This modest story of my naval career from 1943 to 1952, written primarily for my children and grandchildren, is dedicated to my mother Muriel and father Henry who, while understandably anxious, signed a permission form for me to fly in Wellington bombers when I was sixteen; allowed my volunteering at seventeen for the Royal Navy during wartime; and finally encouraged my move with my family to Canada in 1957, from where I write this in 2002. Thanks Mum, thanks Dad. You let me live my life to its fullest. While my thanks go to Gordon Liley and Molly for their interest and proofing, any mistakes are mine alone.

Free from physical malformation

By no stretch of the imagination can I be called a war veteran but I can claim some experience with the horrors of World War II. It began in November of 1940 when German bombers plastered Coventry for twelve hours by the light of what was called a Harvesters Moon. Anti-aircraft guns had little effect and the Spitfires failed to dent the hundreds of Dornier bombers that dropped their deadly loads with impunity. My house and school were bombed as was Coventry Cathedral where my father and I were to be confirmed into the Anglican Church. At the age of thirteen I was evacuated with my whole school to Lincoln. The following year my family moved to Earl Shilton in Leicestershire and the closest I came to being bombed again was when a damaged German Dornier in panic dropped a 2,000 pounder in a field nearby. Apart from killing a pig, it did no other damage but my brother and I, cocky little city types in school caps, stood on the edge of the crater for the photographer. At the age of sixteen I was ready for service in the Royal Navy and on August 23rd.1944, when I was 17¼ years old I signed for an engagement "Until the end of the present emergency" and I was found to be "of perfectly sound and healthy constitution, free from all physical malformation, active and intelligent and fit in all respects for His Majesty's Service". I drank to that. On that date I was assigned to HMS Royal Arthur as an Ordinary Seaman, under the Y Scheme but did not go there until reaching the age of 17½ in November. To qualify for the Y Scheme I joined the Hinckley Grammar School Air Cadet Corps. While learning how to identify the silhouettes of German Stukas and Heinkels and the Dorniers that had bombed Coventry, I took several flights in Lancaster and Wellington bombers much to my father's distress while he reluctantly signed my permission form. The RAF parachute packer's comment, "Bring it back if it doesn't work." made me think he may have been right when I put my foot though the aircraft's canvas skin. On November 13th 1944 the train pulled out of Leicester station and I waved to my parents as they disappeared into the steam and with the typical self-centredness of a seventeen year old called out, "You don't know what this means to me". The war was still on and with sons of my own I now know what it meant to them. In peacetime, HMS Royal Arthur in Skegness, Lincolnshire was a Butlin's Holiday Camp and later to be converted into a "concrete dreadnought".

Fornicating buckets

Few modifications were made to accommodate the new sailors and we spent our winter nights with one blanket on a steel bunk bed in wooden, uninsulated chalets close to the edge of the North Sea. During one bitterly cold December night a man died of hypothermia. An idyllic, pre-war publicity picture shows how close our cabins were to the sea. On the second day we were called to the mess hall where an officer told us that there had not been the expected number of naval officers killed on D Day and as Y Scheme entry officer candidates we would not be needed. We were given two alternatives, either go home and await call up or remain as ordinary seamen. To a man (boy) we all voted to stay. During a second call to the mess hall the ship's chaplain placed two buckets together in the middle of the stage and then walked off saying, "When these two begin to fornicate, let me know". I learned later that he was making a vain attempt to prevent us from absorbing the naval custom of sprinkling the "f" word throughout our conversations, frequently between syllables. It was a habit that later as a teacher I had to fight against.

"About turn, Quick march"

From the Royal Arthur I went to HMS Glendower, another concrete dreadnought in Pythwelli, North Wales and the following day we were kitted out and put on the dark blue, bellbottomed, drop-down-flap-fly serge that we would spend the next three years bleaching and tailoring to make it look as if we were old salts. It was here that we received training as seaman, part of which was learning to pull (row) a heavy naval cutter on Cardigan Bay. In the cold January of 1945 our hands froze round the heavy oars but I suppose it helped to make us sailors although we were shunned by the local girls who taunted us with, "Why don't you go and get some real sailors?". But I did fall in love with the girl who rode an elephant in the local circus, until her father warned me off. Late one cold night I was given a white armband with the letters NP on it and I joined the shore patrol. We marched slowly in single file along the wet gutters. Last in the line was a grizzled, bemedalled Chief Petty Officer. He was close to demobilization after four and a half years of war service in the North Atlantic on destroyers and he kept a practiced weather-eye on his convoy of young, fresh-faced recruits who swayed from side to side in a vain attempt to imitate the seasoned sailor's roll. Suddenly, towards us out of the gloom dashed a disheveled matelot screaming: "Chief! Chief! All hell has broken loose in the town. They are beating up our shipmates." Blood ran down his face and his cap tally was smeared with mud. He staggered and almost fell. The patrol stopped, turned and looked at the Chief. They all knew of Nelson, Trafalgar and "England expects that every man will do his duty". They knew that Drake finished his game of bowls before wiping the Spanish Armada off the map and they had heard Churchill say, "Sink the Bismark. We shall fight on the seas and oceans. We shall fight in the streets. We shall never surrender." We waited. The Chief looked towards the sounds of strife. He lifted his cap, paused, then carefully replaced it and muttered: "About turn. Quick march." That was my first lesson in self-preservation in a heartless, bureaucratic, rule-bound navy. I was learning to be a real sailor, even if I did not look like one.

After three months of learning the seaman's ropes and language I went home on leave before going to HMS Valkyrie in Douglas on the Isle of Man. In the meantime my brother Trevor had joined the Sea Cadets and we were able to pose together in the same uniform. By this time I had bleached my collar. Ironically, as I had joined the Air Cadets and ended up in the navy, Trevor eventually became a captain the Royal Signals. HMS Valkyrie was housed in part of a row of old Victorian holiday homes that had been commandeered by the government. Next to us was a prisoner-of-war camp. During the day I went to Douglas Head and trained as a radar operator to be deployed as part of the navigating system on board a ship. On April 21st. I was went south to HMS Collingwood near Portsmouth where I received further radar and seamanship training. The trains were still crowded with servicemen and I learned the art of sleeping on the luggage rack. Most of the journey was by night and I had a bleary recollection of halts at dimly-lit platforms where Salvation Army volunteers served us tea and buns. While in Portsmouth on the 8th of May, 1945 it was Victory in Europe, VE Day, and the war with Germany ended. I was kissed by many girls who mistook me for a war vet. I didn't disabuse them and now spent most of my spare time on the beach at Southsea diving off the pier with my new shipmates while waiting for a drafting. One of my friends I remember particularly well, James (Flik) Affleck. He stayed with me until the end of 1946. He came from Scotland and was raised by his father who was a Highland sheep farmer. Flik spoke slowly with a broad, highland brogue and was a good friend. While in mess 321, on May 13th, 1945, my eighteenth birthday, I received a birthday card from my brother Trevor.

