The assault course at Ganges was not what I expected, in fact I was quite disappointed at what I perceived to be its small size. We arrived at the start line of the assault course on a very cold February morning, the wind was whistling off the sea and being an easterly wind it was not kind. We were at first walked around the course by our instructor, he showed and explained each obstacle to us. Once we had completed our guided tour, we were invited to break the ice on the water that we would soon be wading through. This done, we lined up at the start line where each man was handed an old 303 rifle, the rifle had to be carried around the course; just to make things a little more fun! So dressed in just blue overalls (standard issue) and plimsolls (no socks), we set about our task. It was a typical assault course, a high wall, the aforementioned water, a scramble net, a tall construction in the tree canopy and amongst other things lots and lots of mud.
We set off on the short run to the scramble net, jumped into the icy water and ascended the scramble net; the short time in the water wasn't that bad as it was only about thigh deep. At the top of the net we climbed onto some planks which we had to run across, this held some fear for me as I don't do heights, however, I was so pumped up with excitement that I didn't notice the height. At the end of the planks we slung the rifle over our shoulder before descending a rope, at the bottom we had to run up a short but very steep hill before climbing through some suspended tyres. Back down the hill then and crawl through some concrete tunnels where our very kind instructor was setting off flash bangs, out of these and under a scramble net beneath the construction we had earlier been across. Then the water, this time the scramble net we had earlier climbed up became part of the obstacle which meant we had to completely submerge ourselves beneath the icy water. My god it was cold, it was only a few feet in length but it may as well have been an Olympic 50 metre pool it seemed to take that long to get through. Eventually we clambered out the other end, almost over now, just the matter of the 10 foot wall to negotiate. Working with each other we all managed to cross it, some found it a little more difficult than others but we did manage it. After that it was a short "sprint" to the finish line.
Yes it was smaller than I expected, but at this point in time I was quite glad of that. Freezing cold, soaking wet and exhausted we were debriefed, at this point our instructor noticed blood oozing through the mud on my thumb. I had managed to cut it somehow, however, due to the cold I never felt a thing. We were then sent back to our mess where outside we all took it in turn hosing each other down before anyone was allowed in the mess to take a shower and get changed. Later that day our instructor informed us that we were going to be subjected to a kit muster the following day, and that our overalls and plimsolls that were sodden would also be a part of this. Just got to love the Royal Navy and their team building.
Sunday, 28 October 2012
Friday, 28 September 2012
Kit Inspection
As my colleagues or "oppo's" and I continued our training, the half way point was marked with a kit muster. If the muster was passed the new rating was allowed to wear his lanyard around his waist, this gave a certain long service kudos to the individual. The kit muster comprises of laying all one's kit out in a condition which should be immaculate, ready for an inspection by an officer of some sort.
Each item of uniform should be presented in a specific way, folded precisely as instructed, and placed in its own space as per the photograph on the mess notice board. Failure to pass would result in the absolute shame of being back classed, and no one wanted that. I know what most people will be thinking at this point, your kit is only three weeks old, it should be immaculate anyway. To a point you are correct, and some of the kit would not have been used. But let me tell you, the kit you have used will have been put through the wringer in more than one way. For example, the clothing worn to tackle the assault course will at some point have been covered in a very thick layer of mud. I remember the first time we covered it, we took it in turn hosing each other down on return to the mess and stripped completely naked got another hosing. Great lumps of mud dropped to the floor under the hoses pressure, both before and after stripping off.
As with everyone else, I too was feeling a little nervous at the mid point kit muster. Was my kit pressed correctly? Was my kit clean enough? This was the sort of question that was going through everyone's head as we waited for the officer to reach our individual bed space, one by one he poured over the kit of each individual, lifting some to check underneath and writing on his clip board. Finally he arrived at my bed, as all my oppo's before me had done I threw my best salute and invited the officer to inspect my kit. He started to go through it item by item, just like he had to everyone else, then came the words that made me go pale; where are you plimsolls Life at this point seemed to have ground to a halt, surely I was going to get back classed, my immaculate white plimsolls were missing, not there, gone? "I believe they are in the drying room sir" came my hasty reply, "best go and get them then" said he. Off I duly sprinted to the end of the mess room, down the few steps and right into the drying room, there on one of the wooden slatted drying racks where a solitary pair of immaculate pusser's white plimsolls. I grabbed them as quick as I could and sprinted the return journey back to my bed, out of the drying room, turn left up the few steps and into the mess room just in time to witness the remainder of my kit falling to the floor. The officer carrying out the kit inspection had upended the mattress where I had earlier placed my kit with precision, the same kit that was now strewn over the floor around my bed. I arrived at my bed and presented my plimsolls to the officer who glanced at them for a split second before raising his eyes to meet mine, "you won't forget those again will you?" "No Sir" came my sorrowful reply, he moved on.
