大象传媒

H.M.S. ROYAL ARTHUR

On the 20th November 1939 I made a tedious cross-country railway journey from Coventry to Skegness in response to an order to report to H.M.S. Royal Arthur. On arrival at Skegness station a loud voice boomed out 鈥淎ll Royal Arthur entrants muster here鈥�. Muster 鈥� a word that was often to be heard in he next few months. There was a small party of us and we were loaded on to a coach that made a short journey to Butlin鈥檚 Holiday Camp, passing under the banner that was to cause much banter on future occasions - 鈥淥ur true intent is all for your delight.鈥� The Royal Navy had transformed the holiday camp into a training camp and as one of its stone frigates would spend the next six years training thousands of new entrants into war-time sailors.

It was now late evening and a meal was laid on after which the small party of us were bedded down for the night in single berths that a few months earlier had been the stables for the camp horses. It seemed only a short while later when the call was heard over the loud speaker system 鈥淲akey,wakey, rise and shine, the mornings fine鈥� followed by thunderous knocking on the door and the order to get dressed and show our faces. Numbers had swollen and there was now some forty plus of twenty year olds who would form Class W38 to be trained over a period of six months to become telegraphists, capable of receiving and sending morse at a speed of twenty-six words a minute.

Accents from all over the country were heard from broad Scots to the burr of Devon and Cornwall but we all had one thing in common 鈥� our age. Earlier in the year as twenty 鈥攜ear olds we had all registered under the Military Conscription Act with the object of serving in H.M. Forces for a period of six months. The advent of war had changed this and the terms of engagement had now been altered to 鈥渢he end of the present emergency鈥�.

After breakfast on that first day we were introduced to Petty Officer Telegraphist 鈥淛ock鈥� Lowden who would be our instructor during our training and would also be in charge of us as a party during our various wanderings. The first week was spent in becoming officially part of the Service, kitting up and what have you. Mustered by Jock we were told to sort ourselves out in threes and each three allocated a cabin (ex
Chalets) that would be home for the next six months. These were wooden huts about eight foot by nine containing a double bed, a single bed, a shelf, a wash basin and little else. The double bed had one peculiarity. In order to comply with naval regulations that no two men are allowed to share a bed it was divided into two by a wall of wooden planks! We were assigned to one of the mess halls, York, Kent and Gloucester named after the royal princes, given a 鈥渨atch鈥�, first and second of port and the same to starboard. Instructions were given to pay heed to the 鈥減ipes鈥� (the loud speaker announcements). Not hearing, or understanding, them was no excuse!

One of the first trips was to the camp barber for a regulation trim that was nearer to a scalping performed by ex-sheep shearers. Later on one of our class mates produced a hand-clipper, a pair of sharp scissors and obliged with something a bit less drastic yet still meeting service requirements The hair cut was followed by a visit to the sick bay for another examination to make sure that everything was in the right place followed by a vaccination with a blunt instrument that gave every-one a sore arm for the next few days.

As a party 鈥渇alling in鈥� or 鈥済et fell in鈥� became part of the routine and we were initiated into the art of forming fours 鈥� marching in threes had not yet arrived. In this fashion we duly presented ourselves to the paymasters office to become officially a member of His Majesty鈥檚 Navy, issued with a never to be forgotten number and a pay book. Pay was two shillings a day (ten pence) but married men were expected to make an allotment to their wives (which was supplemented by the Navy) whilst others could voluntarily make an allotment to who-so-ever they chose, but with no supplement. Two shillings a day sounds pitiful but remember that the average wage at that time was about 拢2.10. As an apprentice I had only just started to see a pound note in my pay packet and, doubtless, many of my new colleagues had been in the same wage bracket as office boys, would-be butchers and the like. In fact our first weeks pay was reduced by four shillings 鈥� the amount we had received with our calling up papers with which to ensure that we did not appear penniless waifs when entering into the services.