The beautiful Battles

From Collingwood, as fully fledged Ordinary Seaman and Radar Plotters Flik and I were assigned to HMS Armada, a new Battle Class destroyer being commissioned at the Hawthorn Leslie shipyards on the Clyde at Greenock. She was 379 feet long, 40¼ feet wide at the beam and displaced 2319 tons of water; her top speed was 31 knots. The Beautiful Battles were based on a suggestion from the Prime Minister, Winston Churchill. The first orders were placed in mid 1942, for sixteen ships, and in 1943 a further 21 were ordered. They were intended to be stable as they were among the first destroyers to be fitted with stabilizers; there was very little vibration and they rode the sea well. The original design had been built around the standard accommodation calculation of 21" hanging space per man for hammocks, and 24" seating space. It was based on a complement of 250 - 288, "at a squeeze", in peacetime and 338 wartime but the average peacetime complement was around 280 - 290. This led to some over-crowding on the mess decks, particularly when additional equipment was fitted in later years. The situation was not helped by the fact that there was no stowage space for foul weather gear and the mess decks were cluttered with pipes, pumps and other machinery. From personal experience, these problems were never solved. Those of us in the forward mess deck, immediately under the capstan, remember the capstan gear protruding down from the deckhead and the constant dripping of water and lubricant, and the mess becoming fogbound whenever steam was directed to the capstan. Just writing about it brings back the smell and taste and I remember a mad scramble up the ladder to escape the hot steam. There were no laundry or drying facilities and two things one acquired on joining the Armada were a dhoby (washing) bucket and a sink plug. Lashing, slinging, mounting and sleeping in a hammock is a skill which takes some time to acquire; the Admiralty Manual of Seamanship devoted nearly two pages to the subject plus how to clean a hammock. In Nelson's day it was a matter of life and death as a well -lashed hammock served as a protection against cannon fire. Bathroom facilities were poor with 10-12 men for each washbasin and one shower among 60 men. There was also a major design fault in the location of mess decks. One commanding officer pointed out that a torpedo hit between 48 and 58 frames would result in the loss of "all Chief Petty Officers, Stoker Petty officers, and Engine room Artificers off watch". In some ships, Petty Officers had their quarters forward but their messes aft and the only way to reach the after mess decks was along the upper deck or, particularly in bad weather, the catwalk connecting the tops of the deck-houses. Since in rough seas the upper deck became dangerous so even with lifelines rigged this was far from satisfactory. HMS Armada was intended for use in the tropics but she lacked adequate climate control or water coolers. Improvements were eventually made, but she was always uncomfortable in hot climates. There was no air conditioning. The ships' portholes (scuttles) were supplied with "wind scoops". These gave some additional air circulation when the ship was in motion but often captured a cascade of seawater in rough weather. In harbour the wind scoop had little effect. During the hot weather we normally wore no shirts and had sweat towels around our necks. Only one Battle Class Destroyer, the BARFLEUR, reached the Pacific before V.J. Day. She joined Task Force 57 (the British Pacific Fleet) and saw some action. On V.J. day others were already en-route in the Mediterranean. ARMADA, TRAFALGAR, and CAMPERDOWN continued sailing to the Far East to join up with BARFLEUR to form the 19th Destroyer flotilla, and were shortly joined by HOGUE and LAGOS. HMS SOLEBAY and FINISTERRE returned to the Home Fleet. The Armada was engaged in the Suez campaign of 1956, but she came too late to be really tested in war at a time when the needs of the fleet were changing. She was under-gunned at a time when guns were the main armament of surface ships and they were unsuited to anti-submarine work. (Below: I am in the bow) They were, however, considered by many to be the last of the Royal Navy destroyers with classic warship lines. To me and others, they were indeed the Beautiful Battles. My time with the Armada was in the Far East as part of the 19th Destroyer flotilla. Her story after I left her was as follows: In 1947 she returned to the UK and was placed in reserve. In 1949 she joined the Mediterranean, 3rd Destroyer flotilla. She was the 1956 Home fleet Captain (D) 3rd Destroyer flotilla and then broken up in 1965; but all this was ahead as the Armada with Flik and me aboard steamed from Gourock to the Scapa Flow naval base in the Orkneys where we fuelled and prepared the ship for sea. Of my time there two things stand out. First, I learned the origin of the navy slang "rabbits" for smuggled goods. It appears that the sailors living in "civvy" quarters smuggled rum out of the base by catching one of the plentiful rabbits around, cutting its head off then placing it on the neck of the bottle so that when asked if he was taking anything out he replied, "Only rabbits". Secondly, Flik and I and two other friends took a whaler away to do some sailing. All amateurs, we soon drifted from the Armada. After a while we saw flags waving; heard horns and noticed scenes of agitation on the deck. It was not until the ship started to steam towards us that we realized the flags read, "Return to ship".

