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Here am I, an Ordinary Telegraphist U.A. (Underage) with all his life before him not knowing what on earth is happening around him, being ordered into a wooden hut, now to be called home, in Warwick Farm, an area on the outskirts of Sydney, Australia, in an establishment named HMS Golden Hind — a Barracks ship. It seemed more like a transit camp to me as I recall.

Whilst waiting for the inevitable ‘something to happen’ I entertained myself in the Gym, shadow boxing and sparring with whoever would hit back. I also kept up-to-scratch with my sending and receiving the Morse code, encoding and decoding test messages, and maintaining radio equipment BUT; I also boxed inter-services at the Leichart Stadium, I think that’s how it was spelt, whenever matches were arranged. I fought two fights which, happily, I won. Oh yes, I also went ashore and became friendly with a family from Hornsby, also on the outskirts of Sydney. They became my Up Homers. They made me so very welcome. Just like a home from home. I also visited Luna Park, on the other side of the river from Circular Quay, where I met up with a Vic Smith, also a Sparker (Telegraphist) like myself, with whom I went to School back in St Annes-on-Sea years previously. We joined the Navy together and after Boys’ training our ways parted. We had a very enjoyable session together before going our separate ways once again. (The next time I met him was out in Francistown, Botswana in 1968, twenty three years later). Then I received the order ‘Ellam get along to the Drafting Office’ Whoopee! The inevitable is now upon me. Off I dashed, at the double, to be told that I needed to take a typing course and reach a speed of 30 words per minute. ‘Pardon. A typing course?’ At a Sydney College and for a period of four weeks, no less. This is a draft chit I did not expect. However, it was a daily affair returning to HMS Golden Hind late pm Mondays to Fridays. I remember the teacher well. She was ever so nice and such a good looker too. Dream on, oh Ordinary Telegraphist RN (Royal Navy).

Within the stipulated period I successfully achieved the 30 words per minute goal needed so, I lost my teacher and returned to the Golden Hind, only to be told that I was on a short course at HMAS Penguin, on the waterfront at Sydney. ‘Short Course for what?’ ‘Telegraphist Trained Operator you clot’. Why all this sudden interest in me I wondered. Where would a 30 words per minute typist T.O. be required in the British Pacific Fleet? It was pointed out to me by a Chief Petty Officer Telegraphist that, as a Boy Telegraphist I had only been trained to receive the morse code up to a speed of 25 wpm, that’s the fastest most people can write and still be legible; I would be required to read signals from Radio Guam, the American broadcast station for shipping, at a speed of 30 wpm. The reason for all my very recent hassle became crystal clear.

HMAS Penguin, here I come, and there I went - and passed. Now I am a Trained Operator. In fact, I felt like an Over-trained Operator. I had this picture in my mind of a Battleship carrying the Admiral of Fleet bound to put the Japanese in the Pacific to rights. After all VE day had long past and the Japanese were the only fighting avenue left open to me. Except for Leichart Stadium of course.

Then it was made known to me. ‘You’re Bonaventure Bound my Boy’ a knowledgeable Master at Arms informed me at the drafting office. ‘Bonaventure! What’s that?’ ‘Dunno mate, it looks like a merchant ship out in the middle of the harbour’ I was not due to join the ship until the following week so I went along to Circular Quay and looked towards the Sydney Bridge and there she lay; HMS Bonaventure at anchor BUT she’s a merchant ship without the sign of a Naval Uniform apparent on her upper decks, (or with no sign). I asked a Petty Officer, passing by, who said that the 'Bonaventure carried X craft', he had been told. 'And what the heck’s an X craft?' said this very young 30 wpm typist Telegraphist Trained Operator to himself, not wishing to show his ignorance.

‘Nearly there’, aboard the HMS Bonaventure, hush hush midget submarine depot ship.

RN uniforms were not worn because HM Bonaventure was a hush, hush ship.

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