With training
completed and being on draft to a warship, I had to carry out the customary
procedure for ratings leaving the Barracks to join a ship: a thorough medical
examination, including a visit to the Dental Department, and then a kit muster.
At the same time I visited the Barracks tailor to be measured for my third
uniform, which would become my best uniform, known as Number One and would
display on a sleeve a badge in the form of a propellor, made with gold wire. When
all this was completed I was given fourteen days leave, which carried over the
Christmas period, and in early January 1938 I joined
H.M.S. Revenge,
which was berthed in the nearby Dockyard.
There were three of the old 129 Class joining the
ship: Wally Osborne, Shepherd and me. We humped our kit bags and hammocks
inboard, down ladders and along passage ways until we finally reached the
Stokers’ Mess Deck. Here we met the Regulating Chief P.O. Stoker, senior chief
amongst the stokers. I was given a Mess number on the Starboard messdeck, a
locker for my kit and shown two hooks which would be mine for slinging my
hammock, then a place to stow the hammock. Because I was in the Starboard Watch
I was given a green Watch and Station card; this was my identity card and
breathing licence.
The three of us were taken to the ship’s Sick Bay, the
hospital, where we were just looked at by the M.O. then taken to the Pay
Office to be given a pay number and two H.M.S. Revenge
cap ribbons. On return to my mess I was shown how to stow my kit into
what seemed a relatively small kit locker, then told to get out of
uniform and don overalls. I had expected to wear the overalls over the
uniform, but oh, no; our rig would always be underwear and overalls,
black cap and boots.
The furnaces of the boiler had been re-bricked and the
job at hand was to stock the firebrick store with a fresh supply. I
joined a gang of stokers, going up a number of ladders to the upper deck
and out into the dockyard to be given a sack of firebricks to be carried
down, down, down into the bowels of the ship. This doesn’t seem to be
much of a job, does it? Just a few bricks in a sack, but by dinner-time
my legs didn’t belong to me. Up and down ladders, it went on and on and
there were truck-loads of bricks waiting to be manhandled! The work
ceased at four o’clock for that day and after visiting the bathroom,
stowing my overalls in my bathroom locker and donning the serge suit,
which was the rig of the day, I finally met the rest of my messmates.
Studio portrait taken in 1937 -
Stoker's badge on right arm
Initially their surnames were difficult to remember, but that
did not matter too much; very often surnames produced a recognised nickname.
Anyone rejoicing in the name of Clarke would carry the handle of ‘Nobby’, a
Martin would respond to ‘Pincher’, a White would be ‘Knocker’ or ‘Chalky’.
Anybody from Liverpool would be known as ‘Scouse’, Welshmen were called ‘Taffs’
and Westcountry ratings invariably became ‘Jan’. Because I was over six feet
tall I became ‘Lofty’, the designated name for all tall ratings who don’t come
under a recognised surname handle.
The Port and Starboard Watches of the Engine Room
Branch were each divided into the First and the Second part. With one
Part being required for duty, the remaining three were at liberty to go
ashore. This required a uniform which was spic and span, because going
ashore meant being inspected by the Officer of the Day, usually a
Lieutenant, handing in the breathing licence and being warned about
conduct when ashore and the time to be back on board ship. Collecting
the breathing licence was proof of being back on board.
That first evening of liberty saw me going to see Gran,
who gave me a hug and ran her hands over me. She said the smell of me
reminded her of Uncle John. I suppose it was a shipboard smell, but what
a surprise that she could recall the memory of twenty one years ago.
Walking out with Mabel became very precious, because H.M.S. Revenge
was a member of the Home Fleet and would soon be sailing to meet the
Mediterranean Fleet for exercises against each other.
On the appointed day the ships left
port and I was on my way to Gibraltar. Being a trainee stoker, my first
shipboard duty at sea was in a boiler room, tending sprayers which sprayed hot
oil into a furnace. The hot oil immediately burned and air, under pressure,
completed a perfect combustion so that the flame gave off no smoke. The furnace
cones, through which the oil was sprayed, soon collected a ring of carbon and
one of my jobs was to prevent the ring from building. It had to be scraped off
with a long metal rod with a chisel end. Mirrors allowed the watchkeeper to see
into the boiler uptakes, so that a light could be seen. No light meant that
smoke was being generated and this had to be avoided at all costs. Firstly, the
fuel was being incorrectly burned and, secondly, smoke could be seen by the
enemy in the event of hostilities. I could well understand why overalls were not
worn over a uniform; the heat in the boiler room took some getting used to.
