Hello Brian
Glad you got it fixed. We always welcome your interesting and entertaining reminiscences. Good work, Brian.
Chris
Hello Brian
Glad you got it fixed. We always welcome your interesting and entertaining reminiscences. Good work, Brian.
Chris
Christopher T. George
Editor, Ripperologist
Editor, Loch Raven Review
http://christophertgeorge.blogspot.com/
Chris on Flickr and on MySpace
you put me to shame Brian with your story while I,ve been too busy finding new family. I must make a conscious effort to finish my work. Great stuff Brian, cheers
I will second that.Good stuffOriginally Posted by ChrisGeorge
I was free at last , there in that blue tropic sea ,down in the turquoise ocean with only the fish for company; shafts of sunlight shimmered down from above as I swam toward that shadowy shape in the distance..was it her ? As I swam nearer I could see her naked form ,graceful as a dolphin , she came my way.God but she was beautiful,and soon I would know her ,as a man should..
Then suddenly my world was shattered by the rasping sound of a bugle What the f!... "Come along now ,'ands off c###s and put on yer socks !!" Where the hell was I? Raising my head from my pillow ,I saw the other boys looking as shocked as I was
This was Reveille and I was bone dry and still a virgin.
Scotty was ranging up and down the hut ,rattling the bed frames with a stick, "Come on you layabouts , it's time for a little exercise!". My god ,was the man mad ,it was still the middle of the night and he was expecting us to get out and do P.E.!!
With a coughing and a spluttering ,the cream of British youth emerged from their slumbers and ,exchanging pyjamas for shorts and a vest ,were led out on to the parade ground where we beheld the sight of white scrawny forms about to undergo the same trial as us.
After what seemed an age ,we were led to have our morning wash , in cold ,very cold, water in the smallest sinks I had ever had to use . They were wedge shaped units made out of bare galvanised steel. No porcelain here boy. Those little sinks were for both us and our laundry. Time would tell of the effects it had on our hygiene.
When we got back to our hut to get changed for breakfast ,we noticed that we were three boys short. They had decamped during the night ,this was'nt the picnic they thought it would be . Once dressed we were led down to the Vindi for breakfast ,after which we would be given a medical examination and then issued with our uniforms.
We did'nt have to run a gauntlet of staring eyes today, everybody was intent on being fed.
The queue of boys stretched along the quay and up the gangway but it was moving pretty fast ,we were hungry now,it's amazing what a bit of exercise and a cold water wash can do for a boys appetite.
We reached the serving hatch at last and were given soup plates upon which the cook dolloped a ladle full of burgoo ,this was a form of porridge ,quite unlike what mother made,
I think Polyfilla must have got their recipe from this cook ,it stuck to your ribs and needed plenty of sugar too. Let me tell you about the cook , he looked like he was an escapee from Broadmoor , maybe 6 foot 2 inches tall ,25 stone ,lips like a rubber liferaft from which there always hung a cigarette ,the ash from which would drop off into whatever food lay beneath it,seasoning he called it. After the burgoo ,there was a cup of tea and then it was off for the medical.
The medico was a lady, she was called Codeine Annie ,I can't remember her proper name ,but I'll never forget her . She was not like my lady of the water ,no ,she was about 5 foot nothing ,very round , her hair looked as though it had just had 50,000 volts shot through it, and she wore glasses with very thick lens. We had to strip off and get the full monty of an exam , cough, bend ,say aah. And then we were weighed . She promised us that we would all put on weight during our time there, "Your diet has been has been expertly designed to ensure that you will be healthy ". Which meant that we would'nt be getting much !!
As we were taken from place to place ,we gradually learned more about what would be our home for the next few months. The camp itself, was built upon high ground above the canal, it was situated between the docks and the canal with railway running between the river frontage and the village. The town of Berkeley was close enough to walk to and across the River Severn was Lydney ,this was connected to our side by a many spanned railway bridge. The camps hut were brick built ,with corrugated roofs ,finished in whitewash ,they looked very neat and tidy. To reach the canal we had to negotiate a series of steps and then cross the lock gates to get aboard the Vindi . It was a pleasant looking place,this was before the days of leisure craft ,then it was a working canal but the main traffic was us trainees.
There were some very nice boats for us to train on , there was a pinnace that had belonged to King George the 5th ,a whaler ,a motor launch and a couple of lifeboats.
The Vindicatrix loomed large in that small canal and ,as painting would be a part of the skills needed by a sailor ,she was kept in pristine condition at all times. I was baffled by all the ropes and wires that festooned her masts ,but that was what I was here to learn about.
After the medical ,it was off to the stores for our kit .We had to pay for everything and what we got would stand us in good stead for our first few months at sea ,and longer.
The battle dress and trousers, blue shirts 2 off, beret with silver badge ,fishermans top ,2 pairs of dungarees,a black tie,sea jersey ,sou'wester , oilskins and sea boots. Fully laden ,we returned to our hut to become civvies no longer ,but Vindi Boys .
Last edited by brian daley; 09-16-2009 at 12:12 AM. Reason: Corrupted type
Burgoo sounds like it says!!
Codeine Annie gave me an image of a fat "bride of frankenstine".It made me laugh.
Anyway brill story..keep it going.
We were a right motley crew in that hut, there were Scousers,Mancs , Devon Boys, a local lad
from Lydney , a kiddie from Somerset and one from Cornwall,there was a Geordie ,he had an accent so strong that we took a while to grasp what he was saying ,there a Lad from Rochester too. Together ,we comprised the survivors, 2 more boys had slipped away after evening meal.
We represented the different classes that made up most of British society. One of the Devon Lads was really top drawer ,not aristocracy ,but from the upper middle class. He wore clothes that fitted him perfectly , Tattersal check shirts ,with a cravat and waistcoat ,topped with a classy blazer,he looked like he had walked in from a drawing room drama. . A lovely guy though, self deprecating and not all snobbish. Harry the ,Geordie was from the other end of the scale,from a mining village near Hartlepool ,he had Viking good looks and a perpetual laugh upon his lips .
Colin from over the bridge in Lydney , he had a shock of golden brown hair and an accent that had a soft Gloucestershire burr. He could see where he lived ,but he was a Vindi Boy now and there was no going home at night for him. Frank was from Manchester ,a quietly funny guy ,not pushy ,nor
sarcastic ,you could'nt help liking him , there was Dickie ,the kid from Rochester ,he was the closest to me in age and appearance ,but he came from a more affluent background than me, there was George and Alan too, but you have already met them. Of the rest of our hut,time and distance has
erased them from my memory. So, the task before us now was to get our uniforms in order.
We were expected to look like the boys who had met us at the gate ,but the outfits we had been given looked shapeless and were a bit ill fitting. Some of the older trainees came and gave us a few tips on how to smarten the uniforms up. The first thing was to swap sizes with kids who clothes were either too large or too small.We muddled through that and then we learn how to press the outfit and get those razor sharp creases , the secret was to run soap along the inside of the sleeves and backs down the inside of the trouser legs. When you applied a wet handkerchief over the intended area ,the application of a hot iron flattened the nap and produced very sharp ,creases.
Getting the beret to sit at the right angle was the next task ,badge over the right eye put a dimple just above the badge and then pulling it down to the left at a jaunty angle..Yes !! that was the business.
The boots took a little longer ,they were army issue and had a surface like a pebble dashed wall,
We had to bone them , this was done with the back of a tablespoon handle, .you had to exert maximum pressure and plenty of polish ,plus gobfuls of spit . It was hard labour ,but,as the week passed by those toecaps started to look like polished glass..That was'nt the only entertainment we had though . The camp had a sports hall and a big recreation room ,in which there was the biggest television that I had ever seen ,remember ,this was 1958 ,two channels only ,and both of those in black and white . But that t.v. ,it had a 36 inch screen ,enormous in them days ,and it allowed people at the back of the room to watch the programmes too. Not that there was anything you would want to see,outside of Oh Boy and Cool for Cats it was a bit of a waste of time when there was so much else going on. The music that filled our lives at that was made by Buddy Holly,Elvis ,
Connie Francis ,the Everleys,there was also Tommy Steele,Marty Wilde and a raucous newcomer with a mean streak ,bad attitude and the essence of teenage cool it was ,and I kid you not,Cliff Richard !! When he burst on to the screen singing "Move It" he had a snarling aggression that marked him out from all the rest of the British rockers ,you should have seen us Vindi Boys that Saturday night when he came on Oh Boy,we could'nt believe he was a Brit.
