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.