HMS Crane

HMS Crane - aka The Drooping Bird

Leaving HMS Dryad on the 15th April 1959, having only one little hiccup which I managed to slide out from under, I was due to join HMS Roebuck a month or so before finally getting a draft to HMS Crane. This time I thought that perhaps for the extra month ashore, I might have jumped out of the frying pan into the fire!

     On the Roebuck, I would have been on a reasonably up-to-date ship, and would have been one of the RP2s under the control of an RP1, probably a Petty Officer. This would have been fine, although I would still be an A/B passing for a Leading Seaman, and life there would have been relatively simple, with no real responsibilities.

     But a few days before the draft was official, I was told it was canceled; so the writing was on the wall, and I wondered what they had lined up for me instead. I was soon to find out. Within the month I was sent for by the SORP (Senior Officer Plot Radar) to attend his office.

     Now when an Officer asks you to show up, it doesn’t mean at your convenience, nor does it mean anytime you fancy, it means now! So off I trotted to SORPs office toot de suite. The chicken shit was hastily scraped off my boots; feathers combed from my hair; most of them brushed off my clothing; my cap was even on my head, which I hardly ever wore in my previous job, and I duly presented myself to him.

     “As you probably know, Cooper, you were due to join Roebuck. But I have canceled that to allow you to stay here a while longer.”

     “Thank you, sir!” I replied. Thinking to myself, 'Bullshit, what the hell have you got lined up for me now?'    

     “Instead you will join HMS Crane as her Senior RP" he continued.

     'Christ!' I thought, 'What the hell is the Crane, where is she, and how come as only an RP2 I have been given the task of being the senior RP? She must be very small with just navigational radar, and there will only be me and perhaps three other junior RPs!'

     “Get yourself sorted out. You will leave in the next few weeks after disembarkation leave.”

     “Yes sir, may I ask where the ship is, sir?”

     “She is in the Far East, and you will be joining her in Singapore. Any other questions?”

     "Only a query sir. You said Senior RP?”

     “Yes that’s right, carry on.” 

     And in somewhat of a confused haze I left his office and immediately made my way to the ship's office.

     “Can anyone tell me what type of ship the Crane is?”

     A Chief looked up and asked me, “Are you A/B Cooper?”

     “Yes Chief.” (you see how as a junior rating you hardly need any other words other than yes and Sir, Chief ,God or Your Honour; which ever fits the situation).

     "Yes lad. She is a Bird-class; old wartime stock; an anti-aircraft frigate.”

     “Please Chief, can you tell me what radars she has and about the radar staff?” 

     "I’m Chief writer son. You will have to ask one of the Radar Instructors if you need details like that.”           

     “Thanks Chief,” I mumbled, as I left the ship's office to go to find out what I was in for. Eventually I did find someone who did have the lowdown on Crane.

     “Bird Class with lots of guns, sonar and Hedge Hogs.” (Blimey! Don’t say I will be looking after bloody pigs now!...at the time not knowing what Hedge Hogs were). I found out later they are a forward-firing anti-submarine weapon.
     I realized that, even with that limited amount of equipment, the staff I would be in charge of would be about 8 men. I would also have the responsibility of the books from 'secret' to 'confidential' to know and keep up to date. My biggest concern, however, was my lack of rank. If there should be RPs senior to me as seamen, how might they react to being under the leadership of a mere A/B?

    The following week, having turned over my job as the Rhode Island Red, Leghorn, and Suffolk Whites charge hand, was spent trying to find out as much as I could about my new ship. Wherever I went I tried to pick the brains of other more senior RPs as to the duties I would have once I got on board.

     The flight out to Singapore was, and still is, a bit of a blur. All I remember is being taken to Stanstead airport and having about two or three days flying in a very uncomfortable plane. All planes are uncomfortable for me having to sit (even now) in Economy Class. At 6ft 3in, the seats are too close. In those days the way we flew was via military RAF planes where comfort is low on the list of priorities.

    Eventually we arrived in Singapore and were taken by bus to HMS Terror, the Singapore naval barracks at the time. Then we were given fish and chips (every time I joined ships the initial fare was always fish and chips); but these were cooked in coconut oil (don't try it). I was sick as a dog most of the night. It must have been the meal; after all, the ‘few’ pints of Tiger beer must have been okay.

Regarding the Mark One eyeball - aka Lookouts

Any enterprising sailor, detailed to carry out the duty of lookout, normally in little round positions with a place to clamp the binoculars, under which was a sort of compass rose, in this case just indicating ahead (0) 180 degrees, to aft. Green for Starboard and Red for Port, the clamp also had an elevation indicator as well.

     So a ship seen on the beam would be reported Green or Red 90, but any enterprising lookout who wished to earn himself some ‘Brownie points’ would call in the Ops room prior to taking up his post, where we in our nice warm compartment sipping our hot tea would be able to inform the new lookout to be, where in his area of surveillance the contacts were, or were likely to be in the near future.

     We also advised them to listen to our reports of new contacts to the officer of the watch, thus he would be searching in the exact spot the ‘new’ contact was about to appear, many a time has the cold miserable lookout on his relief called in the ops room to thank us, and of course call us round for ‘sippers’. A tiny sip of his rum ration.

Rum Talk Deciphered

Wet:  almost just the touching of a persons rum (for a very small favour)

Sippers:  the tiniest sip of Rum, for a slightly bigger favour (the lending of a collar or something like that) Gulpers:  as the name implies a gulp of his Rum (quite a big favour for this, maybe for telling a senior person   you were somewhere you were not!)

