Saturday 10 December 2011

Operational, not decorational


No fanfares at the jetty
No newsclips on flat TVs
No Freedom marches through Dalgety
No recognition given by the public
No medals from the body politic

We Come Unseen

And then

More private reunions at home
More polyblocks removed from off the plant
More vital maintenance on the dome
More PAGs, more deadlines - there is no can’t
More time on drills and time in trainers
More turkeys, steaks, eggs passed down to the fridge
More crap cleared from 'round the strainers
More paint is added to the bridge
More warheads worked on ‘round the corner
More time spent getting back in order

And then

Once more  the final checks for sea are made
Once more  the family ties are given up
Once more the plant is in the half power state
Once more, stern and headropes singled up
Once more, on a drizzly  Argyll day
Once more, for umpteenth time a black boat makes it's way...

We Go Unseen

©Peter Chilcott

Friday 2 December 2011

Unseasonal Seasonal Weather? Good or Bad?

A guest blog from my old friend and Naval colleague Martin Howells. Martin is a keen amateur apiarist, and keeps his bees in South Wales (in hives...)

It is daft for me to say I am looking forward to the first really cold snap of our Winter? That is because my Honey Bees are still in "Summer" mode. Flying and gathering stores as "normal", with Ivy, Gorse, Holly and another pollen being brought in, I haven't identified as yet.

Pollen is identified under microscopic analysis of samples taken from returning Honey Bees too the hives. Yes! I know I have to be a little eccentric to stand infront of a bee hive to catch individual bees and remove a sample of their pollen load to check what they are gathering. Then letting that bee go on into the hive with its remaining pollen load. Some clown has to do it to find out what the bees are gathering at this time of year. Besides, I cant think of anything else better to do. Sad really?

Not that I should be complaining! As long as the busy bees can provide sufficient stores for now, and that they have sufficient stores for the real cold winter weather, when it does come. My fear is that they may just be comsuming more stores now, in this mild spell, than they can actually replace by recent gatherings. That will lead to starvation when a long cold spell arrives with a vengeance.

Still I need to be alert for the Honey Bees, This country is always in need of lerts. So people; appreciate your honey at this time of year, hoping we will have honey bees ready to go in the Spring; when it comes; ready for next years harvest of fruit and veg and the nectar of the gods.

Season Greetings to all from a Bee Keeper.

Martin can be contacted at martin@mjhowells.co.uk

Monday 28 November 2011

Some 3-in-1 on that career there

I've been learning - or re-learning for the umpteenth time - that it pays to stick one's head up over the parapet once in a while. There's other cliches that say the same thing such as 'the squeaky wheel gets the oil'. But essentialy, if  one wants attention or wants something done then it's necessary to let people know what's needed.

This became clear in two ways, one trivial, one less so. On the trivial side, I participate in stock trading game called Empire Avenue and at one point there ewas a lot of retaliatory selling when I sold some stock. I made a comment about this on a forum and within a day my stock had been repurchased and more.

On the more important side, I'm looking for a new contract and things have been a little 'dry' shall we say, over the past few months. I posted a comment on LinkedIn about seeking help on getting my CV brought up to speed and I got a lot of advice from people. More importantly, someone emailed me to say that had they seen my CV just a day or two earlier, I would have been a great fit for a particular role. Since then, that same person has taken it upon themself to nag/mentor me and to provide advice and support, and I hope I'm responding accordingly. As well as shrpening up my LinkedIn profile, something they've made clear is that I'm not going to see a role calling for a Pete Chilcott, and that I have take a punt at a role I like and sell the brand 'Pete Chilcott'. I heard much the same from a speaker, Tobias Mews, at the Liquid List networking event. One must be the brand and thats what should be sold and sold hard.

Sunday 27 November 2011

Twelve Little...




I became aware of this little ditty after attending one of the 'Third Thursday Talks' at the Royal Navy Submarine Museum. The talk was given by Tim Clayton, based on his book 'Sea Wolves'. 

It's about the first submarines of the S-class.

Twelve little S-boats "go to it" like Bevin,
Starfish goes a bit too far — then there were eleven.
Eleven watchful S-boats doing fine and then
Seahorse fails to answer — so there are ten.
Ten stocky S-boats in a ragged line,
Sterlet drops and stops out — leaving us nine.
Nine plucky S-boats, all pursuing Fate,
Shark is overtaken — now we are eight.
Eight sturdy S-boats, men from Hants and Devon,
Salmon now is overdue — and so the number's seven.
Seven gallant S-boats, trying all their tricks,
Spearfish tries a newer one — down we come to six.
Six tireless S-boats fighting to survive,
No reply from Swordfish — so we tally five.
Five scrubby S-boats, patrolling close inshore,
Snapper takes a short cut — now we are four.
Four fearless S-boats, too far out to sea,
Sunfish bombed and scrap-heaped — we are only three.
Three threadbare S-boats patrolling o'er the blue,

(from Wikipedia)

At the beginning of the war in 1939 there were 12 boats of the S-class, and these operated around the UK or North Sea. By the time HMS SNAPPER was lost, the war was barely a year old, 8 of the boats were lost and this poem reflects the high attrition rate. Of this batch of 12, 3 survived to meet a planned end, whilst HMS SUNFISH was transferred to the Russians and sunk in 1944 by the RAF.






