement to Leading Hand. The leading hands rate is the first significant rung of the ladder I had studied hard and passed for it in Rosyth, there had been some grumbles from older sailors in the workshop, it was so unusual for someone of my age to pass the exam to be honest it was just a matter of applying myself to study, I admit to being concerned about my experience but I new I could pull it out the bag,

Having spent what seemed like hours outside the camp Commanders office, I was just one in a long line of other requestmen. Also in the line were two others on my course they were also up for there promotion, One of them unfortunately had been in the local chippy a few days earlier and had intervened to stop a fight. The police were called when a window got broken.

He was a jock as well and under normal circumstances I would have been ashore with him but I was duty, he received his promotion and then joined the back of the queue only to have wait half an hour for off caps he was then marched in front of the same officer to have it taken off him. It must have been one of the quickest reversals of promotion in history, and one of the most expensive fish and chip suppers.

On about week eight of the course I found out I was joining HMS Valiant, she was a Nuclear powered hunter killer, for the second time in only my second sea drafts I was joining a vessel in a dry dock, this time Valiant was in refit in Chatham. 

Submariners Hat

My first visit to the Trot

Naval bullshit still happened and divisions or parade was once a week at Dolphin, I had been told that the standards for dress were high and that nothing would be missed by the inspecting officer. I prepared well.

Naval cap tallies depicted what ship you belonged to and unfortunately I had HMS Caledonia on my cap, I had not been able to purchase a new one, well that was my story and I would have to stick to it.

I walked to the jetty were divisions would be carried out, there were one or two submarines tied up along side, submarine berths are called Trots, I still don't know why!

The black fins made a good backdrop for the parade. It was first thing in the morning, still quite dull due to the cloud cover, I expect I was half asleep when I was approached by two (old hands). It was obvious I was on my way to Divisions and more obvious they were intent on interaction, they pointed out , that I would be picked up for my hat, I said, I was aware of that fact, when I mentioned about my cap tally they said no, it wasn't that, they took my hat off and said, it was not a Submariners hat, I asked what they meant, it was thrown to the ground and they both jumped on it. laughing as they walked away "now that's a submariners hat", I saw the funny side of it, I'm sure it wasn't the first time they had done that, and could just imagine them laughing over a few beers.

I was inspected, and yes my hat was a disappointment to the inspecting officer. I think he knew from previous experience why my hat was misshapen with foot prints on the top.

Learning about submarines was interesting even though I really didn't want to go on one, we were promised a visit to a Nuclear boat but it never came off. In the classroom we learned the basics about hydraulics, Hp air, electrical systems. We were given more detailed knowledge about safety equipment and individual items of apparatus that we would be expected to use. The means of transferring water, and getting rid of the daily rubbish and of course human waste. There was examinations on everything.

The best parts of the course was the more individual touches from instructors when they gave explanation of what it was really like, the humorous anecdotes of submarine life, the stories of team work and strength of character required to be part of an elite family.

Slowly I felt I was becoming part of that team and even at this early stage of my submarine life I was starting to feel proud and different.

A sailors hat is commonly known as a milk churn, pork pie, cap and less endearingly called a lid, generally only called a lid if a sailor was in the shit, "lift your lid" this was the call of the Master at arms or on submarines the Coxswain. Giving notice of impending gloom.

One size fits all

                        

                                       

HMS DOLPHIN

              

HMS Dolphin home of the First Submarine Squadron.

It was built on the sight of Fort Blockhouse. Following the burning of Portsmouth during the Hundred Years War, money was set aside in 1417 to provide protection for the harbour. A blockhouse was first built on the Gosport side of Portsmouth harbour in 1431 after authorisation by Henry VI. The defences were upgraded in 1495 and was armed with 5 guns.

The blockhouse was replaced in 1539 by an eight-gun battery under the orders of Henry VIII after his divorce from Catherine of Aragon. The first firing of the guns is believed to have occurred during the Civil War. The guns were aimed at Southsea Castle after Parliamentary troops had captured it. The aim was not good, however, and the cannon ball landed in St. Thomas' Church in Old Portsmouth.

