The camp was perched on a piece of flat ground, overlooking the cliffs. Just enough room for the camp and a couple of playing fields. The entrance was above and a little way beyond the main camp; the road from the guardhouse running past the playing fields to the small camp.
This camp, like most others in those days, were built of single brick with wooden windows and an asbestos corrugated roof. I think the navy must have bought a job lot from the Yanks when they left the UK. There was a cinema near the guardhouse and a NAAFI just a stones throw from the main camp itself.
I was just over 18, and was determined to do well on this course. After all, it took me quite a while and many confrontations with the Drafting Officer at Chatham to get here.
I had several days before my course was due to start, and most of my time was spent strolling along the cliff top, watching some of the hardy tars swimming, joined quite often by one or two of the Wrens from the camp - mainly writers, sickberth attendants, and from Stores. One could often see seals just poking their heads above the water as if to say “What are you looking at?” The weather was almost always cold, with high winds; far too cold for me to join in the frolics with the Wrens or the seals (whichever you fancied) - those in the swimsuit, or those wearing fur coats?
The course I was in was a real mixture of ranks: from an Acting Petty Officer down to me, an Ordinary Seaman, but that didn’t matter. After a day or so we were just a class under instruction, not one of us considered any better than another.
Although the course programme was a full one, most of us coped with it very well. Those not happy with all the days proceedings were helped in the evening to an understanding by others in the class.
The content of the course I didn’t find too difficult. There were odd things, like having to print upside down, or back to front. The reason for this was so that the man-in-charge who was on the far side of the plotting table, or on the other side of a clear Perspex screen could read the information the right way around!
We also spent a great deal of time learning how to log information coming to us over the radio. This included having to log about 60 key words in a special way so that later on others could read the relevant points quickly and easily. For this we were encouraged to arrive in the classroom at least a half an hour early to practice this ’art’. Then having done so, I never heard, during my next 22 years in the Radar Branch, of anyone ever having to use this ‘skill’!
The other thing we had to learn was not only knowing what was on the various radar screens; whether it was a ship, a cloud, an aircraft or a submarine. We also had to be able to switch on the sets in the correct manner, and with safety in mind, the sets we were taught on were the very same ones that Noah had on the Ark. They were that old! This meant other instructors taking our class were teaching us the fundamentals of the art? The sets were housed in fairly small huts with just enough room for the set. And in the case of the 281 BQ, set in a caged area about 12’ x 8’ with room for the class of about 12 in rows on either side of the doorway behind us.
The Instructor of this particular set was a very enthusiastic, smart young Petty Officer, determined that not one of those he taught could ever accuse him of not showing exactly how things should be done!
We were taking one of our first lessons from him, and having switched on the set in slow time he repeated what he had done, and added ‘‘Under no circumstances should you ever open this door,’’ as he opened the door, “and never touch that big glass valve down there,” pointing to a bowl, like a large upturned Pyrex mixing bowl. Someone at the back said “Sorry PO, which one was that?” Still looking at the questioner, he again pointed out the valve, but this time getting a bit too close. With a terrific flash, and a bang like a cannon going off, the power went to earth via our Instructor to the valve, shooting the Instructor down the isle and out the half shut door!!
After a second or two, the now very dishevelled PO staggered back into the classroom. "Sorry PO!” said one of the class, “Could you show us that again, the flash blinded me for a second!” We didn’t know whether to laugh, cheer or just clap? But quick as a flash the PO said "Now do you understand what I am talking about?” Another lesson learnt, and also 'don’t try to be a smart ass'.
The Killick I met on the train and I saw each other from time to time, and it wasn’t too long before we decided to go into Haverford West to visit the train-lady's pub. When we walked into the place (we had to wear uniform in those days) we were greeted like her long lost children! The promised pint appearing on the bar, we decided to play darts, and in those days I was a reasonable player, so as it turned out was my mate. Not long after we had arrived a group of about 10 chaps walked in muttering about the other team not turning up. It turned out this was the pub's 2nd darts team.
Seeing us playing, we were invited to play them (I think they just wanted us off the board), but every time a couple of the team challenged us we won, and the routine was that the losers bought the winners half a pint. We had a hell of a good night and never spent a penny, nor were we knocked off the board. The same thing happened more or less when we returned at the landlady's request a few nights later. Only this time it was the first team! We didn’t beat them all, but had sufficient wins not to have to buy but one half-pint all evening.
Mostly on camp, if the men wanted to have a pint other than in the NAAFI, where the favourite tipple was ‘Snakebite’. Really rough Scrumpy (cider) and bitter mixed in equal parts. Not good if you had classes in the morning. The other place was in the nearest village of Dale. The pub was an old fashioned place called the Griffin. So old fashioned, that the beer was straight from the barrel. Not unusual in itself in those days, but it wasn’t poured into individual glasses. The landlady poured the beer into a large-spouted enamel jug, tapering up from the bottom. She spent all night grabbing a newly-filled jug from the bar, going around filling any glass not already full to the brim.
There was a camp cinema up by the gate. The film had to be reasonably good to warrant the 5 minute walk there in the pouring rain and howling wind that occured quite often.
One night while the film was showing, a force 10 gale blew up, and the walk (struggle) back against the wind was made further hazardous with bits of the camp flying about all over the place. The Padre (Sin Bosun) had a very near escape. His cabin was very close to the cliff edge, and during this storm the wall of his cabin was blown in onto his bed. As people rushed in thinking the worst, they found him on his knees on the other side of the bed. Another lesson: if you are going to say your prayers, keep on the right side of the bed. His prayers were surely answered that night!
Having completed and passed the course, after a spot of leave it was back to Chatham once more to see what the Drafting Officer would cook up for me. Now I had my Non-Substantive rate, fully qualified Radar Plotter 3rd Class.
No comments:
Post a Comment