大象传媒

H.M.S.IMPREGNABLE - ROUTINES
The daily routine began with reveille at 0630. The huts had no public-address system, and as the bugle sounded our instructors would come to the huts and shout at us to rise and wash and dress. The dress during working-hours included the wearing of khaki webbing gaiters reaching almost to the knee. The first Instructor for Class V78 was Yeoman Tom King, but he was soon replaced by Yeoman (Taffy) Hughes. Yeoman Hughes was a short man, Welsh, a pensioner recalled to duty, who had recently served aboard the Armed Merchant Cruiser Corfu. He was in some ways a father to us, and we were all fond of him. He told us horrific stories about the sadistic instructors he had encountered in former times. His method of rousing us was to walk the length of the hut outside rattling a wooden stick along the corrugations of the wooden cladding.
The ablutions-room was provided with wash-basins and mirrors, and we were each issued with a large wooden sink-plug in the shape of a truncated cone, which we had to keep in our lockers. This plug did not of course fit very well, and to prevent the premature draining away of one's water one had to wedge it into the hole with toilet-paper. Even then, being so light and buoyant, it would sometimes float annoyingly to the surface. It was also easy to forget to retrieve it for storage in one's locker, and one then had to improvise or to buy another from stores. It remained a mystery why the Navy never devised a secure method of chained plugs, or used fixed-pivot tilting bowls with a drainage-channel below.
After ablutions we went to our allotted Clean-Ship Stations. Mine was the Orderly Room, where two of us had each day to scrub the thick brown linoleum floor and polish the brass door-handles. For the scrubbing we had a bucket of hot water, a tin of soft soap, (a commodity which I had never before encountered, except in the well-known metaphor) and large thick floor-cloths. For the polishing we had tins of Brasso and quantities of cotton-waste. I discovered that amongst the cotton-waste there were usually to be found long lengths of silk thread of various colours, and I took to saving these and using them to embroider emblems and designs - anchors and crossed flags - all around my canvas belt. Two of our number were allocated to the messdeck, where they had to scrub the floor and the wooden table-top, and generally make their area clean and tidy. Others were allocated various other tasks about the ship.
Next we proceeded to breakfast in the messdeck. Ten men were allocated permanently to each table, taking turns to be cooks for the day. This duty involved doubling to the Messdeck when the bugler sounded Cooks to the Galley, and getting the pail of hot water, the mess tin full of tea or cocoa, bread, butter, and tins of cooked food. They served the food out, and washed and wiped up afterwards.
The rest of the day was spent in training. Initially we were taught drill on the parade-ground, - Attention! Stand at ease! Stand-easy! marching, turning, and halting, and later, drilling with Lee-Enfield .303" rifles and bayonets, though I am thankful to say that we were never made to charge with the latter at sacks of straw, yelling the while. We had some .22" rifle-shooting in the 25-yard range, and once we were taken to the Trevol Range to fire ten .303 rounds at targets. I achieved the highest score, with five bulls out of ten. We had lessons in tying bends and hitches. We occasionally had boat-drill, first sitting in a two-ton 32' cutter standing on blocks on dry land, crewed by twelve men, two sitting on each thwart, with one oar each, learning the orders, how to row and how to toss and boat the oars, before progressing to performing all these on the water.
Tossing the oars is a rather spectacular and very useful evolution. Rowers sitting on the right of each thwart place a right hand under the loom of the oar, and bang down hard with the left hand on the loom end. This causes the oar to upend itself vertically. Those sitting on the left achieve the same effect with the left and right hands respectively.
When rowing, the next order is always given whilst the blade is in the water, and the rule is, one stroke after the order. This gives rise to the story of an ex-sailor employed by a blacksmith: The sailor is hammering the iron, and the blacksmith says, Stop! and bends his head down to examine the work; but unfortunately the sailor keeps to the rule, one stroke after the order, and kills him.
Mid-morning the bugler would sound Stand-Easy. This was a break of fifteen minutes during which one might smoke or join the crush in the N.A.A.F.I (Navy, Army, & Air Force Institution) Canteen. One could buy a large bun and a cup of hot tea for 2d, and this tea was proverbially so weak that we conjectured that it was made by dipping one leaf, tied on a piece of cotton, into the water and quickly jerking it out again. If we detected any colour in the water, we would declare that the cotton had broken that day. I suspect that, since tea was rationed, the manager and staff were probably stealing from us. At the end of the break, the bugler would sound Out Pipes.
After tea we shifted into night clothing, which merely entailed the removal of the gaiters and the blue collar, and Pipe Down was at 2200.