A Tot:  this is the big one! (this would be for standing someone's duty, or that sort of thing - just leave him a drop)

One should never actually drain the glass...looks of horror from whole mess if this happened!

If offering an American sailor to partake, make sure he is aware of the rules (I hate to see full-grown sailors cry!)



THE STORY BEHIND OUR CARTOONIST (by Dusty)

or

AN ITCH TO DRAW THAT HAD TO BE SCRATCHED

Dennish Stan-von-ley Scooper

Dennish Stan-von-ley Scooper was born we think, at the old market town of Ipswich, in either 1836 or 1936, our records are not all that clear on the point. Dennish first started to draw...money...this won him a world wide record, with Interpol. At 14 he drew his masterpiece, "Self caption of a red hot cartoonist, riding bare back in Epping Forest". Needless to say he was arrested for appearing nude in a Bucklesham beer house. But regardless, Dennish had made an impression, especially to the lady behind the bar at the Bucklesham beer house. His sloppy pencil work, and his Orwell mud colours, and lack of perspective, were obvious even at 14, that Dennish or Chas, as we beloved ship mates would call him to his face, was destined to be a lousy cartoonist.

He was the 5th son of a family of 3, the rest of which were girls, little is known of his father, which is just as well, but we do know, so his divisional officer told us one day in the WC of the China Fleet Club, that Dennish went to Priory Heath School, Ipswich... To blow it up, when he gave his mother the excuse that teacher had said they could do as they wished that afternoon. 

At 15 Dennish had matured, the smell was so strong that they sent him off to sea. Dennish loved the sea, in fact he would drink gallons of it daily.

Apart from drawing cartoons, Dennish sought a career as an RP in the Royal Navy. At Dryad where he spent his training days he had a wonderful time, his instructor was a scrawny nervous man named Oscar Simms. Ocsar was fond of dealing out young Dennish rabbit punches to the back of the neck, and crying out in his best Stow market voice, "Du bist un drunkoff al recht ota stupid".

Now at the age of 6ft 3in Dennish is an RP2, whatever that is, and a prominent cartoonist with a great future behind him. We know, of course, us of Crane, that one day he will be one of the immortals, he has aptitude and brilliance, we all well remember our first acquaintance with him (unfortunately). He had a flair for portraitures when he first came aboard, but few of the crew volunteered their services, even the reluctant few who did step forward were deterred when they witnessed his 6ft 3in tall leer as he told them that he wanted to paint them in the nude. Thus no models available he was forced instead to paint scuttles and doors in the nude.

Though Dennish has drawn over 3 cartoons in his life, his "Nude with violin and full wind orchestra" on the back of Cholchester football programme, remains his worst effort. The original now hangs in a grain silo at Nacton, France.

To conclude the brief story behind our cartoonist, may we extend our kind thanks and gratitude, for his appearance at various times on the notice board, some times under the influence, and his works of art in our magazine, which without his efforts, the whole thing would have been 100% better. 

                                                (Nacton is in Suffolk.  Stupid.)

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At this point I would like to point out to my reader(s) that this is a book of my memories, and is not one of the more usual mundane things. The ship went here and there; consumed so many miles of sausages; burnt so much fuel and so on. Places and dates wherever mentioned are as accurate as I can make them. 99% of the incidents I witnessed - most I was actually involved in. I hope this is a book to enjoy, not a tome to bore.

  

                                                                         Crane 2

     The first thing that struck me about my new ship, after the journey from HMS Terror to join her, was how old fashioned she looked and the amount of armament she carried...a Gunnery Ratings dream ship I would have thought!

     Having been detailed as to which mess we were to live in, I made my way forward to mine - number 8 mess - only about 20 or so feet long and about 15 feet wide. I believe there were about 17 of us billeted in this space. Down the ship's side of our mess were a couple of cushioned seats about six feet long. Each of these converted into two sets of bunks. Between them and the other side of the mess was a wooden table of a similar length, bolted to the deck and alongside it a backless cushioned bench running the length of the table, but only about 15 inches wide.

     We newcomers were greeted by our Leading Hand Tony ‘Postie’ Derrett; so called because he was the ship's postman. We were to get on very well and became run-ashore oppos (mates). What neither of us realized the whole time on that ship was that we were the two in the breast stroke race held 6 years previously at HMS St Vincent, and it wasn’t until we met again 50 years later that this came to light!

     Being a tall one, I was given the top bunk on the inboard side of the mess deck forward. There were three bunks up and two along on a false bulkhead, and this was the first time I had ever had a bunk on a ship.

      The cooling system in the mess, there being no air-conditioning in those days, was a table fan that would be set to sweep across the mess, and one punkahlouvre which could be directed to a particular spot. This directional asset of fresh air, though not cooled, was altered almost every time someone came into our mess, and at night the last person to turn in tried to direct it to his bunk, only to have it redirected by the next bloke. It was extremely hot and humid in Singapore, and this was even more so on the ship. Most of us learnt quickly that the only way to wander about in the mess, and to wear to bed, was to wear a cloth like a sarong around our waists.

     After having sorted out my bunk and locker the first thing I had to do was to get to my place of duty in the operations room. Just below and slightly aft of the open bridge, and raised up a couple of steps from the wheelhouse, it was quite small. I did note that it did have a bench seat in it the same size as my bunk down below.

