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This story has been inputted by a 大象传媒 Radio Bristol Peoples War Volunteer.

A Lad Called Bris (One Sailors War) 鈥� Part 1.

This is the story about a lad in the latter end of 1939. No information has been gathered other than that which is in the author鈥檚 head. Bris, obviously came from Bristol. He was a hardened sort of fellow, always looking for fun. The year of 1939 saw him as a nineteen year old, the Second World War had only just begun and not wishing to go into the Army he volunteered for the Navy.

In the November of that year Bris went to the recruiting office in Pruet Street just off Victoria Street, Bristol. Bris was very excited at the sight of an ex-marine sergeant commissioner standing at the entrance steps of the Office. What a fine upstanding figure of a man thought Bris, the seeds of doubt were now planted in his mind as to whether to join the Marines or the Navy.

After showing his introductory letter he was directed to join the queue, finally his turn came and he stood in front of a ruddy-faced C.P.O., sitting at a large desk. 鈥淲hat can I do for you son,鈥� he said. 鈥淲ell I want to join up for twenty one years,鈥� replied Bris.

The Chief was taken aback somewhat, 鈥淲ell son,鈥� he said, 鈥淟ets say you join up for five just to see if you like it,鈥� lightly scratching his head. 鈥淧roviding you pass your medical test.鈥� Bris was directed to a row of cubicles to strip off naked and join quite a long queue of embarrassed young men with their hands over their private parts all waiting to see the doctor in another large cubicle. One lad was said to have caused some commotion when the doctor put his hands between his legs and held his testicles and said 鈥淐ough.鈥� He thought he said 鈥渙ff鈥� and with considerable pain he realized his mistake. This caused quite a laugh and broke the ice with the rest of the lads who commented on the different sizes etc. Then came the eye and colour test, after some two hours Bris was home with the knowledge that he would be contacted.

The following weeks were agony for Bris, waiting for the postman every morning. Finally his prayers were answered, a brown envelope with O.H.M.S., stamped across the top came through the letter box, and he was so excited and overjoyed. 鈥淎t last鈥� he shouted to his mum, who was unaware that he had volunteered. She was so shocked that words failed her. The letter requested that he should report to the R.T.O., at Temple Meads Station, R.T.O., stands for regulating transport officer. From there he was escorted to H.M.S. Drake Naval Barracks at Devonport along with several dozen other young men.

Eventually after a fortnights initial training Bris had a draft chit on the desk of Raleigh Six Mess, Raleigh was a large three storey building one of several in H.M.S. Drake Barracks each divided into messes of about sixty to seventy ratings controlled by two or three leading hands. Draft chits were sent out to messes from the drafting office every morning. which was situated in another block. When Bris was there, up to twenty two thousand were in residence. He was in receipt of a chit to report to the office and was drafted to H.M.S. Royal Arthur at Skegness, which turned out to be Billy Butlins Holiday Camp commandeered for the duration of the war for training R.N. personnel. Bris was in class 46, with about forty other rookies with a P.O. in charge. Some of these P.O.s were the most sadistic individuals in the R.N., in competition with each other to see how smart they could make their class in six weeks by making themselves feared by their class.

Time to go back to Devonport. After buying a little present for the class P.O., which was the regular thing to do, back to R6 mess. Bris recalls an incident when two ratings from the seaman鈥檚 block across from Raleigh came through the mess, he knew the two men as they too came from Bristol, Fishponds in fact. The two of them were raffling a wrist watch he forgets how much a ticket cost but it was a wangle anyway as one of their mates won the watch and gave it back to the owner for a few quid out of the proceeds. They all had a good run ashore with the money they made that put Bris wise about raffles, it was also against the Admiralty ruling.

As mentioned before there were two leading hands to each mess, Chillic鈥檚 was the name they were generally called. Their job at 11 o鈥檆lock in the forenoon was to collect the rum rations for the mess after the Bosun鈥檚 whistle piped 鈥淯p Spirits鈥� over the loud-hailer. Sometimes a bright spark would add, 鈥淪tand fast the Holy Ghost鈥� amid some laughter. After two or three days Bris had a chit requiring him to report to the drafting office, all this made Bris feel like a child just starting school, in other words lost. He was told to pack his kit bag and hammock and was taken by lorry to Devonport railway station to the R.T.O.鈥檚 office where he was to travel to H.M.S. land rail and fleet arm base in Campbell Town on the west coast of Scotland in Argyllshire. This turned out to be a very short stay, he was billeted in the Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders drill hall. All naval personnel were drafted either singly or in batches, the most senior rating was in charge or responsible not like the Army who were shifted in battalions. All this may seem a bit boring to the reader but it gets better.