The original fort is believed to have disappeared by 1667 when Bernard de Gomme installed a 21 gun battery for Charles II. But in 1708 the fort was rebuilt on an irregular trace. Upgrading was done at the turn of the 19th century, and again in 1845, from which time most remains date. The site was considered obsolete by the 1859 Royal Commission on the Defence of the United Kingdom, and it was turned over to the Royal Navy in 1905, where as HMS Dolphin shore-establishment, it was the home of the submarine service for years. In 1992, it was announced that the submarine fleet would be leaving HMS Dolphin and moving west to the HMNB Devonport. The last submarine left HMS Dolphin in 1994 and the submarine school remained till 1999. HMS Dolphin was formally transferred in 1998 and became known as Fort Blockhouse.

The site is open for tours in September as part of the Heritage Open Days scheme. With the closure of Royal Hospital Haslar to serving Service Personnel, Fort Blockhouse is now known as Support Unit Fort Blockhouse and staff support many lodger units.

I was billeted in what was once the stables, I don’t think they had changed much since they were originally built, the accommodation was third rate and as such I paid nothing for the right to sleep there. They were still endearingly called, The Stables. Many a night I fell asleep hearing a horse whiney and was quite sure the faint smell of fresh hay and not so fresh dung was still there. After twelve weeks and a lot of scrubbing I knew it was all in the mind!

The training for this course was called “part one”, it was twelve weeks long and quite intense, when the course started I had no idea how a submarine worked, it had never crossed my mind! The first thing they taught us was the physics behind displacement of water and the effects of pressure on the hull of a submarine or “boat”, as it was referred to by the inhabitants.

The course was interesting and it was well organised with testosterone flooded practical days, Team building days away from the blackboard and books. These included crawling through a blacked out wet tunnel wearing breathing apparatus trying to find a soaking wet dummy also with the added responsibility of finding a particular valve to isolate the water ingress, fire fighting an oil fire in a mock engine room and escaping from a sunken submarine. The latter was the most exciting but also it was the most dangerous.

HMS Dolphin is famous world over for its Submarine escape facility, when I first used the tower in the seventies I thought how old fashioned everything looked but that was because I had never been on a Submarine before, I was impressed by the professionalism of the Tower staff who walked about in white towels barking orders, the discipline was intense as I soon found out was necessary. The tower was over a hundred feet high, full of water with compartments on the side of it at thirty and sixty feet. The main event was a submarine escape compartment at the very base.

The escape tower training lasted about a week and the classroom work was to provide several scenario’s in which it would be necessary to escape and the procedures that would have to be followed in which to save as many lives as possible. I was taught the effect of carbon dioxide when under pressure, how to try and reduce it, how to prepare for a rescue, how to make a safe ascent to the surface with an immersion suit and also how to affect the same but without one. 

The immersion suits were all hung up at the base of the tower and I passed them every day on my way to class, I expect I was probably fully grown at that time but I remember thinking that the suits would only fit people who were over six foot six tall and have size fourteen feet, they were huge, I think it was my first experience of one size fits all.

Poetry in Motion

A football match was arranged with the locals, it was billed as England against Morocco, the venue was the beach and yes a crowd appeared to watch the game. We were well stuffed by a team of young gazelles in bare feet. It was a very friendly game, in which the opposition goal keeper put on a blindfold, he was so confident we would not score! He was right.
Our journey back to the majestic Port of Algiers took us through many historical old towns and cities. I ate food that had no equivalent name or even looked like anything I had come across before. The food was wonderful with many spices and tastes, there was always tea on offer but not exactly PG tips but palatable anyway and refreshing even after a sweaty afternoon in the Kasbah.
We eventually left Morocco having greased the palms of the armed customs men yet again to ease our passage. We arrived back in Gibraltar where we stayed for approximately another month before leaving for Portsmouth.
There were only a few other recollections from my time on Glamorgan that really stick out, the night that my friend Taff Savage and I had spent in cells after getting drunk on Gin and Camparri, getting drunk was quite normal, cells was new and vomiting all over myself and having to scrub the cell out with disinfectant in just my underpants was soul searching. A ships visit to Newcastle were we marched through the city and were received well by the local ladies, It sure was a highlight, again we got drunk and ended up scrapping with some local lads over who a seat belonged to in a nightclub, It turned out not to be my seat but not before the table was upended and several Geordies were thrown out, we were courteously allowed to stay as it was deemed safer for us by the police. On Glamorgan I learnt how to be a DJ but I was given a crap spot and was asked to leave the job after playing the theme tune to shaft four times in half an hour, well I did like it!