There was no hope of sitting whilst on watch, and four hours does seem endless
at times. Thankfully, on my first cruise the Bay of Biscay was reasonably calm
and in that battleship all I felt was like being in a swing, which rose and fell
very slowly. As was usual, the battleships were escorted by destroyers, and from
the upper deck of the Revenge these escorts seemed to disappear
periodically in the rolling swell of the sea. When nearly through the Bay of
Biscay the air temperature rose significantly and the bluejackets’ rig of the
day changed from wool jersey and blue cap to white shirt and white cap. After
four days the fleet arrived at Gibraltar, and what a sight the eyes beheld!
"R" class
battleship HMS Revenge in 1939
The ships of the Home Fleet were painted dark grey,
whereas the ships of the Mediterranean Fleet, already gathered there,
were a lighter grey. That first evening I went ashore with Wally
Osborne. We were transported from the outer mole or breakwater in a
converted fishing trawler, named Fumerole; she was attached to
the Revenge as a liberty boat - more about that later. On
landing, one was literally in another world. The air seemed so warm, and
in its way soft to breathe. The main street was lined with shops and
stores, each a proverbial Ali Babba’s cave. In addition there were two
large beer halls, one called Trocadero and the other the Continental. In
one was a Ladies’ Orchestra, which made the beer taste much better and I
remember a street vendor coming in with paper cones filled with prawns,
well salted of course, for about three pence. Ossie and I wandered in
and out of the stores, each of which seemed to be staffed by people from
India. No obligation to buy and almost anything and everything was on
offer. It was about that period that a perfume named 4711 was popular,
and the whole of Main Street seemed to reek of it. Darkness fell quickly
and everywhere was lit up, just like Christmas at home. We did not have
too much money to spend and the old-timers on board had warned us not to
accept the stated price for any article; the game was to haggle. In one
store I had seen a Chinese dressing gown, complete with pyjamas, and
this was the present I intended to take home to Mabel. The back of the
gown was richly decorated with an enormous dragon, made with gold wire
and coloured silks, the pyjama suit made of a soft black and red
material.
The annual meeting of the two fleets saw plenty of
competitions between them: football matches, tug-of-war, a regatta,
boxing, to name but a few. One of the highlights was on the evening of
pay day, when Tombola - known as Bingo - was played in the Fleet
Canteen. With such a huge collection of players from the two fleets, the
money prizes were something to be desired. When the Tombola caller
called "Eyes Down", the silence became momentarily overwhelming.
Concentration honed to a fine pitch, pencils at the ready and the first
number called in naval jargon was comparable to the "They’re Off" at
Derby Day. The last house of the evening was always called a ‘doubler’,
which meant that the price of a ticket was doubled. Just imagine the
value of the ‘House’ and the anticipation of the crowd! With the game
being drawn out there would be frequent shouts of "Shake ‘em up", as
frustrated punters waited for that certain number. When that certain
number was called, the cry of "Here you are" rang out and an almighty
groan would come from the remainder of the hopefuls. When the winner
went up to collect his cash a number of appellations of doubtful origin
would be rendered with good humour, but ‘twould be like water off a
duck’s back.
This meeting would be a one-off affair, for soon after
the fleets split up for individual visits to show the flag. The Revenge went to Corsica, where the highlight of the visit was
Ajaccio, the birthplace of Napoleon. I can say that I went there, but I
don’t remember much about the visit. I can remember my first experience
of Action Stations, when the fifteen inch guns were fired at targets for
exercise. The ditty boxes were regimentally stacked on the tops of the
lockers and the reverberations throughout the ship when those guns were
fired caused some of the ditty boxes to leap from the lockers - mine
amongst them. It sustained a fair crack on one corner, there to this day
for one and all to see. How’s that for history created fifty five years
ago?
When at sea, the name of the game was ‘Exercises’ and
our particular part in the Engine Room Department was to learn to combat
flooding and fire, known as Damage Control. Being on a training
battleship, as expected, exercises were frequent, both day and night. On
watch in the boiler room, tending to sprayers and learning various pipe
systems wasn’t too bad, but at Damage Control stations one had to hop
about a bit, shoring up damaged bulkheads, fighting imaginary fires.