     Opposite were the two LOP (local operations plot) tables. These were glass topped tables under which a compass rose was directed upwards, and and with an attached scaled motor, meant that the ‘spiders web’ of the light, also to scale, would cross the table in relatively the same course and speed of the ship. Therefore reported contacts from the radar operator could be plotted onto the glass topped table (which was about 6 ft x 4ft) and either plotted on a long roll of tracing paper, or on square plastic sheets that fitted on the table. At the bottom of the forward seat was a the navigational 974 radar. The 293 PPI (plan position indicator) radar screen was stuffed in the corner, and also couple of clear plastic upright screens - one for aircraft plotting or general plots, and the other carrying information such as radio frequencies and their use in the Ops room.

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     In case you are interested, Decca Radar (974) was a commercial radar set, very compact and very easy to use. The screen was normally viewed by placing one's head onto a tube which sat over the entire screen, thus allowing the screen to be viewed without the operator having to darken the room. Its maximum range, as I recall, was about 40 miles, but normally you could only expect to pick up a decent sized surface contact at around half of that; this being mainly due to the curvature of the earth, (a ship more than 25 miles away is well below the horizon).

     The main use of the set was for navigational operation, and being 3 cm (the length of each electronic wave), it was mainly designed for such work. But because of its high definition it was an excellent tool for not only navigation and picking up small things like buoys, but it was great at picking up anything small, like submarines or helicopters. With a decent operator you could even pick up sub periscopes.

     The 293 P was a 10 cm radar. This was more of a general purpose set, (the one near the top of the foremast that looks like a tilted half-cheese in the Crane's photo at the beginning of her story). This set had approximately double the range of the 974, and the height it could ‘see’ was also much increased (can’t remember exactly how high), but was an excellent general warning set. Ships could be seen (if large enough) out to about 30 miles+ and in the right conditions could ‘see’ practically anything as the 974.

     The workings of the set were in a small compartment completely separate from the ops room. This room could also be used to view the radar PPI, but the room, because of all the electronic equipment, got very hot if the door was shut to enable the operator to see the screen. Of course there was always Mark One eye ball (from the lookouts) but in the main we hardly ever needed to use information from the 'Nelsonian' source.

    *  These screens, when shown in operation in the movies, whenever there is a contact, nearly always make a bleeping sound when passing through a target. In the real world this is not so. There is no sound! Imagine making passage, say up the English Channel, where there would be many dozens of contacts on a screen. If every time the PPI bleeped in the high-pitched manner depicted on the movie screen, after about 20 minutes all the Ops crew would go crazy! In the ops room Silence is golden (unlike those nasty, noisy gunnery people).

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     To help the ship to get its act together, and enable the senior staff to put square pegs in square holes, the ship was required to do a work up. This was a series of drills and exercises with with other ships in our group which was the Third Frigate Squadron. My boss was very helpful. He was a Lieutenant Glenny; a navigator - not a direction officer - who would tend to know a bit more about the operations side of things.

    The main thing with him was that he realized that because I was just an A/B, many people, particularly a certain Petty Officer and even leading seamen, would feel obliged to employ me elsewhere if they could. Initially he made sure that any such ‘requests’ had to go through him, which saved me a great deal of hassle. Many times people would find me pouring over books thinking I had nothing better to do, but of course it was part of my duty not only to get to know the books, but correct them.

     Part of the work up was a bit hectic, but in the main things went quite smoothly, and it was quite easy in most cases to make sure that those square pegs fitted in square holes. In one incidence though I had an RP3, who was neither a round or square peg. In fact Mick (Irishman) Kane, I would say, would be triangular in shape. It was better to leave him in the 293 office when on exercise, as in the Operations Room he was like 10 men short.

    I had three other RP2’s and although two of them were leading seamen they were great lads, and naturally were senior, better trained and had more experience than the RP3s. Therefore they were the most suited to run their watches and carry out the more responsible jobs such as that of the Local Operations Plot officer. In fact, after approximately three weeks of the workup, in general we had a good team.

   I think one of the places we first spent any time at was a fairly small Malaysian island, called Paula Tioman, just to anchor up and have a bit of recreational fun. Mainly this included sitting on the beach and having a swim. I remember seeing iguanas running around. They looked like a German Dachshund in armour plating, but were quite harmless. We never saw any of the natives...perhaps they were smarter than we might have given them credit for?

   Someone thought it might be a good idea to swim around a small rocky outcrop about 100 yards offshore, and I was one of those chosen to have a go! Being a good swimmer I got to the outcrop well ahead of the others, and as soon as I arrived I treaded water and as I turned to encourage the others to get a move on something very large brushed against my leg. Looking down all I could see was a gray shadow moving in the water. Not being in the mood to wait so I could more readily discern its species and see if it might come back, I yelled and made my way swiftly back to the shore, with the others hearing my yell doing the same thing. Beating them to the shore by quite a distance, one of them assured me I was five yards up the beach before I had stopped swimming! Whatever it was in that tropical ocean, from then on I have always been wary of going in the ocean (as opposed to be on it).