Bris was given a job unloading stores in the base warehouse, one day he was unloading oilskins, that is to say naval raincoats, in bundles of ten. When nearly unloaded he noticed that one was lying loose on the bed of the lorry and that the civilian drver had his eye on it. The chap that was with Bris was a small inoffensive fellow about the size the oilskin would fit. As he had a permanent job in the warehouse Bris mentioned to him about the driver and suggested he go and hide it somewhere in the warehouse until it was raining and oilskins were piped rig the day. Instead this kid marched back around the bay to the drill hall with this oilskin over his arm, which was folded inside out with a distinctive bright yellow lining. Who should he meet on the way was the master at arms, or jaunty, as they were known, who stopped him as he was passing in his car. Why was he carrying it and where did he get it? The kid was frightened to death of the jaunty, nickname for chief petty officer of Naval Police.

The young lad who鈥檚 surname was Fell came from Manchester, promptly said he had been given the oilskin by Bris. As a result of this Bris was arrested and put on a charge in the C.O.鈥檚 report. When the C.O.鈥檚 defaulters was piped and it was Bris鈥檚 turn to be marched before him, to stand in a painted white circle in front of a very large desk and a semi-circle of top ranking officers. The master at arms shouting 鈥淥ff caps鈥�. Before Bris could take his cap off it was snatched off him from behind by one of the escorts. 鈥淵ou would think I was up for murder鈥� said Bris, who was promptly charged with conniving to steal with the young lad. Bris being a cheeky fella, denied the charge and when asked if he had anything to say he replied that if the oilskin had fitted him he would have had it and no one would have been the wiser. 鈥淚s that so鈥� said the C.O., and gave Bris fourteen days cells. The young fella got fourteen days and one O.A., which was extra duty. Bris got a green rub for his cheek, so he was escorted off to cells in H.M.S. Nimrod. The P.O., in the cell block was a nasty type of fella. 鈥淩ight take off your clothes and put on this duck suit,鈥� he said. This was a heavy white canvass suit. 鈥淎nd put all your things from your pockets into your hat鈥�. The P.O., started to leave when Bris called him back, saying, 鈥淗ey you鈥檝e missed something鈥� and promptly flipped a button in the hat. The P.O., was furious because Bris was smiling, 鈥淚鈥檒l soon teach you a lesson, trying to be funny ah, you won鈥檛 be smiling when I鈥檝e finished with you young man鈥�. Bris having a smile on his face annoyed the P.O., more and more. Bris was locked in his cell foe three days without any exercise, his daily task was to pick two pounds of oakum per day and any default was added on to his sentence.

Well I must explain to the reader what oakum is, it is old hemp tow rope cut into faggots. One can imagine after years of towing battle ships etc., how hard it was. First to knock hell out of it to loosen the first three ravels and the same to the proceeding ravels and then pick into the fine hair like fibre. The two pounds became a large pile of fibre, which was weighed each morning. In the days of sail, this oakum was used for caulking between deck planks and other caulking purposes, one of which was stuffing pillows. The practice of picking oakum in naval prisons is, I believe, now abolished. After a few days of picking the fingers become very sore as one can imagine. If a prisoner failed, as in Bris鈥檚 case, to pick twenty-eight pounds in fourteen days then he would have to stay until he did. It was so cold at night and the cell door had a gape of three to four inches on the bottom so Bris used to stuff the oakum along this gap, which helped quite a bit.

The P.O., kept his promise to take it out on Bris, after several days without exercise he had Bris running around the parade ground first thing every morning with a full pack of seventy pounds on his back with a rifle held above his head running around for an hour. The P.O., standing in the middle and guards posted at intervals with fixed bayonets around the ground to prod Bris if he slowed down. This is what saying the P.O., was sadistic meant. It was said that this man was afraid to go ashore or socialize because previous prisoners had vowed to get him if the opportunity arose. As he had completed his sentence on the last trip around the parade ground Bris mumbled something like 鈥測ou bar steward!鈥� The P.O., asked him 鈥淗ave you got something to say my son.鈥� 鈥淣o sir.鈥� Said Bris being glad the P>O., hadn鈥檛 heard what he said. Bris was taken back to the drill hall.