There was not to many bad memories however I can remember spending a Christmas eve on the upper deck trying to spot survivors of our ships own helicopter that had crashed, unfortunately there were none.
I left Glamorgan after what was only a short draft for a short spell on HMS Defiance the Submarine support Ship in Plymouth, Defiance although still in water had been tied up alongside for years and for all purposes was just like a shore establishment.

I was billeted in HMS Drake at Devonport, the camp was enormous and has a vary long history.

Plymouth was in many ways the same as Portsmouth but as a run ashore provided far better pubs and clubs, now I was of age and no longer tied down by a station card I could stay out at night and join all the other Tom cats on the evening prowl down the strip.

As a trainee at Raleigh I had to be in camp early but now my new found freedom allowed me to enjoy life, most clubs didn't liven up until after ten O’clock.
On one of my first nights out I was up for dancing and I decided to wear my seventies trendy threads, a pair of white bags and tight black T-shirt, the night started well and I was up dancing to all my favourite songs, many young ladies frequented this club, well maybe not so young, getting a dance was pretty much guaranteed.
The disco was in full swing when the lights changed to a fast ultraviolet flash just perfect for epileptics, I thought it was great especially in my white trouser they stuck out like a pork pie at a Jewish wedding. People stopped and laughed and clapped I thought they were applauding my dancing it must have looked like a pair of trousers dancing on there own!
No such luck, I was wearing dark coloured pants and they were showing through my trousers, it was a while before someone told me. I have never worn white trousers since and now have an aversion to flashing ultraviolet lights.

One day I was asked by my divisional officer to volunteer for extra duties, I was surprised at his request but not having a lot on and miles from home I said yes. The following day he told me to make sure I had my passport, I was going to Hong Kong, I was delighted, who said never volunteer for anything!
Within a week I flew out of RAF Brize-Norton, the task in hand was to fix HMS Penelope she had been through a typhoon and was requiring some serious engineering problems to be fixed.

Hong Kong was a different world it was very hot and working hours were four in the morning until eight then four in the afternoon and eight at night, this allowed for the maximum time to enjoy the Eastern delights.

On the first day I was measured up by a Chinese tailor for a new coat the second day I had my first fitting and on the third I paid for the final product. I was very happy with my full length Gazelle skin leather coat, fully lined with Dragons on the inside of the cuffs!
Hong Kong was a bustling dynamic place were the pace of life was the same what ever the hour. One night I was taken to the famous Pinkies a Tattoo artist, he was very busy so I went to another artist, I chose my design, mirrored images of tigers fighting dragons to go on my chest! What was I doing? My mum would have gone daft; she used to complain that I lived in my football socks.

Well the scene was set, there I was being tattooed in a small one bed roomed house in the middle of Wanchie district, the front room was full of what was obviously the whole family, they were watching as I was going through my painful ordeal, being fed bottles of beer buy the artists wife, while children cried and played all around me.
The ordeal lasted for what seemed hours, the pain reduced as the more beer I drunk, eventually I vomited all over the floor just missing said children, the tattoo miraculously was finished very quickly and I was ushered out.

I remember emptying my wallet in the wife’s hands, obviously paying through the nose for my beer and vomit. My “oppos” were waiting in a near by bar with what was left of the local talent.
My night was finished, I was taken back to HMS Tamar in an Irish rickshaw were I slept through until it was time to go to work again.

The Wanchie was the destination most nights and the time in Honky Fid seemed to fly past. I left with my tatts and my new coats, others left with little but the memory of a wonderful run ashore, there were those who took home more than they hoped for and spent a fortnight telling wife’s and girlfriends why they didn’t want sex.

I left HMS Defiance within a few months for a more welcoming draft close to home HMS Caledonia at Rosyth, there I was employed to work on the Mine sweepers. I used to watch them passing Burntisland when I was just a child, I could never have imagined then that one day I would be maintaining them. I worked in the fleet maintenance yard and lived at home. It was also a short but very enjoyable time.

Naval drafting was in deed a black art, I asked to go to Scotland which was unusually quickly granted but within months I was informed that I was a volunteer to join Her majesties Submarine service, I can’t remember the volunteering part but before long the papers came through and I was off "Jolly old Portsmouth" and the Submarine training establishment at HMS Dolphin. It was not to be the last time in my career. I was to be fitted into a square hole, so to speak.