     The Crane's first trip ‘proper’ was to a small place called Tawau on the northeast coast of Borneo - sort of around the corner at the top end. Here we played the local Sisal planters at various games including a water polo match, as described (among others) below:

rear l-r: Duckett, Derrett, Cooper, Brown

front l-r: Callus, Mitchell, Ellis

The polo team have had a most successful season and have taken every opportunity to challenge other teams. We were very fortunate to find in such a small ship's company seven men with so much polo experience. The team was consistent in its lineup from very early on in the commission. LEM Madge, our goalkeeper was unfortunately lost to us when he returned to the UK to take a commission in the fleet air arm. He has since represented Portsmouth Command and says it was because of his experience with the "Crane" polo team that he was able to obtain a place in a command team so early after his arrival in England. Few will forget our first match against a non-service team in Tawau. The Tawau team consisted of most of the local European population and claimed that they had played so little polo that they were not sure of the rules. We decided to be diplomatic and ease down the pace until suddenly it was half-time and we realized that the score was 2-0 for Tawau! We had to settle down to serious polo in the second half to beat this team who "hadn't played for years". The biggest match of the season was when we played "Cavendish" for the "Moth Cup" which is the Far East water polo cup. We had made several attempts to challenge "Belfast" and the carrier "Albion" who, between them, had held the cup the majority of the time we were on the station, but we were rarely in harbour with these ships. Then we heard that "Cavendish" had taken the cup from "Belfast" so we challenged her at once for the cup, and the match took place at the "Terror" pool on August 2nd. A good crowd from the ship supported us and the team was set to play the game of their lives - we all had bouts of "butterflies" before the match but soon settled down to an efficient team to win 14-2. The ship visited Penang in August and we played the "Penang SC" who sported two "Asian Games" players. The club pool was larger than we had been used to and therefore called for faster swimming, the team quickly adjusted their play to the condition and at the end of a very fine match we won 7-5. Over a glass of beer, the club team told us that we were the first service team to have beaten them for 3 years, and they had enjoyed the match as much as we did.

(by PV Mitchell)

P-26; W-22; D-2; L-2; F-207; A-6

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    After having been shown the plantation we were also invited to have tea with the locals in one of their bungalows on the plantation. They then did themselves proud; serving tea, ham or cucumber sandwiches and cakes. Obviously having entertained a ship's crew in the past they wisely never laid on any booze.

     A Sisal plant is a very big Cactus-type of plant with large thick, fleshy, pointed leaves. When full grown these leaves are harvested, put through rollers, dried and eventually were made into Sisal rope.

CRANE 3

     Of course our visit to Tawau in northwest Borneo wasn’t entirely just so that we sailors could have a day or two off. We did in fact arrive in the area on an anti-piracy patrol, which placed a great responsibility on me and the lads in my department. Basically we were to look for any suspicious movements on the boats and small ships in the area.

     If we plotted any of these suspect ships, Crane would close on them, and if necessary, board them to check the (possible) pirate's cargo, and papers. If found to be suspicious then they would be towed into harbour for further investigation. If they refused to stop when hailed and told to do so, then a shot may be put across their bows to encourage them to comply. Probably by my mate, Hank, on the Bren gun.

    Sure enough there was such a contact picked up on radar; plotted and obviously passing between us and a small island a mile or so ahead of them, and about 12 miles off our port beam. The vessel must have seen us at this point (it being of Indonesian origin). Identified as some sort of Pinisig (pronounced Peeneeseek), she was about 50 or 60 feet long with a big rectangular sail and a European type of foresail, and only making about 5 knots or so. The suspicious part was that as soon as they saw us they altered course to pass the other side of the island, putting it between us and them. As they passed behind the island they entered a radar blind spot, but we had a good course and speed plotted, and having put on some speed we headed for the top end of the island where they could be expected to re-emerge.

     When they did, both the bridge and my operations room quickly realized something about the suspect boat had changed. She came back on our screen and our first estimate was that her speed had increased considerably! The bridge noticed the other change to the boat. Now sticking out from her stern were two very large, and obviously very powerful outboard engines (thought to be Johnson's) and within a minute or so we were able to report to the bridge that the boat was now making about 40 knots!

     Now the Crane was an old wartime sloop, with engines that were not the best in the world, in fact flat out we could only make about 19 knots, so it was a case of "Oh well, perhaps another day?" (sorry Hank, no firing that day).

    Shortly after this we returned to Singapore for a refit. Now in the main this was good news for us sailors. Even the powers-that-be understood that. Apart from a small duty part of a watch (in case of fire or any other emergency) the ship's company stayed in Terror barracks. The three blocks of accommodation were large and long dormitories with large green bi-fold doors spaced at regular intervals to let the air in. I think the crew of the Crane took up about two floors.

    Our work on the Crane was called semi-tropical routine, which to be honest was great. We started work on the ship at 7 am, and were finished and back in Terror about one pm. Our tot, a quick lunch, and then whatever we were going to do for the rest of the day was up to us. During this period of refit, there was much playing of sport, depending on the season: Rugby, Football, Cricket and of course Water Polo.

     The ship's company were considered to be, shall we say, a bit boisterous when in the bar or ashore, especially if in a large group. Not trouble makers, but let's just say people knew we were about. In the evenings you could have a few San Miguel or Tiger beers, whichever took your fancy. After my first night I tended to stick to San Migs. If one of our teams was on the playing field you could watch a game.

     If this was what took your fancy, not only did you take your own beer, but an extra pint to feed the players on the field during the game as they ran up and down. I tended toward Postie or Hank (another run-ashore oppo of mine), the pity was that this could not be done while playing water polo - the beer got far too watery!

     If we fancied a quiet night, we would visit Nee Soon village perhaps after a trip to the dockyard cinema, a couple of beers afterward, and maybe a meal or a banjo (this was a sandwich, normally egg, served in a roll. The roll was only about an inch or so thick, but about 6 inches in diameter). Then we'd take a fast black (taxi) or better still a "pick up". This was a taxi which picked up fares along the way. If there were four passengers then each person picked up only paying a quarter of the fare from where you were picked up to where you dropped off. Then later we'd go back to the barracks.

