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One cannot live through six years of war without witnessing some outstanding acts of individual courage or actions sometimes referred to as ‘over and above the call of normal duty’. I was part of the 4.75 ammunition supply — not for us the modern fully automated push button supply, lock and fire facility, every shell had to be manhandled from the magazine to the gun deck. Each shell weighed 75lbs, but after a few hours it felt more like 75cwt.

The 4.75 chain was working like clockwork during this particular ‘engagement’ when someone dropped one of the shells. It bounced its way down the steel gangway to the deck below tearing off its nose cap and exposing a fiendish array of wires etc. The first thing I noticed was that everyone seemed to have disappeared, as if some magician had just pulled off one of his spectaculars. I knew little about ammunition except that it is preferable to have the sharp end pointing away from you. The way I figured it was that if the monster had decided to go ‘bang’ then it would have done so on its unimpeded journey down the steel gangway. I decided to take a look. There on the deck below, was our 18-year-old engine mechanic, Dickenson, in stately solitude with his foot firmly clamped on the shell to stop it rolling around. He looked up, saw me and said, ‘What do I do now PO?’ Something had to be done… so I said, ‘Just pick it up gently, lad, and bring it up here to me’. Which he did. As soon as he got to the top of the ladder he dumped the offending beast into my arms. We went on to the upper deck, heaved the shell over the side and dashed back inside where the chain was back in action.

I fully expected young Dickenson to get a pat on the back for his initiative but it was not to be — not to worry ‘Dickie’ — to me you will always be a hero.

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