Fortunately he must have overlooked my minor error after being swayed by the immaculate state of the rest of my kit, for the very next day I was informed that I was now able to wear my lanyard round my waist.
Typical Kit Muster Lay Out
Each item of uniform should be presented in a specific way, folded precisely as instructed, and placed in its own space as per the photograph on the mess notice board. Failure to pass would result in the absolute shame of being back classed, and no one wanted that. I know what most people will be thinking at this point, your kit is only three weeks old, it should be immaculate anyway. To a point you are correct, and some of the kit would not have been used. But let me tell you, the kit you have used will have been put through the wringer in more than one way. For example, the clothing worn to tackle the assault course will at some point have been covered in a very thick layer of mud. I remember the first time we covered it, we took it in turn hosing each other down on return to the mess and stripped completely naked got another hosing. Great lumps of mud dropped to the floor under the hoses pressure, both before and after stripping off.
As with everyone else, I too was feeling a little nervous at the mid point kit muster. Was my kit pressed correctly? Was my kit clean enough? This was the sort of question that was going through everyone's head as we waited for the officer to reach our individual bed space, one by one he poured over the kit of each individual, lifting some to check underneath and writing on his clip board. Finally he arrived at my bed, as all my oppo's before me had done I threw my best salute and invited the officer to inspect my kit. He started to go through it item by item, just like he had to everyone else, then came the words that made me go pale; where are you plimsolls Life at this point seemed to have ground to a halt, surely I was going to get back classed, my immaculate white plimsolls were missing, not there, gone? "I believe they are in the drying room sir" came my hasty reply, "best go and get them then" said he. Off I duly sprinted to the end of the mess room, down the few steps and right into the drying room, there on one of the wooden slatted drying racks where a solitary pair of immaculate pusser's white plimsolls. I grabbed them as quick as I could and sprinted the return journey back to my bed, out of the drying room, turn left up the few steps and into the mess room just in time to witness the remainder of my kit falling to the floor. The officer carrying out the kit inspection had upended the mattress where I had earlier placed my kit with precision, the same kit that was now strewn over the floor around my bed. I arrived at my bed and presented my plimsolls to the officer who glanced at them for a split second before raising his eyes to meet mine, "you won't forget those again will you?" "No Sir" came my sorrowful reply, he moved on.
Fortunately he must have overlooked my minor error after being swayed by the immaculate state of the rest of my kit, for the very next day I was informed that I was now able to wear my lanyard round my waist.
Friday, 14 September 2012
Language Barrier
One of the first things you become aware of when joining Her Majesty's Royal Navy, is the emergence of a new language. Some of the words are known and used in Civvy street, some will be completely alien to the civilian population or the new recruit.
As a new recruit it is beneficial to make a mental note of these new words and try to work out their meaning, if you couldn't find out their meaning this meant that you had to ask. This route is fraught with danger, asking another matelot what a word means could have you being told a complete and utter load of gash (rubbish), thus finding yourself well and truly dumped in the Brown Admiral (sh1t).
Most of theses words become apparent given time, like any language if you pay attention and listen you will pick it up. On your fist day as a new recruit you will be told to muster, dhoby and shown where the heads are. This is "Jack Speak", the language of the Royal Navy for collect or gather, wash (self or clothing) and the toilet. These are just the basic ones or first day words, but as your length of service grows so will your vocabulary. Then one day you find yourself unable to converse with friends or family back home because they have to interrupt you to ask you what you mean. Even today's sailors have words that I'm not familiar with, electric dit or a fax machine is new to me, they weren't around when I was "in". So like any language it develops over time, and each generation of sailors will have their own additions to pass to the next generations. Just like every generation will have their own favourites, but there are some words that transcends the generations, words that over the years have become the favourite of all generations. These are generally associated with things that pleasure Jack, a collection of which is below>
Banyan:
Nothing to do with the tree bearing the same name (as far as I know), but a party ashore usually outdoors on some tropical beach. A favourite of Jack due to the large quantity of alcohol involved and the appearance of scantily clad ladies. Unfortunately the ladies don't always make it.
Banyan:
Nothing to do with the tree bearing the same name (as far as I know), but a party ashore usually outdoors on some tropical beach. A favourite of Jack due to the large quantity of alcohol involved and the appearance of scantily clad ladies. Unfortunately the ladies don't always make it.
Cheesy Hammy Eggy:
One of the delights to emerge from the Royal Naval Catering College at some point in history, loved by many many sailors/Wrens/Royals over the years. It is essentially ham and cheese on toast with an egg on top, the nearest thing to haute cuisine you are likely to get in the galley.
