In the middle of the park was Norton House. The park was a mile or so square with the house at the top end, a wooded area to the right and behind it, and from the house the ground sloped down to a lake area bordering the road to the village. Norton House was the place where the invasion of Europe was planned from. The plans and maps were still to be seen on the wall in one of the large rooms. The whole park was surrounded by a high red-bricked wall. Whether this wall was to keep residents in, or others out, was never established. There was a pig farm and a chicken farm (produce from the same for the consumption of the Wardroom (the Officer’s mess). Beyond the house towards the main road (the A3, a couple of miles away)
were some playing fields.
The quarters to house us sailors were typical of the time and found in almost any military establishment. Such places were known to us Navy men as Stone Frigates...the usual asbestos roofs, thin brick walls, black-tarred floors...but in this case there were radiators, not the usual pot bellied stoves found in the huts. These were a vast improvement on the stoves, however if you happened to be sleeping alongside one you needed to roll over at least every half hour to make sure that you were cooked evenly on both sides. These radiators were either on and very hot, or off and cold.
Two huts were laid out opposite to one another, then the ablutions, and further on, two more huts. All were joined by a passageway running down the centre. There were double doors at the entrance and at the other end a wood-framed window where the phone was. These huts were a little more cramped than I had been used to previously, as here the bunks were double-tiered. One thing that was a bit better, was that almost opposite across the road was the mess hall where we ate. The food as usual was basic; lots of carbohydrates, very little in the way of good meat; mainly liver, and fish of which one could only say was that they had at sometime lived in the sea. Also on site there was a conglomeration of training buildings varying from the old horse stables, through to double-story places, which were accessed in the main via external fire escape stairs, although there was a proper entrance which was rarely used. There was one new building which I think was there at that time, the new air training control centre called Harrier (no imagination), the same name as the place in Kete, where I had taken my RP3 course!
Having done my joining routine, I found myself duty part of the watch, which often was the case when
joining a new place or ship. Having settled into my mess I was told to draw bedding, a torch and an axe halve (a handle), not a lot of good being only about 15 inches long. For the night's duty we were the unfortunates who had to sleep in the duty hut fully booted and spurred (i.e. fully dressed).
I never made it to bed having the first watch (8 pm until midnight), during which time I was to guard the North road; sort of a back road running to the married quarters attached to the camp. I was to station myself at the junction where the road met the inner camp road by the cinema. Overlooking the junction was a very large dead oak tree with its one and only remaining branch sticking out over the road, which we used as a suitable place to hang a green enamelled lampshade on, with the lamp swinging from it in the wind, back and forth, squeaking as it did so.
Beyond the range of the lamplight it was really pitch dark, and I was grateful for Bob being there to join me. Now Bob was sort of the camp mascot; he was an old, scrawny sort of English sheep dog who, once he arrived, snuggled down to sleep under the tree. Later that night, after about three hours, Bob stood and growled in the back of his throat, looking down the road. I followed his gaze and sure enough, there were the lights of a car approaching. As the vehicle neared I stood in the middle of the road summoning the car to stop, waving the torch from side to side, and the car did duly stop.
I approached the car on the driver’s side. As the driver lowered the window it occurred to me that had this been a lorry full of the IRA (Irish Republican Army) I would have been long gone, axe helve or not. However, I could see that this fellow was wearing the uniform of a Lieutenant Commander.
“Pass please, Sir.” I requested.
After fumbling about in his jacket and searching the glove compartment of his car, he said “I haven’t got it on me.”
After fumbling about in his jacket and searching the glove compartment of his car, he said “I haven’t got it on me.”
“Sorry, Sir,” says I, “no pass, no entry.”
“Do you know who I am?”
”No Sir, I only arrived today, and even if I did know who you were; no pass, no entry.”
“Do you know who I am?”
”No Sir, I only arrived today, and even if I did know who you were; no pass, no entry.”
“Damn it, man! I am the First Lieutenant!” (second in command of the camp)
“I have my orders, Sir. You could be anyone. No pass, no entry. You’ll have to go back through the married quarters, out on to the main road, and come back in the main entry to the guardhouse...Sir.”
“I have my orders, Sir. You could be anyone. No pass, no entry. You’ll have to go back through the married quarters, out on to the main road, and come back in the main entry to the guardhouse...Sir.”
“What is your name, sailor?"
I told him my name, and having finished my watch, went back to the duty hut and turned in.
I told him my name, and having finished my watch, went back to the duty hut and turned in.
The next morning, having got up, returned the axe halve, and the lamp and bedding, I had a shower and shave, and was having my breakfast. I had just about finished when there was a order over the Tannoy (broadcast system). “Able Seaman Cooper, report to the 1st Lt’s office." Once I found out where it was, I duly presented myself to his aide in the outer office of the 1st Lt.
The aide lifted the phone, “Sir. Able Seaman Cooper is here.”
“Send him in!" came the answer in a voice I recognised. 'A fine mess on my first day' I thought, as I removed my bonnet (what sailors called their hats). “Ah, Cooper, sorry about last night, you were perfectly right of course in denying me entry. Had you have not done so, I would have put you on a charge. Well done. Good morning.”