When the lighting was considered to have failed and the exercises were
carried out in darkness - this was a different kettle of fish! Since the
war, there have been a number of fictional naval books, where the hero
comes from the Upper Deck crowd. None seem to emanate from down below,
where all the wheels are made to go ‘round!
Upon our return to Gibraltar, my mission was to
purchase the pyjama set for Mabel. Haggle, don’t forget to haggle. The
game was to ask about anything but the desired item, and the storekeeper
would turn the place upside down to maintain the interest of the
potential customer. Eventually I inquired about a pyjama set and several
were brought forth for perusal. Not to chose the one you wanted was part
of the entertainment; bicker over any but that, until the choice was
made and the haggling commenced. That evening saw the beginning of an
apprenticeship, because from then on in any foreign port one haggled.
The Indian storekeepers were experts, comparable to water from a
dripping tap wearing away a stone. A server would break off the
negotiations and bring forward other articles. A silk shawl, with a:
"Your girl would like this, Sir". The ever-present 4711 perfume with a:
"You smell this, Sir". Wall tapestries, ivory paper-knives, families of
ebony elephants, wrist watches, boxes of cigars and then, as if to gain
breath for another foray, cups of coffee were offered. Then the dressing
gown and pyjama set would appear, as if by magic, and a quiet voice
would ask, "What would you give, Sir?". When a really unacceptable
amount was offered, a painful expression appeared on the face of the
assistant; one could almost imagine that he was bleeding inside. So the
evening of entertainment progressed. When nearing the amount that was
agreeable to the two of us, I had to cry off because of a shortage of
funds. The fortnightly pay was due before the ship left Gibraltar, so I
knew I could return to the store and complete the deal. And so, on the
evening of pay day, I went to the store and finally bought the dressing
gown and pyjama set for thirty five shillings. Mabel Sheard liked the
gift immensely, but in all our married days I don’t think I ever saw her
wear them. The things came in useful once when our daughter, Barbara,
used them in one of her school plays. And then they went back into
storage together with the moth balls.
Being in the Home Fleet meant that I had fourteen days
leave over Easter and of course I had to visit Gran and tell her all
about the past three months. How she went back in time to tell me about
the times Uncle Jack had had whilst in the Navy. Did I do this or that?
No? He did! But the yarns brought a bit of life back into her soul. She
told me how Uncle Jack was a Freemason and when visiting foreign places
had found himself dining with his Captain in other Lodges. I can hear
her now saying: "Never mind, you will have your chance one day." I smile
to myself even now, whilst writing. There was Uncle John, a Chief
Shipwright in a brass-buttoned uniform and me, a Second Class Stoker, a
bilge-rat in comparison. I think of my first Captain, Wake-Walker; the
only time I ever saw him was at Sunday Divisions inspections, when he
would walk past our ranks and inspect us with x-ray eyes.
South coast cruise 1938
After Easter leave the Home Fleet met
in Weymouth Bay and carried out exercises. The Fumerole was the liberty
boat for the Revenge. For one of the sets of exercises the Fumerole
was to be included. This necessitated additions to her crew and I was detailed
to be the extra stoker. What a transition in life-style that turned out to be!
To begin with, the Fumerole was a coal-burner, so I became a stoker in
every sense of the word. There were two stokers on board, so we worked watch and
watch about. Shovelling coal from a bunker into a furnace became a work of art,
not just throwing it in ad lib, but placing it with dexterous aim. Easy
when the sea was calm, with two furnaces to feed, but in a rough sea and rolling
from side to side, plus being seasick into the bargain, my shovels of coal often
finished up on the deck plates. Whilst working with the fleet we had
destinations to keep; never mind the weather, keep up the steam pressure. At
about half past seven each morning a furnace had to be cleaned, which resulted
in hefty fire irons being used. One iron, called a ‘slice’, was used to disturb
the glowing coals and reveal the fire bars, to which was fused the clinker. Then
another tool, called a ‘devil’, was used to free the clinker and finally a large
rake pulled the clinker from the bars and out of the furnace onto the deck
plates. Hence the old Naval expression: "In rake, up bake, in splice, out
spice." The spice, or clinker, was then cooled with sea water and shovelled into
containers for later disposal over the side. Comes another saying: "Have a good
sweep up, because the steam’s dropping back." This meant cleaning the deck
plates to provide a safe footage for replenishing that furnace with coal. Those
weeks in the Fumerole were the experience of a lifetime. One bathed in
a bucket of hot water in front of a furnace, literally lived in underwear and
overalls and the food was plentiful and good. There was no place for niceties;
one was required to do a job efficiently. At first I can’t say that life was
enjoyable, but when I gained my sea legs and learned to roll with the weather,
it became a challenge. Using a shovel was second nature after working on the
buildings; learning to direct it into a furnace when rolling in heavy seas was
another kettle of fish! In the early days I was often told, "Buck up, Lofty,
steam’s dropping back!"