Other culinary delights included:
Shit on a raft - Kidneys on toast
Babies heads - Steamed steak and kidney puddings
Nutty - Confectionary in all its various forms
Cackle Berries - Eggs
Sea Dust - Salt
Beetle Trap - Jam or Treacle
Beetle Trap - Jam or Treacle
The list of culinary words is almost endless, but so are other lists. Below are some of my personal favourites:
Agony Bags -Bagpipes
Bombhead - FAA Armourer (my former trade)
Clamp or Clampers - Thick fog with accompanying high winds often found at RNAS Culdrose
Drip - Complain or moan
Essence (sometimes ace) - very agreeable/nice sometimes used as a compliment "that dinner was essence"
Fast Black - Taxi
Grog - Rum issued to sailors until 1970, diluted 2 - 1 with water
Heart of Oak - Traditional Naval marching tune
Italian Tea Bags - Ravioli
Jimmy the One - First Lieutenant
KUA - Acronym for Kit Upkeep Allowance, payment made to allow repair or replacement of uniform
Lumpy Jumper - Any sweater worn by a female
Molar Mangler - Dentist
Nine O'clockers - SNack between Dinner and lights out, usually a cup of tea/coffee with a sticky bun
Oppo - Best friend
Phoo Phoo Dust - Talcum Powder
Rum (or beer) Bosun - Rating who draws the daily ration for the mess
Sippers - To share a drink with an oppo
Tilly - Minibus type vehicle
Uckers - Board game
Wedge Technician - Naval Airman of the aircraft handler branch
Yonks - Ages
There are many more around, some used frequently others not, but if you join up you'll soon find out.
Agony Bags -Bagpipes
Bombhead - FAA Armourer (my former trade)
Clamp or Clampers - Thick fog with accompanying high winds often found at RNAS Culdrose
Drip - Complain or moan
Essence (sometimes ace) - very agreeable/nice sometimes used as a compliment "that dinner was essence"
Fast Black - Taxi
Grog - Rum issued to sailors until 1970, diluted 2 - 1 with water
Heart of Oak - Traditional Naval marching tune
Italian Tea Bags - Ravioli
Jimmy the One - First Lieutenant
KUA - Acronym for Kit Upkeep Allowance, payment made to allow repair or replacement of uniform
Lumpy Jumper - Any sweater worn by a female
Molar Mangler - Dentist
Nine O'clockers - SNack between Dinner and lights out, usually a cup of tea/coffee with a sticky bun
Oppo - Best friend
Phoo Phoo Dust - Talcum Powder
Rum (or beer) Bosun - Rating who draws the daily ration for the mess
Sippers - To share a drink with an oppo
Tilly - Minibus type vehicle
Uckers - Board game
Wedge Technician - Naval Airman of the aircraft handler branch
Yonks - Ages
There are many more around, some used frequently others not, but if you join up you'll soon find out.
Thursday, 23 August 2012
The Firing Range
At some point during our six weeks of training, we were introduced to the then Royal Navy weapon of choice for small arms, this came in the guise of the L1A1 SLR rifle. The 7.62mm SLR, SLR standing for self loading rifle, was a British variation of the Belgian FN FAL. Manufactured in Birmingham and Liverpool it was a very robust and accurate rifle, simple to disassemble and reassemble in the field.
We were instructed in the correct firing procedure, where to point your weapon, what to do if you have a misfire, when to fire, how to aim etc etc. You have to have enormous respect for the gunnery chief, there he is with about 25 - 30 raw recruits most of whom are below the age of 20 and all carrying a loaded weapon capable of killing someone over a long distance; anyone of which could have pointed it at him and pulled the trigger.
Then came time to load and fire the weapon, we were all given a number of 7.62mm bullets and shown how to load the magazine; this is just a matter of pushing them down into the mag. The mags were then loaded into the bottom of the weapon ready for our first attempt at firing, standing position. I was nervous at this point as I'd never fired a weapon other than a pellet gun at a travelling fairground, live rounds in a 25 metre range would be different, nonetheless I buried the stock into my shoulder took aim an fired. A hole appeared in the plywood target, get in! We then had to fire in the kneeling position before finally firing in the prone position, all rounds successfully despatched we took our positions at the back of the range after first having our weapons checked to ensure they were empty.
The next group stepped forward to start their turn, one recruit who we had christened "Spock" didn't seem to be able to get the hang of aiming quite right. Most of his rounds missed the target which at 25 metres away seemed huge, when he came to the prone position it got worse. All of his rounds fired ended up buried in the soil mid way between the firing point and the target, even with one on one instruction this guy was incapable of raising the barrel high enough to hit the target.
