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.
Love it! funny that we both had the same experience of day 1, you never mentioned the mothball smell. instant flashback to slops whenever I smell it even now.
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