As I say, it was a challenge, but I was soon accepted.
I remember we had to call into Portsmouth to coal ship and the Chief
gave me a pint bottle of rum together with the requisition chit to go to
the chap in charge of the coal jetty. I eventually found this official
and presented the chit and the bottle of rum, whereupon he told me to
berth under number so-and-so coal hoist. Back on board I told the Chief
and we moved the Fumerole
under the hoist. Green as grass, I asked him why I had taken the bottle
of rum. "You’ll learn," he replied, "that a bottle of rum ensures good
coal; without it we would have finished up with mostly coal dust." And
so it was. Down onto the deck came the coal, to be shovelled into the
bunkers. Then we two stokers had to go into the bunkers to trim the
coal: that is to spread it evenly and avoid blockages, which could
prevent us from receiving all the tonnage demanded on the chit. The old
Chief would regularly come into the bunkers with a large crow-bar,
levering at the coal to ensure that there was no blockage, despite our
efforts to keep a steady flow of coal. When coaling was completed and
the bunker covers replaced, the seamen would hose down the upper deck
whilst down below we cleaned the gauges and pipework, a good sweep-up
‘cos "the steam is dropping back!" Then the two of us would strip off,
fill a large metal drum with hot water, dhobey the filthy shifts of
underwear and overalls and have a luxurious bath, out of buckets of hot
water, turns about washing each other’s back, because we were as black
as chimney sweeps. Dhobeying hung up on the lines, on clean clothing
and, on that special coal-ship day, when completed, we were given a tot
of neat rum, instead of the diluted rum which was the general issue to
all below the rate of Petty Officer. The dinner always tasted good that
day. Understandably, everybody moaned when ‘coal ship’ time arrived;
coal dust found its way everywhere, but when completed the recompense
was good. I remember once, after coaling, I heard the Skipper say, "I
even found the damned stuff in my belly button!" He should have been in
the bunker, trimming the ‘damned stuff’.
The exercises ended and the Revenge
was destined to visit Margate on a showing the flag goodwill trip; this
meant fairly easy times for us on the
Fumerole. We steamed round to Margate, where the
Revenge was at anchor, just in time to see a light aeroplane
crash into the water as we were adjacent to it. The plane was nose-down
in the water; in no time we were alongside it and the pilot was pulled
out, dead. He had been giving the local Carnival Queen a flight over the
bay, but there was no sign of her in the plane as it slowly sank. The
pilot was laid out on the upper deck and we took him ashore. The upper
deck crew gave statements to the police and then the Fumerole
returned to the duties of being a tender to the Revenge. We
took liberty men ashore, collected stores, brought liberty men back to
the ship and became a general dogsbody. Now this life became a bit of a
doddle; normally only one stoker was required to carry out the duties,
but here we were, two of us, sharing the duties; we were on easy street.
When the coxswain went to the Revenge
to draw victuals and rum, the extra number was queried and so I was told
to go inboard - services no longer required. When I reported to the
ship’s Regulating Office I was told about the wonderful time I had had,
just swanning around the ocean with nothing to do. At least I learned
that for the month I had been on board the Fumerole I would be
credited with an extra sixpence a day for what was termed ‘hard layers’
pay. Better than a kick up the backside. Once back at my mess I was met
with: "It’s all right for some, Lofty. How did you get a number like
that?" But I had been a pressed man; nobody had volunteered.