Our next task was to strip and reassemble the weapon, not to its component parts but just enough to enable cleaning of the barrel with a bit of 4 by 2 ((a piece of material soaked in OM13 oil, clean and oil the other moving parts; a simple task for most. Once again "Spock" who's real name escapes me found the simple task of replacing the breech block cover impossible, after numerous attempts at replacing the cover - which is simply slid along two slots one either side - he was removed from the range. I'm not sure if he ever went back on it or mastered the art of firing a weapon, I was just grateful he was a stoker and not an armourer. Throughout my time in the Andrew I would end up servicing innumerable SLR's, I just wasn't aware of it at that time.
We were instructed in the correct firing procedure, where to point your weapon, what to do if you have a misfire, when to fire, how to aim etc etc. You have to have enormous respect for the gunnery chief, there he is with about 25 - 30 raw recruits most of whom are below the age of 20 and all carrying a loaded weapon capable of killing someone over a long distance; anyone of which could have pointed it at him and pulled the trigger.
Then came time to load and fire the weapon, we were all given a number of 7.62mm bullets and shown how to load the magazine; this is just a matter of pushing them down into the mag. The mags were then loaded into the bottom of the weapon ready for our first attempt at firing, standing position. I was nervous at this point as I'd never fired a weapon other than a pellet gun at a travelling fairground, live rounds in a 25 metre range would be different, nonetheless I buried the stock into my shoulder took aim an fired. A hole appeared in the plywood target, get in! We then had to fire in the kneeling position before finally firing in the prone position, all rounds successfully despatched we took our positions at the back of the range after first having our weapons checked to ensure they were empty.
The next group stepped forward to start their turn, one recruit who we had christened "Spock" didn't seem to be able to get the hang of aiming quite right. Most of his rounds missed the target which at 25 metres away seemed huge, when he came to the prone position it got worse. All of his rounds fired ended up buried in the soil mid way between the firing point and the target, even with one on one instruction this guy was incapable of raising the barrel high enough to hit the target.
Our next task was to strip and reassemble the weapon, not to its component parts but just enough to enable cleaning of the barrel with a bit of 4 by 2 ((a piece of material soaked in OM13 oil, clean and oil the other moving parts; a simple task for most. Once again "Spock" who's real name escapes me found the simple task of replacing the breech block cover impossible, after numerous attempts at replacing the cover - which is simply slid along two slots one either side - he was removed from the range. I'm not sure if he ever went back on it or mastered the art of firing a weapon, I was just grateful he was a stoker and not an armourer. Throughout my time in the Andrew I would end up servicing innumerable SLR's, I just wasn't aware of it at that time.
Sunday, 12 August 2012
Life at Ganges
Ganges was an old establishment, ratings had been taught all things Naval since it opened its gates to the first raw recruits way back in 1905. I was going to be one of the last, albeit a six week wonder, as it would close its gates on June the 6th 1976. There were many hurdles for recruits to cross before going forth to wage war across the oceans, some were fun, some were hard and others downright frightening. Fortunately for me the one that worried me most was no longer carried out by the time I joined, mast climbing. I hate heights, so the thought of having to climb to the top of a 143 feet 10 inch pole terrified me. So it was with great pleasure that I discovered the ceremonial manning of the mast (click link to see John Noakes attempt) was no longer carried out. I'm sure it was seen as character building, but if I'd have been asked to climb it, that would have seen me on my way back home.
Most of the time life at Ganges was monotony, dhoby/dry/press uniform, mess cleaning and bulling boots. Some recruits tried short cuts in these area's, rarely did they come off. Like the guy's who put a layer of "Clear" on their boots, this was a product put onto floors to make them shine, and in all fairness their boots looked great; until they got wet.
Most of the time life at Ganges was monotony, dhoby/dry/press uniform, mess cleaning and bulling boots. Some recruits tried short cuts in these area's, rarely did they come off. Like the guy's who put a layer of "Clear" on their boots, this was a product put onto floors to make them shine, and in all fairness their boots looked great; until they got wet.
Sunday mornings were always taken up with a passing out parade, each week recruits who had completed and passed their training would be officially passed out in front of their invited friends and family members. On a typically wet Sunday morning whilst on parade, those who had used Clear found out that it turned a whitish colour when exposed to water; not a good look when being inspected by the Captain.
On the subject of passing out parades, I was unfortunate enough to take them in a literal sense. Each and every week after standing to attention for what seemed like an eternity, I would collapse in a heap only to be carried off to recuperate. The only Sunday that I did not pass out was on my own passing out parade which is the reason that I'm not on any of my class photographs from my time there apart from the one taken on that day.
There were other character building activities which still continued, for recruits who not had achieved a certain academic standard in mathematics further education was prescribed, whilst those who had achieved the standard went out in "Whaling Boats" on the river. These boats where old wooden boats which could be rowed or sailed, we had great fun in these especially knowing that others were in a classroom doing maths.