Another session was spent at the 鈥渟lops鈥� (the naval stores) to be kitted out in our uniforms 鈥� a much awaited day as we were all anxious to look like sailors. All that was needed for our future life was issued, much of it in duplicate. Two uniforms, two blue jean collars, two hats with unattached hat-bands, two pairs of boots, two towels white, one overcoat, one oilskin coat, an odd bit of underwear, complete with a kit bag for storage purposes. A few other items completed the issue including a large black cake tin in which to store the hats. Two boot brushes, a pussers dirk (penknife) complete with a tool for removing stones from horses hooves (or splicing ropes) and still the pile grew. A weighty book, the Seamanship manual was supplemented by a smaller one with illustrations of the naval flags. The stack piled up to be topped by hammock and lashings and even some wooden lettering forming the name with which to mark as much of our kit as possible and not forgetting a small brown attach茅 case (referred to in the future as a ditty box) plus a hussif or housewife (a role of material housing needles and other bits and pieces for performing running repairs). All this was virtually standard issue in peace time but as the war progressed a number of items were removed from the list. We were told that we would receive a kit allowance of three pence a day (just over a new penny) to maintain our kit. When required replacement items could be purchased from 鈥渟lops鈥� at moderate cost.

In the early days of the war many items were in short supply and around the camp it was common to see ratings in uniform top with civilian trousers and vice versa. Some were hatless whilst others were hat-bandless. Horror of horror to gunnery instructors some even were still in shoes! Shore leave was not permitted until the uniform was complete. Our only deficiency was the top coat. The traditional navy type was very scarce and the shortage was made up by raiding the coat-racks of establishments such as Burtons, the Thirty Shilling Tailors other multiple tailors..

Gas masks had to be carried at all times and the little brown cardboard box carrying the civilian type was taken from us and replaced with the service issue.

Unfortunately regulation type containers were one of the items in short supply and the Post Office had been pressurised into bridging the gap with brown post-bags. Unfortunately, as we were to find out, they did not mate well with the gas mask itself and failed to make the neat bundle required for inspection, almost as if a live snake was wriggling about inside.

Laden down we made our way back to our cabins and our new clothing was donned with a little help and guidance from our instructor but not before a stop was made on the way to have our boots heavily studded.. Everyone was keen to have a nice tiddly bow on the hat-band and those with nimble-fingers were much in demand. A silver threepenny bit was traditionally supposed to form the button centre. During the war al hat-bands bore the three letters 鈥淗MS鈥� individual names were banned for security purposes. The hussif was brought into action as we proudly sewed on the uniform sleeve our red telegraphist badge. We were eager to show ourselves off in sailors kit but who to -for shore leave was not granted for the first week and even then we would be just one more amidst thousands..

This part of he proceedings complete a session as held n which we were given brown paper and string to wrap up our civilian clothing for free despatch homewards.

We gradually adapted ourselves to the new world that we were in with a language of its own. There were decks, deckheads and a hallowed place known as the quarterdeck. Mess traps never caught a mouse or anything else and a mess deck peggy was no alluring blonde. Fore and aft, rig of the day, port and starboard, drop your hook all became part of everyday language. A few remained baffling for a time. Hands to night clothing had nothing to do with pyjamas but involved the removal of the blue jean collar in the evening, whilst 鈥渉and darken ship鈥� never involved black paint but compliance with black-out regulations The toilets, very inadequate when a food bug infected the camp, had now become heads. 鈥淩ig of the day鈥� dictated what was worn; Number Three was ordinary uniform with red badges (if applicable), whilst Number One was best uniform with gold badges. Sometimes this was supplemented with Oilskins to be carried or worn. Gold wire badges were not an issue but were soon bought from the naval outfitters shop that had hurriedly made an appearance in the town.

Apart from those worn by the permanent staff virtually the only badges to be seen were the winged telegraphist badges and the semaphore flags of the visual signal ratings, whose course lasted fourteen weeks. All the other entrants received basic training as seamen or would be allocated a trade on completion of a six week course.

Meals were taken in the mess halls and with rationing yet to come were as fulsome and varied as service cooks could provide according to their ability and under the restriction imposed by the messing allowance dictated by the Admiralty. No doubt many in the place had not eaten as well at home or had rarely partaken of three hot meals a day. The same mess halls provided a haven at night before lights out and had some measure of warmth as opposed to the cabin. A 鈥渇anny鈥� of cocoa was always available for a bedtime drink, sometimes supplemented by something left-over.

The camp was 鈥渄ry鈥� and even the traditional rum tot, announced by the pipe 鈥淯p spirits鈥� was restricted to permanent staff Once out of training ratings could register
Temperance or Grog. The grog consisted of an eighth of a pint of rum diluted by two parts of water 鈥� still lethal. In lieu Temperance ratings received an extra threepence in their pay..