He took hold of that mike and snarled his song as his group laid down a beat that had us kids up and boppin ,hobnailed boots and all. Did'nt last long that eh? But that is getting ahead of meself.
We had to start learning some seamanship soon.
Last edited by brian daley; 09-16-2009 at 12:25 AM. Reason: Corrupted type
We were limited to the camp until we had passed our life boat examination ,it was a bit like being in jail ,no girls ,no women at all, only Codeine Annie ,and we only got to see her for checkups or illnesses. There was a girl who we sometimes saw in the distance, June ,the girl who worked on the pig farm. She was a big raw boned girl,you can weave fantasies about anything if you try, and June became the subject of some of the boys fevered imaginings. But we had to do some work on our seamanship before we were let loose on the world . Our Lifeboat instructor was Joe Moses ,a big burly man who had been a Vindi boy himself in the war years, although he was a hardened old salt ,(I bet he was only in his late thirties ) he was very human, perhaps he remembered the time he was there. Some of the happiest memories I have are those of the times spent in the lifeboat ,learning to man the oars ,not the easiest of tasks ,and learning how to luff and tack in a head wind .This was no ordinary school,we were training for real life .Joe's tales of war at sea and the stories of men who were forced to spend days adrift in the boats after enemy action made the lessons more dramatic.
As we mastered our rowing skills we were pitted against other boys and had races on the canal , it was hard not to enjoy lessons like those. Also on our seamanship course , we had to learn our bends and hitches ,knots to you !
Our instructor for this was a Mister Darke ,Popeye, this man must have smoked for England because he looked consumptive ,but he was good. He would commence his introduction to the art of knottery by picking up a piece of rope and saying "This is one end of the rope" turning to the other end he would say "and this is the other end" Then holding it by the middle he would say ,"And the middle bit is called the Bight!"
With a flurry of fingers he would then produce a fantastical knot , like a Turks head or a Matthew Walker, and then he began the task of teaching us how to do a clove hitch ,half hitch ,bowline ,bowline on the bight ,with an explanation for each one. Our spare time ,both night and day ,was spent tying and untying all of the knots that he had so patiently shown us during the day. Between Joe and Popeye ,we lads safely passed our lifeboat examination .It was now time to unleash the boys and let them loose on Sharpness. Not that there were many places to go , let alone have money to spend .
We were not paid for our time at the training school , we did ,in fact have to provide our own spending money by depositing our money from home with the pursers office when we arrived. This was doled out to us on a Saturday if my memory serves me correctly. 15 bob a week ,Woodbines were 1/6d for ten ,and we could'nt buy any beer,there was no immediately local place of entertainment ( there was a cinema in Berekeley but I cannot remember going there . There was a Flying Angel down by the docks and they had a snooker table and table tennis,a good t.v.system ,giant screen like the one in camp,a very friendly Padre, who had 2 beautiful daughters.
Mr .George was his name and most boys, even the non religious boys,
liked him. A pipe smoker,he was always very laid back and not an evangelising sky pilot. That and the pies and cakes he served won many a boy over.
Thus a pattern for our days emerged , lectures and practical work of a daytime ,interspersed with culinary abominations served up by the kitchen, at days end it was a cold swill and then off up the Burma Rd. for a game of snooker/draughts/ scrabble at the Flying Kipper and the chance of a chat with Mr Georges beautiful daughters.
Being autumn ,night had well and truly fallen by the time we had to go back to camp,on our way down the road we would give full throat to our Vindi songs,"We are the Vindi Boys,Vindi Boys are we, We love the Captains daughter.............."
And ,after three or four songs we were back at the gates of the camp,voices lowered to a whisper ,avoiding the chance of being charged with unruly behaviour and being given Jankers ! It was then down to the Vindi to get a mug of cocoa for supper (it was rumoured to contain bromide to reduce our libidos ,if it did ,it never worked )
After our cocoa ,we made our way back to our huts ,it was getting to be like home now,but without the usual comforts . Lights out and then crash, but we were adolescent boys ,full of testosterone ,about 5 minutes after we were plunged into darkness the rattle of bedsprings could be heard as the overture to the Onanistic chorus began . Bromide in the cocoa ?Some hope. No sooner was I asleep than my lady of the blue waters made her nightly appearance ,her naked form taunting my fevered,virginal mind . Swimming and Sh****ng,two things that I had never done ,and the way things were going ,it seemed I never would. All the other boys in our hut
claimed to have had more experience than Casanova and Don Juan put together ,I kept my mouth shut when it came to talking about doing "it",I did'nt know how to!!
Ohh, my sleep filled my nights with thoughts of lost opportunities. I used to wake up wrecked!!
Letters from home kept our feet on the ground ,Mum used to keep me supplied with news of what was happening in the family, occasionally she would give me an update on Harry ,he was still in hospital and had'nt made any progress . I felt guilty about how little time I spent thinking about him ,I was so taken up with my new world that I had little time for anything else. But guilt will always catch you out ,unexpectedly so!!
Right now though we had to learn about splicing ,rigging .boxing the compass and a myriad other seamanship skills, that , and keeping out of trouble ,occupied most of our working day.
Last edited by brian daley; 09-17-2009 at 11:12 PM. Reason: Corrupted type
Being a young man ,in the midst of adolescence ,short of money ,and only other like young men for company, we found life dominated by the two F's food and fags .
There was never enough of either ,our 15 bob a week did'nt stretch to luxuries ,like a 20 pack of cigarettes ,and our “diet “ meant we were always on short rations.
A typical Sunday meal menu would be ,egg and bacon for breakfast ,a pea sized egg accompanied by what looked like a crack in the plate , your bacon. Lunch ,or dinner as it used to be known as ,would consist of some meat of unknown provenance ,with watery mashed potatoes and soggy greens. Some kind of steamed pudding ,coated with what passed for custard sat limply in the bowl. But Sunday tea was a revelation ,we were given three slices of bread ,two of them smeared with imitation margarine ,in which lay two slices of chopped wood, flavoured with a hammy essence, the third slice had marge on with a thin coating of imitation jam . We usually went down to the Flying Angel after tea for a glass of pop and a sticky bun . As for the fags ,non smokers would buy them and used to barter them for a dinner or pudding ,we smokers formed little groups in which we would share a ciggie ,using a pin on the stump so as not to burn our fingers. The stubs were never thrown away , but were saved up and recycled ,with the use of Rizla papers , one packet would be made to go an extra 25% further . You never saw a dog end laying on the ground !! The camp was always
spick and span ,and if there any dog ends laying about they would have been harvested by the lads on Jankers ,for it was their job to sweep the pathways .
There was one bright spot on the food front ,but you had to work for it ,and you had to work as a team for it. This was a beautiful iced cake. An old fashioned, fruit stuffed , ,moist concoction that was a testament to the bakers art ,the icing was rich and soft , coating a layer of almond rich marzipan paste that covered the whole of the cake.
This wonderous thing was big enough to give each boy in one hut a large and juicy slice . The catch was that it had to be won ,and it was won by the hut that was kept in the best condition , the floors had to gleam, the beds had to squared off in military fashion ,your lockers clean and tidy and not a speck of dust was allowed…anywhere!
We lads had a boy who was made bosun of the hut ,it was his job to see that we did as we were told ,we took our boots off on entering the hut ,we practised making our beds until we were perfect and we kept that floor clean by making coverings for our shoes out of old blankets so that we buffed the floor as we walked around . The judging took place on a Saturday morning when the the schools Captain , Mr. Duguid and some of the Officers inspected every hut ,rigorously, lifting mattresses ,wiping their hands under shelves , on top of lockers , Everywhere in fact. After Saturday breakfast ,and just before inspection ,we would hare back to our hut and give it a final buffing. To give the floor that extra special shine we would put one of the lads in a blanket ,shape it like a hammock and haul him around the floor. It did the trick ,our hut won that cake two weeks in a row, and then some spy discovered our secret.
For a camp that had so many young men there was hardly any aggro, for the very good reason that if you bore someone a grudge ,or had subjected someone to a bit of bullying ,the officers always seemed to find out about it ,and when they did the parties involved were stuck in the ring on a Monday night and made to fight each other by the Queensbury Rules . As kids we had done that at Tiber Street , and here it was proving to be an aid to good order. Most of the boys would crowd into the sports hall to watch the bouts and officers and masters of ships in the docks quite often turned up on fight night . It did affect your behaviour, I can remember having a silly argument in the toilets with a cockney lad . We were debating the relative merits of our home towns ,a high flown discussion along the lines of " All Scousers are ******s"
" You Cockneys are a bunch of bleedin tossers" ,the stuff that parliamentary debates are made of. We moved around each other like snarling dogs ,fists knotted ,teeth bared tongue forming the next insult ,when from out of nowhere the sportsmaster appeared.