On the subject of passing out parades, I was unfortunate enough to take them in a literal sense. Each and every week after standing to attention for what seemed like an eternity, I would collapse in a heap only to be carried off to recuperate. The only Sunday that I did not pass out was on my own passing out parade which is the reason that I'm not on any of my class photographs from my time there apart from the one taken on that day.
There were other character building activities which still continued, for recruits who not had achieved a certain academic standard in mathematics further education was prescribed, whilst those who had achieved the standard went out in "Whaling Boats" on the river. These boats where old wooden boats which could be rowed or sailed, we had great fun in these especially knowing that others were in a classroom doing maths.
The "Gas Chamber" had many in fear, I suppose in a way we were all a little nervous as none of us had been gassed before. When our gassing day arrived we were marched down to the chambers, taken inside and told to sit down. Once everyone was inside the doors were closed and we were given instruction on what was going to happen. You could still smell the gas from previous sessions as the place was only used for this purpose, however the irritants from the CS gas used had been dispersed so there was no effect from it.
Our instructions were clear, we would line up single file, then one by one remove our respirators state our name, rank and serial number then walk outside; easy peasy. The CS pellet was lit and we were told to walk round in circles to circulate the gas, then after a minute or two we lined up to go through the drill. All was going well, one by one we approached the instructor and did exactly as he said, but there had to be one didn't there? I cannot recall who it was, but this one lad approached the instructor on his turn but instead of taking a breath before removing his mask, decided to breathe after. The result was breath, D156, cough cough, 1, cough cough, reach, cough......exit. Everyone else continued as instructed, when I got outside the lad who breathed after removing his mask was still "shouting for Bill" while everyone else just rolled about in fits of laughter.
The swimming test was also quite entertaining, I could swim but was not what I would call a strong swimmer. I'm one of those people who could spend long periods of time in a pool larking about, but not a lot of swimming as such.
The swimming test was also quite entertaining, I could swim but was not what I would call a strong swimmer. I'm one of those people who could spend long periods of time in a pool larking about, but not a lot of swimming as such.
The swimming test was quite simple, carried out in some ill fitting overalls collected from the pool side. We were to climb to the highest board wearing a life jacket, partially inflate the jacket before jumping into the water, fully inflate the life jacket, swim two lengths before removing the life jacket and treading water for two or three minutes.
One by one we struggled into the already wet overalls and donned our life jackets and climbed to the top board, I looked down and my stomach turned. The board wasn't that high, but as mentioned previously, I'm not one for heights. I half inflated my life jacket as instructed, waited my turn and stepped off; I've never been so glad to have my head under water as I was at that moment. I inflated my life jacket and continued to swim the two lengths of the pool, reaching the deep end of the pool I removed the life jacket and started to tread water, It was not possible for each individual to be timed, so the timing was started when everyone had reached the deep end. One or two obviously couldn't hack it and immediately climbed out the pool, most of us had no problem. One lad was struggling though, but as it was getting towards the end of the session, the instructors wouldn't let him climb out. His head kept sinking just below the surface, each time accompanied by a cough. He kept asking the instructors to let him out but they wouldn't, one instructor grabbed a pole from the side of the pool and held it above his head. He was told to grab hold of the pole but the pole was held just out of his reach, all the time he was stretching for the pole and with each lunge the pole was raised higher. The time was up, he's passed his test with a little help; other would have swimming lessons while everyone else was still in bed.
Friday, 10 August 2012
Revielle
Revielle, or a get your backside out of bed early morning call played on a "Bosun's Call" over the tannoy system, is the Royal Navy's way of getting Jack up in the morning. My first reaction to this was in modern SMS parlance was WTF? It's still dark for Gods sake, why do I have to get up? Just as the last word of this thought had entered my head the mess doors burst open, in marched a smart man in his late 20's I would imagine dressed in a naval uniform, even with my experience I could see he was important as far as I was concerned as his cap had a peak on it and there were anchors in gold on his arm. "Collier is the name, Petty Officer Collier" he barked as he marched between the two rows of beds, "and for the next six weeks I'm your mom and dad"!
He instructed us to get dhobied and line up 3 deep outside the mess in what was known as the short covered way .
We assembled as ordered, lining up in three equal(ish) rows, he then rearranged us according to height - tallest on the outside shortest in the middle - before marching us to the galley for breakfast. On entering the dining room, we were serenaded by the mass whistling of a rendition of the Laurel and Hardy theme tune.
We assembled as ordered, lining up in three equal(ish) rows, he then rearranged us according to height - tallest on the outside shortest in the middle - before marching us to the galley for breakfast. On entering the dining room, we were serenaded by the mass whistling of a rendition of the Laurel and Hardy theme tune.