Next to the Drill Shed was the gymnasium, where we had three one-hour sessions per week. The PTI (Physical Training Instructor) weighed each of us during the first week, and I was recorded at 10 stone 10 lbs; and when weighed again at the end of training I was 11 stone 4 lbs. This gain rather surprised me, because I always felt hungry there, but I ascribed it to very regular hours and meals. We also had brief instruction in unarmed combat, and how to use the edge of our own steel helmet as a weapon. We were shewn how, because of the design of the German helmet, with its deep flange protecting the neck at the back and its chin-strap in place, it was possible to grab a sentry from behind, grasp the front rim over his head, and pull backwards, breaking his neck.
The Ship's Company was organized in four Divisions, - Fo'c'sle, Foretop, Maintop, and Quarterdeck. Each division consisted of about five classes of twenty-four men, and was divided into a Port Watch and a Starboard Watch, so it was a simple matter to call to duty two-thirds, or a half, or one-third, or one-sixth of the company. Every week one Division was given long week-end leave, and one Division was on Passive Defence Duty, which entailed fire-drill with trailer-pumps and hydrants. My station was to help man a fire-fighting trailer-pump, and at the signal we would race to our station, drag the pump out of its shed, and stand by for orders, perhaps to attend a fire started during an air-raid. (A trailer-pump was mounted on two wheels, so that it could be attached behind a vehicle or pulled along by hand.) Half a Division was on Fire-Watching duty each day, in which one group had to race to the end of the jetty and keep watch for mines dropped into the harbour.
To give an impression of the times, I quote part of my letter of Sunday February 14th 1943: I returned from shore leave, and was going down to the hut when an aircraft which had been extremely audible for some time dropped a large string of flares. We supposed it to be an exercise, as it was brilliant clear moonlight and no alert sounded, but soon we heard bombs bursting, and then gunfire. Soon the Alert sounded, followed by the bugle for Take Cover. By then the barrage was terrific, and all sorts of flashes and coloured rows of balls of fire were proceeding skywards. Some incendiaries were dropped in the dockyard area across the harbour, and were soon put out. We finally got to bed at 2345 when the Carry On bugle sounded, and were just dozing off when the All Clear sirens woke us up again. On the following Wednesday there was another raid, and we saw an aircraft caught in the searchlights and shot down by a fighter.
Day-Leave was granted to two-and-a-half Divisions not required for duty each day. On Tuesdays and Thursdays two Divisions marched past the Captain. We marched to the strains of a 15-strong Marine Band, but in March they were drafted elsewhere and replaced by a bugle-band of trainees plus three Marines. Once we had a route-march via Saltash Passage, under Brunell's Bridge.
One's squad of 20 men regularly served as the Duty Platoon, equipped with Gas-masks, .303" Short Lee-Enfield Rifles with bayonets fixed, and 120 rounds each, as a sort of Home-Guard unit charged with defending the area against invaders until help arrived.
Every Sunday morning we dressed in Number Ones, (our best uniforms), and went to Divisions on the parade-ground, where we were inspected by the Officer of the Day. Here I became aware of the literal significance of the term Spit-and-Polish. I gather it is a process whereby one spits into the polish, and by repeated treatments the toes of even a pair of our rough-surfaced Issue boots can acquire a remarkably mirror-like condition. One lad called Joe knew the secret, and such was the effect that the officer stopped and asked him whether his boots were indeed ordinary Issue. After the inspection and march-past we were marched down to the Church. After the service I sometimes went down to the Beer-Bar for a pint of draught cider, price ten pence.
We received our pay fortnightly on Fridays. On pay-days we mustered in the Drill-Shed and, when one's name was called, one stepped smartly to the table, placed there one's cap, top uppermost, with the Pay-Book thereupon opened at the photograph, and chanted one's number and name, and the pay was placed upon the book.
We were able to buy duty-free Service tobacco, either leaf tobacco in circular half-pound tins, or cigarette tobacco in rectangular tins, price 1/2d each. It was colloquially referred to as Tickler tobacco, I think because the firm of Tickler & Co. had been famous for supplying jam to the service in such tins. One was allowed to take only one ounce per day's leave ashore.
Once we were taken to visit the Battleship H.M.S.Nelson in harbour. Nelson was the sister-ship of the Rodney. They were characterised by having two enormous gun-turrets forward of the bridge, which was right aft. I thought that being inside one of these turrets, which were entered by climbing a vertical ladder leading up through a circular trap, was most claustrophobic. We were told that when its three 18" guns fired, the gun's crew heard nothing, and were only made aware of the discharge by the recoil of the guns.