HMS Dolphin was a more relaxed establishment than I was used to and was full of odd bods, they obviously never look at peoples vital statistics when they consider them for life in a floating tube. There were people of all shapes and sizes thin tall, short fat, tall fat, short and skinny not what you see on adverts to join the forces and never like those who stand so smart and tall on guard at the cenotaph every November they are all exactly the same height.

Fitting in a submarine is in itself an art, It should not be difficult to imagine a six foot nineteen stone sailor moving at high speed through the tight and low deckhead passage ways trying to get his breakfast from the galley, dangerous, but after a short time “poetry in motion”. It is knowing when to duck, dive turn and bend the body muscles all moving as in sync, after a while and not having to many bumps and bruises it becomes second nature, even in the dark.

Indiana Jones and the markets of Marrakesh

The mountain roads were very steep and meandered through the cloud line and onto the snow covered peaks they were just amazing to see. I never thought that I would ever be standing high on the backbone of Africa.
The skiing area was no different than would be found in any mountainous country, the time of the year didn’t matter as the slopes were open all year round due to the height. I had never skied before. I persevered all morning and by lunch it was apparent I was not naturally talented. Tobogganing was a much safer alternative and was just as much fun. We stayed at various resorts for a few days before we set of for Marrakesh.
It didn’t take us long to descend to the desert floor, the experience was hairy, once down, the road was straight and long we stopped for petrol, filling up two land rovers and several Jerry cans.

The petrol station was just a solitary pump in the middle of nowhere, a small boy sat under a blanket awning. He cranked a handle through 360 degrees and I think he was pulling the fuel through from Saudi Arabia; the experience of waiting in the heat of the desert has remained with me all these years. Two hours later we got on our way and a few hours after that we arrived at our destination.

The place was just like a stage set for Indiana Jones, commotion rained narrow lanes people in shabby clothing and street sellers every were, it was soon obvious that there was no road etiquette and manners were just wasted on the French speaking natives.
It wasn’t long before we had an accident when the spars of a cart punctured the side of one of the vehicles; the damage was minor however the cart vendor needed paying off.
Marrakesh was fantastic, the dessert trains had just arrived for market and the place was just hooching with fire eaters, jugglers and magicians there were people chewing glass and walking on fire.

Snake charmers were in abundance, there were stalls selling local delicacies and fruits of various international origins. I viewed a man push a six inch nail up his nose, I wouldn’t have ever believed that it was real until he removed his hat and pulled it out again. The place was mind boggling; we stayed there for two days and had a wonderful time bartering for cheep goods.
There was two aspect of the place that were not to my taste and that was the amount of drug pushers and also the number of deformed and disabled beggars. The morning we left, our departure was hampered by unseen damage to one of the land rovers a Hydraulic pipe had been split by the impact of the cart, makeshift repairs were carried out and we set off on our return to Algiers, this time by way of the coast.Our next stop was at a seaside town that time had forgot.

The chief in charge of our party decided to have his beard trimmed, it was such an unusual occurrence that the barber decided to carry out the procedure in the middle of the main street. There must have been over a hundred spectators to watch the spectacle.

Rotten Teeth and the light switch saga

Straight St, (The Gut)

The visit to Malta went well, I enjoyed playing football and also the evening entertainment, there was one regrettable incident that happened one night before we sailed, I was duty on board the ship, it was after lights out and I had just finished doing rounds of the ship. Rounds were carried out with an officer to make sure that there was nothing untoward occurring throughout the ship. The shore patrol had arrived back after there duties ashore. Unfortunately they had been drinking but had managed to elude the officer of the day. I arrived at my mess at the same time as a Leading hand that had been in charge of the shore party. He was the worse for wares and was intent on causing me grief, I was getting changed ready to turn in when he arrogantly switched the light off, I was in no way causing any disturbance to anybody else, and was unable to see in the darkness, I switched the light back on and told him I would only be a few seconds, at this point he switched the light off and told me it was a direct order. The consequences could have been really shit but I felt I was on steady ground so I switched the light back on.
At that, the leading hand launched at me; instinctively I punched out in self defence. He hit the ground and never moved for what seamed like ages.

