Submariner Funerals

Submariner funerals are interesting. Standards will be paraded. Old men will line up awaiting the coffin. Alarmingly, when given the command, "Submariners - submariners HO!", these old men will come to attention so smartly, it was as if they'd been practising on Whale Island for the past two weeks. The chapel at the crematorium is always packed.

After the move to the Royal Naval Association for the wake, or more correctly 'drinks at the RNA', there is always an assault on the bar. Then there will be food. Salads usually get a good stiff ignoring, but otherwise, the Scotch eggs disappear almost immediately, and the sandwiches and chicken wings follow soon after.

And then there will be rum. There is always rum. And it is always Pussers. There is a toast, the glasses are upended and that warm sensation in the depths of one's innards slowly radiates.

These are occasions for everyone to catch up and to discuss matters submarine, but usually, those from previous decades for these are men from those decades. It's interesting times as stories from one generation are shared with another - it's a two-way flow; one group did 'mystery tours', the later did 'sneaky patrols'. Both did the same but the name changed somewhere through the years.

Badges are everywhere. Dolphins. Of course. And not just British ones for some of these old gentlemen will wear Australian or Canadian dolphins for they served in the submarine squadrons in those countries. There are medals galore. Some wear nothing but a lapel pin. There are one or two who have parachutist wings on the shoulders of their civilian jacket. There is any number of non-service badges or pins. Some wear theirs just on their lapels so they resemble an aged 3rd Former from my grammar school days. Others have one or two, whilst there are those who wear many and some of these are so big it looks as if the wearer was attacked by a vicious paintball assassination squad outside on the car park.

They are always cheerful events but when looking at the comrades assembled, one has to wonder when the next one's life will be celebrated and a tot drunk.

I Never Made The Falklands

or Some Not so Exciting Stories From 32 Years Ago

Paul Atkinson (Medical Assistant)

I sailed on MV Astronomer and got into the exclusion zone a day after the ceasefire!! Spent the next 4 months floating around the Falklands and spent my 21st birthday throwing up (due to seasickness) somewhere off South Georgia.

Ken Dunn and I fitted out a sick bay on Atlantic conveyor and when it came to sail they only wanted one medic. Me n ken tossed a coin and he won the toss and sailed on her!!

Dave Tipple (Leading Seaman)

As was I on Revenge in refit with you, but we did get to paint a Hull trawler that had been TUFT*. Everybody was ready to go. When SP Anderson told Elvis Costello that he could not go, he was going to stow away on the trawler.

Andy Mullins (Medical Assistant)

We had a Clear Lower Deck for single men, they wanted volunteers to go down south, I volunteered and bugger all came of it, They "said" they wanted 5 fairly senior MA's to stay and train RNR MA's..........I ended up in Mercury Sickbay!

Dathan 'Spike' Hughes (Weapons Electrical Mechanic)

I joined the Invincible with a survivor of HMS Sheffield, at Ascension Islands by helo, on the way back. I stood procedure Alpha (Gosport side of course) into Pompey. Does that make it into the 'I never made it' dit book? I went there 10 years later with Derek Golding. Not sure which was the most dangerous time...

Pete Chilcott (Leading Medical Assistant)

32 years ago, just after South Georgia and the Falklands had been taken, it was clear that ships were coming out of reserve or TUFT* and that there would be need for medics. Paul Stock and I were stood by HMS REVENGE in refit. Feeling that this is what we had trained for, we would volunteer to go South and play our part. We walked over to the Jimmy and explained our wishes. 'The deterrent comes first' was his response. Back we walked and that was the end of our Falklands.

*Taken Up From Trade

Memories and Loss

A couple of days before Christmas, some flowers were delivered to the Royal Navy Submarine Museum. Each year a lady leaves a floral tribute to the crew of HMS P48, a Royal Navy submarine sunk in the Second World War, and her brother in particular.

Coincidentally, another lady visited just after Christmas. Her god father was Able Seaman Miller who, along with Lieutenant Low was posthumously awarded the Empire Gallantry Medal (which later became the George Cross). An account of his actions on HMS UNITY can be found online:

"Lt. F. J. Brooks. RN (On the first day of his first patrol, on his first command) was lost in an accident in the North Sea, while operating out of Blyth. (ack. Ron Biddle). In collision with Norwegian SS Atle Jarl. At 1730 on 29-April-1940, Unity sailed from Blyth for Norway. The weather was poor, with visibility down to 300 yards as Unity moved out of the harbour; in the main channel, where the Norwegian ship Atle Jarl was proceeding inbound on her way from Methyl, Scotland to the Tyne, visibility was down to 100 yards: Neither vessel was aware of the other until the submarine spotted the ship at 50 yards and on a collision course. At 1907 a prolonged blast of a ship’s siren at 50 yards was heard on Unity's bridge. There was just time to shut the bulkhead doors and order the engines astern before the Atle Jarl smashed into the submarine. The order to abandon the submarine was given at 1910 and Unity sank only five minutes after the collision.
The order to abandon the submarine was given at 1910 and most of the crew made their way topside and were crowded on the bridge. HMS Unity had taken an angle of 25 degrees and sank within four-five minutes. Although all the members of HMS Unity, bar the 1st Lt., Lt JNA Low RN and AB Miller, escaped from the stricken vessel, Leading Seaman James Hare and Stoker 1st Class Cecil Shelton were not picked up by the crew of the Atle Jarl during the subsequent search. A subsequent investigation revealed a breakdown in internal communications between the Submarine and the fact that the Methyl-Tyne convoy had not been due off Blyth until at approx 1930.
Four men were lost - Leading Seaman James S HARE P/JX 145574; Lieutenant John N A LOW; Able Seaman Henry J MILLER P/J 55387; and Stoker Cecil SHELTON P/KX 91083.
Lieutenant Low and Able Seaman Miller were the two men on duty in the submarine control room. When the order to abandon ship was given by the submarine commander they were instrumental in helping almost every member of the submarine to escape. Lt John N. A. Low RN and AB Henry J. Miller were each awarded a posthumous Empire Gallantry Medal, later (Sept 1940) exchanged by their next-of-kin to the George Cross."
(Source: http://www.ww2talk.com/forum/war-sea/20681-hm-submarine-unity-ss-atle-jarle.html)

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/HMS_Unity_(N66)
http://uboat.net/allies/warships/ship/3385.html

As far as the ladies are concerned, it's touching that someone should be remembered for so long after their death. It also shows, perhaps, how traumatic, how scarring it can be to lose someone in such violent circumstances, and where there is no grave or memorial. The Area of Remembrance at the Museum takes on that role for many people it seems.

Having read of the actions of Lt Low and AB Miller, I find myself wondering if I could do anything as selfless and as brave. Of  course our actions are always tempered by the time and the environment and I'm sat at home watching telly. So who knows?

Christmas Under The Sea

As has happened for the past 50 years or so, there will be at least one British submarine at sea today. The ships' company won't get boxes from The Sun, a mention on the BBC or additional minutes on their Paradigm cards. If they're lucky they will get their 40 word Familygram from home, which may have been censored; they certainly won't get the chance to talk to their families. They will be at 15 minutes notice to fire their terrible weapons against which ever foe they are directed. Their routine will be unchanged from any other day.

Spare them just a fleeting thought.

That's Not A Bad Christmas THIS Is A Bad Christmas

This year's Christmas won't be as extravagant as other years because of the lack of work. However, compared to the people in Cornwall and Stonehaven who've been flooded out of their homes, the friend of my wife whose father died 2 days ago and the old Naval friend who is going into hospital on Christmas Eve for an orchidectomy, and faces the prospect of chemotherapy, I would say it's going to be a pretty stonking time. And some people have a cold and bitch about it on Facebook.

Pass me another mince pie and a sherry. matron.

It's A Small, Small World

Over the summer months I help the Royal Aero Club Records Racing and Rally Association (the 3Rs) run their series of handicapped air races as the Chief Marshal (www.airraceuk.co.uk). In the past we've held races on Menorca but also hold ones at Abbeville in France and on Alderney as regular and annual events.

In my other job as a guide on HMS Alliance, I was taking a group through the boat this afternoon. At the end I chatted to one gentleman who was Spanish and from Majorca. I replied that I only had ever been to one place in Spain which was Menorca and that wasn't a holiday but for air racing. We chatted a little more about his interest in submarines and military matters before he asked me if I had said 'air racing'. I replied that it was and he said that he had a friend who also air raced. "It's not Gabriel, is it?". Astonishingly,  this man who is a Spanish commercial pilot currently flying from Stockholm to Vietnam and SE Asia, and I both knew the same man who generally attends the 3 air races above. In fact this man, Onofre, and Gabriel have been friends since childhood and Gabriel was responsible for getting him into flying (and for helping him get a flight at 7 years old!).

A clip from the Schneider race on Alderney with Gabriel at the controls

I can't imagine what the probability of this happening must be as for one thing, our running order as guides is decided on the cut of the cards, and this guy could have appeared at any time during the day.

Peter's Immutable Law of Ironing

The crease that is accidentally made when ironing is a million times harder to smooth out than the ones created during the laundry process.

The Next Tour Will Be At 1050

Hi everybody, I’m your guide and my name’s Pete
As you go on board mind your head, watch your feet
She’s really quite old, and has earnt her pension
Been here since ‘81 without much care
But you see the  scaffold’s there
And she’s getting well deserved attention

This end’s for escape, its the fore-ends and TSC
These white lockers hold escape gear and here’s the SSE.
Originally there’d be 12. Then that was 9 in ‘60
Down the loading hatch via the rails
Onto the racks or through the rear doors
Cuddling up to the spuds to the carrots and more

Over the sill, to the bunks that stay warm
In the mess for sleep, to eat, to play that’s the norm
Some quite low bunks and some more roomy
The next space has a battery
(In ‘71 we lost Chief Kimber)
The tower to the 4 inch gun is in the Wardroom

Ah - here’s the control room, oh so busy, so much to see
There’s the fruit machine, its face all black and dialled
We’ve got four wells although not four masts
Warner’s gone but there’s attack
Two-eyed search is further back
And rotating radar brings up the rear