"Right you lads ,in the ring Monday ,O.K.!"
It was the Cockney who spoke first ,"We wuz only avin a laff sir ,wozzin we Scouse ?" My head nearly nodded itself off my shoulders , he was as big a coward as I was !! The sportsmaster looked at us suspiciously , we joshed each other and I said that we had been having the other boys on . It worked ,I never had to get in that ring ,
I'd seen George in there one Monday night , he was having a hard time of it and we were shouting advice from the stalls. He came over to the ropes and was struggling to tell us to keep our mouths shut when his opponent landed a haymaker to the side of his head . We shut up after that.
On a Sunday the sportshall became a church. The camp was very hot on boys attending church ,when you were inducted you had to state what you religion was.
You had to be either Catholic or Protestant ,no atheism ,agnosticism ,or any other ism was not allowed. If you hesitated when it came to answering what religion you were ,you were marked down as C of E. I , naturally, hesitated in answering because ,technically I was both ,having been dipped in both fonts . "? of E" he barked , thus putting me in that category for the rest of my time at sea.
The catholic service was held first thus allowing the papists a bit of extra leisure time on a Sunday morning , we Prods had to wait while the altar was reshuffled and then had our service ,which was conducted by Mr George from the Flying Angel,
There were no overlong sermons , a couple of prayers a few hymns ,and then time was our own ,meals excepted ,to do with as we wished . Some of the lads would go to the Evangelical mission in Berkeley , you got a sticky bun and a cup of tea or pop , free ,but you had to wait until after the service. ,Once on a Sunday was enough for me.
Some of the officers had other ideas of what you could do in your spare time , one of them was called Mr Agate , perhaps the most famous of them all .
I've got to tell you about that Brigadiers son , and a boy called Squeak ,but not yet !
Last edited by brian daley; 09-20-2009 at 11:00 PM.
Thanks Brian for continuing the story
6
Sharpness had a collection of eccentrics among the staff ,Codeine Annie , Popeye, Mr .Poore , he was like a sinister Alfred Hitchcock , but they were as nothing when compared to Ginger Reeves and Mr. Agate ,note that Mister no,nicknames there . He was a committed Christian with a wry sense of humour . A bit like Jacques Tatis Monsieur Hulot ,he would ride around the camp on an old upright bicycle singing hymns at the top of his voice .He was'nt a tyrant but was strict nevertheless . The boys liked him enough to sing scurrilous songs about him"We're gonna join,We're gonna join , We're gonna join Old Agates Navy, Up at six o'clock, Marching round the block, Dirty big icicles hanging from your C**k,etc,etc..."
Old Agate used to have enthusiasms ,he organised a dance in the village hall ,we lads were ordered to attend or else!! It was Saturday night and we spent extra time on our appearance, okay, so it was'nt going to be the Locarno ,but who knows what ladies Mr. Agate might rustle up ? Hobnail boots agleaming , berets tilted at the right angle ,ties in neat windsors ,and creases you could shave with ,we strode forth to charm the girls of Sharpness ,who knows what the night might bring ?
The hall was up one of the little streets ,more like a chapel than a dance hall ,but we could hear Connie Francis singing Who's Sorry Now so it was not going to be George Formby and Gracie Fields as some of us had feared .When our little group entered the hall we found it was full to the brim. With other Vindi boys!!
There was little girl of about 8 playing with her hula hoop, another girl ,about 12 ,she was operating the Dansette record player ,and two very mature ladies standing by a tea urn and a table full of tea cakes !
"Come on boys!!" Mr Agate ordered ,"Get up and get dancing, you ,boy ,you take him and dance over there ,and you boys too ! Come on you have got to enjoy yourselves !!" we gaped at each other , "Come on Daley ,you dance with Higgins !"
In pretty short order he had us all doing the quick step with each other. Some of the lads were queuing up to dance with the old ladies rather be forced to dance with each other. And there was no escape, Old Agate stood at the door to make sure of that!
Still the tea and cakes were nice.
Ginger Reeves was like a cross between Yosemite Sam and Popeye the sailor.
Red haired and red faced , hardly a tooth in his head and a mouth full of the saltiest language ever, he could have compiled a dictionary of oaths . He would split words ,inserting a Fack as in Yesterfacking day and so on. He was funny in a scurrillous way and never funnier ,albeit unconsciously , at the Sunday service when............... Well this is what happened ,as I have already told you ,the Catholics used the Sportshall for their service and we Anglicans followed them. It was while we were waiting for the Vicar to proceed to the altar and we were settling in our seats the organist had not yet started to play and all was silent, the hushed beginnings of a Sunday at prayer, when ,into that holy silence some boy(not me ) let go with an enormous ,trouser ripping fart!!!! There was a stunned silence , and then Ginger sprang from his seat and roared "This is a bleedin’ church not a bleedin ablution!!" (very heavily sanitized version)
The entire congregation of boys shrieked with laughter ,Ginger was choking with rage ,the organist struck up with Soldiers of Christ Arise and on came the Reverend and his altar boys. It was awhile before we could settle down ,and even the vicar was suppressing a giggle. Poor old Ginger ,you could feel the heat of his blush five rows back.
Now , as to the Brigadiers son , his parents had played a lousy trick on him, they had given him the same forename as his surname ,not a good thing to do to a lad who is going to go to a sea school ! WW , as we shall call him, became a victim from the first moment he stepped onto the camp ,and, as a consequence he was in that boxing ring every week , sparring it out with his latest tormentor .It was'nt too long before he became quite proficient in the noble art and started to lay out a few of his tormentors .
He demeanour changed and he soon became a well respected boy ,you did'nt mess with WW any more. I've often wondered what his parents thought when he got home, thicker set and able to face any man.
And then there was Squeak , he was a Northerner ,from somewhere in the Pennines , his voice had'nt broken yet and he still had that squeaky timbre that pre-teens have. He was tall and skinny and had a gawky way of walking , but he had a good sense of humour. A catering trainee , he often served us lads and came in for a lot of good natured wigging ,but that voice , it was awful!! One night we had a concert and ,during the sing song, we were singing Carolina Moon ,when we became aware of this high pitched sound amongst us ,it was Squeak, almost as though a signal had been given ,all of the boys stopped singing and left Squeak to do a solo . Which he did ,with all the aplomb of a professional !.It was unique , a sound so awful yet entertaining too. Like WW , Squeak was a ring regular for a little while ,he too learned to dish it out .
Colin the Lydney lad was given permission to go home for a weekend after we had passed our Lifeboat exam, we were green with envy ,it would be more than two months before we saw our folks again. The week before he went our class had had a group photograph taken , there we were ,on the top deck of the Vindi ,standing at the rail with the bridge in the background . Smart as paint in our full uniforms .
When Colin returned to camp, he handed out to certain of us lads who were on his photograph, the names and addresses of some of the girls he knew back at his home. They had seen the photograph and asked Colin to put them in touch with the boys they had chosen to write to . I was pleased as punch when he gave me the address of my pen pal. Miss Maureen Stratford, near the Stag Inn,Yorkley, near Lydney,Glos.
From that day , and for near two years ,she and I exchanged letters . She filled many lonely hours with words from home, through her I gained a picture of village life ,we were not having a romance ,we were pen friends in the truest sense . I often wonder how life turned out for her , I lost track of her in the early sixties ,she went off to college in London and I was roving the world.
Those hobnailed boots of ours took a lot of pounding .We marched every day , P.E first thing ,get changed, get on the square and then get marching. Some of the lads had two left feet and never got to grips with it , when were you going to march on a boat? So some of them just went through the motions , others gave it everything they had . Ramrod straight , snapping to attention like a guardsman and cracking off a salute like a veteran. Those of us who could do that were formed into a squad and were given extra training , we did'nt know what for ,we did'nt care because it kept us off the labour squad . Gradually we were whittled down to a group of twenty , and we were marching for a couple of hours a day. Mr. Turner was our trainer , he was hard ,I suppose he needed to be because we were raw ,but within a week we could wheel and turn with the best. Alongside of this we were doing our seamanship course now , some of us had won our red stars for our lifeboat test ,if you won one for your seamanship, you were guaranteed a promotion to Bosuns mate ,or Bosun, or ,if you were amazingly good ,Camp Bosun! I was so eager to impress my parents ,particularly Dad ,he'd been an NCO in the army and had never let me forget it ,I'd show him. Well I got that star!! All it needed now was for the existing bosuns to leave and create vacancies for us new two star men .