The commotion had woken several others who soon arrived to help him to the sick bay. I was stood in my underwear shaking due to the enormity of what had just happened. I could just imagine being court-martialled.
There was blood everywhere and some was dripping off my hand, I cleaned myself up in the bathrooms but the cuts to my knuckles needed stitches so I had no option than to go to the sick bay. I arrived to find the leading hand, Fred Frebarro being taken into the ships theatre. The sick bay attendant asked me what had happened as he checked my hand, before I managed to reply, he said, “ by the state of these knuckles I bet you fell down the same ladder as him”! I was so relieved with the feeling that it was all going to be covered up. The shore patrol had returned drunk and the trouble that would have ensued would have been an embarrassment for the captain, the ship and the Navy. Fred Frebarro recovered quickly, although not as pretty as before. Someone remembered me years later when our paths crossed and reminded me I was the person who separated Fred Frebarro from his front teeth, It turned out to be his brother in law who was also onboard Glamorgan at the same time. I was only seventeen then, I am now nearly fifty and have never felt the need to hit anybody since that day.

We sailed for more exercises in the Med, returning to Gibraltar on the way home. There was a raffle held on board before we reached Gib, the prize was seven days in Marocco skiing in the Atlas mountains and visiting the city of Marakesh. There were twelve places available, Well I must have been faited or it may have been that I worked in the Fleet Chief's mess and for all my grovelling I was being rewarded. The expedition was travelling in two Nuffield trust landrovers from Algiers into the mountains to spend two days skiing, we past through customs with ease after crossing greasy palms with silver. The first night was spent in a Hotel on the slopes of the the Atlas mountains.

The evening meal was quite inedible, watery soup and a slice of unraised bread. We slept in pairs, the rooms were very large, or maybe they just seamed that way, after all I had just shared the same room space with many sailors. I shared a room with my friend Taff Savage, Taff also lost teeth in Malts but that was for ungentlemenly conduct which involved a cigarette and a prostitutes breasts, but thats another story.

The room was very basic, but it did have a toilet with a screen to hid any modesty, we turned in early as there was no bar and no electric lights in the hotel, we could have played cards by candle light I suppose. In the middle of the night I woke to do the toilet, number two's. In the dark I found the toilet and proceeded to purge myself. After I tried to find the flush , there appeared to be none and indeed no paper, I searched in vain, and had to use underpants instead. I threw them out of the window. In the morning I was awakened by Taff saying whats that fucking smell. I explained to him what had happened, it was at this point I found out what a bidet looks like.

We travelled on in the morning after a light breakfast I never did manage to flush and or retrieve my underpants, I wonder what the staff must have thought after we had gone.

Malta the Knights and the Gut

Fort St Angelo, Malta, Grand Harbour

The battle with Ollie Reed over, we set sail, the next port of call was going to be Malta were we were going to spend a short time in “DED” a maintenance period, this was to be in Valleta, at Fort St Angello in Grand Harbour.

The British had all but left Malta and the Communist backed Don Mintoff was riding high in the local polls. The Royal Navy and Malta have a very close frienship and the local population always come to see the arrival of The Fleet and the welcome was just as warm this time as it always was.
Grand harbour was just a splendour to see. The history behind the British Navy and it long relationship with the Island spans centuries and now I like my father before me was also part of that history. The navy was in my blood and always would be, I still felt my heart swelling when colours were sounded and the ensign hoisted aloft.
We continued to exercise with NATO country's all the way to Malta, I had listened intently to the stories of Malta and of those who had been there before me, I remembered as a Child I had lived on the island whilst my father had served at St Angelo, the memories of the period were almost non existant but I remembered some small things.
First night ashore and my first time on a dghajsa, it was a small vessel, a punt, not unlike those found in Venice the driver only had one paddle and was perched very precariously on the stern, probably not a disadvantage in Venice but was very skillful on the tidal crossing of grand harbour.

Never mind the history of Malta, The Nights Templar, the fortifications, the holiday resorts, I was attracted like a moth to a lamp to the place were for decades before me sailors from the navy battleships and frigates had gone on their visits to the Island, "the Gut", the Gut, real name Straight street, and for two hundred yards on both side of a very narrow thoroughfare there was bar after bar after tattoo artist after bar this place was full of woman, woman of ill repute who would for a few pounds introduce you to there daughters. The doorways to bars were very narrow and when within would open out to a usually seedy bar full of smoke with naval ships crests covering the walls. In some bars music would play very loudly and the sound would echo the full length of the Gut enticing sailors to spend their hard earned pounds on woman and marzavin.