After about a week he was properly cheesed off as the working party he was put on was collecting seaweed from the Mackreanish Beach and stacking it up like haystacks to rot down for manure to use on the C.O.鈥檚, farm which was quite near. The C.O., liked to ride along the sands on a magnificent white charger accompanied by his wife, riding a smaller horse, every morning. What was going through Bris鈥檚 mind was, what a bloody holiday camp they were on, so he put in a request to see the C.O. He didn鈥檛 have to wait long; up before the C.O., he went. 鈥淲hat is the nature of your request?鈥� said the C.O., 鈥淚 wish to request sea service sir.鈥� His answer was 鈥淵ou bloody fool, do you realise that there are men out there getting killed.鈥� 鈥淚 realise that sir but I want to go.鈥� So the request was granted. Bris had to travel back to Devonport Barracks. Meanwhile he had received a letter from home stating that his father was home on leave from the Air Force and his sister, who was in the Wrens, was also home on leave. Seeing that he had change trains at Bristol, the temptation was too great to resist. From Campbell Town to Plymouth via Glasgow via Bristol, L.M.S., railway to Plymouth G.W.R.

Campbell Town to Glasgow was two hundred miles by McBains coach and was very scenic. Crossing the mountain called The Rest and Be Thankful, in Argyllshire, Bris had heard that a spot of Milton (which was bleach) could obliterate the date on his travel warrant so he decided to try his luck. He altered the date on his warrant as to when he was due to arrive at Devonport, giving himself five days leave with his dad and sister. When he arrived at Bristol, in went the kit bag at the baggage store at Temple Meads Station. Bris鈥檚 parents had been bombed out of their home at Bedminster and had been given a home at Hillfields, Fishponds. He had no idea how to get there, Fishponds being the other side of Bristol to that with which he was familiar. Finally he arrived at his new home where he enjoyed his unofficial leave, even though he was constantly on edge expecting an escort patrol to take him back to barracks at any time. When this didn鈥檛 happen he thought he had a good chance of getting away with it.

Everything went OK, at the R.T.O.鈥檚 office at Plymouth, the lorry to the barracks was OK, Bris found that his name wasn鈥檛 being called out in the guard room. He knew the chief crusher, a big fellow Jim Crowley was his name, and he billeted the crowd of ratings in. Bris was nearly the last, 鈥淐ome on Jim. I want to get billeted in before eleven o鈥檆lock so as to get my tot of rum.鈥� 鈥淗ang on a minute,鈥� said Jim 鈥渢here鈥檚 a man over the road who would like to see you.鈥� This was of course the officer of the day, so Bris hadn鈥檛 got away with it after all. Finally big Jim who was a P.O., crusher escorted him to the Officer鈥檚 office and quite calmly stated that they had been expecting him. 鈥淵ou should have arrived five days ago son, you obviously altered the date on your travel warrant.鈥� Bris was promptly put on the C.O.鈥檚 Report and in due course he was required to appear before the C.O., who was a high ranking Officer Rear Admiral. It was very spectacular for Bris as he was escorted to the C.O.鈥檚 desk in front of which was a painted white circle in which he had to stand with an escort of about six ratings. The Master at Arms led the ratings shouted 鈥淥ff caps.鈥� Before Bris could take his cap off it was snatched off from behind by one of the escorts. This was very embarrassing for Bris who was left with his hands in the air. The C.O., was a large man, bearded with large blue eyes, he looked something like King George the Sixth. He stood up with his hands on the desk and looking up he said in a very loud voice 鈥淲hy did you give yourself five unofficial days leave?鈥� To which Bris replied 鈥淢y dad was on leave from the RAF and my sister was also on leave from the Wrens and as I had to change trains at Bristol I gave way to the temptation to break my journey and go home, as I was traveling alone it seemed simple. My family had been bombed out of their home at Bedminster and rehoused in Fishponds, a district I had no idea about.鈥� The C.O.鈥檚 reply was 鈥淚f we all decided to go home because some family member was on leave how do you think we are going to win the war?鈥� Bris was taken aback and with a surge of courage as though he didn鈥檛 care what happened to him he replied in a broad Bristolian accent 鈥淗a! And if everyone stood behind a desk dishing out punishment instead of going to sea we wouldn鈥檛 win the war either.鈥� The M.A.A.鈥檚 went wild, 鈥淪ilence.鈥� He shouted as he was surprised at Bris鈥檚 outburst. The C.O., immediately gave Bris fourteen days cells; he may have got off lighter if it had not been for his cheek. A few weeks passed and Bris found a draft chit on the desk of R6 to report to the draft office to join H.M.S. Echo. This time he was to travel with a party to the most northerly point in Scotland, Kirkwall, where he was directed on to a lighter.
(Continued in Part 2)

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