The first week over ordinary training commenced, gradually learning to march in step mixed in with bits of knowledge applicable to life in the Navy 鈥� from recognising an officer to tying a few elementary knots. As the senior class (and the first Hostilities Only W/T class) we received extra rifle drill to make sure we did not drop a rifle on Sunday morning Divisions, by doing so disgracing ourselves and incurring the wrath of the gunnery officer.

The commanding officer of the training camp was a commodore, entitled to fly his flag, a white pennant with a red St. George鈥檚 cross bearing a red circle in the upper corner. Down the batting order there was a commander in charge of the signals division, a lieutenant commander gunnery officer, two-ring lieutenants for divisional officers of each house (York, Kent and Gloucester) all assisted by a sprinkling of sub-lieutenants. The officers were housed in the Ingoldmels Hotel at one end of the camp complex, a little more substantial and warmer than the hundreds of chalets habited by thousands of would-be sailors. The ship鈥檚 complement was boosted by chief and petty officers engaged in running the place and providing instruction to the new entrants, whose mass seemed to increase daily. Gunnery instructors abounded and their voices could be heard in Skegness 鈥� except for the chief of them all the dreaded Dusty Miller whose orders could be head in Grimsby.

In the meantime our instructor was eager to get us started on the real reason of being at Skeggy 鈥� the learning of morse and all that went with it. Starting off at six words a minute the aim was to achieve a speed of twenty six words by the end of the course. The P.O. was supplemented by a C.P.O., called out of his retirement. Part of the mess halls had been divided up and turned into classrooms some of which had been fitted out with morse keys and wireless equipment and instruction began. The code sounded incomprehensible but gradually we progressed. A word consisted of four letters for the purpose of speed and we started off with plain language, giving the opportunity to guess at missing letters. S and H provided stumbling blocks 鈥� was that three dots or four. This was compounded when instruction was given in code with numbers intermingled with letters - was that a four dot H or a five dot 5. In addition to the alphabet and the numbers there was a large number of special signs to baffle the mind and memory. Mixed in with morse lessons we also had to learn the complicated procedure used in transmitting and receiving signals as well as learning to code. Tests were made weekly, gradually increasing speed with a bit of extra instruction during watch aboard for those requiring to be brought up to standard. A little instruction was given in semaphore (to me about as understandable as knot tying) and, for good measure morse by lamp.

In the meantime, winter had arrived. Skegness was more than bracing. It may have been normal for Skegness but it seemed like the worst winter I have known.

Outside our row of cabins was a hard tennis court now under three foot of snow. Duty hands could not shovel it up quickly enough. An extra blanket per man was issued and highly illegal bowl fires appeared - to be confiscate when found. With over three thousand in the camp the commodore refused to take any more and of that three thousand it seemed as if two thousand reported to the sick bay to receive a dose of cough medicine dispensed from the largest bucket available. Icicles formed on bedding from freezing breath and water pipes froze. Coke fires were lit in the toilets (sorry, heads) attracting some to congregate for a touch of warmth - resulting in at least one death from inhaling the fumes.

Shore leave was something to look forward to with a spot of warmth in one of the towns cinemas and a cup of tea and a cake in some tea room. There was not a great deal to do when ashore Many of us were not yet into quaffing ale, although the naval pickets kept an eye on those that did indulge when it was time for the last busses to return to camp. The use of the camp as a naval station must have been a life-line to the local traders with normal travel and holidays curtailed by the war. A few cafes provided a bit extra to the hungry, especially when taking the longer shore leave granted on Saturday or Sunday. Three cinemas catered for the film-going fraternity and apart from the mass of blue uniforms war seemed far distant.

Even for a town renowned for being so bracing the sun does eventually appear though it is wise to remember that the north wind doth blow. The snow and ice disappeared and occasionally top coats could be left in the cabin and W38 was nearing the end of its stay and, at the start wondering if the war would last the six months, the possibility of going to sea became a reality . Surprisingly, and possibly with the help of those marking the test papers, we all passed 鈥� even with a couple of weeks chopped off the course and the fleet desperate for 鈥渟parkers鈥�. Had we not passed an extra two weeks tuition would be given and if still failing a change of rating would apply - the coding branch seemed hungry for recruits.

Instruction over we were told to sort ourselves out for posting on with the three Naval depots (Portsmouth, Devonport and Chatham) all hungry for their share. Amicably w split ourselves up with the Londoners showing a preference for Chatham, the West country people opting for Devonport leaving the undecided like myself going to Portsmouth. Kitbags were packed. Hammocks (unused) shouldered, busses were boarded and farewells said as we all went our different ways into an uncertain future.

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