"Steak eggs and chips Jack?" Later in June we went south down the west coast of England, across the Bay of Biscay, along the coast of Portugal to anchor in Gibraltar harbour. By the Treaty of Utrecht 1704 the Fortress was yielded by Spain to the Crown of Great Britain "for ever". During the Second World War, Gibraltar was a key point in British anti-submarine campaigns. Patrols kept the Strait clear of enemy shipping and the Bay became an important assembly point for convoys. The new dockyard worked flat out repairing British and Allied warships. The bulk of Gibraltar's civilian population had been evacuated for security reasons which may account for the fact that apart from the beer all I can remember are the apes. Tradition has it that should they leave, Britain's possession will end which accounts for the fact that they are protected and over-fed. But the naval base remained "as safe as the Rock". Our course from Gibraltar to Malta led us along the coast of Libya and it was there that we tested our 4.5 inch guns by blasting away at the desert. Just after this display of fire-power which impressed noone except our gunnery officer who was given another chance to show off when we sighted an abandoned, floating dock. Using the excuse that it was a danger to shipping our Bofors (probably made by my Father in Coventry) let go. It took one hour to sink it. After this rather ineffectual display the Armada set course for Malta and the Suez Canal where later her accuracy had been improved in the war against Egypt. We dropped anchor in Valetta. The best description of Valleta as I remember it comes from "Witness to a passing age" by Ralph Smith: Malta in those days was an incredible sight. Grand Harbour itself was filled to bursting with warships and merchant ships of all kinds, for whose crews the only practicable route to shore lay in a dhaisa, or high-prowed little boat seating four to ten people and propelled by a single oar over its stern, with a twisting motion. There were dozens of them. Arriving at the quayside at Valletta, one was faced with a long walk up to the town itself, which lies on a hill overlooking the harbour, or queueing for an ancient and rather precarious lift (see Barracca lift ticket on the next page). Valletta possessed a stately main thoroughfare called King Street at the head of which lay the ruins of the once beautiful Opera House and along whose length were many shops, badly damaged and with hardly anything to sell but still conveying a sense of ordered and civilised life. I found later there was a notable distinction between towns which had suffered, however badly, but not changed hands and those which had been occupied and fought over. Parallel with this elegant concourse however, was another, totally different, a narrow lane running in steps down to the harbour and officially named Strada Strata or Straight Street, but known to generations of sailors as "The Gut". It contained innumerable bars and in was filled every night with a seething mass of sailors, marines and soldiers of all nationalities, laughing, drinking and taunting each other, so that it was difficult to force one's way in any direction still less to find a space in a bar. Brawls were common and both British and American naval patrols constantly thrust their way through the crowds to break up minor scuffles and cart offenders away. Ladies of dubious repute, in fact no repute at all, plied their trade from whatever slight security they could find behind bars and tables or from upstairs windows. One bar was run by a homosexual called "Sugar" (the euphemism "gay" was unheard of then) who provided a constant barrage of remarks, suggestions and insults to which his customers made loud and lewd replies; his bar was always popular." I also remember that the bar touts called out, "Steak, eggs and chips Jack. You can have my sister while you eat". I enjoyed the food. My other souvenirs of Gibraltar, stamps and Malta money, are to be found on a page of my autograph book. While we were in Malta, America dropped the atomic bomb and on August the 15th.1945 the Japanese surrendered. The Gut was never so frenzied and Flik and I were convinced that the Japanese had heard we were coming. Our departure from Grand Harbour was not memorable but we were soon on our way to Port Said and the long, slow run through the Suez canal. Half way, we dropped anchor in the Bitter Lakes. Most of the ship's company took the opportunity to swim and wave at the passenger boats that were coming in the opposite direction loaded with homecoming troops and their families from the now free Singapore. Out into the Red Sea we were joined by our sister ship HMS Trafalgar and we proceeded to test engines at full speed. On a shimmering sea it soon developed into a race with each ship testing the other until we reached barren Aden, a fueling station at the southern end of the Red Sea and 1,340 miles from Suez. By mid-September we had arrived at Colombo in Ceylon, now Sri Lanka. The purpose of the Pacific Fleet was "to show the flag" which we did with alacrity by going ashore to the Royal Naval Canteen to buy a beer. Rum was issued on board but only under strictly controlled rules. Ratings under the age of twenty were classified as UA and could not draw a tot. Over this age you were either G for grog and could drink or TEMP, temperance and you received the huge sum of threepence a day in lieu. Grog is a mixture of 1 part rum, 2 parts water and issued as a daily ration to all ratings below Petty Officer. I was UA until May 1947 when I drew my first tot. Rum was used in card games where you could bet sippers (a light touch), gulpers (means what it says) or the whole tot. Custom and honour ruled that a tot winner always gave back a gulper. The adding of water meant that the tot would not keep, so that big winners often became incapable and they were tossed into a chain locker to sober up. Before leaving for Singapore we called in at Trincomalee on the east coast of Ceylon (Sri Lanke) where I saw my first snake charmer. Our course south-east to Singapore took us through the narrow Strait of Malaca which was rumoured to be still heavily mined. Most of us slept up on deck that night. By this time I was performing the duties of bosun's mate and had become quite proficient with a quaint little whistle called a pipe. The pitch could be change when the cupped hand was opened or closed. The most popular call was "Up spirits". Singapore had been occupied by the Japanese and was newly liberated which soon became obvious by the sight of working parties of Japanese prisoners in the town and on the docks. They were guarded by Australians who at first sight seemed very harsh with them often kneeing them in the face when they bowed; later we were to learn why. For obvious geographical reasons the Australians had played a large part in the Pacific war until the Japanese defeated the allied forces. Many Aussies were held in the infamous Changi jail in Singapore while others were to join commonwealth troops working on the Burma railroad. Later, in Borneo, I was to see more evidence of Japanese brutality. Japan formally surrendered to the Allies on August 15, 1945 and the Japanese military quietly retreated to an internment camp they had prepared for themselves. On September 5, Commonwealth troops arrived aboard British warships, cheered by wildly enthusiastic Singaporeans. The Amada arrived in September shortly after this event and I was to visit Singapore again in HMS Euryalus from where some of these pictures were taken. Shore visits were limited and while as an ordinary seaman I was excluded from the legendary Raffles Hotel (where was the Y Scheme when I needed it?) I did manage to buy a beer at the Navy, Army and Air Force Institute store, the NAAFI. We used Malayan money dated July 1st. 1941 before the Japanese invaded. The Japanese had replaced these notes with occupation money which they printed for each country they captured and it was now worthless. Leaving behind a trail of Japanese money our next stop was Hong Kong where the Canadians had just been released from prison and we were able to strip our canteen to send cigarettes and candy to them. However, the government money in Hong Kong, although paper and in small denominations, was at least usable. On the voyage from Singapore we were treated by the medical officer to the most graphic and colourful films, plus a lecture on the perils of unprotected sex with the ladies of the night who were said to be even more persistent and numerous than those in the Gut. The groans, protestations and vows of a lifetime of celibacy were loud and convincing. The China Fleet club, which sold vast quantities of beer to sailors, was also the scene of nightly, free-lance suggestive shows by inebriated sailors one of whom specialized in the seven erotic stages of man from atop a table. To the left of The Fleet Club was Wanchai, the world of Susie Wong; to the right was downtown Hong Kong. As soon as the liberty boat had tied up in front of the club, almost to a man, the crew turned left. Flik and I hired a rickshaw and were reprimanded for loss of dignity when we took over the pulling of the rickshaw with the owner on board as we headed downtown. The film had worked for us. We were temporary impotent. Hong Kong was beginning to recover from the occupation and the markets were abuzz with activity. The wonderful sandalwood box was carved by Mr.Tat Cheong while I waited. The harbour was alive with sampans and the ferries to Kowloon were crowded with commuters and shoppers often carrying live chickens bought after visiting the Queen's Theatre. On November 13th.1945, having committed no crimes, I was upgraded to Able Seaman. Little changed except that I posed with more pride at the emergency wheel of the Armada while alongside our supply ship HMS Tyne. We were beginning to feel at home in Hong Kong so much, so that my oppos (opposite numbers or friends) Blob Campbell, Flik and I went on a drinking spree that ended in Blob falling drunk into a ditch mumbling something about white socks. Flik and I groggily decided that we could not help so we left him and spent the night (voluntarily) in a police cell. Shortly after this episode we were warned of an approaching typhoon (hurricane in the western hemisphere) and the Captain decided to ride it out at sea. Confined in the harbour we were liable to end up on Hong Kong's main street. As we steamed west purportedly to escape the worst, we discovered that we were heading into the eye of the storm. My radar showed nothing but "snow" so I left the office and sought a place where I could survive. My first hideout was in the well of the 4.5 guns but I was discouraged after a shell fell from its mount close to my head. I eventually found sanctuary on the lower deck lying in water full of the contents of my shipmates stomachs. I remained in one place by lying on the deck with my arms around a stanchion (pole) while I clasped hands behind my knees. I rotated round the stanchion but stayed in one place. The ship and I survived but not without some damage, particularly on the upper deck where the Captain's jeep was squashed under the torpedo tubes. Our Captain, Lieutenant Commander Fell, was very fond of pushing our supposedly stable ship to its limits. By this time I was spending some time at the wheel and we never changed direction gently. "Hardover Fell" as we called him, invariably gave the command "Hard a'port" or "Hard a'starboard" which was great fun on the bridge or in the wheelhouse but it caused absolute havoc below decks. The wind scoops became water scoops and all our belongs and anything loose clattered to the lowest point in a sodden heap. The command "Meet her" swung the ship in the opposite direction. On calmer nights the motion of the ship, the warmth, the muffled thump of the engines and the tick, tick, tick of the compass put me to sleep as I leaned back against the bulkhead. I would wake with a start to find we were 10° off course, a potentially dangerous situation closer to land and likely to cause the navigator problems. I remedied the situation by gently easing the ship back on course a degree at a time so as not to bring the problem to the attention of the duty officer on the bridge above. But I had a new appreciation of the term, "asleep at the wheel". The same thing would happen in the hot radar cabin but without disastrous consequences. Ironically, I was sometimes called to the bridge at night to locate a small, fleeting light that was below the radar. It appeared that I had the best night vision on board.