     We could go into Singapore, but this meant a good half hour journey, and the place did not compare to Hong Kong. The place we would congregate would be the Britannia Club. A quite well laid out two-story place with a pool, dining area and so on. It was almost opposite the famous Raffles Hotel. It was a very nice place I suppose, but I don’t think Raffles appreciated our somewhat ribald songs.

     In any event, after a few decent runs ashore there they had a new government, and it closed down all the girlie bars and threw out the jukeboxes; generally cleaning the place up. Spoil sports! We did play polo against the Singapore swim club who were shocked at the prowess of our team.

    Generally if we did go into Singas, Postie and I would find ourselves in Boogie Street. This was a place of street vendors of very cheap, but very good meals. Postie was rather partial to Vindaloo Curries. In fact, after a couple of times there, we would have an audience of the vendors, as he used to tuck into curry that was so hot the even the local Indians found it far too hot to eat! Funny thing is, it never seemed to give him any problems the morning after, but one had to make sure when he wished to speak to you in the morning, you made sure he was facing outboard, as not only would his breath singe your eyebrows, but if he was facing inboard when he spoke his breath would peel the paint off the bulkhead!

     After a while there was no point in going into Singapore unless you wish to look around the Chinese market where you could buy and or eat anything from monkey brains (Ugh!) to frogs and snakes.

     The other reason there was little point in traveling all that way was that our ship, little old Crane, had the distinction of being the only ship banned from the Britannia Club (an honour indeed):



    Now the reason stated on that notice is not exactly true. The person at fault was a little Pongo (Army chap). OK we were singing a few songs, and yes I admit they might have been dirty songs (mind you most women loved to hear them, but of course pretended they were a bit shocked by them). Funny though not one of the ladies ever got up and left...

     Back to the Pongo ... Postie, dressed in bell bottom trousers and a white front, was making his way carefully to our table with a tray full of beer paid for from the kitty we always had (a kitty is a fund where all contribute say $10 and we drink on that), it being his turn to fetch it. Making his way back, Postie raised the tray he held in both hands above this small Pongo to save going around, when the little chap seemed to get a bit upset.

     He punched Postie and, being about 17 stone or around about 110 kilos, Postie didn’t take too kindly to this, but being a good sailor just told the soldier “don’t do that!” or was that "go forth and multiply"? The next thing, this little fella ripped the white front straight off Postie's chest. Carefully, not wishing to spill our beer, Postie lowered the beer onto our table, lifted this little chap straight off his feet and threw him over the balcony!

     The chap was fine since had he landed in the pool below. “Good job that there’s a pool down there!” I said to Postie. He took a large draft from his pint and replied “Oh! Is there?” That’s when the ruckus started.

     In fact that's when our lot left. As for being the cause of the damage, we had to wait downstairs while one of the staff of the club used safety pins to ‘repair’ Postie’s white front...now would they have done that if we were the cause of the row? I think not!

    But none of these runs ashore seem to compare with the prospect of getting to know our way about in Hong Kong where we had spent a short time prior to the Borneo trip.

Crane: The Maldives

Having finished our 3-month refit in Singapore dockyard, I think in a way, most of the ship's company were looking forward to our next trip, perhaps hoping we might be off to some exotic part of the Far East.
     I now had the job of the navigator's right hand man, as it were. By now my additional duty of navigator's yeoman (looking after, and correcting charts and generally assisting the navigator directly) was now in the capable hands of our new man, A/B Ibbotson, though he was still part of my staff when not needed directly by the navigator.
     It was a bit of a shock when we were told to make sure the charts of the Maldives were available and corrected! The first thought that came to my mind was, “Where the hell are the Maldives?” They are, of course, in the middle of the Indian Ocean. The island that we were to visit was Gan. This tiny place was part of the Addu Atoll, and in fact was only about 5 or 6 feet above water level at its highest point.
     Lt Glenny informed us this land was under threat from some of the larger islands of the Maldives further north. Because Britain had established an air base there (on Gan) or at least an airstrip, we were to make our way there to act as guard ship. We were informed that there was a contingent of the RAF regiment stationed there to protect the airstrip, but they needed a ship for early warning patrols and, of course, the guns we had would come in handy.
     It was to take us almost three weeks to make the trip to get there (now a popular holiday resort!). One funny incident that amused us on the way there was, after days at sea with out so much as a single radar contact, we got a very large one approaching some 30 or so miles away, which we guessed would be a supertanker (now they are twice the size). Whether the Captain was bored or just curious to see how accurate my guess was, he asked me to give him a course to intercept. We got closer and closer, and still there appeared to be no one on deck. Another ghost ship perhaps? By this time we were about 2 miles on her beam. The Skipper was obviously in a devilish mood and decided to sound off the ship's fog horn.
     By this time I was standing on the wing just below the bridge, and as the sound of the fog horn reverberated around the tanker (for that was indeed what it was) from every orifice on the tanker came the crew, almost falling over themselves, looking around the horizon, seemingly all at once catching sight of us. Panic over.
     Then we caused another mini-panic, when someone on the tanker realised it was courteous for a merchant ship to dip its flag to a warship. Again a panic! It seemed the whole crew (about 15 men) realized this all at once and started aft to comply. After having exchanged this polite act, a couple of greetings signals were sent (by light) between us.
     Ours was... “Fancy meeting you here!”
     Their reply had something to do with scaring something out of them!
     We continued westwards, and they carried on their way to the east. I'll bet that merchant Captain never ever again switched on his automatic pilot without a lookout on the bridge!
     Finally, we picked up a very small contact on our radar. Ahead was the island of Gan. Going up on deck to get a glimpse of it, it appeared to be the same as a mirage. There was just the hint of the palms in a slight haze ahead of us. As we got closer we could also make out a water tower, and another high tower-like structure, which was soon discernible as an airport control tower.

