Those Were the Days

(Or were they?)

The first 6 weeks of my life as a boy sailor in 1948 was at  HMS Vincent, a “stone frigate” as we called shore establishments, in Gosport, Hampshire. From each new entry division were selected those who were going to  be trained as communicators. The bright ones (myself included!) whose selection was based on  previous education, mine was that I had attended the Secondary Technical School in Exeter, and helped by the fact that I had learnt the Morse code in the Sea Cadets, were to train as Telegraphists (wireless operators), the not quite so smart ones were designated to become Signal men, or, as they were more commonly known, “bunting tossers” (because they hoisted flags up and down the masts!). The remainder, plus those who choose not to become the elite!, were unfortunately to lead a life as just basic seamen, poor devils as they were to spend a lot of time scrubbing decks and painting the ship.

The Telegraphists and Signal men to be were then sent to HMS Ganges (another stone frigate) at Shotley Gate, near Ipswich in Suffolk. The Telegraphists were known as AC boys (Advanced Class) and the Signal men as GC boys (General Class). Telegraphists were those who, when eventually at sea, would work in the nice cosy and warm wireless office whilst the Signal men were the ones who worked on the bridge alongside the Captain and Officer of the watch etc. In those days it was an open bridge, remember Jack Hawkins on HMS Compass Rose in the film Cruel Sea, getting rather damp from sea breaking over the bridge (we called these rather large waves “gophers”)?  The signal men were responsible for sending and receiving flag messages between ships, semaphore messages, and sending & receiving messages using  signal lamps (but us clever AC boys had to learn about those things as well). Basically the two were very closely linked, the main difference being that Telegraphists communicated with ships and the distant world by wireless communication and Signal men communicated mainly to those in visual or close range by signal lamp or flags.

On completion of  trade training, a telegraphist had  to be able to read morse at 25 words per minute on a typewriter  with an accuracy of 97%. This high pass mark made sense when you realise that if you received just one group of letters in a coded message incorrectly it may have meant that the message couldn’t be decoded or a vital part was missing. Of course, this wasn’t the only things we were taught during our training which lasted for about 15 months, discipline, self pride and respect, fitness and comradeship were equally as important. We went to school most days to further our education, subjects included Maths, English, Electricity and Magnetism, Navigation and many other subjects. One wondered at the time why on earth we needed to learn about Electricity and Magnetsim, it all became clear later on in life when to pass exams for a higher rate a detailed knowledge of Radio Theory was required and we had to learn all about circuit diagrams, resistors, transformers, capacitors etc. The one thing that we AC boys didn’t like was that at the end of our trade training we had to stay on at Ganges for a further period, I believe about 6 weeks, but memory is a bit thin, to continue our general education, I assume, to prepare us for what was to come when we eventually became real sailors and went to sea.

The day duly came when we were off to our respective home divisions, of which there were three, Devonport, Portsmouth and Chatham.  One assumed that your home division would be the one nearest to your own home, strange that  a lot of Scottish lads were assigned Devonport when Chatham was considerably closer,  but then, one could never quite understand the workings of the minds of those responsible for moving us around the country, none more so than when I actually left HMS Ganges. I was first  despatched South to Devonport, because that was my home division and then within a couple of days, after having had my kit inspected for the umpteenth time, sent all the way North to Rosyth in Scotland to join my first real ship, HMS Rapid, an “R” class destroyer.