But, fate had something else in store for some of us?..all that marching , it had'nt been just for show, we were going to London ,to march in front of the Queen!
,
Last edited by brian daley; 09-22-2009 at 07:33 PM. Reason: Corruption
Mr Turner told us that we lads had been selected to represent the Merchant Navy at either the Armistice Parade at the Cenotaph ,or the British Legion Festival of Remembrance at the Royal Albert Hall. We were staggered , it had not entered our heads when we were doing all that square bashing that it was all to do with that !
We would be taken to the sea school at Gravesend and be trained with boys from there, to either march at the Albert Hall , or the Cenotaph .Not both , apparently a different type of marching was required at each ceremony. When we told the lads in our hut , they called us jammy buggers ,but wished us luck ,Dickie Eames ,the lad from Rochester ,asked me if I would go and see his Mum when I was in Gravesend. He gave me 15 shillings to cover the cost of any fares .I wrote home to Mum and gave her the news’ , her letter back to me was bursting with pride . The post was great in those days there were three a day and the letters posted at 6-00p.m of an evening were guaranteed to arrive next day. Mail call was the most important time of the day for a Vindi boy, we would crowd into the mess room and Popeye would sit out front with stack of letters and parcels . He’d call out your name , you’d put your hand up, and he would send that all important bit of post right into your hand .Years of practise had gone into his unerring aim . My Mum used to send me a wedge of Danish blue cheese once a week, Popeye took a great delight in hurling it at me , it was quite pungent .
Our party was leaving Sharpness on the Saturday , a fortnight before Remembrance weekend, on the Thursday night before our hut turned out en-masse for a farewell trip to the Flying Angel ,there would be no time on the Friday ,we had to do our packing and get an early night. We never drank anything but pop or tea but we had a good time anyway, a couple of games of table tennis or snooker and then a few songs around the piano. On the way back to camp we would bellow out The Vindi song or the latest Pat Boone hit , Love Letters in the Sand. All good clean fun.
After the nightly cup of cocoa and the late chorus of the bedsprings ,it was dreamtime.
Next day passed in a blur, not long before the off. I was running back to our hut after dinner when I slipped and wrenched my ankle. I was shattered, I could’nt stand , the pain was excruciating .I saw all my dreams fade as I was helped back to the hut by two of the lads.
I wish I could remember the name of the big Scouse kid who took charge of things that night . There was still time to go ashore and he and another kid got me by the arms and helped me down to the Flying Angel , they got Mr. George on the case and he ,and his daughter, bound my ankle in an elasticated bandage . He gave me strict instructions not to remove my boots when I went to bed . The lads helped me back to camp ,and I went to bed fully clothed . I did’nt bother with breakfast next morning ,the walk down to the Vindi would have crippled me. I mustered with the rest of our party and was helped aboard our transport, which was a Morris Commercial truck that was fitted out with wooden benches . It was canvas covered and uncomfortable as hell, but at least as I was’nt going to be on my feet for the best part of a day.
This was in the days before the motorways and the journey was really nice , passing through all of those towns and villages ,each with its’ own character ,was a real experience . The sight of Market Crosses and quaint town halls , the different high streets,not a Starbucks or a Macdonalds in view . I’m glad I saw it ,it now belongs to another age. It was ironic that there was’nt a single Londoner in our party , so when we passed through that great city we were all held in thrall by its’ many wonders .
We arrived in Gravesend just in time for dinner , and the food was so much better than we had been getting in Sharpness . The school itself was totally different too , we were told that it had been a womens’ prison in days gone ,although its’ design was more reminiscent of a hospital. There were several storeys and the dormitories were open and oval in shape ,the centre was hollow .as in a prison ,and there a wrought iron rail around it to prevent us falling over . There was a pier and a boat deck on the river side of the building. This afforded a wonderful aspect of the river , diagonally across the Thames lay Tilbury, where we could see the P.&O and the Orient liners. The sight of them gleaming in the sunshine, evoked images of distant ports in strange lands.
I never got tired of looking at the ever changing pageant of vessels that passed in view before us . This made my future at sea more immediate , at Sharpness we only saw a few cargo boats ,here they were in our line of sight every moment of the day.
Gravesend was different in many ways from the Vindi ,there seemed to more catering trainees here ,and there were some trainees that we never had at the Vindi, bell boys.
They all looked about twelve years old , a lot were Jimmy ****heroe look alikes . But I learned very early on that you don’t take the mickey out of them, I did , I think I said something like “What’s the weather like down there shortstuff “,no sooner than the words were out of my mouth than I was thrown to the floor and mobbed by a whole gang of them . I gave them every respect thereafter.
You could’nt go out in a party at Gravesend , they called the boys peanuts because no more than two were allowed together ,the result of fights that had taken place in the past . A lot of the lads did’nt bother with the High Street , they had a friendly landlord in a dockside pub who let them drink there of a night. His main trade was done in the daytime with the dockworkers ,and if it had’nt been for the sea school boys he would have no trade at all of an evening. A lot of girls frequented the pub and were known to put out for the lads , the ones I saw were not the type I would have liked for a girl friend, as desperate as I was ,I was’nt that desperate ! Besides I was very , very naïve.
On my third day there , I decided to visit Dickies Mum ,the local officers had told me where to catch the bus , and being November the night came quickly so by the time I was aboard the bus it was dark outside. I had no trouble finding where Dickies house was. I did’nt know if she was expecting me because I never had a phone number to warn of my arrival . I was impressed with the houses on his estate , nice semis with mansard roofs , a world away from the tenements in Garston.
I rang the doorbell and it was quickly opened by a very nice looking lady who seeing me standing in the darkness, dressed in my uniform cried “Dickie!” and threw her arms about me. “Erm, I’m sorry Missus “ I spluttered ,and she stepped back ,shocked to see a stranger and not her son . She ushered me into to the living room and called her daughter to see me .Dickie had written ,but we were both the same height and build that she had thought I was him . Dickies sister was beautiful and so nice. She and her mum made me so welcome and asked lots of questions of how things were at the Vindi and of how Dickie was. After a drink and some refreshments she said that Dickies friend had asked if I would see him while I was there , and I nodded my assent. Luckily he lived next door and was waiting on the step for me ,I was surprised to find that he was a married man with two little boys who had been allowed to wait up to see Dickies friend from the Vindi. I had a really thick Scouse accent in those days and the two little boys , who were aged four and five ,had beautifully modulated accents. They could hardly understand a word I said , but they and their parents were really kind and friendly. I was taken into their home and given more refreshments , after which the boys were put to bed . They had school in the morning , and when I enquired which school they went to they replied “Borstal”, I was astounded and their
Dad laughed and told me that it was a public school and not what my faced showed I thought it was. They asked their Dad if I could read them their bedtime story, which I was happy to do so. They shrieked with laughter as I struggled to make myself understood. I left that lovely little household with an invitation to dinner that Friday.
When I went back to say goodnight to Mrs. Eames , she told me that her daughter would go part of the way back to Gravesend with me . It was so nice to ride on a bus with such a pretty young lady ,she was on her way to see her boyfriend ,lucky guy.
My ankle was totally healed now and we were training in earnest. Everyday we were on the promenade, two groups one lot training to march up and down stairs and the other group ,mine ,training to march in line on the road . I was in the Cenotaph team. The Albert Hall boys would do their stuff on the Saturday , three shows, and we marched ,just the once ,on Sunday. We were mixed in with the Gravesend lads and were becoming a team. There was no competition between us , we were told that we were one team ,the Merchant Navy team. We would be issued with boiled white shirts and we would be expected to outshine every other service represented at the respective parades. If we were not marching we were polishing our boots ,soles and all ! The toecaps took on the appearance of highly glossed patent leather.