The left hand side, is the side with tappers
One to steer, and heed voices from above
The man behind can be shallow or quite deep
His neighbour is the level headed one
All that brass lifts us up or drags us down
Two elements do the work although we might Q

Eyes left - radar, eyes right - comms and here’s the heads
Oh! the galley! Small enough for babies heads
The heads are quite modern these loos  flush
On Talent and others before  
If those steps weren’t followed
Getting your own back was your just reward


And through to the engine room we go
There’s the compressor in the corner
And here’s a lathe and a 6 valve chest
On the surface or just under
(Using snort and exhaust)
These 2 Vickers donks will drive us on

On we go, nearly done, past the screamers
To the switch gear and all that copper
Motors under here for when we’re sneaky
Through one more bulkhead
To the after ends we go
And this is like the fore-ends only less so

And that, everybody ends the tour
Thank you and if you’d like to ask some more
I’ll see you outside and what’s more
Buy me a cuppa and a cake
And I’ll ever be your mate

Especially if I get at least four stars and a good review on Trip Advisor.
(OK - it hasn't got a good cadence and the rhyming is rubbish but I'll chip away at it)

Proper 'New Navy'

'...but fondness for the ancient order of things is still a feature of this Navy of ours.  There was never a ship like our last ship: no commission like the one before this one.  Gipses all: yet we would fain linger a little by the ashes of our camp-fire while the caravans move on.

The most indifferent observer of naval affairs during the last decade will admit that it has been one of immense transition. Changes, more momentous even than this business of the (...), have followed in the wake  of a great wave of progress. "Up and onward" is the accepted order, but at the bottom of the Sailor-man's conservative heart  certain reluctance still remains.'

I suspect that this is an accurate observation, not only of the Royal Naval Sailor-man, but of Sailor-men across the world. When reading different fora across the web, we'll all have seen matelots complaining about changes or how things were much better x number of years ago.  Indeed, our first ship was probably the best one, but certainly any ship was better than the current one. I'm guessing that this principle  extends much further than the world's navies

The interesting thing about this little extract is that it was written in 1916 in the preface to a book called 'Naval Occasions' written by the pseudonymous Bartimeus. The missing word above is marmalade and the Preface opens thus:

'I reckon that's proper 'New Navy,'" said the coxswain of a duty cutter to the midshipman perched on the "dickey" seat beside him in the stern.

It was 6 A.M.: the boat was returning from the early morning beef trip, and the midshipman in charge of her had seen fit to discuss with his coxswain the subject which at most hours, and particularly at this one, lay nearest to his heart--the subject of Food.

"Proper 'New Navy.'" repeated the petty officer with contempt. He referred to the recent introduction of marmalade into his scale of rations.  He spoke bitterly, yet his quarrel was not with the marmalade  which, in its way, was all that marmalade should have been.  His regret was for the "dear dead days" before marmalade was thought of on the Lower-deck.

That was ten years ago, but fondness...etc'
I think it's safe to conclude that nothing changes and that Jack is never happy unless he's dripping

Two Nations Divided By An Uncommon Sentiment

A strange thing happened to me last week. It was quite surprising although not unpleasant. Two merican gentleman had taken the tour on HMS ALLIANCE and in conversation afterwards, it transpired that they were over here for a month or so, visiting sites with a D-Day history and would finally end up in France. As we talked and I told them a little about the HOLLAND 1, they asked about the guides and I told them we were all volunteers. They asked how long I'd served in the Royal Navy and I replied that it was for 32 years. "Thank you for your service", one of them said.

A quite un-British thing to say.

Generations

This past Sunday was a day of generations at the Royal Navy Submarine Museum. I worked with a man who was on board HMS BELFAST as it undertook the bombardment during the D-Day landings at Normandy in 1944; guided visitors on a Cold War submarine, talked to submariners who were on HMS CONQUEROR when it sank the ARA Belgrano during the Falklands War in 1982, and worked with a young man who's been patiently waiting to join the Royal Navy at HMS Raleigh for several months despite knowing that others who join up quit within the first week because they find the training too hard.

THE ROYAL NAVY SUPPORTING ALLIED FORCES 

IN NORMANDY, JUNE 1944. Starboard 4 inch guns of 

HMS BELFAST open fire on German positions 

around Ver-sur-Mer on the night of 27 June 1945.

Stephen

CHILLY!!
He’d shout, when we’d meet
(And that wasn’t often)
There was such a grin on his face
And a welcome in his paw

We first met in that cold, grim place
And worked so hard to match the pace
Then. at night,  the bus to Plympton
To eat egg and chips and dhobi our denims

Later, he’d succeed and I would fail
And, after 30 miles, I'd smile from the back
As he donned the green felt
And stumbled away to faint

I saw him once (at the ferry).
We chatted, we parted.
I saw his note
And we chatted a lot more
Later, I saw him.
(I took Starbucks muffins)
We hugged as old friends do.

CHILLY!!
He yelled when we met
(And that was in Plymouth)
There was such a grin on his face
And, obviously, a pint in his paw.

Much later, came the message, the call.

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

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.

In The Beginning