Destroyers were the glamour ships which most young sailors wanted to be on. They were fast, sleek and very uncomfortable.  But, I was unprepared for what was to greet me in Rosyth. HMS Rapid was high and dry in a floating dock, undergoing maintenance and the ships company were actually living? existing more like, in the floating dock. Each side of the dock was made up of sections of steel compartments, which were flooded when it was required to submerge the dock to take ships on or off. There was no heating of course and as a result these compartments were constantly dripping wet, they were fitted out with hooks and rails on which to sling ones hammock. Food was cooked in a galley nearby and then brought into the dock for consumption. Showers and washing facilities were also ashore, including toilets, so if you wanted to go during the night then the raw Scottish air was likely to tickle your fancy a bit.  This reminds me of my introduction to the shore sides toilets. The ratings toilets consisted of about 8 cubicles, but none of your actual individual flushing jobs, basically the toilet itself consisted of a very long trough containing a certain depth of water, stretching from the first toilet to the last, situated over this trough were the seats, every now and then there would be the sound of water gurgling and the trough would be flushed automatically from one end which meant that if you were at the other end then every thing that had been “passed” prior to your cubicle would go under you. It also meant that some of the “old salts” could have a laugh at us boys expense. What they would do is when one of us “nozzers” as youngsters just out of training were called, used a toilet which was down stream! from the beginning, they would get a sheet of newspaper, screw it up and then set fire to it, when the toilets flushed this flaming mass floated beneath the poor wretch who was unfortunate to be caught with his trousers down, a painful experience and one that ensured that in future you looked for an empty cubicle nearer the flushing end.

The time came when we eventually started trials in the Firth of Forth to ascertain everything worked. The reason the ship had been in dry dock was to enable modifications to be done to the propellers to try and make them less noisy to listening submarines. We then had to go around to the West coast of Scotland and enter Lock Foyle where we spent a week or so going up and down whilst underwater monitoring devices checked on the noise being emitted. The trip from Rosyth to Lock Foyle was the most awful of my 24 year naval career. Bearing in mind it was also my first, we encountered storm force winds of such frightening ferocity that I and another “nozzer” spent the whole trip, which was about two days, in the “spud” locker, a compartment on the upper deck where fresh vegetables were stowed, it gave us plenty of fresh air but also shelter from the wind and rain. We also learnt that if you are going to be sea sick then ensure you do it to leeward (wind behind you).

With the trials completed HMS Rapid returned to Rosyth and then took up duties as an aircraft carrier attendant destroyer. This involved daily trips to the Bay of Lossiemouth where we would meet up with an aircraft carrier and take up station on it’s starboard quarter (right hand side to the rear!) our job being to keep station with the carrier whilst it was flying aircraft on and off and if any “ditched” then the ships sea boat, already manned and hanging just a few feet above the sea, would be launched to pick up the air crew. You will gather that this was in the days long before helicopters (and no, I didn’t serve with Nelson). I remember one amazing rescue when an aircraft on landing went right over the bows of the carrier and into the water with the ship passing right over it. Unbelievably the pilot popped up behind the carrier and was rescued by our sea boat, which, incidentally, was not power driven, but had 8 sturdy matelots manning the oars, there was no time to bring the ship to a stop and the sea boat was released whilst we were still doing something in excess of 30 knots.

One of the thrills of being attendant destroyer would be at the end of the days flying and we would be ordered to proceed “at own speed” to harbour for the night. That is when the skipper “put his foot down” and turned hard to starboard (to the right) and woe betide anybody who was standing aft (the rear) at the time as he would more than likely get rather wet as the ship turned and the sea broke over the lowest part of the deck, but it was thrilling to feel the ships deck vibrating as she got up speed and headed home, that’s what destroyers were all about, speed.

In those days we use to receive a monthly tobacco allowance of either 300 cigarettes or ½ lb of hand rolling tobacco or “tickler” as it was known, most sailors used tickler as it would last a lot longer than the professionally  made ones, which were known as “Blue liners” so called because instead of a recognised brand like John Player  they had a blue line along the side of the cigarette and the packet was stamped with the letters R.N. and  a blue line. It was not known who actually made these cigarettes, but it was commonly thought that in all probability that because they were not of the best tasting they were the sweepings off the floor of one of the big manufacturers! They were also nicely priced at two shillings & six pence (12 ½ p new money) per 300 or ½ LB of tobacco. Breakfast was a cup of sweet thick tea and a tickler!

Ah yes, those were the days..

David Hanson

Jufair