Friday 11 November 2011

Some poems and words to consider. To remember?


Rudyard Kipling

Tommy

I went into a public-'ouse to get a pint o' beer,
The publican 'e up an' sez, "We serve no red-coats here."
The girls be'ind the bar they laughed an' giggled fit to die,
I outs into the street again an' to myself sez I:
    O it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy, go away";
    But it's "Thank you, Mister Atkins", when the band begins to play,
    The band begins to play, my boys, the band begins to play,
    O it's "Thank you, Mister Atkins", when the band begins to play.
 
I went into a theatre as sober as could be,
They gave a drunk civilian room, but 'adn't none for me;
They sent me to the gallery or round the music-'alls,
But when it comes to fightin', Lord! they'll shove me in the stalls!
    For it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy, wait outside";
    But it's "Special train for Atkins" when the trooper's on the tide,
    The troopship's on the tide, my boys, the troopship's on the tide,
    O it's "Special train for Atkins" when the trooper's on the tide.
 
Yes, makin' mock o' uniforms that guard you while you sleep
Is cheaper than them uniforms, an' they're starvation cheap;
An' hustlin' drunken soldiers when they're goin' large a bit
Is five times better business than paradin' in full kit.
    Then it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy, 'ow's yer soul?"
    But it's "Thin red line of 'eroes" when the drums begin to roll,
    The drums begin to roll, my boys, the drums begin to roll,
    O it's "Thin red line of 'eroes" when the drums begin to roll.
 
We aren't no thin red 'eroes, nor we aren't no blackguards too,
But single men in barricks, most remarkable like you;
An' if sometimes our conduck isn't all your fancy paints,
Why, single men in barricks don't grow into plaster saints;
    While it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Tommy, fall be'ind",
    But it's "Please to walk in front, sir", when there's trouble in the wind,
    There's trouble in the wind, my boys, there's trouble in the wind,
    O it's "Please to walk in front, sir", when there's trouble in the wind.
 
You talk o' better food for us, an' schools, an' fires, an' all:
We'll wait for extry rations if you treat us rational.
Don't mess about the cook-room slops, but prove it to our face
The Widow's Uniform is not the soldier-man's disgrace.
    For it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' "Chuck him out, the brute!"
    But it's "Saviour of 'is country" when the guns begin to shoot;
    An' it's Tommy this, an' Tommy that, an' anything you please;
    An' Tommy ain't a bloomin' fool -- you bet that Tommy sees!





Wilfred Owen
Dulce Et Decorum Est
Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of disappointed shells that dropped behind.

GAS! Gas! Quick, boys!-- An ecstasy of fumbling,
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling
And floundering like a man in fire or lime.--
Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.

In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.

If in some smothering dreams you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,--
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori.

John Magee 
High Flight

 Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of Earth
 And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;
 Sunward I’ve climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth
 of sun-split clouds, — and done a hundred things
 You have not dreamed of — wheeled and soared and swung
 High in the sunlit silence. Hov’ring there,
 I’ve chased the shouting wind along, and flung
 My eager craft through footless halls of air....

 Up, up the long, delirious, burning blue
 I’ve topped the wind-swept heights with easy grace.
 Where never lark, or even eagle flew —
 And, while with silent lifting mind I have trod
 The high untrespassed sanctity of space,
 - Put out my hand, and touched the face of God.