     The atoll was the shape of an engagement ring. A very thin ring of coral and rocks with waves breaking gently over them; the jewel in the setting being the very low lying island with its palm trees, and with the sun reflecting off the towers giving the place a gem-like quality. Because of the surrounding coral and rocks there was, at the time, only a very small entrance to the inside of the atoll. This was probably why we, being a small but heavily armed ship, were given the task of guard ship. Just as we were passing through the small opening, a whale shark about 40 feet long decided it would leave. I think there was a very slight nudge as both Crane and the whale passed each other, no damage being done to either of us.
     There was leave given while protecting this place, but I think one of the first things done was to blow a bigger space in the entrance to enable larger ships to enter if required. This task was carried out by Postie who was the ship's anti-submarine senior rate on board. Having completed this job he also made a safer swimming area for the poor RAF boys who were unlucky enough to be stationed there.
      Why unlucky? The poor sods were billeted in 2-man tents. I don’t recall how many of them were there, but I certainly wouldn’t want to live on the sand in a tent. We on the ship were cramped and hot, but I really felt for those men. There was a canteen there which did sell beer, but other than that there was nothing else to do other than work...remember this was before the days of mobile satellite phones, or TV, computers and the like.
      At least 2 or 3 times a week we would be require to patrol the area around the atoll, mainly because of the threats made by the main island further north. This meant that the ship passed over the equator many times, and at the first crossing there was the usual ceremony of 'crossing the line' - asking Neptune's permission - leading to dunking in the Crane's canvas pool for those who had never crossed the equator before, and general larking about.
     As I said earlier we were allowed ashore, and in the main most messes organized a banyan (picnic), always making sure that we were well provided with the produce required to have a successful one... including ample crates of beer (oh yes, and a bit of grub)! Swimming was good, like being in a warm bath, but it was always best to keep close inshore, or if swimming off the ship under the watchful eye of an armed lookout. After all we didn’t want to be the grub for a shark, of which there were many.
     There was one night, when the lads from the ship had a really good night in the canteen. In fact it was going so well that when the last boat came back from collecting them it was almost empty apart from the crew manning it. The sound of singing at the canteen could be heard from the ship as the lads continued to enjoy themselves, so it was decided to muster a patrol and send them ashore to get the boys back on the ship.
     After about half an hour there was no sign of either the returning liberty men nor the patrol, so the boat was signaled to return, but it didn't. A second patrol was then mustered. This time with more senior people in charge. This seemed to have the desired result, the boat came back with merry Jack Tars ( so called because of the habit in the old days of sailors tarring their pig tails - hence the collars we wore to stop the tar spoiling the uniform - but I digress) but because of the extra men from the two patrols the boat had to make a second trip.
    Meanwhile, some drunken stoker decided he couldn’t wait for a boat, and he would therefore show how keen he was to return by swimming back! The ship was not that far from the shore and was easy to find because of a large lamp shining down over the gangway. This of course was a great asset to anyone swimming at night and in fact made the gangway attract him but also the many fish in the atoll. We could hear the splashing of Stokes making his way back to the ship. I had gone up onto the bridge wing to see what all the fuss was about and could see below me the circle of light from the lamp; the fish attracted to the area, and occasionally a glimpse of larger predators silvery bodies flashing as they took a small fish attracted to the light.
     Just under the surface were a number of sharks about 6 to 8 feet long, sort of milling about under the bright light, when into their midst swims Jack m’tickler paper (a term for the paper used to roll one's own tickler naval issue rolling tobacco). In other words one that does his own thing! He smiles up at the gangway staff, three sheets to the wind; almost clambers over the sharks, kneeling on one, standing on another, pushing yet another one aside.

     Finally he climbs up the gangway, sort of salutes the Quarterdeck (routine when boarding a ship) and in a slurred manner of speaking says to the officer on deck “P'missen t com’ bored slir?” The Officer, ignoring him, just turns him around and points to the bottom of the gangway. Now I have heard of people sobering up quickly, but never have I seen anyone do so in an instant!

     There was of course retribution for all those who had refused to come back on board, particularly the Patrol Party, but being where we were all that could be done was to stop them going ashore again while the ship was in Gan, so in fact the punishment was nothing!

     A few days later we did indeed come across the Maldive raiding party. We got a small radar contact 5 miles away while on our patrol north of the island, and closed in on it. It was a 30-foot fishing boat with about ten men on it. Seeing a British warship bristling with guns, their belligerence soon left them, and after the peace talks, which took about 5 minutes, a bottle or two of scotch, a box of Cadbury chocolate bars, and two packs of cigarettees, the raiding party turned back and the threat of war was averted!

     Things on the trip were pretty much routine from then on. Cruising the area a hundred miles around the island we never sighted another Maldivian battle group, and soon it was time for us to depart.

     Several times while we were in the area it was my job to speak with the Shackleton aircraft that used the island as their base. This aircraft was an updated version of the old wartime Lancaster bomber, and although old, was in fact quite efficient, and upon our departure from Gan the aircraft took off for a fly past.