On the Saturday before Remembrance weekend ,a football match was organised for a mixed team of Gravesend and Vindi Boys and an amateur team in Strood. The match would be played in a park in Strood and we all looked forward to the change in our routine .I was chosen to play as a full back ,they were ignorant of my lack of sporting skills, and thought the whole thing would be a hoot. The other team had some supporters in attendance and one of them was very abusive towards us, he was a silvery haired old guy ,and one of our team told him to “shut his geriatric gob”
Stroods centre forward took great exception to this piece of advice being given to said old gent, particularly as said old gent was his dad . A lively debate ensued , during the course of which several blows were exchanged and we ended up running for our coach. We had to get changed as we drove along and our instructors told us to say nothing when we got back ,they had thrown a punch or two as well.
I wrote , a little earlier ,that I was very naïve, to illustrate just how naïve ,read on /
After a lovely dinner at Dickies friends I was walking back to the School from the bus stop in Gravesend and was passing a row of Regency houses when a lady called me into her house ,she was wearing a negligee and it never occurred to me that she wanted anything other than help of some sort . I stood in her living room waiting to see what she wanted and at ,length I asked her what she wanted . She gave me a puzzled look and then pointed to her kettle,”It’s not working “ she said ,I looked ,it was’nt plugged in so I plugged it in for her and smiled and went on my way. I was told later that I had missed my chance , she was known for her liking of lone young sailor boys . I had a lot to learn
Last edited by brian daley; 03-17-2008 at 10:20 AM.
The lad from the Pennines gave us all a surprise one night at Gravesend,we were in the recreation room and he sat down at the piano and started to play the Warsaw Concerto ,a very dramatic piece that was in an old British war movie called Dangerous Moonlight . The opening bars filled the air and I thought "He's bloody good" ,but that is all we got ,the opening bars ! He could just about play Chopsticks after that ,still ,he was a good laugh.
On the Friday before the Big weekend , the Cenotaph contingent were taken to Birdcage Walk Barracks ,right by Buckingham Palace. We were going to be taught how to march on light gravel , a supposedly tricky feat. Birdcage Walk was were the military contingents would start off from on Sunday morning and they did'nt want anybody tripping over as they marched across the gravelled parade ground to the Mall.
We got it right after a couple of attempts and ,after a quick tour around St James Gate to look at the Grace and Favour estate, it was back to Gravesend for our evening meal. After dinner , we assembled in the gym for a briefing on the weekends events.
Mr Turner looked very grave "One of the Albert Hall lads has injured his foot" he announced, "Is there any lad from the Cenotaph group willing to take his place?"
My hand shot up, I was hoping that they would pick me; as it happened ,noone else wanted to go. I was thrilled to have the opportunity to see the Albert Hall,it would be a long day ,but that never even entered my head. There was a small snag though , I had absolutely no idea of how to march up and down steps! I would have to cross that bridge when I came to it!
I was disappointed that I could'nt alert Mum and Dad to the fact that their little lad might appear on the Telly on Saturday ,they never watched the Beeb on Saturday!
Next morning we were up at the crack of dawn ,our crisp white shirts were issued ,togged up, it was on to the coach and then off through London to the Albert Hall.
There were literally hundreds of people milling about when we arrived ,coaches were queued up disgorging their passengers, Boy scouts , Sailors, Chelsea pensioners ,British Legionnaires, Wrens , Nurses ,Guardsmen , Gordon Highlanders , National servicemen........and us!
A sense of order gradually asserted itself and we eventually came onto the body of the Hall , there, the man in charge of the whole show ,Sir Ralph Reader , explained ,with the help of a huge public address system ,the order of play.
Most of our commanders had been well briefed beforehand , our particular commander was the Commodore of the Orient line. He had been warned by Mr Turner that I was a last minute replacement and so I was placed last in the line of march so that I would'nt put other people off their stride . When I saw how steep the stairs were I did a mental flip. I was glad I was at the back.. Rehearsal lasted a couple of hours, we actually did a full performance as though it were for real . Lunchtime soon arrived and the whole lot of us were taken off to Derry and Thoms rooftop restaurant in Kensington . Nobody had told us about that treat!
All of the participants were split up so that we sat amongst mixed groups of people.
When we sat down , I had an old Indian Army officer sat opposite me, a Wren to my left and a Chelsea Pensioner to my right.
I gulped when I looked at the tableware , I had never seen so many utensils , the old Indian Army officer had noticed my look and discreetly picked up his soup spoon and silently mouthed "Outside in" with a twinkle in his eye. With his leathery face and walrus moustache ,he looked as though he had just stepped out of a Kipling story..
The Wren took a motherly role with me and the old Pensioner told me of his time in the Boer War . I could never have a meal in such august company again I thought , but we were to have dinner there before the evening show.
The matinee was packed, there were families from all over the country , our group were sat behind the Royal Naval party and we made friends with a couple of Wrens who sat immediately in front of us. They gave me , and the lad next to me, a full packet of 20 Navy cigarettes each . Between the matinee and the evening show , which was to be televised , we had some free time after our dinner at the rooftop restaurant. Kensington may be a wonderful looking place , but it is'nt much fun if you have only got a few shilling in your pocket. Whole groups of us wandered around , staring enviously at the super rich alighting from their limos as they sailed into the glittering restaurants and bars. Never mind ,one day that could be us ,one day !.
It was back to the Hall for the Big one , the Queen and Prince Philip were due to arrive and the crowds were thronging the pavements. That is when we felt a little privileged , we did'nt have to queue to see the show, we were part of it!!
Running around the entire basement of the hall is a circular corridor , it was there that the various groups were gathered ready to take their place in the hall. As the Merchant Navy lads were assembling a Naval Commander wearing full dress uniform ,leather boots and cutlass, came amongst us. It was Commander Kerans ,he of the Yangste Incident ,the man who was played by Richard Todd in the film of the same name . We stood agog , awaiting to hear what he would say. "Any of you lads marching at the Cenotaph tomorrow?" he queried. All eyes turned to me ," Me sir" I whispered. "Well Lad ,your lot will take their orders from me tomorrow, so keep your ears open for my commands !" And with that he gave smile , did a quick about turn and disappeared. My head was swirling ,that was Commander Kerans???
Pretty soon we were standing at the top of that precipitous stairway about to make our entrance to the tune of A Life on the Ocean Wave. I was out of step from the start, down and down those stairs I went , skipping to get in step ,and failing every time.
Across the floor of the hall , I looked like I was doing a Tennessee two step.
Television cameramen love losers and idiots .That night I fell into both brackets.
Mum told me , when I got home, that she was watching her programme on Granada ,when she became aware of someone yelling "MISSUS DAALEE!!" over and over again. She ran to the door and saw Kathleen Flynn , a girl from across the square ,yelling at her "Your Brian is on the Telly!!"
Mum shot back inside and switched over , just in time to seem me skipping and hopping across the floor.
The camera looked lovingly at the Pennine kid and me as we flirted with the Wrens in the seats in front of us . By the time I got back to Garston , I was a star ,I had been on the Telly,with the Queen!
The show was marvellous ,we saw things that were extraordinary, the precision marching by the RAF, the displays by the scouts and the bands of the Marines ,the high point was the playing of the last post. The moment was so poignant ,the beautiful ,mournful notes of that silvery trumpet are something that I will remember forever. The Royal party seemed like gods in those far off times , as we took surreptitious glances at the box I could'nt help but feel proud to be a part of the occasion. All too soon it was over , and then it was back to Gravesend to get ready for tomorrows parade.
It was a tired and groggy Brian Daley who appeared at breakfast next morning, I was the brunt of mickey taking for a little while ,they had all seen my silly walks and the officers were non too pleased at our flirting with the Wrens. It did'nt last for long ,we were off to Birdcage Walk to do what I really trained for.
I forgot to tell Mr Turner what Commander Kerans had told me the night before , I mean to say, they had done this ceremony before ,they surely were'nt relying on a boy to give them their orders, were they?
Well it quickly became apparent that something was wrong immediately we started off down towards Horseguards Parade, the front half of our group were marching at a different pace to the back half. We had a Naval band in front playing something stirring and martial ,and a Police band behind playing The Death March. Whoa!! And who never explained about the lampposts in the middle of the road ! Being at the back I could the marchers in front dither as they came to the first obstacle ,Which side to march on? Or do we split , and go down either side of them? It was messy for a while , but thank God ,that part was'nt televised . By the time we got to Whitehall we were in step and in order.
Watching the thousands of old warriors pass in front of us as we stood to attention at the Cenotaph was a moving experience, there were still a lot of Great War veterans young enough to march ,and there were more than a few Boer War veterans too. The British Legions ranks were filled with men and women in their late thirties and forties, the men and women who had saved Britain and Europe from the stranglehold of terror in that all too recent war.