I had a run-in with Hardover Fell later but never saw him with his hat off. The Sick Berth Attendant wrote that he had treated him with gentian violet for alopecia which left him with a purple head. Couldn't happen to a nicer fellow. Dressed in civvies Flik, Blob Campbell and I were ready for some leave. As luck would have it the run-down hotel on Repulse Bay previously occupied by the Japanese was being used by the British forces. The now polluted bay was then crystal clear and we enjoyed it every day. It was here that I experienced an amazing coincidence. While swimming underwater, I surfaced to come face to face with someone who had been at grammar school with me some six years earlier. He was on another ship. I t was in Hong Kong that I realized while Blob who was Scottish and had a degree, Flik and I could claim a reasonable family background there were some on board who were less than well brought up. One stoker hailed from Glasgow where he had belonged to a street gang. He showed me how he inserted razor blades into the rim of his cap to use as a slashing device should the need arise. Fights ashore were common so I suspect he often found occasion to use his "heed".

From the bullring to bouy

In Hong Kong harbour ships were moored fore and aft to buoys that kept them parallel to the shore and in line with the run of the tide. I was given the job of painting the forward mooring cable from the bullring in the bow down to the buoy. To accomplish this I looped a bosun's chair over the link closest to the bow, tied a pot of paint and a brush to a lanyard tied to the chair, then climbed over. After painting three links above me, I hung on and jogged the chair, paint can and brush down three links and repeated the process. I should point out that the cable was kept taut by the running tide. Halfway down the tide turned and the ship moved ever so slowly and gently towards the buoy while the chair, paint brush and I were slowly lowered into the none too salubrious waters of Hong Kong harbour. My shouts went unheeded and I was forced to swim round to the gangway. Soaking wet and minus all the painting accoutrements I climbed back on board and was promptly reprimanded for swimming without permission and losing admiralty property. The fact that my life had been in danger was not considered.

We left Hong Kong on the 19th. of November 1945 for a 5 day, 3,000 mile run south to Darwin in Australia for refueling before showing the flag in Sydney. The conditions were idyllic and as we sailed south-east past Bataan we thought of the Americans who three years ago had died in bloody battles or were captured and subjected to inhuman treatment. Turning south along the east coast of the Philippines towards the Mollucas flying fish added to our diet as they landed on the quarterdeck and porpoises kept pace with us. Blob Campbell put his laundry (dhobeying) into a bag and trailed it in our wake until the line broke and the fish got a close look at his underwear as it streamed out behind us. Our garbage and kitchen waste, or "gash" in navy terms, was poured down a steel chute hung over the side. Careless mess cleaners would often toss our eating irons over with the slop while singing this this cheerful little ditty; "Tinkle, tinkle little spoon; knife and fork will follow soon". At 130° east of Greenwich we crossed the equator just NW of New Guinea. This was a time for the usual high jinks as King Neptune came on board accompanied by big bosomed, hairy-legged attendants. All first timers were dunked in a tank and shaved with a wooden razor. One seaman who by regulations had applied to the Captain to grow a full beard had half his face shaved with a real razor. Also by regulations he appeared before the Captain for permission to shave off the rest. It was denied and he went ashore in Darwin half bare-faced. Great fun for all. Our Crossing the Line certificate was drawn and designed by GG. He earned pocket money or rum tots by sketching his shipmates and he did one of me but I cannot remember his name.

Black Jewfish, Saddletail Snapper

The journey south to Darwin was uneventful until we came alongside the less than adequate wooden dock for a ship of our size. Hardover Fell was at his best and we tilted it over but not enough to destroy it. Darwin, named after Charles Darwin's visit in HMS Beagle in 1839, is the northernmost town in Australia and was considered as a possible invasion point by the Japanese but nothing materialized although they did bomb it using carrier based planes. The Australians built large underground steel fuel tanks there which were use by the allied navies. The one main street had little to offer sailors on leave so we invented our own illegal entertainment. At night we hung a light from the dock which attracted a glorious bevy of multi-coloured tropical fish which we were able to spear. Golden Snapper, Black Jewfish, Saddletail Snapper, Red-finned and Red Emperor, Estuarine Rock Cod, Coral Trout, Moonfish, Mangrove Jack and Bream ended up on our menu. Our food was prepared in our mess then taken to the galley to be cooked. The favourite? Tinned tomatoes, red lead to us. As you can see from the photograph taken on the old dock, I had bought a tailor-made tiddly suit and doctored my uniform to look more like an "old salt". A quality, light jacket was skin tight and required the help of an oppo to pull it off over your head. Much more of the white tunic is exposed; the collar, suppose to bring luck if touched, is now bleached to a light blue; the white cord lanyard discreetly exposed and the black silk ironed to perfection; the cap with the illegal bow is tilted back as far as gravity would allow. Let me expand on the bell-bottom pants where you can see the "seven seas". They were folded and steam pressed with seven creases in each leg. If a top coat were worn, it needed the help of a volunteer young lady to put her arms around you to hold down the collar. Not sure why I was wearing winter gear in hot summer Darwin but perhaps I had found someone to impress. The dock in the year 2002 has been much modernized to accommodate cruise ships. While touring round Australia my son Digby and his wife Elizabeth visited Darwin thirty six years later and alas, reported that no one remembered me.

With our fuel and water tanks topped up we threaded our way through Van Dieman Gulf over the top of Cape York Peninsular to turn south to Sydney. The Great Barrier Reef stretches for about seven hundred miles running almost parallel to the coast and beautiful as it is, it's threat to mariners is well documented by Captain James Cook and history. We dropped anchor halfway down off Cairns which we were to visit later and spent a day swimming, snorkeling and picnicking on a sand bank used as a landing place for planes bringing tourists. The coral, today endangered by too many tourists, was a brilliant display of colours and tropical fish and the never ending tropical sun did its work on my skin to result in cancers in my seventies, but at eighteen I was indestructible. Leaving the Barrier Reef behind our next destination was Sydney, the first western city since leaving Greenock in Scotland over a year before. We entered spectacular Sydney harbour with its world-renowned bridge as a backdrop and I could not help but remember that my namesake had entered Botany Bay in 1770 to take possession of this land in the name of England. As a Londoner, I felt at home with the Aussie accent, if not the slang, but I soon caught on to the fact that I was a pommie, from "pomegranate", or "Jimmy Grant", rhyming slang for immigrant, particularly British. Our berth was in Woolloomooloo, within sight of the bridge and close to the centre of Sydney which we soon took advantage of by going ashore. As a young sailor at sea for a long time, I fantasized about what I would do when I had Sydney at my feet. The list was long; the company of a girl, a cold beer, a large steak, a hot bath and so on. I ran down the gangplank ready for the temptations of a big city. No, not the girls, the beer, the steak or the bath. Within ten minutes I was in a milk bar in King's Cross drinking one tall glass of rich, cold fresh milk after another. Rationing in England and a year of tinned, condensed milk was enough to turn me into a milkoholic. I was reminded of the time when our house was shattered by the German air force during the blitz on Coventry. I found a battered can in the rubble the following morning and I used an old file to open it, then my eight year old brother and I sat among the ruins while the sugary tartness slid down our dusty throats and chins. Like Pavlov's dog, I still salivate at the sight of a bowl of pineapple chunks alongside a glass of milk. Our pleasures were simple. We visited an establishment close by Hyde Park which was known as the British Centre and was a rendezvous for servicemen as they provided meals and, if needed, a bed for the night. Dancing was also an attraction here although the young volunteers must have suffered many squashed toes. Innocent fun was also to be found under the end of the Sydney Harbour Bridge at Luna Park, a knock-off of Coney Island in New York. Another attraction was those wonderful Australian beaches Bondi and Manly, now under a hot summer sun they could be reached on a ferry from Circular Quay close to Woolloomooloo docks.