Colonel Tim Collins
Before entering Iraq in 2003

We go to liberate, not to conquer.
We will not fly our flags in their country
We are entering Iraq to free a people and the only flag which will be flown in that ancient land is their own.
Show respect for them.
There are some who are alive at this moment who will not be alive shortly.
Those who do not wish to go on that journey, we will not send.
As for the others, I expect you to rock their world.
Wipe them out if that is what they choose.
But if you are ferocious in battle remember to be magnanimous in victory.
Iraq is steeped in history.
It is the site of the Garden of Eden, of the Great Flood and the birthplace of Abraham.
Tread lightly there.
You will see things that no man could pay to see
-- and you will have to go a long way to find a more decent, generous and upright people than the Iraqis.
You will be embarrassed by their hospitality even though they have nothing.
Don't treat them as refugees for they are in their own country.
Their children will be poor, in years to come they will know that the light of liberation in their lives was brought by you.
If there are casualties of war then remember that when they woke up and got dressed in the morning they did not plan to die this day.
Allow them dignity in death.
Bury them properly and mark their graves.
It is my foremost intention to bring every single one of you out alive.
But there may be people among us who will not see the end of this campaign.
We will put them in their sleeping bags and send them back.
There will be no time for sorrow.
The enemy should be in no doubt that we are his nemesis and that we are bringing about his rightful destruction.
There are many regional commanders who have stains on their souls and they are stoking the fires of hell for Saddam.
He and his forces will be destroyed by this coalition for what they have done.
As they die they will know their deeds have brought them to this place. Show them no pity.
It is a big step to take another human life.
It is not to be done lightly.
I know of men who have taken life needlessly in other conflicts.
I can assure you they live with the mark of Cain upon them.
If someone surrenders to you then remember they have that right in international law and ensure that one day they go home to their family.
The ones who wish to fight, well, we aim to please.
If you harm the regiment or its history by over-enthusiasm in killing or in cowardice, know it is your family who will suffer.
You will be shunned unless your conduct is of the highest -- for your deeds will follow you down through history.
We will bring shame on neither our uniform or our nation.
(On Saddam's chemical and biological weapons.)
It is not a question of if, it's a question of when.
We know he has already devolved the decision to lower commanders, and that means he has already taken the decision himself.
If we survive the first strike we will survive the attack.
As for ourselves, let's bring everyone home and leave Iraq a better place for us having been there.
Our business now is north.

Thursday 10 November 2011

Its for Remembering not for villifying

I had it in mind to try and write something about the wearing of poppies.  Trouble is, the i beat me to it. And here's that link again :)

Like many other people, I simply wear a poppy at this time of year because I want to, with my reasoning being that I can support the work of the Royal British Legion and mark the sacrifices made by millions in times of conflict.  It is my 'choice'. The governments of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland have put in place some restrictive laws over the years but we remain, to all intents and purposes, a free country, a country where the individual can pretty well do as much as they like, say what they like, wear what they like, to choose.

And the reason that they can do this is because those same governments have opted to resist the intentions of others to impose their wills upon us and others. Hence, the wars against the German alliances in the First and Second World Wars, Malaya, Aden, Borneo, Northern Ireland, Falklands - and so on.  Freedom means choice and we should be able to make our choices without fear of rebuke from others. Today I saw my first poppy 'fascist' on Facebook. There are many who, shall we say, nag others to wear poppies but this is the first time I've seen someone implying the wearing of a poppy is pretty much mandatory.

Another year passes and still I find it insulting, the amount of people that are not wearing poppy's (sic)! Yes we are a multicultural nation, but when you live here you respect our traditions and remember all that gave their lives so we could have a better one. I for one will always respect it and I'm immensely proud of them all. - DO

Implicit in this statement is the idea that many non-poppy wearers are not indigenous as the BNP calls them and ignores the fact that a large percentage of the indigenous populace also doesn't wear them. It is possible to respect something without having to wear a badge to prove it.

I wish I could write as eloquently as Simon Kelner who has this piece in the i today, whilst an old (military) colleague posted this on FB:

Poppy supporters, please stop politicising the poppy as a nationalist or Christian symbol. It's not. Support the poppy, but for the right and historic reasons. This xenophobia (look it up) over our poppy just has to stop. Please, Just Remember! If you need a cross to bare (sic), the answer's in this sentence ;) Ta. - PG


It's pretty depressing to see the many corrupted versions of the poppy on eBay associated with political/sectarian groups.

In Laurence Binyon's 'For The Fallen',

They went with songs to the battle, they were young.
Straight of limb, true of eyes, steady and aglow.
They were staunch to the end against odds uncounted,
They fell with their faces to the foe.
They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old:
Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At the going down of the sun and in the morning,
We will remember them.

Wednesday 9 November 2011

And now - a joke

A woman brought a very limp duck into a veterinary surgeon. As she laid her pet on the table, the vet pulled out his stethoscope and listened to the bird's chest.After a moment or two, the vet shook his head and sadly said, "I'm sorry, your duck, Cuddles, has passed away.

The distressed woman wailed, "Are you sure?"

"Yes, I am sure. Your duck is dead," replied the vet.

"How can you be so sure?" she protested. "I mean you haven't done any testing on him or anything. He might just be in a coma or something."

The vet rolled his eyes, turned around and left the room. He returned a few minutes later with a black Labrador Retriever. As the duck's owner looked on in amazement, the dog stood on his hind legs, put his front paws on the examination table and sniffed the duck from top to bottom. He then looked up at the vet with sad eyes and shook his head.The vet patted the dog on the head and took it out of the room.

A few minutes later he returned with a cat. The cat jumped on the table and also delicately sniffed the bird from head to foot. The cat sat back on its haunches, shook its head, meowed softly and strolled out of the room.The vet looked at the woman and said, "I'm sorry, but as I said, this is most definitely, 100% certifiably, a dead duck."