The next day I had to sit an examination to rise from
the status of Second Class Stoker to the dizzy heights of First Class
Stoker. The questions were about working in the boiler room,
watchkeeping duties, names of valves and fittings on boilers; and this
particular time, the exam included a question on coaling and the duties
of bunkering, of which I had had my share. That afternoon I was told I
had passed the examination and was being given four months’ seniority.
Being a First Class Stoker meant an extra shilling a day and the right
to wear a star above my propellor on the arm badge. Now I had passed
from a trainee to become a regular member of the ship’s company.
Whilst under training the cap ribbon had to be tied in
such a manner that the knot in the form of a bow was exactly over the
left ear, so that the name of the establishment was exactly over the
forehead. Once a member of the ship’s company, one tied the cap ribbon
so the bow came over the left eye and the cap was worn with a slight
cant, instead of all-square. All was well when going ashore wearing a
tiddly cap, light blue collar and a stretched lanyard, very thin and
snow-white, until one met an Officer of the Day and, on being inspected
as a liberty man, told to return inboard for not being correctly
dressed. Change cap ribbon, light blue collar for a dark blue collar and
a lanyard which had not been stretched. The following inspection would
mean having to show items of uniform to ascertain that one’s name was
stamped in the required places. This was followed by a lecture before
being allowed to proceed ashore.
Writing this reminds me of the first time I was a
‘liberty man’ when under training. Together with other bodies I was
marched to the Quarter Deck in the barracks and there paraded to be
inspected. It is the custom that the Officer of the Day always carries a
telescope - something to do with Nelson and his "I see no signal" when
he put his telescope to his blind eye, I presume. Anyhow, on this
particular occasion the officer used the end of his telescope to lift
the bottom of the leg of my trousers to check that my boots were
gleaming. He noticed that the laces were tied in a crossed pattern.
Horror of horrors! The laces should be tied in a bar pattern. Go back
and retie the laces and report again. Such was uniform drill for men
under training!
Towards the end of the Spring cruise the Home Fleet
once more gathered in Weymouth Bay to hold the Fleet Regatta. A date was
fixed for this event, giving plenty of time for ships’ companies to put
together crews to row together in the various types of boats. It fell to
the Stokers to pull a ‘cutter’. This was a large, heavy boat, with six
thwarts, or seats, accommodating two rowers to a thwart, thus propelled
by twelve oars. Being a ‘Lofty’ I was automatically chosen to become a
member of the Stokers’ crew, not volunteered mark you, but chosen, and
in the dog watches we were excused all duties to practise, coxswained by
the senior Chief Stoker. This was damned hard work and time was of the
utmost importance. As we slowly became a rowing crew, after much
chopping and changing of positions, the distances increased until we
were finally rowing the course of the race. A battleship like the Revenge
carried two cutters, so the seamen also had a crew. Rowing times were
compared and I suspect that these were shaved to increase the
competition. On the day of the regatta the ships were moored bow and
stern in two lines, such that the course was between the warships,
giving the ships’ companies the chance to watch the racing and cheer on
their crews. A regatta was the only event in the Royal Navy where
betting was officially allowed, and on that day the flagship would
signal the odds of each race and each ship would carry a tote to handle
the betting. On the day each ship would be known by a colour; that for
the Revenge was light blue. Each member of the race crew wore a
light blue vest and a small flag of that colour was fitted to the bow of
our boats. In that year of 1938 the battleship squadron consisted of
H.M.Ships Ramilies,
Resolution,
Revenge,
Royal Oak
and Royal Sovereign.
Each ship supplied Stokers and Seamen crews for racing, and final
placings were awarded points. At the end of the day the ship with the
most points was awarded the prize in the form of a large metallic
cockerel, and the ship became known as the ‘Cock of the Fleet’. And so
Stokers raced against Stokers and Seamen raced against Seamen and the
Revenge did not finish as the Cock; my memory will not let me
remember who did.
With that period over, the Fleet once more put to sea
and, as usual, it was exercises followed by exercises, but this time it
was the turn of somebody else to be back-up crew on the Fumerole.