We thought we were in heaven but there was more to come. It had been the custom during the war for Sydney families to invite Royal Navy ratings to their homes for a while as their guests and there were still people looking for jolly jacks. By the luck of the draw, just before Christmas four of us were invited to spend a week with Cecil and Violet Williams at Chatsworth, a 9½ square mile sheep property near Crookwell and 150 miles inland over the Blue Mountains. The train from Sydney took us through spectacular scenery to Goulburn where we changed onto a smaller line to Crookwell. The railway was a very winding track, 35 miles long with sharp curves. It was classed as a light line and allowed only slow speeds. Time did not seem to matter and on the long curves we would jump out of the coach, run across the bend and climb back on board as the train went by. I think if we had not reached it in time, they would have stopped until we caught up. At the quaint Crookwell station Mr. and Mrs. William were waiting to take us home.
I had never been so royally entertained. The food and accommodation were luxurious compared with our ship's quarters. And lamb chops, frequently on the menu, were piled up to try to fill the stomachs of four hungry sailors. In another confrontation with sheep we were shown how to shear one. With the sheep on their backs and between our legs we made valiant attempts to take the fleece off in one piece as the Williams' son had shown us, but four bleeding, bleating animals slid down the chute into the yard thankful to be beyond the grasp of those bloody pommies. Much of our time was spent on the Chatsworth tennis courts ere the skills I had learned from my father came back and I performed creditably in a contest with the talented Australians. While playing a none too strenuous game on the fourth day, I passed out. When I came to, I was yellow-skinned and on the way to Crookwell Hospital where I was diagnosed as jaundiced from an unknown cause and ordered to stay in hospital on a fat free diet. My oppos went back to Sydney and on Christmas Day I was the only patient. I received lots of attention including the Salvation Army Band and some local girls who came to wish me a Merry Christmas. Two days later I was declared fit to travel and the doctor gave me a note to take to HMAS Penguin in Sydney. The Williams saw me off and said that I was welcome to return any time. Repeating the train ride I arrived in Sydney in the late afternoon to find that HMS Armada had left and my note to HMAS Penguin was no good because I was in the Royal Navy not the Royal Australian Navy. Late that night I walked through the gates of HMS Golden Hind, a block of wooden barracks on Warwick Farm racetrack. I was told to go to a hut in the far reaches and to report to the Joining Office the next morning. Upon arrival at the unlit hut I found an empty bed with springs, a blanket but no mattress. I slept the sleep of the dead.

By this time I was well used to "working the system" and I applied for and got 10 days sick leave and returned to Chatsworth on my own.