The vet turned to his computer terminal, hit a few keys and produced a bill, which he handed to the woman..The duck's owner, still in shock, took the bill. "$150!" she cried, "$150 just to tell me my duck is dead!"The vet shrugged, "I'm sorry. If you had just taken my word for it, the bill would have been $20, but with the Lab Report and the Cat Scan, it's now $150.

Tuesday 8 November 2011

Sonnet XXX

When to the sessions of sweet silent thought
I summon up remembrance of things past,
I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought,
And with old woes new wail my dear time's waste:
Then can I drown an eye, unused to flow,
For precious friends hid in death's dateless night,
And weep afresh love's long since cancelled woe,
And moan the expense of many a vanished sight:
Then can I grieve at grievances foregone,
And heavily from woe to woe tell o'er
The sad account of fore-bemoaned moan,
Which I new pay as if not paid before.
   But if the while I think on thee, dear friend,
   All losses are restor'd and sorrows end.

Monday 7 November 2011

My Facebook profile picture and remembering


Shows a black and white photograph of Petty Officer LJ Wilson, standing in front of a bush in full naval uniform.
Engine Room Artificer L J 'Tug' Wilson in 1939.
Courtesy of the Royal Navy Submarine Museum.

I should perhaps explain my unusual Facebook profile picture.



On Christmas Eve 1939, seven Petty Officers from the nearby submarine base at Blyth, went along to The Astley Arms and took part in a raffle. One of them, 'Tug' Wilson of HMS SEAHORSE, won a bottle of Johnnie Walker whisky but, due to go out on patrol, he asked the landlady, Lydia Jackson to hold onto it until he came back.Tragically he didn’t; the Seahorse was destroyed by a mine with the loss of its entire crew. But Lydia Jackson held onto the whisky until she retired 30 years later, when upon investigating what happened to Wilson, she donated it to the Royal Navy Submarine Museum, where it has remained ever since. An account of the sinking can be found here.



With thousands of submariners of all nationalities lying in unmarked, unknown oceanic graves, I really just wanted to 'remember' in my own way.

Shows a black and white photograph of a surfaced submarine pulling into Portsmouth Harbour, as seen from behind.
HMS Seahorse in Portsmouth Harbour on October 14 1933.
Courtesy of the Royal Navy Submarine Museum.















My thanks to culture24.org.uk

Sunday 6 November 2011

In Memoriam M.K.H., 1911-1984

From Clearances 3

In Memoriam M.K.H., 1911-1984

When all the others were away at Mass
I was all hers as we peeled potatoes.
They broke the silence, let fall one by one
Like solder weeping off the soldering iron:
Cold comforts set between us, things to share
Gleaming in a bucket of clean water.
And again let fall. Little pleasant splashes
From each other's work would bring us to our senses.

So while the parish priest at her bedside
Went hammer and tongs at the prayers for the dying
And some were responding and some crying
I remembered her head bent towards my head,
Her breath in mine, our fluent dipping knives--
Never closer the whole rest of our lives.



________________________________________________


I first came across this poem by Seamus Heaney at an Open University Summer School. It struck  such a resonance with me; he seemed to be completely aware of the love I had for my mum. In just a few words he depicts the relationship many son has for his mother

Monday 31 October 2011

Poppies, Body Shop and poppycock

The time of Remembrance should rightfully be an emotional and thoughtful time but sometimes it stirs the wrong emotions.  There are those who seek to disrupt by carrying out actions designed to provoke in the guise of a protest. This year's example  of this is Anjem Chaudary and his punny Hell for Heroes protest planned for Remembrance Day at the Albert Hall. This loathsome man is very successful at getting publicity far beyond that warranted by the scale of his protest. Of course, once the sanctimonious Daily Mail has got wind of his plans, he is onto a winner.

In the past few years the use of social media has escalated and with this comes the ready and rapid distribution of information and news. But that also brings with it the ready and rapid distribution of information that isn't so accurate. Take, for example, the case of Poundland. Poundland has a dress code and in Northern Ireland, a country that is also very sensitive to religious icons one poppy-wearing member of staff was asked to remove it. On a matter of principle that individual left work, stating that they would return to work on the following Monday wearing their poppy. Poundland recanted their policy thereby allowing poppies to be worn should staff so wish.

No-one was sent home.

The same piece of self righteous outrage also says that Body Shop have banned staff from wearing poppies. In fact, they haven't. Nor have they ever. In 2009 BodyCare asked THEIR staff not to wear poppies, but after an MP protested, they too recanted. Indeed, Body Shop have put a statement on their Facebook page to that effect and it should be noted that Body Shop and BodyCare are not connected in anyway.

I guess what it comes down to is that some people want to be outraged. Do the research, people.

Saturday 29 October 2011

Spooky and not so spooky events

This past couple of weeks has seen a step change in the activity at the Royal Navy Submarine Museum. We have seen the start of the cofferdam, I met one of the earlier Staff Operations Officers of my first ship, HMS GALATEA, the new, albeit temporary, Director has been appointed and the half term has had the Spooky Tours taking place on the submarine.