The top of the gut was patrolled by Naval Provost marshal regulators and the bottom of the street was patrolled by the Royal Marines, most sailors would enter in a fit state but would be found crawling out of the bottom or top in a severe state of drunkenness.

My first visit to the Gut was not any different to what I have just described. I arrived with fellow ship mates and started on what could only be described as a pub crawl, it was known that it was impossible to go down one side and up the other and stay on your feet, many had tried. I was in no way a hardened drinker and I could only try in my own way to keep up with the flow of drink, the jokes and dits were spun constantly and the more drink the funnier they became, I lasted for about three hours before my legs gave way and I was helped to the top of the street. Naturally enough I was arrested by the regulators and thrown in the back of a provosts van.

It wasn't long before the van was full and we set off for the steps at the harbour, opposite St Angello, we hadn't gone far before I shouted that I was going to be sick, the van came to a sudden halt and sailors fell everywhere the back doors flew open and it was if a signal had been given, there was a rush for freedom and I found myself lying in the van with my head over the back bumper retching.

Eventually we reached the harbour and I think the regulators were embarrassed by such a small catch as they told me to return to my ship and nothing else would be said. I have no recollection of the rest of the night but I was up for it again the next night.

British Bobbie's and Red Telephone boxes

My first run ashore in Gibraltar was exactly that, a race to the top of the rock organised by the club swinger. My unknowing preparation around the ships deck I had thought, would stand me in good stead, unfortunately it didn’t, and I just followed the masses on the meandering road to the top. We passed landmarks on the way but I never looked up from my feet, I remember feeling sick and walking at several places, the time it took me was totally inconsequential but I knew I had done it.
My memories those days are still vivid as I was achieving new firsts every day.
I have a photograph of myself with a palm leave that I had acquired from one of the few trees, a colossal achievement as I was pissed at the time and managed to get it passed not only the police but also the gangway staff. I remember thinking to myself how strange it was being in a foreign country and seeing British policemen and red telephone boxes. Well I never knew it was a British colony!
Waking the next morning still cuddling my palm leave I must have looked ridiculous, my problem was I now had to get rid of it. My time in Gibraltar was memorable and throughout my career I was to return there many times.

We sailed for exercises with NATO forces in the Mediterranean and our next port of call which was going to be Malta.
A few days out of Gibraltar when I was at ends thinking of with what to do with myself, I decided to go and watch A the 4.5 inch turret in action, I had never seen a gun firing and not knowing any better set off to watch. I had a grandstand view from the Exocet launcher deck which was right behind the twin barrel gun. I was watching for some time before I could just hear someone shouting from above and behind me due to the noise coming from the guns, it was hard to make out. Shortly after that the firings stopped, yet again in my career I heard “that man” “Oh shit, would have been My first thought, “You there come up to the Bridge”, I set off at pace to what I thought would be some sort of bollocking, I wasn’t disappointed, the officer who had shouted said he had just seen the top of my head and wondered what the fcku I was doing, it became obvious he was concerned about my welfare, I received a serious dressing down for my stupidity and became the talk of the ship for a few days, I have no doubt that It is still a dit that is being passed from one generation to another!

The danger I had faced was, when a gun fires there is flashback from the muzzle and is it quite capable of seriously burning skin, I learnt my lesson and so did the navy, “Teach young sailors to dangers that they would encounter at sea", that would have been the best response, the thought of having lost my good looks and hair, fills me full of horror.
I expect the lesson was reported and there were changes to training.

Instead of Malta we stopped of in the French Riviera at a small place call Ville France, we anchored off and rigged side lighting, we where then visited by Lord Mountbatten and a young Prince Charles. It was obviously an impromptu visit, we all had a few hours ashore but it was obvious it was a liaison visit. The Cannes festival was on at the time and the Wardroom had invited several Movie stars to visit for a "cock and arse party" I remember well seeing Lord Mountbatten and could'nt help thinking what a mess his uniform was in, but I guess nobody would have dared tell him that.

Roger Moore came with several gorgeous followers also Lord Olivia, Oliver Reed, Bridgette Bardot and many other beautiful female actors of the time. Oliver Reed was drunk as a Skunk and he asked to join the ratings in their mess for a beer rather than spend time with the wardroom. His wish was granted probably much to the delight of the officers.


He managed to drink most of the evenings beer ration and was sad that he was unable to buy more.