Sick Berth Attendant Ken Williams wrote a book about his life including this chapter about his time on HMS Armada in 1945-46. The whole story can be found HERE Dead babies, pirates and a chopped off finger, drunk in Fiji, peeing over the Great Wall of China, shot at in Saigon, a date with Miss Australia, brothels in Wanchai, Henry V is a "fucking good yarn", Hardover Fell and a an abandoned French Foreign Legion fort, all this while I was an Able Seaman on HMS Armada at the same time as Ken. In some instances my memories differ from Ken's and I have indicated my additions in blue italics As we drove to the riverfront, Shanghai had already started to regain some of its former reputation as an international city. The streets were a bustle of traffic, rickshaws and thousands of allied servicemen wandering around looking for a good time. By now, the Shanghai press had published a number of warnings regarding the multitude of prostitutes that came out of their lairs to share the wealth of, in particular, the well heeled American sailors. We travelled along the Bund for a while and I was able to take in the final vista of this large cosmopolitan city now back in the hands of the Chinese. I wondered what the future would bring but had some doubts that Shanghai would ever regain its pre-war mystique and reputation. Whilst I waited on the jetty a constant stream of launches plied to and from the dozens of warships anchored in the river, each one identifiable by an illuminated sign on top of the cabin carrying the name of the ship it came from. Soon a launch carrying the name ARMADA pulled in to the jetty and the coxswain seeing me yelled out, "Are you Leading Sick Berth Attendant Williams from the POW team?" I nodded my head in confirmation and the little boat edged its way to the steps when I was invited to jump aboard. Soon I was settled with my luggage and the little launch took off for the middle of the river. The tiny launch was dwarfed by the ships we passed, USS NASHVILLE and HMS BELFAST the latter, now a permanent war memorial on the banks of the Thames in London. After a lot of manoeuvring between the clutter of smaller ships we pulled up alongside the gangway of ARMADA. I struggled up with my baggage, saluted the officer of the watch and told him who I was. "I think if you go down to the sickbay aft," the officer said "you'll probably find our LSBA in there and he'll look after you." The sleekness and modern lines of ARMADA the very latest class of destroyer immediately impressed me. I later discovered that ARMADA was part of a flotilla of five ships that included TRAFALGAR, BARFLEUR, HOGUE and CAMPERDOWN all named after great naval battles of the past and known as "Battle Class Destroyers". I found the sick bay, knocked on the sliding door that was opened by the resident LSBA who invited me in to the very compact but well equipped sickbay. Later that night I could hear the clatter as ARMADA'S anchor was hauled in and we slowly started our journey down the river towards the open sea. As Jack and I leaned on the rail watching our progress, I thought I caught a glimpse of a baby's body floating past. I grabbed his arm saying, "Jesus, that was a kid's body that just floated past wasn't it?" He smiled sadly and said, "Bungy, in the few days that we've been anchored in the river, I must have seen half a dozen sights such as this, and life is very cheap in China. It had been my job to use a pole to free some of these bodies from the cable. I was terribly shaken by this awful sight and turned away not to watch in case I was presented by further examples of how cheaply life was valued in China. The next morning I came on deck to smell the fresh clean air after the oriental scents of Shanghai. As the ship plowed its way through the swell, I felt relieved that the assignment was over and that I would soon return to a more normal and hopefully, less traumatic life style. I took stock of my new home for the next weeks and did a tour of the ship from end to end, met the MO and the captain, Lieutenant Commander Fell. I was able to do literally whatever I wished provided I didn't impede any one in their duties. We were steaming along at about twenty knots or so in a moderate sea, I was sitting outside the sick bay on a life raft enjoying the air when suddenly, the captain came on the Tannoy and yelled "Full ahead both engines." and a short time later "Full rudder port." The ship responding magnificently and as we heeled over at a very acute angle I was propelled towards the steel wire rail and thought I would go over the side. "Bloody Hell." I gasped and walking at a steep angle, managed to slide the door of the sick bay open where I found Jack on the floor picking up kidney dishes and spilt bottles of medication. He looked up at me with a wry smile saying, "The bastard is fucking mad Bungy, he does this all the time to keep the crew on their toes. We never know when he is going to do this sort of thing next or even call a mock emergency drill, but you'll get used to it. As helmsman at sea I was often given the order "Hard a starboard" or "Hard a port" by the skipper. We knew him as "Hardover" Fell. TRAFALGAR was, I learned, the flotilla leader, with ARMADA being the so called half leader and as such, sported black and white bands painted around the smoke stack to signal this authority to other vessels. I was on deck early one morning and noticed that we were coming up on another destroyer in the distance. Eventually we were close enough for me to make out the French tricolour flag at her yardarm. Soon the Aldis lamps were sending messages back and forth at a rapid rate whilst many of our crew came on deck to watch the exchange. The messages over, the French destroyer turned and gradually disappeared over the horizon, whilst we all stood around speculating on what it was all about. The skipper's voice came over the Tannoy, "Just to let you all know that after receiving advice from the French destroyer that you all saw, we will be making a very rapid transit up the Mekong River into Saigon. We will be picking up a civilian," Everyone exchanged looks as he continued "there will of course, be no shore leave as we will only stay long enough to pick up our passenger and will leave immediately, that's all." and the Tannoy was turned off. I was not, at that time like most people, cognisant of the political upheaval in what was then, French Indo China, or of the long war that had been raging for literally hundreds of years in that country. It was not until the tragic Vietnam War that I gained a better understanding of the region and possibly, a late explanation of our clandestine visit to Saigon. We entered the mouth of the river at high speed. We were moving so quickly that I was a little alarmed and soon our bow wave was washing over some of the cultivated areas close to the banks. People in small boats were buffeted by the wake and before long we could see angry people on the shoreline waving their fists in frustration and anger as our passage caused inundation of their plantations. I was not at the wheel but on deck where I saw the sampans rising up some 30 feet in the bow wave. I was glad when after a while we pulled alongside a wooden wharf and were tied up. Soon throngs of Vietnamese people arrived with the intention of bartering and/or to view this sudden intrusion into their lives. Our cigarettes were the best currency and quickly cartons of cigarettes were being lowered over the side and all manner of trophies hauled back in return. I was, I suppose, lucky in that I was able to exchange my fags for a number of very interesting and possibly historic post cards and photo's of the struggle in that country. After an hour or so, a car pulled up on the wharf and a civilian was brought aboard ARMADA with his baggage and quickly whisked away to the wardroom. Our gangway was rapidly hauled aboard and we slowly backed out from the wharf and turned around towards the river and the open sea. My memory is different. We stayed the night and I was on duty at the gangway at 2am when a drunken French Foreign Legionnaire took a pot shot at me with the bullet striking the bulkhead close by. "ping" I dived below and stayed there. On our way out, we repeated our high-speed dash and once more upset the hundreds of peasants on the riverbanks as we sped past with our bow wave creating untold havoc. However, it was soon over as we came into the wider estuary and thence to the open sea. The civilian was not seen by any of the crew for the rest of our journey back to Sydney that was only delayed by a quick stop in Darwin to refuel, take on fresh water and some provisions. Our stop was very brief and we did not have a chance to explore Darwin. We tied up alongside an Australian destroyer at Garden Island and soon got lots of "G'day mate, how yer going?" as we crossed over their ship to get to the shore. I was told, as a matter of interest that ARMADA would be going into the dry dock for the minor repairs the ship should have had in Hong Kong. It was during this period that I was given leave to spend time on a sheep station the other side of the Blue Mountains. Here I spent Christmas in a hospital with jaundice and later dated Miss Australia. Upon conclusion of my leave I was to report directly to HMS ARMADA at Garden Island where I was to take up the duties of Leading Sick Bay Attendant. I couldn't believe my eyes, here I was after being transported to Sydney as a passenger on the ship and now posted to the permanent crew. I could hardly conceal my joy at this posting that would hopefully get me away from Sydney and to new and exciting ports and perhaps, experiences. I went on deck and asked the officer of the watch when we would be sailing and discovered that it would be first thing in the morning. We would be sailing up the coast to Cairns, Townsville and Mackay then across to Fiji before returning to Australia and Melbourne. Some of the crew remembered me from a few weeks back when I was a passenger with them. Many other familiar faces had gone back to England for release as their number had come up. My group number was 49 and groups forty were now being released so I knew it would not be too long before I was eligible for final discharge. This was the demobilization number to determine when you would be released. My number was 65. The next morning we pulled out from the wharf and headed back up the harbour and out once again into the Pacific. Soon the ship was pitching and rolling gently in the swell as we turned north to whatever lay in store for us on this new assignment. Whilst sitting at my neat little desk in the sick bay going over my journals and stocks of drugs etch, there was a knock on the open door. I looked up to see a seaman who said, "Excuse me, Doc but the skipper wants to see you in his sea cabin right away." I got up, thanked him, and put my cap on and wended my way forward to the bridge and the sea cabin. "Come in.," a voice answered my somewhat timorous knock on the door, "Ah! Williams, please come in and shut the door, nice to see you again," Then surprisingly "have a seat and, er, would you like a drink?." I was a bit taken aback by