The refit of HMS ALLIANCE will start next year but requires the building of a cofferdam around the boat. This will have a main purpose of allowing visitors to view the submarine from all angles but will also provide a platform for a lot of the refurbishment work to take place. The piling for this is being put in place and is impressive in it's simplicity and ease of installation. Along with this progress there has been the appointment of the new Director and at a recent meeting with local sponsors, supporters and interested parties the way ahead was highlighted.

There has been a lot of changes on the site as the worksite is cleared for the refurbishment. Sadly this has meant that the car park is now looking like Steptoe's yard, and is not helped by there being 3 yachts in the car-park. The museum had been holding elements of a Kaiten for some time but these have now been transferred to Explosion! who will restore it and recreate the missing sections. This blogger hopes that the submarine museum won't be completely denuded of its other exhibits once the site has been developed. He feels that it already looks Spartan and dare I say, tatty in places? In fairness, Explosion! does have a much greater storage area and already has many submarine related artefacts.


This half term, HMS ALLIANCE has been the site for some ghoulish goings-on, some submarine scariness, as the we've been running Spooky tours through the boat. The kids have loved it, as well as a few adults. But also during this half term I had the opportunity to meet a gentleman who was an officer HMS GALATEA in the mid 60s. He was showing his grandson around the boat and in conversation, our tenuous but common link became evident.

Sunday 2 October 2011

The Key to My Training Success

Now everyone knows I'm no athlete, and I profess to being quintessentially British - English, even.  It will come as no surprise, therefore, when I say that after a session in the gym or a long run, there is nothing I find more enjoyable than a nice cup of tea.

Friday 30 September 2011

Weekly Bin Collections

And time for a minor rant regarding weekly v fortnightly rubbish collections. I fail to see the big deal about reverting to weekly collections. From my rather poor recollection and research, once a bi-weekly service has bedded in people are generally content with it. In Gosport, we have alternate recycling/waste collections and this works very well. And it should work anywhere provided the council provides proper bins rather than depending on black bin bags or small boxes for recycling.

The £250million that Pickles and ConDems are allocating to to councils has to come from somewhere and in this period of cutbacks one wonders why such a trivial thing is being afforded such expenditure, and where this money comes from. The money would be much better spent elsewhere (clichéd I know) and I for one hope that Gosport Borough Council retains its current service. 

Thursday 29 September 2011

Alderney 23- 25 September 2011

Early evening at Saye Campsite






These little devils were verywhere and only about 2-3mm







Dates? We don't need no stinkin' dates! It tasted OK and I'm still here to tell the tale



I was playing with the flash - oft times it's better without it seems


A couple more experiments with and without the flash








As you may have guessed I've just come back from Alderney in the Channel Islands. This was the last air racing weekend of the season for the Royal Aero Club. It's a wonderful little island, barely 3 miles long packed with things to see and places to do.... Over the summer there are a myriad events including fishing competitions, a half marathon, hill climbs and so on.

The history is similarly extensive with evidence of a stone age occupation and a Roman pier but the most evident history is more recent. There are a lot of Napoleonic fortifications and in the Second World War these were added to by the Germans. They not only reinforced existing structures but added others of their own and there are many elements still standing. The dark side of this is that these structures were built by slave labour. During the war, there were 3 labour camps and a concentration camp and the occupants were mainly Eastern European; many of the locals left the island. Alderney's history is well documented on the web and readers can find the details behind these events there. The Hammond Memorial stands for the memory of those interned and who died.

I've always found the 'natives' friendly and welcoming and love going back there. If you have the opportunity I'd advise you to go too!

My pictures can also be found here


Friday 16 September 2011

What to blog. What to blog. Hmmm

Just a short post, really. One that is aimed at my friends who are blogging, are thinking about blogging, or who are stop start bloggers like me. Have a look at Jim Connolly's thoughts on HIS blog Jim's Marketing Blog.

He makes a good point, one I shall try and follow.

Sunday 28 August 2011

The Diving Museum

The Diving Museum

Further to my previous blog about how how frustrating Gosport can be because of all it's hidden gems, I want to mention The Diving Museum.

This small and highly specialised museum is hidden in away in No 2 Battery at the eastern end of Stokes Bay. The Battery was part of the ring of defences around Portsmouth Harbour, which included the Palmerston Follies. The museum was opened earlier this year by The Historical Diving Society and it's manned by volunteers from that society.

We paid our 2 quid entry fee  and were pounced upon by one of the volunteers, an ex Royal Navy diver, who offered to show us around and explain the exhibits. And this he did with obvious relish and certainly a deep knowledge of his subject. The museum has exhibits from the early days of commercial diving in the 19th century right up to modern sports diving (using equipment supplied by BSAC) and saturation diving. There's a good balance between civillian and military diving and between commercial and sports diving and no shortage of exhibits with thre being lots of examples in each category.