I remember having to work that evening as the gangway handrail had become electrically live and was giving all the visitors electric shocks as they disembarked their launches, funny really, it didn't take long to fix but long enough for Oliver Reed to get his marching orders from the ship for being incapable, he was helped ashore by means of the Captains Huntress. The admirals personal fanny boat.

The next morning Oliver Reed passed by on the Port side in his own Chinese junk flying the skull and crossbones, he fired a starting canon at the ship and proceeded to drop his trousers and moon at the officer of the watch. Never a dull day!

Cinderella Leave

                      
My first foreign run ashore in the Navy was in Toulon, A very large French navy port, in many ways it was just like Portsmouth except they spoke weird and the beer was sold in millilitres not in pints.
My leave was only ever until 2359 by which time if I was not on board I would be standing at the officer of the days table the next day for consequential punishment, that was normally a couple 
of days pay or even worse a couple of days leave.
It was called Cinderella leave for obvious reasons. The Captain takes parental responsibility for those ratings under the age of seventeen and a half, a responsibility he took very seriously. Not being able to drink and not allowed to stay out late caused a few problems when seeking out the opposite sex but as long as I returned without appearing intoxicated and on time I was alright.

Toulon was behind us and Gibraltar ahead. The ship was to be the Gibraltar guard ship for six months; this meant little to me except that in between a few days or weeks sailing in the Mediterranean, we were alongside in the dockyard.
I had found that getting exercise at sea was quite easy, the ship had its own club swinger, not to be mistaken for swingers club, and there was always competitions for one sport or other, deck hockey on the flight deck was always popular and also fitness sessions that would leave me wrecked. I enjoyed running around the upper deck, it was mainly a wooden deck and providing the weather was fine there was never any restrictions. I used to run for miles but I suppose I could have called them nautical miles. I did Karate some evenings during the week; I found a switchboard room that served the purpose well. The ambient temperature was high due to its location next to the boiler room and I used to be soaked in sweat,

The Chinese laundry were only to happy to wash, dry and iron my clothes, they would be back on my bunk the very next day.
Latterly I had a good re pore with the Chinese laundry men, probably due to my promotion to maintaining their electrical equipment. If I needed something washed and ironed fast I used to pull out the fuses for one of the dryers, they were so grateful that when I "fixed it" I would get anything done and a few beers thrown in as well. It was funny they never had names but were known as numbers, starting at one. The laundry was not very salubrious and they slept worked and ate down there. Most nights they would be found playing cards or Mahjong. The laundrymen loved their time ashore in Gib they were to be found most nights at the casino.

Old Shipmates

Junior Ordinance Electrical Mechanic Second Class and at seventeen there was only one way to go and that was up, I sailed on my first ship and as expected I was sick as a dog, I never got used to sea sickness but the symptoms did alleviate the longer we spent at sea.
For the first time I crossed the Bay of Biscay and I had a bucket attached around my neck for most of the voyage.

I was now billeted with real sea dogs and just like a compendium of nautical books, there was  stories of adventures, of drinking and womanising these were frequent, I got taken in by these old hands and I am sure now having sailed the world over myself that most of there dits were a lot of old cobblers.
There were many characters whose paths crossed from one ship to another and they would recall runs ashore in foreign ports that they had shared and they in turn would recall old shipmates and their antics, stories that would be passed from one ship to another and from one generation to another, this would help the time at sea pass when not actually working.
Each days itinerary was detailed the day before as to exactly what was to happen, this came in the form of daily orders,  and it would be posted around the ship for all to see, in the form of daily orders. Details such as “call the hands” and “pipe down”, dress of the day, meal times and twice a week the evening movie.
Once a month Pay day arrived and as previously, when ashore, we had to line up in alphabetical order and receive our pay in our caps, thank god that eventually it was put straight into a bank account but that did'nt happen for many years.

My duties as a electrical rating were not very trying and it was not long before I started to strive to attain more knowledge, I used to draw electrical circuits for fun and to understand how things worked, much to the consternation of some of the older hands who had just done enough to get bye for many years.

I was made "The mess man" of the Warrant officers mess, my duties included cleaning their shoes, polishing the “heads”, general cleanliness duties, I took to them well and was awarded with  a blue station card for all my efforts,
this meant that I had no normal duties when in port other than to attend to the Warrant Officers, Cleaning spitkids and washing up the beer tankards was probably the worst of the tasks. The toilets were always gleaming as they were made of brass and I spent hours rubbing them with Bluebell.