Northern Soul for beginers

Baggy Breeks and slippy shoes.

The chance encounter with the amaizing dance skills of Bungy Williams was to change my attitude to going clubbing and I suppose ultimately to my self esteem.

I watched Bungy dance around the mess, he played the music really loud, I really should have told him to turn it down, but I was enjoying it myself.

When the weekend came around Bungy was duty so I was in the mess on my own, the others had all gone off weekend. I put Bungy,s boogie box on and played his Soul music, I felt stupid but I was determined to try and dance, it felt so awkward and I knew in myself it must have looked ridiculous.

On Sunday Bungy returned after handing over his duty, I was still in my cabin when he returned, he asked me If I had played his music, I felt like a child being caught with his fingers in the biscuit tin.

I came clean and told him I had been trying to dance but I had given up as I obviously had no talent. We had a good laugh about it, he said he would teach me if I really wanted to learn, I was quite shy at the situation however I was up for it.

So it began, I started dancing in my stocking feet this was to help me glide across the floor

the next stage was the arm movements, followed by the changes in direction. Composure and style was missing, balance non existent. The next stage was with shoes on, this was difficult at first but Bungy put talc on the floor and then I was away. Bambi on Ice, All this and we hadn't even put the music on.

Next step was to find rhythm and the Fred Astaire attitude that would give me the confidence to dance in public.

It was about this stage that Bungy told me I would have to get new clothes and shoes, well I saw what he wore and there was no way!

I took his advice and decided to get a new" going dancing wardrobe" seeing I didn't have one that wasn't hard. Most of my clothes, like everybody else was bought on tick at Bernards Naval tailors, not always the most up to date and hip fashions.

Bungy came with me into town and I got rigged out, I drew the line at the sequence see through top but I got the baggy trousers and the shoes with no soles, the trousers had reflective thread around the pockets of which there was several all totally useless because they were sewn up. I settled for just a normal T shirt at Bungys disgust.

Next time the bop was on in the camp, I felt shit scared but I had decided I was going to do it, I had never had much success asking girls to dance, being looked up and down and the inevitable "no thanks" was enough to put the dampers on most peoples night out.

Fortunately with this type of dancing interaction with the opposite sex is irrelevant. The music and the dancing were are all that was important.

Well here I was in a far off land, work finished most nights about five but obviously there were evenings when I was duty, this involved just fire rounds at first, i.e.: walking around making sure nothing was going to burn, well lets face it we couldn’t sink in a dry dock.

Sleeping was in the accommodation building were all we had for comfort was a metal bed and a mattress. There was a ruined pool table and a television.
Food was cooked in the accommodation block, were the cooks had never had any master chef
classes, but managed to feed us reasonably well.

Most evening I played squash or went out for a three mile run about Chatham. The highlight of the week was the Pembroke hop, all the local talent would turn up and parade there handbags around the dance floor until they got stuck in a small circle not unlike cowboys and their wagons.

I was mainly an onlooker, and in the early days I would watch intently at the mating stomp of the prowling matelots. They also circled eyeing up and down these young girls and of course some not so young who were all labelled with the unfortunate tag “f troop”, most were hardened boppers some were there just up for free drink and a shag, however there was a just a few who had the misplaced feelings that they would find love.

This ritual lasted for at least an hour and probably about four or five drinks, the more talented and seasoned Casanovas would move in and take the pick of the bunch leaving the scraps for the hyenas that had already had to much to drink or those poor sailors, the usual dregs, who were inflicted with language disorders or leprosy.                                                                                        

I had no experience in this game and usually left early having had to much to drink and having failed in being understood as I slobbered my strange Fife lilt over some poor unsuspecting Kentish babe.

Back at the mess, I walked in on Willy dancing to some very loud Motown music.
He wasn’t perturbed at my entrance and carried on dancing; I could just see his open eyes above his smiling teeth. I was amazed at how he moved across the floor and moved to the music, I remember thinking, now here is a master at his art.

Percy the smuggler

             So much to see,and so much to find

                               SSN HMs/m Courageous in dry dock

 My first visit to Valiant was more than a surprise, the submarine was on blocks sitting on the dock bottom, there was umbillical cables and hoses all along her full length, there were safety nets hanging at the very top as if to provide some level of confidence. The interior of the boat was void of nearly all its fittings, pumps and piping were removed, the decks all covered in plywood. electrical panels missing and cable ends terminating in a snakes wedding.

There were no toilets and only temporary lighting, being caught short was a real danger, thus during my long hours of learning systems and valves, I soon aquired the ability to climb ladders in a single bound, and I also mastered the art of anal retention, unfortunatly I have since lost that skill.

I new she was in refit but never new at what stage, I was soon introduced to a chief who provided me with my next training pack, this was called my part three, it was on completion of this training that I would be presented with my coveted dolphins. The dolphins had to be earned and I found that there were several other new members of the ships company who were at the same stage in there training. This was a god send as the burden of the training was better shared and provided a good situation to find new friends.       

I soon got to know the other members of the ships company, all with their own idiosyncrasies, this made life in those early days very colourful, and not a day went passed without some hysterical situation occurring, to many to remember!

 Valiant was due out of refit the following year, the lack of urgency was a by-product of that knowledge, as the months passed the atmosphere would soon transfer to a feverish state, trying to reach unrealistic milestones getting ready to go back to sea.                                              

The ministry of defence police were on guard at the base gates and they enjoyed nothing more than stopping Jack and searching for illegal contraband i.e: fags. One day they got more than they were looking for when they stopped a sailor off the submarine, they asked him if he had anything in his bag, he replied, he had a snake! The policeman thinking he was trying to smuggle took his bag and put his hand in, yes there was a snake and yes it bit him.

The sailor was asked not to bring his snake in again; he was not prosecuted because he had clearly made it known of the contents of his bag.

The snake was called Percy, when he died he was buried in a snooker cue box, with full naval honours and a good wake to send him on his way.

Valiant had been taken into refit early. An emergency on board had  caused flooding in a very sensitive place; she had made an emergency surface in the middle of a Russian naval exercise, well there's a strange thing.

The Yanks were on hand to provide the necessary assistance to enable less of an international incident than could have happened or would have been exagerated by today’s press.

The dockyard workforce always seemed to be standing around talking, but it was amazing the speed that the engineers managed to put the boat back together, "Meccano" at its most extreme. I soon was able to visually touch things that previously I had to just imagined.

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.