What became clear right at the beginning of the tour, was that Gosport was the birthplace of modern commercial diving:

It is not yet popularly known, but Gosport is the home of the global diving industry. The co-inventor of the diving helmet, John Deane, lived in Gosport from 1835 to 1845 during which time he discovered the Mary Rose. The first diving helmet ever sold by the inventors was to a Gosport mariner, Henry Abbinett. Gosport represents a natural home for the country's premier historical diving museum.
(from www.divingmuseum.co.uk)

Apart from my sports diving interest, I was really pleased to make a connection with one of the other exhibits. When I was a baby sailor on HMS GALATEA in 1974, I was sent off to Fort Bovisand, near Plymouth to train as a Swimmer of the Watch. We had to don a 3 piece diving suit made up of a top and bottom, the two open ends of which are rolled together before being covered with a cummerbund. And I was chuffed to see that same suit being exhibited!

So this is Gosport's 4th museum. It already has the Submarine Museum, Explosion!, and the local natural history museum  The town also has it's 17th century village, and the Institute of Naval Medicine holds many artefacts and historical papers from the history of the Royal Naval Medical Branch. 

Thursday 25 August 2011

That's very nearly an armful

It was the regular blood donor session in Gosport tonight. I walked in at 18.22 to find the place was mobbed. It was another hour and 40 minutes before my turn came. I spent my time, as I always do, dozing.  It's one of those times when I get that satisfaction from seeing the good that people can do, quite unselfishly. Everyone's there because they want to be and without enticement - apart from a cup of tea and a biscuit.

There's always a good mix of ages from teenagers who are giving at their first opportunity, to 'senior' donors who have been giving for yonks. There's skinny folks and pudgy folks. And there's ALWAYS the one or two who get a bit flaky and have to have 'The Wet Towel of Recovery' on their heads and sip from the 'Disposable Cup of Orange Squash'.

This is the side of people I like to see. I much prefer to see this going on than riots in Tottenham, or crappy posts on Facebook falsely comparing grannies on benefits to 'immigrants', or posts begrudging the fractional amount we spend on aid. People, just do those little things that help someone else, and without expecting something in return and this will be an even more wonderful place in which to live.

Give blood england and north wales 96% of us rely on the other 4% to give blood. Please don’t leave it to someone else.


And if you want THAT bit, jump to 4m 20s

Saturday 20 August 2011

For someone who brought pleasure to many and who will do so only in memories now

High Flight

 Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of Earth
 And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;
 Sunward I’ve climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth
 of sun-split clouds, — and done a hundred things
 You have not dreamed of — wheeled and soared and swung
 High in the sunlit silence. Hov’ring there,
 I’ve chased the shouting wind along, and flung
 My eager craft through footless halls of air....

 Up, up the long, delirious, burning blue
 I’ve topped the wind-swept heights with easy grace.
 Where never lark, or even eagle flew —
 And, while with silent lifting mind I have trod
 The high untrespassed sanctity of space,
 - Put out my hand, and touched the face of God.

by John Gillespie Magee

Sunday 7 August 2011

Gosport is so frustrating

Let me explain why. Yesterday, I went out for a ride around the periphery of this old maritime town. My ride took me through the town to to Portsmouth Harbour at a spot called Monk's Walk, down through Hardway, Clarence Yard, Haslar, Gilkicker, and Stokes Bay. Once I got out of the first built-up part I was into some woods that led down to the water's edge and I had great view across to Whale Island and Fountain Lake, that view only disturbed by the sad sight of 3 Type 42 destroyers out on the trot, awaiting disposal. As I cycled on a bit further I passed both The Jolly Roger and The Old House At Home pubs, and both good looking pubs, unlike some of the dives in Gosport, both busy, both with people sat outside enjoying the sun.

From there it was along the water's edge to Explosion! and a little goofing as I cycled through. I was a little taken aback by the sight of a 4.5" Mk 6 turret, something I'd not seen so close since I trained on one in HMS Cambridge in 1974. Explosion! is yet another old Naval site where some of it has been refurbished and revitalised and opened to the public whilst other areas have new houses built on them. It looks good and reassuringly intact.

Leaving the old munitions site, I was able to look across to Portsmouth dockyard and see HMS VICTORY standing out in her historic, unique colours against the modern grey of  our most modern warship, a Type 45 Daring class destroyer. My journey then took me over a bridge and into Clarence Yard, which was the old victualling yard for the dockyard. It's now a collection of apartments but its origins are still evident by such names as The Old Bakery and The Slaughterhouse. Again, there's been a lot of refurbishment here but many apartments and the shops are still awaiting occupancy. Nonetheless, its another pristine and tastefully preserved area. I cycled on in to town and along the seawall looking over to Portsmouth. Passing the Falklands Gardens I rode along past the marinas to Haslar Bridge where, once I passed the family fishing at the water's edge, I seemed to leave people behind. Over the bridge, I could see that the Submarine Museum car park was very busy but saw no pedestrians. The headwind down the road between the old Naval Hospital and the Marine Technology Park made me puff but it didn't stop me hoping that the plans for Haslar come to fruition.