After the two minutes silence and the laying of wreaths ,we marched to our coach and were taken to lunch at Lancaster House. This was a surprise , and a bigger surprise awaited us when we arrived. The meal was hosted by the then Minister of Transport , Mr. Heathcote Amory, with him were the Commodores of Cunard ,P& O.the Orient Line and the Admiral of the Fishing Fleet. we were told to make ourselves at home (As if!! ) and to order what drinks we liked . Oh really? "Yes boys .just give the barman your orders" said Mr Amory. A horses neck ! Brandy and Soda ! A Manhattan ! Dry Martini please. Drinks we never knew what tasted like but had heard about in the movies. We were then split up and sat at table with one of the Brass .I was fortunate enough to be sat with my old customer from No. 6 the Serpentine, Commodore Ivan Thompson. I reminded him of the time he asked his paper boy for the Radio Times ,you could tell he did'nt remember ,but he was gracious enough to pretend that he did. After a really slap up meal , one that exceeded all of our schoolboy fantasies ,we were chauffered back to Gravesend sea School for one last night .Back to the Vindi in the morning ,and just four weeks to go before we go home !
Last edited by brian daley; 09-24-2009 at 06:06 PM. Reason: Corruption
It was a slower and colder ride back to the Vindi than on the outward journey, our heads were still full of the sights and sounds of the past few days . We would miss the friends we had made in Gravesend but we were getting back to our old mates in Sharpness.
Things had moved on in our absence,our group was now the senior ,all the lads had done their lessons and we now had practical work to do .Alan was now a full bosun as were some of the other lads ,but George was the camp bosun. His grit and determination had got him where he was,the ex tearaway ,now the top man. It was a truly remarkable achievement . We marching boys, even those of us with two stars on our sleeve ,were precluded from any promotion ,only fair I suppose ,but it rankled with some of us because there was no longer the friendliness that had been there before. So we little stars had to get stuck in to manual labour like the rest of the lads who had no stars The bosuns never mixed with us like they did before and they were always on the lookout for kids to stick on jankers .These were the ones who had to do the jobs that noone else would do. Sometime jankers were inevitable ,you were given jobs ,as part of your practical work which would cause you to breach some stupid code. An instance of this was the rule that said that you could'nt go to the messroom in dirty gear ,but you had to stay at whatever job you were doing until it was time for your meal .I was painting the toilets on the quay alongside the Vindi one morning when the bell was sounded for breakfast, I never had enough time to go and get changed and took a chance and joined the meal queue .I was fairly clean ,just a bit of paint on my boots and the back of my hand. One of my old mates saw me and told me to stand under the clock. This meant seeing the duty officer and getting both a rollicking and a spot of jankers too.
So,as well as going without breakfast,I was going to be stuck on the Vindi that night ,scrubbing the pots and peeling spuds ,no shore leave that night. Next night we jankerboys had to polish the gym floor.
After the third night I fell back on my own resources, on the morning of the fourth day I reported sick at Codeine Annies hut . I gave her a reasonable enough tale to be given a berth in the hospital . There were about half a dozen lads already in here with the “Flu”. I got into bed and found that we were nearly all kindred spirits ,skivers and refugees from the chain gang.
I was as fit as a flea ,no temperature ,no runny nose or cough. Old Codeine would becoming round the ward after tea ,she would be taking temperatures and dishing out pills. The boy in the next bed told me that she would go around the beds and stick a thermometer under each boys tongue and, after she had stuck the last one in she would go back to the first boy and read his temperature and so on. There was a radiator next to my bed ,which was halfway around the ward, when she left the thermometer under my tongue I put it on the radiator and left it there until she was at the bed before mine. I slipped it back under my tongue just as she moved toward me.
She pulled it out and looked at it ,her eyes nearly came out on stalks .She quickly felt my forehead ,and then put her face right into mine . "You are a very naughty boy!" I was afraid of what she was going to say next. She spoke softly to me "Are you trying to escape Jankers ?" I nodded yes. " Then you can stay here ,but you can't leave here if you are ill" I agreed and thus escaped the unceasing round of jankers that seemed to be my lot.
I missed out on the visiting concert party being stuck in there ,but there were some good guys in there ,in fact I sailed with one a couple years later ,a guy called Brian Rutter. He was from Liverpool too and he had a great sense of humour and thus kept us entertained . I would have liked to see the concert party ,they had been there before ,when we were rookies and the girls were very pretty as well as talented. The officers were all over them like a rash. We could hear the strains of the music and laughter up there in the sick bay , but you can't have everything. I was allowed to stay until I was a Bridge Boy ;this is what we called ourselves when the days we had left corresponded in number with the spans on Lydney Bridge..
The practical work we had to do now was the type of work we would be doing at sea,rigging ,operating cargo winches wire splicing etc.
We also had to attend lectures on sexual hygiene ,as most of us were virgins we pretended to know it all. How wrong we were ,first of all we were shown a film about venereal disease, it was horrifying. They showed a picture of a diseased member ,it looked like a sausage that had been very badly cooked ,it's a wonder anyone of us ever considered sex again .And the lecturers stories filled us with even more horror,none of which I would dream of relating here.
The days were now hurrying by ,we mentally ticked off those spans each morning.
Time was taking it's toll on our physical hygiene ,the lack of proper laundry facilities was giving our underwear a greyish yellowy tinge ,our bodies were little better , we must have been riffy,but because we were all riffy you never stood out.Walking contradictions,immaculate on the outside and pongy and dirty underneath . We were moved aboard the Vindi for our last two weeks . It had a terrible secret that no one mentioned before hand . The bed decks were swarming with cockroaches. We had seen cockroaches in the kitchen ,some boys often found them in their burgoo,but no one mentioned the bed decks.
When we stowed our gear away the accommodation appeared to be a lot more comfortable than the huts ,it was certainly warmer and we were going to first in the queue for meals. However,that night ,shortly after the lights went out we heard a rustling sound ,it was everywhere, the darkness was suddenly pierced by a dreadful scream. The light was flung on and we saw this black carpet splitting in two and disappearing into the bulkheads on either side of the bed deck. Was just like watching curtains being drawn, but fast ! These were creatures of darkness ,Mr Agate,it was he who had put the lights on, told us we were alright if we did'nt get out of bed when the lights were off. As I was falling asleep that night I felt something padding up my body ,I could’nt see it and ,when I felt it settle on my tum,I put out my hand to have a feel. It was the ships cat ,and I was in its bunk. We became good bed companions in the few remaining weeks .There is something comforting in the gentle purring of a cat,that and it’s warmth helped me enjoy some restful nights.
I was'nt swimming in that blue tropic water anymore, my nocturnal fantasies had taken a different course since London..........my night time lover was none other than the Queen herself!! I was guilty of Lese Majeste !!
I could'nt tell anyone ,but night after night she would share my bed ,god knows what we got up to but I was always wracked with guilt in the morning.
It's funny how quickly you accept things as normal,that nightly rustle after lights out became as much a part of our regime as pulling the sheets up.
Then came the day when we were photographed for our discharge books ,home was a short while away. It was down to the Flying Angel to say goodbye to Mr George and his daughters, come morning we would be marching up to Sharpness station to catch the train home . All too soon those friendships we made would be torn asunder and it would be each to his own. I could'nt wait to get back to Liverpool now ,I was going to be a Merchant Seaman!!
Last edited by brian daley; 09-27-2009 at 12:28 AM. Reason: Corruption
Saying goodbye is never easy. As we assembled before Captain Duguid to receive our discharge books and hear the farewell speech ,I was filled with a mixture of sadness and anticipation .Sadness that I was leaving a group of lads that I had become mates with ,and anticipation of seeing my family again . It was the end of the second week of December and we would be reporting to our local Shipping Federations to start our seagoing careers come the 15th of that month. George ,Alan and I to Mann Island in Liverpool and the other lads to Bristol, Plymouth ,Hartlepool ,Manchester and London. There was a spring in our steps as we left those camp gates , we had been given a medical just prior to our leaving , Old Codeine had said at the beginning of our course that our diet was designed to make us healthy and strong ,well we were all heavier and taller. She must have been right !
The journey home was a little bit different than the journey down there, George and Alan had put a bit of distance between myself and them by virtue of their rank. It took a good few mile of travelling before we became easy with each other again.
