My first night at the Barracks meant sleeping in the underground shelter along with hundreds of matelots. In the morning I saw a notice encouraging men to volunteer for submarines. It was certainly a tempting offer to get away from the barracks but it was not for me. Later in the morning I walked near to the band room of the Royal Navy Band and happened to get into conversation with one of the band members. He told me that band members did not go down into the shelter to sleep but that they stayed overnight in the band room. This idea grew on me and I explained that I was a musician with the Salvation Army Band. He quickly introduced me to the Bandmaster who auditioned me and so I was enrolled into the band from that time forward. Whenever I returned to barracks from a posting I would be reinstated into the band for all duties but it would not prevent a drafting to a ship or shore base, except in unusual circumstances.
The drafting office was in the drill shed on the far side of the parade ground. A visit to the office was quite intimidating at the best of times. There was a window set high above the floor level of the drill shed. Inside the window was perched one huge Chief Master at Arms, who always seemed to appear when I presented myself. He glared at everyone that dared to stand beneath his window. He especially loathed all bandsmen because they were not entirely under his control and he considered them to be draft dodgers. I was required to report to him every week so that he could peer down at this unfortunate insect below his window. He sent a draft note to me at the band room one day and when I appeared before him he said with a grin, "How would you like to go to Iceland, it is cold there and I won't have to see you again for ages?"
The draft was to Reykovik and I was ordered to collect arctic clothing from the Stores. I have always disliked the cold winters and seeing the clothing, especially the long johns, I was in despair. The parade ground could only be crossed during daylight 'at the double' and so I ran, praying desperately to God that he would prevent this tragedy from happening. A few days closer to the draft I spoke to the bandmaster but he told me that there was nothing he could do to help and that there was no way of avoiding the draft. I remember running once again across the parade ground towards the NAAFI with the realisation that I would soon be on my way to a cold climate, with visions of Russian Convoys, when I stopped dead in my tracks in front of the newspaper billboards of the Star, News and Standard, all screaming their headlines. "The First Sea Lord, Admiral Sir Dudley Pound is dead."
Later that same day the Bandmaster advised us that all leave was cancelled for the time being and that all drafts for band members, (a sly wink for me,)were cancelled. Bandmaster gave me a chit for the Drafting Master at Arms to the effect that I would not be accepting his invitation to Iceland because I was required for duties on the funeral and other parades. I gingerly handed over my note and still his face comes back to haunt me, even today. He told me in no uncertain terms that he would not rest until I was out of his hair. True to his word, I received another "billet doux" from an almost jovial Master at Arms soon afterwards with instructions to collect tropical kit from the Stores.
The draft was to join a ship at Barry, in South Wales which was being fitted out as a Depot Ship for Minesweepers. I was so pleased to join HMS Corbrae with my tropical gear as well as my arctic kit and after a few weeks we sailed for Colombo from Barry Dock with all bunting flying on the shoreline and music and dancing, a party spirit everywhere, not because we were sailing away but because it was VE Day!
I have since written a book of my early years living in the Welsh valleys through to my time with the Royal Navy. The book is entitled 'More value than many sparrows' by William Morris published by Data Tech D.T.P. ISBN 0-9551267-0-3 ISBN 978-0-9551267-0-3
Recommended story
Story with photo