On to the sea front at Gilkicker, the Victorian fort, to see HMS ILLUSTRIOUS anchored out in the Solent, as guard ship for the Clipper Round The World Race, Ensign and Jack flying at each end. The shingle was  busy with people, the bushes and brambles busy with different fruits, the whole sea front busy with so many different plants. Once over the shingle and back on the tarmac, it was clear that so many people take the opportunity to walk along the whole promenade enjoying the wonderful views across to the Isle of Wight. From there it was ride along Stokes Bay, seeing a couple of swimmers, a windsurfer, hundreds of sailing craft, and a busy crazy gold course. Once clear of the bay, it was into Privett Park to see cricketers playing, on a beautifully green pitch, the pavilion with a few sat outside with pints. And then home.

There are so many little corners of Gosport, that are green or full of flowers and all well-tended. It has a some great waterfront areas, a lot of history and a lot of lucky people.

And yet, the town centre is dying. Estate agents, pound shops, gaming places, charity shops and little else. It's such a shame.

Saturday 6 August 2011

From the Submarine Guide of the Year, as voted for by readers of Bunty (Google it)

I know you all like to keep up to date with the comings and goings of the visitors to HMS ALLIANCE, so here's today's report.

A really busy day today with the Waterbus bringing over loads of folks on the Big Ticket, even though the Submarine Museum gets very little of that ticket price. The cosmopolitan crowd today included Germans, a German doctor and his family, more Germans a family from Cape Town, the father of which has done the Comrades Marathon in about 7 hours, some French folks, a colleague from work with his family, inclusive of fun and extrovert daughter, ex submariners from the Amphion class and the Oberon class, a guy who had been on the Port crew of HMS REVENGE (my boat and crew) but a couple of years after me, and 6 US servicemen from RAF Molesowrth, who seemed jolly nice chaps. Oh yes, and lots of other people.

We did start doing tours but we became overwhelmed by the numbers coming off the Waterbus, so ran a free-flow system to allow people to see the boat but still be able to chat to a guide if they wished. That works well to 'break the back' of the numbers, and allows us to revert to tours if we're able.

Oh, by the way. Harbour Stations, the onsite cafe, does a mean mocha

Wednesday 27 July 2011

Hell on Utøya

This is the Google translation of the blog of Prableen Kaur. The original page can be found here

Hell on Utøya

I woke up. I can not sleep more. I'm sitting in the living room. Feeling grief, anger, happiness, God, I do not know what. There are too many emotions. There are too many thoughts. I'm afraid. I react to the slightest sound. I will write about what happened on Utøya. What my eyes saw, what I felt, what I did. The words come straight from the liver, but I would also anonymize many names out of respect for my friends.

We had a crisis meeting in the main building after the explosions in Oslo. After that there was a meeting for members of Akershus and Oslo. After the meetings were many, many people around and in the main building. We consoled ourselves that we were safe on an island. No one knew that hell would break out with us too.

I stood in the main time when panic broke out. I heard shots. I saw him shoot. All started to run. The first thought was: "Why shoot the police on us? What the hell? "I ran into the little room. People ran. Screamed. I was scared. I managed to get into one of the rooms at the back of the building. We were many in there. We lay on the floor all together. We heard several shots. Were more afraid. I cried. I knew nothing. I saw my best friend through the window and wondered if I should go out and bring him to me. I did not. I saw fear in his eyes. We were lying on the floor inside the room for a few minutes. We agreed not to release more in case the killer came. We heard several shots and decided to jump out the window. Panic broke out among us. All in the room rushed to the window and tried to jump out. I was the last and thought: "I am the last to jump out the window.Now I'm dying. I'm sure, but it might be okay, then I know that the others are safe. "I kasket my bag out the window. Tried to managed down, but lost her grip. I landed hard on the left part of the body. A boy helped me up. We ran into the woods. I looked around."Is he here? Shoot him for me? Viewing him myself? "A girl had a broken ankle. Another was severely injured. I tried to help a little bit before I went down to the water. I sought cover behind a sort of brick wall. We were many. I prayed, prayed, prayed. I hope that God saw me. I called Mom and said that it was not safe we ​​would meet again, but that I would do anything to clear me. I said several times that I loved her. I heard fear in her voice. She cried. It hurt. I sent a text message to my dad, told him I loved him. I sent a text message to another person I am very, very happy in. We were a little contact. I sent a text message to my best friend. He did not answer. We heard several shots. Snuggled together. Did everything we could to keep warm. There were so many thoughts. I was so scared. My dad called me. I cried, said I loved him. He said he was going with my brother to take me welcome when I come across to the mainland, or they came to the island.There were so many emotions. So many thoughts. I told everything I could. It took some time. The other called parents eventually started all texting for fear that the killer would hear us. I thought of my sister who's away. How I would tell her how it went? What happened to me. I updated on Twitter and Facebook that I was still alive and that I was "safe." I wrote that I was waiting for the police. People jumped into the water, started swimming. I was lying. I decided that if he did, I would play dead. I would not run or swim.I can not describe the fear, all your mind, what I felt.