We were regularly summoned to watch very boring films on aircraft recognition, which informed us about the appearance of both Allied and German aircraft as seen from all possible angles, though I cannot say that I derived much proficiency from these films. A safer method was the use by look-outs of transparent acetate sheets which carried the black silhouettes of the various aircraft. However, a more certain indication of the enemy was seldom lacking. When an aircraft 'plane began dropping glider-bombs over my ship in the Bay of Biscay, and then machine-gunning us, we needed recourse neither to the films nor to the acetate sheets, and felt the Gunnery Officer was eminently justified in giving the order to open fire.
My course was planned to last 22 weeks, but this did not include two separate Work Ship weeks, in which we had no training. I was in a gang of six, in overalls, working from the issue room in the galley. Three went with the lorry to the Dep么t and loaded 100 loaves, 10 sacks of potatoes, vegetables in string-bags, butter, sugar, tea, cocoa, coffee, rum, bins of meat, eggs et c., all to be stacked in the stores upon our return. In the meantime the other three had cleaned and scrubbed the racks, bread tins, and floor, and chalked the mess-numbers in the appropriate places. In the afternoons we had to slice the bread, weigh out butter and cake, and measure out dishes of jam. Each loaf was placed on a machine, and the turning of the handle rotated a large blade. One of our number was Trevor Stanford, whom we called Ricky. He was an excellent pub-pianist, a tall Bristolian who had briefly served in the Merchant Navy. He became over-impatient in attempting to remove the cut slices. We heard a clang and saw the end of the third finger of his right hand on the floor. The Welsh lad who had been turning the blade turned very pale, but it was certainly not his fault. Ricky raced to the Sick Bay for attention. The amputated portion could not be replaced, and the finger was further shortened by amputation to the joint, but less than a week later he played at a Ship's Concert. He became famous as a pianist with Billy Cotton's Band, under the name Russ Conway, and wrote an autobiography entitled Nine-and-a-Half Fingers to Fortune.
For the second Work-Ship Week I was in a squad allocated to the Petty Officers' Mess. Most mornings we had to prepare potatoes and carrots for cooking. We had an electric peeler which removed most of the skins by spinning the vegetables with water in a rough-sided drum, leaving us to finish the process by hand.
Another interruption to our signal-training was a one-day course at the Fire-School. (I subsequently attended another at Portsmouth; one of the two was called Stamshaw, but I forget which). We donned overalls and went by lorry. In the schoolroom we had a lecture about fire. Unfortunately one cannot at sea use unlimited amounts of water, because it is no gain to extinguish a fire but sink the ship.
Outside we learned and practised the use of large branch-hoses, spray-nozzles, extinguishers of various kinds, foam, and breathing apparatus. It gave one considerable confidence to find that one could extinguish the flames from a tray of burning crude oil by directing the spray from a small portable extinguisher into the vapour-gap between the flames and the unburnt oil, virtually lifting the flame off the oil, and that a team of us could do the same to a large vat of flaming oil by using a branch with a spray nozzle.
On the site was built part of a ship's upper deck, two decks high, with its watertight doors and hatches. A large tray of crude oil in a corner of the lower deck was ignited by a blowlamp. Half the squad, including myself, was mustered on the top deck, near an open circular hatch from which the black smoke was pouring, so thick in appearance as to appear solid. In turn we had to don the face-mask, to which was attached a breathing-tube 60' in length. The open end, protected by a basketwork mesh, was entrusted to one of the crew, to be held in the fresh air. At the command we had to descend into the smoke-filled compartment, cross to the door and open it, descend a ladder, walk carefully past the flaming oil, cross to another door, open it and walk out. Then the face-mask was passed to the next man, who had to complete the journey in the other direction, closing the interior door. There were two further 30' lengths of the half-inch breathing pipe which could be coupled to the first 60', and which together constituted a length of 120', which was the maximum length through which the average man's lungs could draw breath. On our return to Impregnable we marched in with black faces.
We were issued with steel helmets and Service gasmasks. The latter consisted of a face-mask with an exterior exhaust valve, the intake being through a canister worn on the chest and attached to the mask by a flexible tube. We had to enter a tent filled with tear-gas to test the mask, and, whilst in there, to practise testing for gas. This was accomplished by taking a good breath, thrusting one finger down the side of the mask where it made a seal against the cheek, taking a sniff of the gas, and then quickly removing the finger and breathing out hard.

漏 Copyright of content contributed to this Archive rests with the author. Find out how you can use this.