We dutifully grabbed our plates and trays and tucked into the finest cuisine Her Majesty's Naval Chefs could prepare. Following this we once more lined up three deep (this was to become our normal way of walking as a class) and marched back to the mess. Here we were instructed in all matters uniform, how to press this, where to sew that, by lunchtime we were expert in the theory; some were quite adept in the practical too. By mid afternoon, I had stamped my name on my name tags, sewn them on my Nos 8's shirts as instructed and was almost finished sewing on my trade badges. These were sewn on the upper right arm of the uniform, white one's with blue insignia on your 8's, black one's with red insignia on your No 2's. At this point we had not been issued our Nos 1's or best uniform, you were issued with these later on in the course. Once all my labels and badges had been sewn on I had to iron my uniform, trying to remember everything I was told I set about this with gusto; the only sewing now was my silk. You were issued with a rectangular piece of material, shown how to fold it before finally sewing the two ends together forming a loop prior to pressing. Things were going well, my 8's were pressed like a pro, the 5 horizontal creases in my Nos 2's looked sharp and were exactly pay book width apart, however, I must have been trying just a little too hard as when I came to do one of my silks; it melted. In my haste to have a smart uniform with sharp creases I'd left the iron on it too long, and even under a handkerchief it melted. Fortunately we had been issued two of these silks, I only made the mistake once.
After a short time in the mess under the short covered way which was reserved for the new recruits, we were moved to a mess inside the long covered way; this was general population where "experienced" ratings mingled with the new boys. Now failing any back classing the most you would spend at Ganges was 6 weeks (Note 1), so as you can imagine, their experience was limited. They may not have been massively experienced, but we found out on our first Friday in residence that they were a bit more confident. Each Friday evening we would have officers rounds, this is where the duty officer would come round at 19:00 hrs and "inspect" the mess. One of the ratings would meet the duty officer outside the mess and invite him in stating that "mess is ready for rounds sir", one NEVER said "mess is ready for inspection" as this would invite a deep and probing inspection of each nook and cranny.
After a short time in the mess under the short covered way which was reserved for the new recruits, we were moved to a mess inside the long covered way; this was general population where "experienced" ratings mingled with the new boys. Now failing any back classing the most you would spend at Ganges was 6 weeks (Note 1), so as you can imagine, their experience was limited. They may not have been massively experienced, but we found out on our first Friday in residence that they were a bit more confident. Each Friday evening we would have officers rounds, this is where the duty officer would come round at 19:00 hrs and "inspect" the mess. One of the ratings would meet the duty officer outside the mess and invite him in stating that "mess is ready for rounds sir", one NEVER said "mess is ready for inspection" as this would invite a deep and probing inspection of each nook and cranny.
Anyway, back to the experienced ones. On our first Friday we were all scrubbing the mess, the heads (toilets) shower and dhoby rooms, and when I say scrubbing I mean to within an inch of their lives. At some point during this scrubbing regime, our mess was attacked by a neighbouring mess, water and gash (rubbish) was thrown all over the floors, beds were upturned and they left. We stood open mouthed, what just happened? Why did it happen? Then the question, how long have we got left? By the skin of our teeth we managed to get finished before the officer of the day came round, the 3 floors were still a little damp and it wasn't perfect, but we passed.
1. Prior to the training being reduced to 6 weeks, ratings would spend 12 months at Ganges doing their basic training, older ratings refer to those doing 6 weeks as 6 week wonders.
Passing rounds on a Friday evening had benefits, later weeks would allow us liberty to nearby Ipswich or across the water to Harwich. This being our first week we were allowed to go to Ganges vary own "Bowling Alley", a four lane alley with a bar. Inside here we could play ten pin bowling and consume copious amounts of soft drinks, the few who were of age could partake in alcoholic beverages should they so chose. Inside was a mix of ratings, from the newest recruits (us) to the five weekers. It was quickly noticed that some ratings had lanyards (white narrow rope part of a ratings uniform worn around the neck) draped around their waists? A quick investigation revealed that should we pass our three week kit muster we too would be allowed to do this. Something else caught my eye, there were some matelot's there with a different uniform to ours, foreign looking. We asked someone with a lanyard round his waist, "they're Iranian Navy mate", apparently also stationed here at Ganges. As our first night wore on we became acutely aware that these Iranians were more than friendly to each other, holding hands, arms round each other and some engaging in what can only be described as "face sucking"! Thankfully they kept themselves to themselves.
Notes:
1. Prior to the training being reduced to 6 weeks, ratings would spend 12 months at Ganges doing their basic training, older ratings refer to those doing 6 weeks as 6 week wonders.