this generous and highly unusual offer and said, "Well, yes thank you sir, if it's all right." "How about a pink gin then?" he replied and not waiting for my answer, got up to prepare the drinks. "Now Williams, we've got a few things to talk about," I nodded and he continued, "I suppose you realise that we no longer have a medical officer on board. You are aware of that?" I replied, "Yes, it was mentioned to me on the way back from Shanghai, that he was leaving the ship in Sydney." "Yes, well that has happened and I am wondering how you think you will be able to cope on your own. It's a huge responsibility that you are going to be loaded with." "Well, sir," I replied, "we were more or less cut off from everyone during the POW rescue period and I've gained a lot confidence whilst on that mission." "Of course," he replied smiling broadly "you know, that's why we asked for you, your experience should hold you in good stead." "Now," he went on "I have the responsibility for the ship and its crew of nearly 350, and my word is law, you understand that of course?" I nodded vigorously now warming to the situation as he continued "and you have the responsibility for the welfare of the whole of the ship's company. That's quite a responsibility, but I am sure you can handle it." "I will do my best sir" I replied. I was now feeling much more at ease and sank a little deeper into his rather comfortable chair, took another sip of my vile pink gin as he offered me a cigarette, "Thank you sir." I said and waited for him to continue. "I am going to make you responsible only to me, so you will not be subjected to the same rigid discipline and control as the rest of the crew. I am sure you will not abuse this privilege." "Thank you sir," I said as I got up to leave "you have my word that I will do my job to the best of my abilities." "Wait, wait a moment," he ordered, then pointing to his head, that had a number of bald patches here and there said, "have a look at this, Williams, do you think you would be able to do anything for this condition?" I had a long look at the offending patches and was able to safely conclude that he had Alopecia and there was not much that I could honestly do for him. "Well, I don't think there is much that can be done. I could put Gentian Violet on it sir, but it probably won't help much if at all." I volunteered. "I see, Gentian Violet, that's the vivid purplish stuff that I've seen some of the crew getting around with, correct?" "That's the stuff alright sir, very purple it is." "Well, look here Williams, why don't we give it a bit of a go and see what happens, eh?" "That's fine sir," I said "when would you like me to do it then?" He thought for moment and then said, "What say you come up each morning before breakfast, will that do?" "OK sir, I'll start you off in the morning then." "Good stuff." he smiled as he showed me to his cabin door. When I got outside I said to myself, "Well I'll be stuffed, here we go again with yet another one of those funny situations." As I came down the companionway, I bumped into a Lieutenant who angrily asked me what I was doing in this part of the ship. I explained my purpose and he strode away calling out, "You will come and see me before you do anything like that again, do you understand?" "But sir," I started to say, but he had gone and I thought to myself, "Now here's a right nasty bastard if I ever saw one." As it turned out I had just had the first of many to come encounters with the First Lieutenant of the ship who was second in command after the captain. These officers carried the nickname of "Jimmy the One" and were usually bad tempered and frustrated officers who would prefer to be the captain of the ship. "I found him to be quite generous in Shanghai where the whole ship got drunk at at an ill-advised party in a girls's school and he refused to charge anybody as he could have done". Our first port of call, (the rest of our flotilla had gone to Adelaide, Perth and Darwin to show the flag) was Mackay. As we entered the small harbour we were staggered by the hundreds of people on the wharf awaiting our arrival. Banners had been made welcoming the British Pacific Fleet and these were strung across poles on the wharf. I stood on deck looking in utter amazement that we should get such an enthusiastic welcome. We eventually tied up the ship and threw it open to visitors and were inundated by throngs of sightseers. I had to lock the sick bay because of my stock of dangerous drugs but opened my portholes and spoke to visitors that way and explained my function. In evening a dance was arranged in town for the crew as well as a number of barbecues. Other more elegant and formal functions were organised for the ship's complement of officers. Sailors going ashore wanting supplies of condoms that I was responsible for issuing besieged me. I imagine there was a lot of "Jigging in the Rigging " that night. Before our arrival in Hong Kong the then ship's doctor had given the crew a lecture with lurid pictures on the dangers of unprotected sex. That night the liberty boat headed for shore with Wanchai the brothel area on the left and downtown Hong Kong on the right. The whole boatload turned left…except me of course. We stayed until late the next afternoon, then departed like some cruise ship with streamers clogging the wharf and trailing behind us as we steamed out to sea again and on to our next port, Townsville. The arrival in to Townsville was a repeat of our stay in Mackay and we were again inundated with hospitality and visitors climbing all over the ship once more. I was approached by a couple that asked if they could come inside and have a look at just what I had in the sick bay. Our next destination, Cairns was for me the most incredible as once more we went through the same process as before with wild welcomes, dances, barbecues and loads of visitors invading the ship. I really couldn't understand why we were so popular, it was as if these small towns had never seen a warship before and wanted us to stay forever. A young, very pregnant lady arrived from Sydney and demanded to see the father of her child. Hardover Fell married them before we left. Sadly we had now finished our showing the flag tour of north Queensland and moved out in to the Great Barrier Reef with just one more stop before leaving for Fiji. We dropped anchor alongside the then very embryonic "Daydream Island" and startled the few resident Holidaymakers as hordes of Pommy sailors jumped over the side of the ship, swimming and cavorting. Some managed to swim to the shore and chat with the Holidaymakers. I remember the Reef very well. All too soon it was time to leave and ARMADA gave a warning on her siren. The swimmers gradually straggled back and clambered on board relishing their brief swim. I asked the captain one morning whilst "dyeing his hair" if I would be able to use the radio office and its speaker system and turntable to play request programs for the crew. He though it was a great idea so I became the ships "disc jockey" and ran a few quizzes that with fags as the entry fee and prizes, were very popular. Soon after the radio station sessions commenced, the captain asked me if I knew anything about movie projectors. I told him I knew very little but was always willing to learn. "Good," he said, "I'll get the projector and films brought to the sick bay, you can keep it all there and get to know how it works, all right?" "That's fine by me sir." I replied. He then leaned forward and said very dramatically, "I want to know the minute you've got it working as I want to see our film." I found the screen and had a couple of seamen lash it up into position then set up the projector and speaker, did a quick test and waited for my audience to arrive. The officer's stewards brought armchairs down from the wardroom and set them up in what would have been the front stalls. The Hoi Polloi of course, made whatever arrangements they could regard seating. When the crew turned up some of them came over and asked me what the film was going to be. I told them it was Shakespeare's "Henry V". Gawd almighty! bleeding Shakespeare, is that the best you've got?." being a typical comment that I got, to which I replied "Sorry old son, that's ALL we've got but at least it's a war movie." It must have been a funny sight to a casual observer to see this destroyer slowly cutting through the glassy ocean. Whilst on the stern were gathered a motley crew watching a flickering screen punctuated by the sound of Olivier's dulcet tones crying out, "Once more into the breach dear friends." I remember this well. The evening was a wild success, even some of the less educated crew had to admit that it was a "Fucking good yarn." The captain told me that he wanted to see it again a little later on into our voyage. As the ship steamed on we could smell the land and knew we would soon be in Suva and the humidity that it is noted for, but looked forward to a new port and a new experience. We stayed in Suva for about four days and were taken to a native village for a Kava ceremony and a traditional Fijian feast baked in the ground. The Kava tasted and looked like dirty washing up water but the food was succulent and we all enjoyed the suckling pigs. It was at this party that the kava made me drunk and I collapsed on the gangway which set me up for a charge of being drunk and incapable of carrying out my duties. At the charge table next day Captain Fell looked me in the eye and asked; "How old are you?" "Eighteen Sir" he replied "I used to drink at your age and look at me." I looked and laughed. He was not amused. He thumped the table and said, "Ten days number elevens" and I was confined to the ship and lost my pay for eleven days.It was during this time that we saw the aircraft carrier HMS Indomitable that I was later to join. Whilst at the wharf, the skipper asked me to screen "Henry V" once more as he had brought some local dignitaries back to the ship and thought they would appreciate it. The screen and projector were set up again and the captain and his guests took their seats and I started the film. Before long I noticed more and more Fijians congregating on the wharf to watch what they could of the movie. It soon became apparent that we had another bizarre set up with literally hundreds of goggle eyed natives crowded onto the wharf and cheering when the action got a little hectic and the blood flowed. It was now to time to say goodbye to Fiji. We set our course back toward Australia for what was to be the last time for ARMADA and the rest of the flotilla and were soon cutting through the brilliant blue ocean accompanied by an entourage of playful Dolphins and flying fish. Our hurried return to Melbourne meant that we were now detached from the rest of the flotilla and would have to await new orders. The first priority was to restore our funnel to its former state. Working parties were formed to sand blast the debris from the steel and the job of repainting took place with primers, undercoats and finally the grey finishing coat and then our two identification bands. I think the crew was glad to have a little more free shore time and took