By the time we got to Central Station we were back on form and promised to meet up on Monday morning to see if we could get a ship together.
Pretty soon I was on the 82 and heading for Garston, looking out on the roads and avenues ,it seemed as though I had been away a lifetime , it was well into winter now and the trees were bare and the skies were greyer . I hoped Mum would have some scouse in the pot ,I was starving!
I got off the Bus at the tennies , I was in my uniform ,kitbag on my shoulder ,boots gleaming brightly , I marched into the square and prepared to meet the folks.
The welcome home was terrific , Chris shyly greeted me ,Mum nearly hugged me to death, Jess and Bette gave me welcoming smiles and Dad told me that I looked very smart. There a beautiful smell coming from the kitchen , a smell that had my nose atwitch with memory, Mum had done me a tea that had surpassed all my expectations.
Stuffed and braised lambs hearts,with roasties ,cabbage peas and thick ,rich gravy.
I was home!!
On Saturday I went to visit Harry , who was still in Hospital , he was still full of optimism, talking was very difficult for him now that he had no lower jaw . He said that the surgeon had promised that he would soon have a plastic replacement. He did'nt know when this would happen but we both hoped it would be before the summer .
I was at a loose end that Saturday night ,putting on a couple of inches meant that none of my clothes fitted anymore ,and there was no hope of getting any new ones, I had'nt earned a bean for three months . Saturday night and nowhere to go!
Mum gave me a few bob and told me to go to the pictures ,nobody would take much notice of my uniform in the dark .I got a few odd looks as I walked into Garston ,this was a time when lots of young men were in army uniform . You could tell by the looks I was getting that they were wondering what service I was in.
I called in to say hello to May Newby at the chippy just down the block from the Empire, she was thrilled to see me and gave me a free bag of chips by way of a welcome back.
I can't remember what the film was , I got a seat on the front row of the balcony, right in the centre ,prime position for viewing the film. There was a load of short trousered young scallies sitting a couple of rows behind . They were being generally rowdy as young kids are ,but the cartoon had just finished and the Pathe News was next so maybe they will have settled down before the big picture..
It was during the Pathe News ,when I saw the flash of something twinkling in the light of projectors beam, there was a yelp of pain from the stalls ,one of the little scallies had chucked an empty bottle.
Within minutes the police were storming into the balcony audience ,the little scallies were sitting as quiet as mice, looking all angelic ,angry voices were raised and the next minute yours truly was wrenched out of his by a big flat capped policeman.
Arms up my back ,I was frogmarched down to the foyer and told I was under arrest.
The little sods had fingered me. The manager intervened and the policemen let me go ,but I was'nt allowed back in to see the show.
I ended up at home watching t.v. .I could'nt wait for Monday.
Dad had me up early Sunday, he had put the salt fish on and cooked it as he had always done ,slow boiled in milk. He had promised my Nin and Granddad that I would see them before I shipped out and so we had a journey that was so like those of a few years ago, just he and me and our great city. He had a wealth of information about our towns history so our journeys were never boring .At Nins I was given the once over,"Ees a big Lad now Billy ,the image of ar Joe". She got a picture of her brother Joe Maher, he was killed in the war ,there he was, in his quartermasters uniform on the Alcantara. It was true , I did look like him. That photo used to come out ever after when I visited Nins.
Then it was off along Walton Road to Grans in Eton Street ,another fabulous Sunday dinner and then up to Gilmoss to see my favourite Uncle, Billy Hengler. Aunt Sarah always baked me wonderful jam turnovers for Sunday tea. It was lovely to be back in the bosom of my family.
Sunday night was spent in checking everything in readiness for the Pool tomorrow,
After a fairly hectic day ,I hit the hay and sank into a deep sleep.
I was awakened next morning by mum calling me for breakfast, I yawned my way into the living room and saw a full cooked breakfast awaiting me . The radio was on and Godfrey Winn was reading out a record request from some lady somewhere. Housewives Choice, Housewives Choice!!!! What was the time!!? I was supposed to be at the Pool for 9-00a.am. Bloody Hell !! Mum had let me sleep in!
I was two hours late when I arrived at Mann Island, Mr Brown was not a very happy camper ." Punctuality ,Daley, punctuality is everything !" My mates were on their way to join their first ships. I was bereft , I felt that I had broken a pact. And, sadly , I never ,ever, saw them again .
Mr Brown took me through to see a Mr Repp,this man would play a great part in my seagoing life ,but that is in the future .What was going to happen now ? Had I well and truly missed the boat. Mr Repp looked at me and turned to look at a man seated behind him, he was a big burly man ,dressed in a three piece suit with a beautiful Albert chain across him tum. He came to the counter and inspected me , I felt like a lot that was about to be auctioned . He rubbed his chin and nodded to Mr Repp ,"He'll do" was all he said. Who was he? It turned out that he was from Blue Funnel Line and he was a boy short for a ship called the Eumaeus.This was beyond my wildest dreams ,you needed a letter from God to get in Blueys ,they had their own training school in Aberdovey and hardly ever took pool lads. I know for I had tried many times before to get into it .
I had to report to the Odyssey Works in Birkenhead,there I would be given a medical and instructions of where ,and when I would join my first ship.
I passed the medical and was told to go home and wait for the post.
Mum was a bit put out when I told her ,Christmas was just a couple of weeks away and I was going to miss it . But a whole new world was waiting for me and I was keen to get started.
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Last edited by brian daley; 03-24-2008 at 02:01 PM. Reason: aliiteration
The morning delivery on the 17th of December, included a letter addressed to me. It was from Alfred Holts and contained instructions for me to be at Lime Street station on Thursday the 18th of December. There , the crew for the Eumaeus would meet and be given their warrants to travel to King George V dock in London. I was trembling with excitement as I read the letter, this was it, in 24 hours I would be on my way.
Mum had got my clothes back to their usual pristine condition after the ?abuse ? they had suffered at the Vindi,what had been greyish yellow was now sparkling white.
She helped me pack my kitbag that night, there would be no lie in tomorrow !
After a hurried breakfast next morning,I kissed Mum goodbye ,Dad and Jess were at work and Bette was off to school, Chris came to the top of the stairs and gave me a hug as I stooped to kiss her . It struck me then that I would miss Christmas at home, no wonder Mum had been sniffling.
There was a large group assembled by the gate for the London train and I recognised a clerk that I had seen in the Odyssey works office. He was in the middle of the crowd and was being subjected to a bit of good natured ribbing, he was a bit gormless looking in a George Formby way. I thought that he was a bit like Masefields? grey squirrell, someone who would have liked to have been a sailorman ,but sailed a desk instead. He knew most of the men by name and was giving each one their papers. He came on the platform with us , I suppose to ensure that we all actually got on board the train. As the whistle was blown and the train started to move away , one of the men ,who was holding the carriage door open , proferred his hand to the clerk to shake goodbye. The clerk took hold of it and was hauled aboard and deposited on a seat .
?Oh no!? he wailed, this happened to him lots of times apparently. I felt really sorry for the sad man , it would be Crewe before he could get off!
I cannot remember the journey across London , time has erased that particular trip, but I clearly remember my first glimpse of the Eumaeus. She was tied up half way along the quay, she looked enormous, her big bluff bow , which curved down to the water ,the long sweeping lines of her hull .the sides of which were mighty steel plates that had double ,and sometimes triple ,rows of rivets. This gave her an appearance of strength and power. She was a three island ship, in laymens terms , she had a forecastle,the bow; then there were three hatches, a centre castle, this was where the accommodation ,bridge, engine room, galley and mess rooms where. Then there was a small hatch and aft of that was the sailors accommodation. There were two more hatches after that and then there was the poop deck, and it was here that the Chinese engine room crew lived . From the quayside the fore and after masts looked as though they scraped the sky. Her large funnel , atop the centre castle, was painted bright blue with a black band at the top. Ascending her gangway , I began to get the smell of her, the fuel oil ,mixed with the aroma of her cargo ,filled my nostrils with a scent as heavy and beguiling as any that Paris could offer. The feel of her, the steady thrum of her generators ,the hiss and wheeze of her steam pipes. All of this made me aware that this was a living entity.
She had just returned from the spice islands and we were a relief crew, the old crew was busy signing off in the officers mess and we had to wait for them to leave before we could occupy their cabins .
Some of the old crew knew the relief crowd and they swapped yarns whilst waiting for the off. She was going to be in London for a couple of days and then she had to go to Hamburg to discharge some of the cargo there after which she would sail to Liverpool. So it would be a short trip for me then.