    As the senior RP on board it happened that I was on the radio at the time, and on take-off the pilot remarked on some changes to the normal appearance to the very long runway and decided once he had gained height, to do a fairly low pass back over it. In a sort of shocked, unbelieving communication he reported that all the way along the runway were what he thought some sort of letters painted on the fairly pristine concrete of the 1000-yard runway.

     I asked him what he thought it might say, if anything. So, flying away from the atoll and gaining some height, he flew back over the runway and made the following report...almost the whole length of the runway the letters read: This runway is only open due to the courtesy of the Royal Navy. He also noted that the water tower now had on it, painted in red: What we want is Watneys (then a very popular British beer advertisement).

     Who said young naval officers were a waste of space?



Sex at Sea



Having arrived back in Singapore, Postie and I once more found ourselves at our favourite stall in Boogie street. I think we had been playing a game of water polo - either against the RAF or the Singapore swimming club.

     As usual, Tony, for that was his given name, ordered a very hot Vindaloo, and I a curry with somewhat less fire power to it. As always, once the meal was ordered it only took a minute or two to appear in front of us. We both enjoyed the meal and the glass of beer, and I just sat back, looking around while Tony had his second helping.

     Sitting in the chair sipping the beer, something touched my foot. I looked down and there was a tiny scrawny-looking dog. It was almost completely black, with the exception of a  few white tufts of hair here and there. Its hair was all sticking out like a soft loo brush! The dog (for that was what I figured it out to be) was no bigger than a starved rat. It seemed to fighting with something.

     The something was a small prawn which it was obviously trying to eat. Now if the prawn had been alive, I felt pretty sure the dog would have lost the fight. As it was the dog could not get its teeth into the prawn - fighting a losing battle as it were.

    Drawing Tony’s attention to it, he called out for John to come over (all natives were called John - just as to the natives we were also called John). In this case 'John' being the proprietor of the curbside two-tabled 5-star restaurant at which we sat.

     Realising that the beast was probably not weaned properly, we asked John for a saucer of warm milk with a little bread soaked in it. Two big rough tough Jack Tars won over by a tiny dog. The starving pup finished off the offering, and with a full belly (probably for the first time in its life) when Tony picked it up it promptly fell asleep.

     "What are we going to do with it?" we wondered.

     “I know,” said Tony “we’ll take it back on board!”

     Once he had made up his mind you couldn't shift him with dynamite.

     “What’ll we call the thing?” I asked.

     After having a quick shufti (look), he said “Well, it’s a girl, so it will be the only female on the ship.”

     Between us, after a few moments we came up with the name Sex. Not a very appropriate name, as it turned out, on a number of occasions.

     Anyway, with dog in pocket, we had no trouble as we passed over the gangway on returning to the ship, and being the ship's postman, Tony had a little caboose (small room) where he secreted the beast.

     Sex soon settled down to life on the Crane and was loved by all the sailors. Which sailor doesn’t love Sex, I hear you say! She never grew very big, about the size of a cat, and no matter how much she ate never put on any weight once grown. I said earlier she was loved by all the sailors, which was true, and she was never really a one man dog, though she recognised Postie as her main man.

    Without any training by anyone, she learnt to dislike anyone in a peaked cap, especially those in charge of us sailors. This was a wonderful trait for her to have as, whenever any senior NCO entered any ‘sailors’ area she would growl and bark, thus enabling any sailors to dodge the Petty Officer or Officer if the said sailor was somewhere or doing something he shouldn’t be doing!

    Cocktail parties could provide her with hors d'oeuvres. She would wander about either picking up little tidbits, or looking up appealingly at the guests, hoping for and often getting handouts. The sailors who had either volunteered to pass out drinks and small eats would often be asked by the lady guests, “What a cute little doggie, what’s its name?”

     Now the way this question was answered depended on whether the man asked had been detailed, and was not happy in the job, or whether the chap was a volunteer. If the latter, he would reply “I'm afraid the naughty bounders in 8-mess have named her...” fervently looking around, and then said in a whisper “ Sex, Madam!” 

     Now on the other hand, if the the same question happened to be asked of a pressed man (a non-volunteer) the answer would be exactly the same. But this time his answer would be in a normal voice, and instead of the inflection ending in an apostrophe, it would end as a question. At that point both the dog and the offending sailor would be removed from the quarterdeck.

    The most remarkable thing about Sex (the dog, dear reader, do you have a one track mind?) was something that no one on the ship could fathom. It didn’t matter wherever the Crane went (even other than our normal long-term places of Hong Kong and Singapore), the dog would appear at the gangway the second it hit the deck from ashore, or the jetty from the ship, and was always the first to trot across! The other thing was that she would then not normally reappear until the gangway was about to be lifted off the ship, and was always last on. But what was really remarkable was if the ship got detailed to leave early - even hours or days earlier than expected - up she would trot just the same!

     Now the ship visited quite a number of places all around the Far East and her behaviour never varied, with the exception of one place. When we visited Korea, she never even came up on deck the whole time we were there. She must have known that dogs are on the menu in that country!

Singapore Once More

We did the usual sorts of things on our return to Singapore. Off duty sports were played; in water polo mainly against other ships and Crane was rarely bettered.  There were movies to see at the dockyard, that type of thing; a few beers, mainly in the local village. If we did go further afield it was a bit of a bind because depending on what time of day it was we had to wear a different type of uniform.

     The most dreaded was called Number 6s. This was the sailors normal uniform: tight jacket, bell bottom trousers, the collar was part of the jacket, it being black silk with a thin white lanyard. These tied off at the bottom of the V (or U) opening at the mid-front of the jacket with a couple of white ribbons. The outfit also included white canvas shoes, and of course the white Titfer (hat). All the edges of the uniform, which was in pristine white, were edged with a blue border about one third of an inch in depth.

