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I had been promoted to Leading Radio Mechanic and had received a draft to the Orkney Islands, the home of Scapa Flow, the traditional base of the Royal Navy's Grand fleet.

In addition to my kitbag and hammock I had acquired a toolbox, a suitcase and the prospect of a long journey. Such was the reward of a young lad born and bred in London some 700 miles away. Somehow my father had obtained an old ambulance converted into a passenger carrying vehicle and which took the two of us together with my considerable baggage to Euston Station to catch a train to the northern most regions of the country.

I had already been advised that the train to take was the 10.30 am bound for Thurso on the north coast of Scotland. This train was not a scheduled passenger service but provided for the benefit of servicemen and women serving in the Orkney Islands and was, in Naval slang, known as the `Jellicoe'. During the First World War a similar train, named after Admiral Sir John Jellicoe, who was the Commanding Officer in the Battle of Jutland, transported coal from the Welsh coalfields to the coal burning ships of the Navy anchored in Scapa Flow.

I arrived at the station in good time knowing of the propensity of such trains to become rapidly overcrowded with servicemen and women and was able to find a seat and stow my gear. Having said my farewell to Dad I settled down for what I felt was going to be a long journey and for which I had been supplied with ample provisions. The train left promptly at 10.30 and proceeded unhurried with the occasional stop for reasons I did not know except that we did not take any additional passengers aboard - perhaps we were acting as a quasi goods train in addition to a military passenger service.

Sleep evaded most of us in the carriage, which was only lit by the regulation blue light, and conversation lapsed, as we seemed to have exhausted any further topics of interest. I do remember stopping at Perth station at two o'clock in the morning of the following day when I, and a few others, took the opportunity to stretch our legs but any hope of refreshment vanished as we viewed a cold, bleak and deserted station. There was I believe, a form of buffet somewhere along the train that involved a walk along the corridors strewn with fellow travellers where one could obtain a `bacon butty', the recipe for which escaped me - it was not a delicacy that was common in the South of England.

One of my travelling companions made the journey only to find supplies had been exhausted and the facility closed - I was glad I had taken precautions against the pangs of hunger that some of my fellow passengers must have suffered. As the train slowly rumbled on I watched as the light of dawn revealed a bleak and barren landscape, which seem to be devoid of any human occupation and which I hoped did not portray a foretaste of my surroundings in the months to come.

Eventual arrival at Thurso saw me once again on alien territory with my worldly possessions around me, being gently ushered until I found myself on the quayside waiting to board a small tender to take me across the Pentland Firth to the Orkneys.

Now, I had been told that the Pentland Firth had the reputation of being the roughest stretch of water around the British Isles and I now faced a journey in what appeared to be a flat bottomed boat of mean proportions. If I had been born with ‘sea legs’ I was about to put them to the test. As it so happened I crossed into Scapa Flow upon a gentle swell and came alongside a vessel with the name of Dunluce Castle that had, I believe, been a former passenger ship, anchored in the middle of the Flow and now pressed into service as a half-way stage for those posted to one of the many surrounding islands. Anchored below the companionway with the ship towering above me I made two journeys to transport my gear including a hammock and kitbag hoping I would not drop either into the briny below or lose my footing and follow them in - if this is what having sea legs meant then I was surely testing mine.

It was necessary to pick up a further tender to take me to Stromness, from whence I hoped I should find transport to deliver me to HMS Tern and journey’s end. I was directed to a point ‘forrard on starboard side’, which interpreted, meant I should go to the sharp end on the right-hand side of the ship. The wait enabled me to look around at the vast expanse of inland harbour, home of the Grand Fleet in both World Wars.

It was here, in the earliest days of the war, a German U-Boat that had been able to penetrate one of the entrances to the harbour torpedoed the battleship HMS Royal Oak with the loss of most of its crew. As a result barriers were hastily constructed to link Lambs Holm, Glimps Holm and Burray with the mainland to close three of the entrances to the Flow. They became known as the Churchill Barriers and a main road was subsequently built upon them to seal their permanency.

The question of visibility was one that arose on many occasions and I had been told that the whole of my present panorama was often enshrouded in a thick fog and it was not unusual to lose sight of one's neighbour for a day or two. It occurred to me that any humorous reference to ‘Scotch mist’ might not be appreciated in these parts - so I kept a still tongue in my head. When my ‘taxi’ arrived I had the dubious pleasure of making a return journey with my entire gear down another companionway onto an equally small tender and after two or three journeys I accomplished the mission without mishap. I eventually reached my ultimate destination more than one whole day since leaving home and a new experience was about to begin. I had joined the Navy to see the sea; well, I suppose this was a start, Scotch mist permitting.

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