My watchkeeping station had been changed from a boiler room to one of
the wing engine rooms, where I recorded various bearing temperatures and
was able to watch Leading Stokers who operated an evaporating and
distilling plant, known as ‘evaps’, where salt water was converted into
distilled water, for use in the boilers and for domestic water. This was
my first step up the ladder towards advancement. In July the Fleet
dispersed to its home ports and the Revenge returned to
Devonport for Summer Leave. One day, together with several other
ratings, I had to report to the school in the Naval Barracks and as a
squad we marched there from the Dockyard. There we sat an examination in
Maths and English for the Educational Test that was essential for the
right to become a Leading Hand and wear a badge in the form of an
anchor.
Based at Scapa
Flow with the Home Fleet
August 1938 was the leave period and
early in September the Revenge
left Devonport and proceeded to Scotland, to work out of Scapa Flow,
which all members of the Navy consider to be the last place the Good Lord made.
From Scapa Flow warships could quickly venture into the North Sea; at the same
time the islands were considered a safe anchorage from any enemy. Exercises
followed exercises and respite from these was given by visiting Rosyth and
anchoring in the River Forth. From Rosyth it was a short train ride to
Edinburgh. At the beginning of the autumn cruise my job was changed from working
in a boiler room to an Upper Deck Stoker, responsible for fuelling the steam
picket boats and supplying diesel oil fuel to the motor launches. The
steam-driven picket boats, called pinnaces, were fuelled at about five thirty
each morning when the ship was in harbour.
One morning in October, clad in all I could wear to
keep warm, including heavy overcoat and leather sea boots, which was
general in those Scottish waters, I prepared to fuel the duty picket
boat. I connected the fuelling hose to a valve fitted in a narrow deck
on the forward port side of the ship, accessible by a vertical steel
ladder. The drill was to connect the hose, see the other end connected
to the picket boat’s fuel tank by the boat’s stoker, then go to the
boiler room and start a steam pump to slowly transfer fuel oil to the
boat. Retrace steps to the fuelling deck and wait for the stoker to
signal enough, then hasten to the boiler room to stop the pump. The
residue of oil in the system would drain by gravity to the picket boat,
thus ensuring the hose was empty when disconnected. On this particular
morning the picket boat’s stoker had shut the valve on his end of the
hose without draining down to his fuel tank. By the time I had shut down
and returned to my fuelling deck, the picket boat had gone about its
duties. Expecting all to be normal and the hose empty of fuel, I
proceeded to uncouple it from the deck valve and to my horror oil gushed
out onto the fuelling deck. I quickly reconnected the hose and raced
down to the boiler room to drain the system into the boiler room tank,
then back to the deck to secure everything. Down the vertical ladder to
step into a puddle of oil, feet go from under me and down into the
fast-flowing river. Down, down I went, all the time kicking off sea
boots and overcoat. When I finally broke surface I was adjacent to the
well-illuminated quarter-deck ladder. How I swam to it I will never
know. I hauled myself to the landing stage and went up the ladder to the
Holy of Holies, the quarter-deck. Here I was met by the Officer of the
Day, who in amazement at the sight of me could only exclaim: "Where have
you come from?" Shivering and spluttering, I did my best to explain what
had happened, whereupon I was sent to the Sick Bay for a medical. I
could breath and I could move, so I must be fit for duty and was sent to
my mess for dry clothing and breakfast. By now the word had reached the
mess-deck; kippers were on the menu for breakfast and by the time I
reached my mess my plate was piled high with kippers! I had my leg
pulled mercilessly by my mess Killick, Wilf Mann. Over the years we
became good friends as we advanced up the N.C.O.’s ladder.
I had to draw more clothing and boots, then complete
securing the hose and with cotton waste mop up the fuel oil and clean
the fuelling deck.. Then followed an enquiry by the Senior Engineer
Officer who agreed to dish out a blast to the duty picket boat stoker
and, best of all, signed the necessary forms to declare my clothing and
boots had been lost in the line of duty, so I would not have to pay for
them. That river had been cold, but strangely enough I suffered no ill
effects from my immersion, possibly because of the sippers of rum from
some of my mess-mates at dinner-time.
In the Engine Room Branch life was scrupulously clean.