advantage of the break. Many more tourists came to the wharf to give our ship the once over and to fraternise with our willing crewmembers. It was here that I went riding with a girl called Pat. She gave me a wallet and I can still see her standing on the dock as we pulled out. It was soon to come to an end as we had received our new orders. We departed Melbourne and headed north to join up with the other four destroyers of our flotilla. Our first port of call, we were told was to be Subic Bay in the Philippines. I wondered why we were going back up there. It seems that our flotilla was now to be based in Hong Kong, our sojourn in Australia now at its conclusion. I wondered about my release number but was told that it was still a few more months away and that I was to stay with the ship rather than being sent back to Herne Bay. I was glad of this and looked forward to whatever else was in store. We eventually caught up with the other four destroyers, TRAFALGAR, HOGUE, CAMPERDOWN and FINISTERRE and sailed in various formations, line ahead (in single file) or line abreast (alongside each other). To any passing ships, it must have a fine sight to see the flotilla looking so spic and span, in particular, ARMADA with her nice new funnel paint job. Our arrival in Hong Kong was far more peaceful than my last visit and we berthed alongside without incident or any welcoming committees friendly or hostile. The ship was to have some minor upkeep, a sort of oil change and grease if you like, and to our delight, a number of the crew were given R and R leave and taken to the resort at Repulse bay. It was delightful, as we were civilised guests at the hotel with our own rooms. We were given pleasant and varied food then relaxed cavorting and sun baking in the bay. It was here that I was swimming under water when I saw someone swimming towards me. It turned out to be a fellow who had been in my class at grammar school. Hong Kong was now the flotillas permanent base and Sydney and Australia seemed a long way off and no longer part of the agenda of, at least our group of ships. Somehow, I felt that it would be forgotten that I wanted to return to Australia at the end of my term and would accidentally be sent back to the UK. We returned from our sojourn at Repulse Bay when another group was dispatched for their little holiday away from the hustle and bustle of the ship and the multitude of Chinese workmen that swarmed over her attending to a million and one little jobs. The work now over we departed for Shanghai when I thought I would be able to hopefully find out if there had been any progress in the matter of my stolen goodies, but it was not to be. We were steaming towards Shanghai; the other ships had gone their temporary separate ways. As we approached the river to enter Shanghai our radio operators picked up a distress signal from a cargo passenger ship the SS TAIPOSHAN to the effect that she had grounded on a sand bank about a hundred or more miles north of Shanghai and was under attack by pirates. Nobody believed this incredible story. "Being attacked by pirates, this is 1946 there are no bloody pirates these days." The whole thing was treated by the crew as a big joke. It turned out that it was no joke and after nearly bursting our boilers once again, arrived at the scene to find the ship on a sand bank surrounded by a number of large sea going Chinese Junks that were exchanging rifle fire with the helpless ship. We increased our speed and fired a number of shots from our Bofors (My father made these guns in Coventry 1940 into the water in front of the junks. They quickly retired to a safe distance but held their ground. I discovered later that these junks invariably carried old antique brass cannons and the crew was armed with old carbines and even cutlasses in the true pirate tradition. It is interesting to note that pirates have been active on the China coast from the early seventeenth century, when as many as two or three thousands such buccaneers ranged along the coast of China attacking all and sundry. We launched a couple of our boats and managed to get a rope over to the TAIPOSHAN allowing them to haul a heavy cable from us and make fast to enable us to attempt a tow. When all was ready we slowly increased our speed until we took up the slack in the cable then applied full power in an attempt to drag the stricken ship off the sandbank. The sea was boiling at our stern; the cable starting to stretch to its limits but the ship didn't budge an inch. We got up power again but slewed around helplessly without any effect, then suddenly the cable started to come apart under the strain then finally broke. Everyone ducked as the cable snaked around as it could easily have taken a man's head off had it made contact. Our only casualty was the man tending the winch who had one of his fingers almost completely severed. I remember the TAIPOSHAN incident and was part of the whaler crew who lashed a kedge anchor under us, tied a hawser to the TAIPOSHAN, pulled away about 1/4 of a mile and dropped it. The TAIPOSHAN then winched on the line but it simply dragged the kedge along the sandy bottom. I had always thought that the finger was lost by a boat's crewman who disobeyed the rule "never put your hands on the gunwale" and trapped it under the iron fenders of the tug. My story is that he looked at it and said, "That will get me out of the bloody navy". But as Ken treated him I take his version as correct. I do remember the pirates. Didn't they manage to steal some hawser from us. Whilst the crew dealt with the broken cable, I took the man to my sick bay and had no alternative other than to completely remove the shattered finger, sew up the wound and apply dressings until we could return to Hong Kong. The pirates seeing our cable snap moved in closer again and we once more fired shots into the water and over their heads until they retreated yet again. I went to see the skipper to advise of the casualty. He asked me if the man would be OK for a day or two as a sea going tug was on its way from Hong Kong to assist us in the salvage. The tug would not be able to get to us for at least 48 hours so we had no alternative but to stay and protect the TAIPOSHAN from the pirates. I advised the skipper that the casualty would be OK, and that I had done what I had to do, but would keep him in the sick bay as he was very shocked by the accident, but would be fine until we got back to base. Eventually the sea going tug arrived and between us we managed to pull TAIPOSHAN off the sand bank See my contribution above and she continued her course to Shanghai to be checked out for hull damaged etc. We escorted her into Shanghai and at the same time had our casualty attended to. We then had a short respite. Our band of pirates dispersed and the tug returned to Hong Kong. I was able, whilst ashore, to make a quick visit to TAIPOSHAN and was shown around by one of the junior officers. I was staggered to see that all open decks, such as the boat deck as well as the bridge and various entrances to the ships interior were secured by thick iron bars and gates that made the ship look like a floating prison. The entrance gates were all locked with huge brass padlocks. He explained that it was a fairly common experience for ships such as this to be attacked, the pirates intentions to rob the passengers and crew as well as the ships safe and valuables. Their recent experience he explained could have deteriorated but for the timely arrival of ARMADA and its incredible firepower. The sequel to this story is that at least two years after I had been released form the navy I received a letter from the Admiralty with a cheque for two pounds seven and ten pence. The money being an award for services rendered to SS "TAIPOSHAN" by HMS "ARMADA " during the period 16th-19th July 1946. This was my share of the salvage money that the navy apparently received from Lloyd's of London as payment for the rescue of the vessel. I also received something 1 pound eleven and eleven pence. The ship now refreshed moved out down the river for the return to Hong Kong. s we moved into the China Sea, the skipper sent for me and gave me the news that I was to be released when we arrived in Hong Kong where my replacement was waiting. I would be leaving a couple of days after we arrived in Hong Kong as a passenger on a fleet supply ship, the FORT DUNVEGAN. I left his cabin with very mixed feelings and now often wonder, that if I had not been married whether or not I may have taken up his suggestion of becoming full time navy. My new home was getting up steam for its departure to Sydney and as I looked out of my porthole saw ARMADA steaming past on her way out again to another patrol and possible adventure. It was from here that we went to Borneo, Norfolk Island and Chingwantao where at the northern tip of the China Sea a few sailors were invited by a young nationalist army officer who spoke fluent English, French and Spanish to visit the Great Wall of China at Shanhaikwan. At this time the Nationalists under Chiang Kai-shek were fighting the communists in Manchuria and our guide took us on a wild ride in an American jeep past rail coal cars full of troops on the way to the front. The jeep and the gate through the wall is seen in the picture. We climbed the steep steps to the top where the wall is the width of two buses and while marvelling at this feat of engineering our guide drew our attention to the sound of gunfire in the distance on the Manchurian side. He asked us what we thought of the communists. Without a word, six British sailors in white shorts walked to the eastern parapet and urinated in unison over the side. He was delighted with the gesture and as a reward we were then taken to a nearby village that from 1898 had been occupied by the Russians. The hot, main street was filled with cafes that sold not much else but vodka which was pressed upon us by the very friendly owners. Now, very wobbly, we careened to another anomaly in this land long dominated by western countries interested in its economic possibilities. The French Foreign Legion fort reminiscent of so many Hollywood portrayals complete with the red, white and blue flag of France limp in the humid, still air, seemed deserted as we pulled to a halt in a cloud of dust. But a diminutive Chinese dressed in local fashion except for his legionnaire's hat complete with the flap at the back shuffled into the courtyard after a few minutes and saluted our vodka happy Nationalist officer. After a long conversation in French and Chinese he told us that the legionnaires had left some twenty years ago but only this vestige of their traditions had remained. As caretaker his duties included raising and lowering the flag daily in this ghost fort.Fifty-four years later when I see pictures of tourists shuffling like sheep in hundreds along the Great Wall of China, I wonder if the tricolour still rises at dawn and if our friendly officer survived the great purge after Mao Tse-tung.
Aged 80 I am ready to sell poppies on Remembrance Day. By volunteering at 17 I qualified for the War Medal. Never fired a shot in anger but I suppose I was ready, aye ready	Home