Monday, 6 August 2012
January 6th 1976
The title of this post is the day my life changed, became totally alien to what it was before. In fact, life and my outlook on it and even I would be something totally different to what it was before. My father took me to the local train station to see me off, Mom couldn't stomach her little boy going away to become part of Her Majesty's military machine. I duly boarded the train saying farewell to my Dad, strange feelings went through me, I was a shy 16 year old, leaving the sanctuary and safety of home. I had a loving family and great parents and I was sad to be leaving all this behind, but the adventure standing before me was too good to miss, I was leaving a boy but would return a man.
The train started to leave the station, too late for second thoughts now, I knew I wouldn't see my family for several weeks, I was sad about this but not to the extent I would shed any tears, perhaps my biggest regret was leaving my baby brother behind. I'd waited 13 years for a brother and here I was leaving him after 3, that was tough. The train gathered pace and the station disappeared into the distance, I settled into my seat. The train stopped at Birmingham New Street where more people got on, I spotted a couple of lads straight away. Full of confidence (unlike me) they joked with each other, laughing loudly at each others quips. The train then headed for London Euston, I'd never been this far from home on my own, I was nervous and shy but managed to find my way on the underground to Liverpool Street station where I boarded a train bound for Ipswich. The two lads who had boarded the train in Birmingham were also on this train, they had obviously seen me on the earlier train but said nothing; likewise I didn't speak. The journey to Ipswich seemed to take hours, I've no idea how long it actually took but it went on forever.
The train finally pulled into Ipswich station where I gathered my belongings and headed for the exit, my letter of instruction said there would be transport to HMS Ganges. A sailor of some description (I now know it was a "killick") was waiting outside the station, he gathered anyone who looked lost into a group and told us transport would be along soon. The two lads from the train broke the ice, "where you from" they asked in their Brummie accent, thinking no one would have heard of Tipton I replied "West Bromwich" they laughed! A dark blue coach appeared with the words Royal Navy emblazoned along the side, the registration plate also had RN set in the middle of four numbers; I guess this is the transport then.
We all boarded the coach sat down and waited, I remember having a window seat happy in the fact that I wouldn't have to make eye contact let alone have a conversation with anyone. The journey took us along a road which followed the path of a river, barren landscape either side of this river coupled with the grey skies made it look foreboding. We eventually arrived at HMS Ganges and were greeted with the sight of the main gates, bordered by cannons and figureheads with a liberal spattering of what I now know to be Petty Officers.
We were disembarked from the bus and told to line up three deep, after several attempts we managed this. We all had our little suitcases or sports bags with us, we were then "marched" down to our home for the first week of training. Inside we were greeted with the sight of two rows of beds one each side of the long mess, I'm guessing there must have been about 30 in total. The place was spotless, obviously very old but immaculate. Everyone had a bed, not sure now if these were pre selected or whether it was a free for all but mine was about half way up on the right hand side. We were told to drop our bags by the side of our beds and "muster" (the first word of a new language to me, "Jack Speak") outside, there was plenty of excited chatter but I cannot remember speaking to anyone at this point. Lining us up outside we were marched off to the barbers, a short back and sides cost me 50p. I was mortified, 4 months earlier I had had my long hair "trimmed" by a World champion barber and it had cost me £7.50 and this git had the gaul to charge me for butchering it! Following this scalp rape we were taken to the uniform store, or as it is known the "Slops". One by one we entered and were furnished with a complete set of kit, kit bag and suit case. We were then given a demonstration in how to mount the kit bag onto our shoulder with one hand, this we were told would impress the ladies? We then had to carry this bag, stuffed to the top with everything I needed except my best uniform, and our suitcase back to the mess. The further I walked the heavier the bag became, no way was I going to let it drop. The lactic acid poured into my muscles but I was not going to give in, I felt my lip distort Cliff Richard style as though it wanted to join my left eye. Through the door, along the mess deck to my bed; MADE IT!
We were then told to get showered to get rid of any civvy dirt and the hair that the barber had stuffed down the back of our tops. Then get our No8 uniform on (it was explained what this was) and say goodbye to our civvy clothes for six weeks. Being keen on football showering with other men was not part of my shyness, I stripped off wrapped my towel round me and headed for a nice hot shower. Not a chance, hot water was not in the vocabulary of the Ganges administration; it was bloody freezing. A much older guy in the next cubicle struck up a conversation with me, trouble was I couldn't understand a word he said. It turned out he was from Northern Ireland and spoke that fast all his words just moulded into one. He eventually slowed his speech down so that I could understand him, turned out he was 31 years old and had just left the Army; Paddy Clarke was his name.