With a plentiful supply of hot water cleanliness was paramount, and
above a steaming boiler a natural hot drying ground was available for
dhobeying. The mess tables and stools were scrubbed every morning by the
duty cooks, then the area of corticened deck was scrubbed. During
working hours we lived and worked in our overalls, so that they quickly
became soiled. A couple of the married leading stokers would start up a
‘dhobeying firm’ and wash and scrub overalls for sixpence a time, all
dues to be collected fortnightly after pay day. Stokers who formed the
boiler cleaning party, whose job it was to clean boilers internally and
then sweep down the boiler uptakes to remove and collect the soot, would
be glad to hand over their overalls to the ‘dhobeying firm’. In my early
days as a sprog stoker I had experienced life in a boiler party. The
external group would scrape off and sweep down the soot from the boiler
uptakes which led into the funnel; sometimes the inside of the funnel
had to be scraped and swept. Meanwhile the internal party would be
inside the steam and water drums, wire scrubbing the interior surfaces
and cleaning the connecting tubes with rotary wire scrubbers, pushing
and pulling the scrubbers through the tubes, which were numbered in
their hundreds. When this was completed, to ensure there was no
obstruction in any tube, each one was sighted by having a steel ball
dropped through it, from the steam drum into the water drum. A hundred
steel balls were used and when the sighting was completed one hundred
steel balls had to be accounted for. Anything less than one hundred
would cause a massive search in the boiler room, the supposition being
that the ball could be held by an obstruction in a tube. Failure to find
that missing steel sphere would mean the tubes being searched again,
resulting in red faces for the unfortunate group employed in that
particular duty.
A Leading Stoker was in charge of the diesel fuel,
stored in five gallon containers in a rack on the funnel deck. His job
was to ensure that the drums were full, ready to be transported to any
launch. Early one Friday forenoon I was called to take a drum of diesel
fuel to a launch waiting at the quarter-deck gangway. I was told which
numbered drum to take and I hurried with it down the ladders and along
the quarter-deck, down to the launch to refuel it and return the empty
drum to its place in the rack. Another job done - or so I thought. Ten
thirty was ‘Stand Easy’ time, when one could repair to one’s mess for a
cup of tea. Whilst drinking my cup of tea I was called for by the
quarter-deck messenger. I was to report immediately to the Officer of
the Day. When I arrived I was met by an R.P.O., nick-named a ‘crusher’
and the officer asked me if I had carried diesel fuel to a motor launch.
When I replied in the affirmative he showed me to a dark brown line on
the Holy of Holies - the near-white planking of the quarter-deck. "Off
cap", which was the drill when being charged. "What have you to say to
the charge?" And he, calling no-one on his behalf, and all the same if
he had done, was put in the Commander’s report, to take place next day.
The Leading Stoker had neglected to put a sealing ring on the stopper of
that particular drum of fuel and as I hurried along with it diesel fuel
had leaked from the ill-fitting plug. "Hurry", or "at the rush", means
just that in the Andrew, so I had hurried with just one objective in
view: to supply the waiting launch with its fuel, and I did not notice
the leak.
To be accused of something not of one’s making is
called a ‘Green Rub’ in the Andrew, and on our mess deck this was a
‘Green Rub’. I had to see the Senior Engineer, who hummed and hawed, but
I was still in the Commander’s report. On the Saturday forenoon I
mustered together with other criminals on the quarter-deck to be
arraigned in front of the Upper-Deck Commander, this time by the
Master-at-Arms, the Jaunty, the Chief Constable - all titles which go
with other appellations provided by the lower deck. Number, rating and
name called, step forward in front of the Commander at his desk, hear
the charge read out by the Jaunty, followed by "Off cap". No doubt the
Commander in his time had heard all the charges and all the feeble
excuses which have been pleaded, but he listened to my tale, which was
backed up by my Divisional Officer. The Commander judged that I had
caused a lot of hard work to be done in restoring the Holy of Holies to
its pristine state, so I must be given extra work. I was awarded two
days ‘Ten A’. This meant mustering several times in the rig of the day
and being required for extra work. Saturday afternoon in harbour is
‘Make and Mend’ time, but criminals are required to work. The duty
Stoker P.O. would be required to oversee my labours, but because of the
‘Green Rub’ I was told to go into the Engine-Room and lose myself on top
of a steam pipe and then report to him at tea-time. I mustered at the
required times in the evening and again next day when, being Sunday, no
work was required. So my two days of punishment passed. But you can be
sure that I always checked the stoppers on fuel drums prior to fuelling
a motor launch after that.