After the homeward bounders had made their exit I was shown my first shipboard ?home?. It was a three berth cabin ,very spacious , with proper wooden bunks, a wooden locker for each of us and two drawers apiece for our clothes. We also had heavy weather lockers which doubled as two seater benches on either side of a table.
It was a lot cosier than I had anticipated. My two cabinmates had done a couple of trips before and were due to be promoted to junior ordinary seamen when we got back to Liverpool. At that moment though we were the three deck boys known more familiarly as ?Peggies?. It would be our job to look after the deck crowd , getting their meals ,washing the dishes ,scrubbing and polishing the messroom , bathroom ,recreation room and alleyways. We would take it in turns to do that job , the other two would either , work on deck or be the petty officers peggy. Whichever job we did meant working from 6-00 a.m. to 6-30p.m. with meals and ?Smokoes? in between.
The cooks were Chinese and the meal they were preparing that evening had me drooling at the mouth. After three months of short rations at the Vindi I was in for one heck of a surprise.
Being brand new I was?nt considered good enough to be a messroom peggy just yet so I sat down with the rest of the men for the evening meal . My eyes took in the fact that there was four lots of cutlery , soup spoon, entree knife and fork ,main course knife and fork ,and a dessert spoon .Was this a mistake ? No! I had died and gone to food heaven???we started off with a rich minestrone soup (the first time I had tasted it )this was followed by a beautiful Cornish pasty ,the shortcrust pastry so light it melted in my mouth ,the filling, not some noisome paste but a viscous mixture of meat chunks and fresh carrots peas and potatoes. This was followed by a dinner plate filled with roast beef ,potatoes ,parsnips carrots cabbage and gravy, oh very heaven itself, and this was Friday night ,not Sunday!! For afters there was a steamed fruit pudding that was right out of Mrs. Beetons book , figs .prunes .dates and sultanas all moistly embedded in a rich sweet suet mix, topped with a caramel custard???
I put three inside me that night. When I finished the last spoonful ,I looked up to see the astonished faces of the crew, they were trying to understand what they had just seen. THREE PUDDINGS!!! ??E must ?ave bloody ?oller legs ? one of them said . But they had?nt just left the Vindi..!
I helped the Mess Peggy to ?scrap up?, that?s what they called washing up. Once everything was squared away we had to get the Supper in , this consisted of a collation of cold meats and salad which would be left in the mess room for the deck crowd to snack at during the evening.
When we had finished our chores we had to shower (Mandatory) and do our personal dhobying, (laundry). You quickly learned that this was not an option ,it was something that you were expected to without question. My two cabinmates taught me to dhoby properly. Here ,unlike at the Vindi, there was an abundance of hot water and soap powder. We had a great big scrubbing board which ran along the bulkhead over the sinks ,and it was there that I was taught how to get whites sparkling clean through the power of elbow grease.
The A.B.?s actually paid us to do their laundry because we were so good at it.
I never had enough money to go ashore when we were in London and so I got to know the Chinese crowd because they stayed aboard too, they were inveterate gamblers and would spend hours playing Mah Jong. The steady clack of the tiles hitting the table being interspersed with hisses and many ?Aah So?s? They drank whiskey by the gallon and let me have a sip as well.
I explored the ship as best as I could during those nights aboard in London ,she carried half a dozen passengers ,there were none on board at present, and had a deck crew of 18 ,There was a Bosun, Lamptrimmer(He was a kind of Bosuns?mate ) and a Carpenter (known as Chippy )
While we were in port , we had a night watchman to look after the gangway. The one looking after our vessel was an old chap who had a very weather beaten face. With his oilskins and battered old peaked cap he looked the very image of an old tar.
I asked him if he would like a drink of tea and was very surprised when he answered yes, for his voice belied his features. It was a cultured voice, one that you would expect from an officer. I made him a cup and had a chat the first of many in the short time that we were there. I could?nt guess how old he was , his leathery skin and hawk like eyes made him appear ageless. I asked him if he had ever been to sea and he gave a little smile by way of a reply. ?A time or two? he answered . I asked him how long ago he had packed up going to sea . ?A good few year ago ? was all he said. We sat in silence , looking at the darkened warehouses and the skeletons of the dock cranes. I was curious , this man was older than my Granddad, why was he sitting here on a cold winters night. ?What were you when you were at sea ?? I asked. ?What do you want to know for ?? he asked in return. ? My Granddad was at sea before the First World War, I just wondered if you were the same as him ? I replied rather lamely. ? I could tell you a tale or two my boy, but you might not believe them? he said, looking at me across the years. ? I love to hear some ,honest?
He was a pipe smoker and he stuffed it full of a black mixture, all the while looking at me ,was I a young punk out to take a rise out of him? I got up and went to the messroom and brought back two oranges, one for him and one for me .
?D?you really want to hear an old mans story ?? ?Yes ? I nodded. He picked up the orange and began to peel it . The story he told me was of a man who had been a master of this very company I now belonged to. He was the Captain of an ?H? class liner and was due to retire , this was during the last days of peace ,and he had opted to retire to a life on a plantation on Malaya. He had taken his retirement money in sovereigns and he and, his wife were going to spend their sunset years in that far away land. They had no children , nor any ties to bind them to a life in the cold .cold northern climes. They were going to be the ?Tuan and his Lady?. He did?nt bank his sovereigns ,he had them in a brassbound chest locked up in a strong room in his bungalow.
Sadly for them ,the Malayan Peninsular was overrun by the Japanese army before they could get away. He managed to get his papers ,which included his Masters certificate, the money was lost ,taken by his captors. He was imprisoned in Sumatra and his wife was taken somewhere else .He never found out where ,she never survived.
At the wars end he was repatriated to England where he set about finding work.
He spilled ink across the date of birth on his Masters certificate and succeeded in getting a berth with Cunard, he managed to do a year with them before his deception was discovered ,and here he was now ,a lowly night watchman ,eking out his meagre pension.
You can imagine how the older hands laughed when I told them his story at breakfast the next day, ? If you believe that , you?ll believe anything Lad? was the general contention. When I saw him again that night , he smiled and greeted me by asking for a cup of tea. I fetched him one and when I sat down with him he pulled a waterproof package from his pocket which he unwrapped and took out a sheaf of papers.
I craned my neck to get a better look at what it was that he was holding.
He unfolded a piece of paper that looked like an old birth certificate ,it was his Masters certificate, tattered and inkstained ,there it was ,testament to his story. He passed across an old black and white photograph, it was of him as a younger man ,standing proudly on the bridge of an old steamship, four stripes on his sleeve denoting his position of Master of the vessel. That had?nt been a fairy story he had told me the night before ,it had been the story of his life.
Come Sunday morning I was roused out of my slumbers by the Bosun , an old Scotsman who was nicknamed? Whammy? (a rope yarn), because he never swore but used the expletive "whammy" instead of something stronger.?Pegs ? he yelled ,?It?s Sunday morning and you?ve to go and see the Mate for the altar cloths for the morning service?. Now I had?nt fallen for the usual japes like a ?long stand ? or a ?bucket of steam ? so I was prepared not to be taken in by this one. ?Sod off? I says. He grabbed me by the shoulders, ?we are all God fearin? men on this vessel ,and ,contrary to what you may?o been told , we pray of a Sunday. Now get your whammy carcase up top and ask the Mate for them altar cloths!? he roared. I was up the companionways tout suite. I knocked on the Mates door ? Mr Mate sir, the Bosun has asked me to fetch the altar cloths?, ?hang on a minute," he said " I?ll just have a look,?
He came to the door and told me that the Chief Engineer may have taken them, these were officers ,they would?nt be involved in a joke would they? And thus it was that I went from pillar to post in search of the unfindable. When I reported back to Whammy that they had disappeared, he told me to go along the dock to our sister ship the Diomed to see if we could borrow theirs?. When I climbed wearily up the gangway of the Diomed I was met by a very fat , balding man with the worst false teeth ever. ??Oo are yew ?? he enquired. I told him of my quest.?We ?aven gorreny? he said ? Yizz?l ?ave to yoos burlap instead!? he cackled. I crept back to the Eumaeus, his laughter ringing in my ears.
We were sailing in an hour, was I the only one to be excited,we were going to cross the North Sea, woww!
Last edited by brian daley; 03-29-2008 at 11:18 PM. Reason: mis spelling
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