After showering and getting into our 8's, we were taken to the "galley" for something to eat, the place was full of trainee matelot's, all staring at the new boys. All I could think of was don't drop the tray don't drop the tray, I didn't. Stomachs full of the RN's best food we returned to the mess and were instructed in various rules and regs, what was expected of us and what we were going to do the following day. LIGHTS OUT.
The train started to leave the station, too late for second thoughts now, I knew I wouldn't see my family for several weeks, I was sad about this but not to the extent I would shed any tears, perhaps my biggest regret was leaving my baby brother behind. I'd waited 13 years for a brother and here I was leaving him after 3, that was tough. The train gathered pace and the station disappeared into the distance, I settled into my seat. The train stopped at Birmingham New Street where more people got on, I spotted a couple of lads straight away. Full of confidence (unlike me) they joked with each other, laughing loudly at each others quips. The train then headed for London Euston, I'd never been this far from home on my own, I was nervous and shy but managed to find my way on the underground to Liverpool Street station where I boarded a train bound for Ipswich. The two lads who had boarded the train in Birmingham were also on this train, they had obviously seen me on the earlier train but said nothing; likewise I didn't speak. The journey to Ipswich seemed to take hours, I've no idea how long it actually took but it went on forever.
The train finally pulled into Ipswich station where I gathered my belongings and headed for the exit, my letter of instruction said there would be transport to HMS Ganges. A sailor of some description (I now know it was a "killick") was waiting outside the station, he gathered anyone who looked lost into a group and told us transport would be along soon. The two lads from the train broke the ice, "where you from" they asked in their Brummie accent, thinking no one would have heard of Tipton I replied "West Bromwich" they laughed! A dark blue coach appeared with the words Royal Navy emblazoned along the side, the registration plate also had RN set in the middle of four numbers; I guess this is the transport then.
We all boarded the coach sat down and waited, I remember having a window seat happy in the fact that I wouldn't have to make eye contact let alone have a conversation with anyone. The journey took us along a road which followed the path of a river, barren landscape either side of this river coupled with the grey skies made it look foreboding. We eventually arrived at HMS Ganges and were greeted with the sight of the main gates, bordered by cannons and figureheads with a liberal spattering of what I now know to be Petty Officers.
HMS Ganges Main Gate
We were disembarked from the bus and told to line up three deep, after several attempts we managed this. We all had our little suitcases or sports bags with us, we were then "marched" down to our home for the first week of training. Inside we were greeted with the sight of two rows of beds one each side of the long mess, I'm guessing there must have been about 30 in total. The place was spotless, obviously very old but immaculate. Everyone had a bed, not sure now if these were pre selected or whether it was a free for all but mine was about half way up on the right hand side. We were told to drop our bags by the side of our beds and "muster" (the first word of a new language to me, "Jack Speak") outside, there was plenty of excited chatter but I cannot remember speaking to anyone at this point. Lining us up outside we were marched off to the barbers, a short back and sides cost me 50p. I was mortified, 4 months earlier I had had my long hair "trimmed" by a World champion barber and it had cost me £7.50 and this git had the gaul to charge me for butchering it! Following this scalp rape we were taken to the uniform store, or as it is known the "Slops". One by one we entered and were furnished with a complete set of kit, kit bag and suit case. We were then given a demonstration in how to mount the kit bag onto our shoulder with one hand, this we were told would impress the ladies? We then had to carry this bag, stuffed to the top with everything I needed except my best uniform, and our suitcase back to the mess. The further I walked the heavier the bag became, no way was I going to let it drop. The lactic acid poured into my muscles but I was not going to give in, I felt my lip distort Cliff Richard style as though it wanted to join my left eye. Through the door, along the mess deck to my bed; MADE IT!
We were then told to get showered to get rid of any civvy dirt and the hair that the barber had stuffed down the back of our tops. Then get our No8 uniform on (it was explained what this was) and say goodbye to our civvy clothes for six weeks. Being keen on football showering with other men was not part of my shyness, I stripped off wrapped my towel round me and headed for a nice hot shower. Not a chance, hot water was not in the vocabulary of the Ganges administration; it was bloody freezing. A much older guy in the next cubicle struck up a conversation with me, trouble was I couldn't understand a word he said. It turned out he was from Northern Ireland and spoke that fast all his words just moulded into one. He eventually slowed his speech down so that I could understand him, turned out he was 31 years old and had just left the Army; Paddy Clarke was his name.
After showering and getting into our 8's, we were taken to the "galley" for something to eat, the place was full of trainee matelot's, all staring at the new boys. All I could think of was don't drop the tray don't drop the tray, I didn't. Stomachs full of the RN's best food we returned to the mess and were instructed in various rules and regs, what was expected of us and what we were going to do the following day. LIGHTS OUT.
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