And I left. 'Charming,' I thought, 'he tries to bully me into letting him in, and had I done so I would have dropped right in it! Just charming!'
“Send him in!" came the answer in a voice I recognised. 'A fine mess on my first day' I thought, as I removed my bonnet (what sailors called their hats). “Ah, Cooper, sorry about last night, you were perfectly right of course in denying me entry. Had you have not done so, I would have put you on a charge. Well done. Good morning.”
And I left. 'Charming,' I thought, 'he tries to bully me into letting him in, and had I done so I would have dropped right in it! Just charming!'
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I didn’t get to go on course right away and, while waiting for my course numbers to be filled by others, either coming in from abroad or from leave, I met and made pals with another prospective RP2. I remember his nickname was 'Hank', but for the life of me I cannot remember his surname. He was a few years older than me; quite a bit shorter (by now I was over 6 ft. 3 in.); dark-haired; with a good laugh and was a very good singer. He had been a professional gambler and a bookie, his father owning a sort of betting shop (not legal then, I believe) in civilian life. As we were not taking the course yet, and not really part of the ‘ship's’ company, we were often used as the camp labour force. One duty I recall we both had was as 'disposal operatives'. There were about four of us and our job was to collect any rubbish from around the camp that could not be fed to the pigs, and take it to a dump about five or six miles away. The rubbish was put in the bins on the back of a 3-ton lorry, driven by a civilian driver. Having collected the stuff, by late morning we would leave the camp for the tip. Stopping about halfway there at a transport cafe, we all enjoyed a full English breakfast. This was a perk of the job. We only had to pay a nominal sum, because before we left (after an hour or so) we took all the cafe's rubbish with us as well! On the way back, not wanting to be seen re-entering the camp too early, and possibly being given another job, we again stopped at the transport cafe for a large mug of tea. We tried to time our arrival back at the camp at packing up time.
One duty that could be tiresome was a duty weekend. This depended on the pig farm. Luckily it never happened to me, seeing as I was in a 'blue' card job on the bins. A blue card job referred to the card you had to carry denoting which section of the camp you belonged to. Normally you were either in the 'red' (port) half of the company, or the 'green' (starboard) half. Having a blue card meant you were in a special job, and exempt from normal duties (a very prized and sought-after card to hold). The port and starboard watches were further split in two, meaning there would be a 1st and 2nd part to each watch.
Occasionally I would stay in the camp (at least to sleep) over the the weekend, and the Tannoy would announce "Duty part of the watch turn to.” (meaning there was work to be done) “Muster under the clock tower. Pigs out!” I repeat, “Pigs out!”. Now this was always good for a laugh because the duty men would be told to spread out and drive the escapee pigs back to the pig farm, and into their sty, or run. Most of the duty men would never have seen a pig on its trotters, let alone tried to herd them back into a given place. Off the lads would dash with great gusto, all trying to get the pigs back where they belonged. Usually the only ones in the group to have taken part in this exercise before were the pigs! The men ran in an uncoordinated rabble, yelling at the pigs, while the pigs were quite happily trotting hither and yon. And meanwhile watchers, like me, knowingly egged them on.
After about half an hour, the pigs had normally had their fun. Besides which, they had probably worked up an appetite, and then decided to return to the pig farm under their own steam. They would turn around, squealing and running toward their destination. However between them and where they now wished to go were a number of sailors. The chasers now became the chased; or at least that’s what they thought!
Now it was the the sailors running hither and thither, with more yelling! With a little luck this performance would take an hour or so. I used to think you couldn’t pay to see such a comical spectacle anywhere, and this show was for free on most weekends!
Hank and I also used to have a run ashore together. We would go to a nearby village to listen to the jam-session held most Thursdays, I think it was, to enjoy the music played by the (sometimes) famous jazz players who dropped in; or we would take a trip to Southampton to see a movie, or to catch a show at the theatre.
Finally came the day when the RP2 course members were summoned, and unfortunately Hank and I were to be in different classes. The course was an upgraded version of the RP3, but with more emphasis on being in charge of a small part of the operations room team; we had to be able, if and when required, to present to the command an up-to-date picture of what was going on around us on the ship. This not only included the sea situation, but also underwater and air scenarios.
Part of the course was spent in Fort Pembroke, an old red-brick fort, built to protect the south coast from invaders during or just after the Napoleonic war. In the fort were all the defence and navigational radars and their associated equipment. We had a permanent Instructor who taught us most things other than the radars.
Bookwork, and learning how to find the various sort of things to do in certain situations, was sometimes taken by our course Officer. The other thing we had to do was that damn silly logging again, and learning how to use codes and authentication (letting the person to whom you are giving information know that it is from you, and not from the enemy).
To be honest the course was not too difficult, but being a person without a photographic memory, I did find the bookwork took a bit of grasping. Eventually in January 1957, or there about, after many examinations, plotting, switching on and off the several radars, reporting and so on, the class (or at least most of us) passed the course.
Now, almost five years to the day after joining the navy, I was an Able Seaman, Radar Plot Second class. (A/B RP2)
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