A one came. "I'm from the police." I was lying. Some shouted back that he had to prove it. I do not remember exactly what he said, but the killer started shooting. He charged.Extension more. He shot those around me. I was lying. I think: "Now it's over. He's here.He takes me. Now I'm dying. "People screamed. I heard that others were shot. Others jumped into the water. I was there. The mobile phone in hand. I lay on top of the legs of a girl. Thurs the 2nd was on top of my leg. I was lying. The insert in text messages. The mobile phone rang several times. I was lying. I played dead. I lay there for at least an hour. It was completely quiet. I gently turned her head to see if I could see someone live.I looked like. I saw blood. Fear. I decided to get up. I had been lying on top of a dead body. Thurs like lying to me. I had a guardian angel.  did not know if he would come back again. I had not the courage to look at all those who had called and texted me. I hurried down to the water. I took off my sweater. It was great. I thought it would be difficult to swim to me. I considered whether I should bring my cell phone or leave it again. I put it in his back pocket and jumped into the water. I saw several others in the water. They had swum far. I saw that someone had gathered around a floating luftbåt or something like that. There were many who picked up those who swam out. I swam, swam, and swam towards the air thing. I screamed. Weep. Was cool. I thought of when I would drown. It was heavier and heavier. I asked. I continued.Was tired arms. Decided to turn my back and just use your legs to swim on. I sank. I started to swim normally again. A little while I thought they had gathered around the air boat began to move away. I screamed. Begged them to wait for me. I must have seen visions. I swam at least a few hundred meters before I arrived. We talked a little together.Did what we called, where we came from. When the boats passed us shouting for help, but they picked up the others just swam first. A man in a boat came to us. He threw out several life jackets. I got hold of one. Got it on me. I held on to the small air boat a long time until the same man came back to pick us up. All got into it. He began to run towards the shore. After a while it started small his boat to take in some water. I did everything I could to get the most water out. I used a bucket. I was exhausted. Another girl in the boat took over. We came to the country. We got blankets. Tears pressed on. I cried more. A woman hugged me. It was so good. I wept aloud. I sobbed. A man lent me his phone. I called my dad, "I live. I did it. Now I am safe. "I hung up. Cry more. We had to walk a bit. Completely unknown people took us into their cars and drove us to Sundvollen hotel. I ran in to see if I could see my best friend. I saw him at any place. I saw a friend. I cried loudly. We hugged each other for long. It was good. I walked around, looking for friends. My heart pounded. I cried more. I signed up with the police, then through all the lists. I did not know about my best friend lived. I looked through all the lists. I could not find his name anywhere. I was scared. I got a duvet. I took off my wet socks. I was half naked. Got a jacket. I tried to dial a bit. Contacted my parents again. My dad and brother were on their way to fetch me. I drank some cocoa. I sat down. Thought. Weep. So many friends. Hugged them. Weep. I borrowed a computer. Updated the Facebook and Twitter again that I was safe. I was at the hotel for several hours before my family came.I looked for familiar. I talked to a priest. I told all I had seen. It was a good call. A man from the Red Cross saw all my wounds. Cleanse them. Time passed. I was with some of my friends. All talked about the same. How we survived. What had happened. I asked several if they had seen my best friend. No one had seen him. I was scared. I thought that it was my fault because we had not managed to stay together. A friend got the key to a hotel room. We sat there, looked at the news. There was anger, sorrow, so many emotions. My dad called, they had come. I took the elevator down. Run out to them.Hugged my brother and my dad a long time. I wept aloud. My brother was crying too. It was a good moment. I saw a boy who looked like my best friend. I shouted his name. He turned around. It was him. We hugged each other for long. Both crying, we asked each other how we had managed. After a while, I registered myself and we drove home.Someone else sat in with us. My best friend was with me. His brother had come to me with his best friend. There were several who had gathered at my home. They would not go home until they had seen that I was fine. We talked a little bit. I drank a juice Gladden.Ate a yogurt. Talked some more with my mom and my family. I called my best friend. It was a good call. She said: "I was not sure if I would ever get this phone." Tears pressed on. We talked a little bit. After that I lay. It was three. Mom refused to let me sleep alone, so we slept together.

There have been several hours since all this happened. I'm still in shock. Everything has not fallen into. I have seen the corpses of my friends. Several of my friends are missing. I am glad that I can swim. I am glad that I live. For that God watched over me. There are so many emotions, so many thoughts. I think of all the relatives. In all I lost. In the hell that is and was on the island. This summer's most beautiful fairy tale is transformed into Norway's worst nightmare.