     This I must say looked the bees knees, but in reality was a bit of a pain. Everywhere you sat, or most everything you touched would dirty this rigout. Normally we would have to wash, dry, and iron this rig every time it was worn, and the routine of doing our washing was a very drawn out and annoying thing to have to do!

     Most sailors, at least in those days, were good at washing, ironing and sewing. Most, in general, were very capable at looking after himself and his kit. But after having obtained a bucket in which to put one's dirty washing, filling it with hot water, then squatting in the hot steamy bathroom to wash the the stuff, you then had to go back to the mess deck, dress yourself in a pair of overalls and take the washing to the boiler room, via the airlock doors, into the steaming hot cavern where there were clotheslines there just for that purpose - making sure as you made your way to the hanging space not to touch anything as it was bound to be red hot!

     But did we sailors do all this? Of course not! In those days practically every ship over the size of a winkle-barge had Chinese onboard running a laundry service. On slightly bigger ships than ours, that may even include a tailor, and possibly a cobbler.

    The routine, instead of all the boiler room fiasco, was as follows. Return to the ship, strip off by the gangway, pick up a form, place your name, mess number, and the items to be laundered (by ticking them off on the list), fill in your laundry number, roll up the said goods and leave the bundle out of sight by the gangway. When you awoke the next morning, there was your laundry beside your bunk...washed, ironed and pressed. Cost of this service? About a Hong Kong dollar (1 shilling and 3 pence in those days).

     The heat on the ship was oppressive at all times in the tropics (like at Singas). The ship had no air conditioning and very few fans. The one concession for the ship's company was that there was one water cooler aft, just inside from the quarterdeck. Now this thing had the capacity of about one bucket of water, and if you happened to arrive when the thing was rumbling and vibrating to process the water, one would have to wait about half an hour for it to cool the water again - which meant, of course, some senior rate would probably come by and accuse you of loafing!

    This inadequate facility was supposed to keep the entire 150 bodies of the ship's company hydrated. Half the time I think the Chinese used to sabotage it, thus almost forcing the sailors to purchase soft drinks from them which were always ice cold. Now here was a racket there of course! Where did they get all that ice from?

     During this period I was the Far East Fleet breast stroke swimming champion. I was entered into the combined services swim gala. Naturally I went into serious training! But unlike the other two Services entries I didn't receive several weeks off just to train for the race. I was told about a week before that I had been entered, so my training consisted of not having about 6 pints of San Mig when ashore - I cut it down to 4 or 5 pints. Come the day of the race I came in 2nd after the RAF chap who had had no duties for the last three months to enable him to train for the event.

     We did go to sea during this time of course. One time we went to sea to test the hedgehog forward-firing anti-submarine charges. I believe there were about 18 of these on spigots just forward of the bridge. They looked like small bombs (which of course they were). They were developed during the war to overcome the fact that with depth charges the ship had to run over the submarine before firing them. Thus, at a critical moment the ship would lose contact with the sub, allowing it a couple of minutes to take evasive action. This gap was overcome by firing ahead and slightly to either side, therefore not losing contact until after the bombs had been fired (if contact was lost at all). Once these things had been fired, however, you had to turn to port or starboard so you wouldn't be running overtop of them yourself! This worked quite well, as the Crane had had a hand in the sinking of two submarines during the war.

     My mate, Tony the Postie, was in charge of the weapon's side of the anti-sub part of the ship, and therefore responsible for the maintenance of these projectiles. As the sub came into range a contact was made. In the spigots that the hedgehogs sat on, they were then fired ahead of the ship with an explosive charge, and if any one of them hit the sub the whole lot would blow up. This, as I recall, was the information as told me by Tony. A critical thing was that, as the missiles flew through the air, a small propeller on the nose spun, thus arming the weapon a safe distance from the ship. A very sensitive weapon indeed, according to him!
     The sonar (asdic) department were instructed to find the exact whereabouts of an old wreck to fire these things at, and with luck a hit or near miss would result in plenty of fish that inhabit these wrecks. Being in the ops room I could just nip out of it onto a small area outside to witness this happening. There was Tony behind a safety shield immediately behind the weapons. One thing I noticed that sort of worried me was that I could see the propellers on the nose of these bombs spinning in the wind, but Postie didn’t seem to be concerned so why should I?

     Next thing I know there was a terrific rattling ripple of bangs as I watched the flight of many of the bombs flying through the air - but somehow there seemed to be a bit of a gap in the pattern. Looking back down to the launch area, there’s Tony halfway around the shield kicking the spigots of those missiles that had failed to fire, and as a result, in short shrift they all were soon airborn. As they hit the wreck a huge column of water rose into the air, as the missiles exploded, the boats were launched and that evening while sitting down to a very fresh fish supper I leaned over to Tony and asked him  "What’s with the kicking?”
     In his usual Cockney way he replied “Saves all that bleedin’ paperwork d’it?”

  Dockyard Meals on Wheels

There were a great number of, what are referred to by sailors as, ‘dockyard maties”. A Matelot, being the laid back sort of chap that he is, applied this term to all workers in dockyards no matter their status, or which part of the world the dockyard is in.

      In Singapore most of the workers were ethnically Indian, and as there were no facilities for them to have their meals, these were brought into the dockyard for them. Now it is my understanding (and I may be wrong) that these meals were cooked at their home by their wife, collected and delivered onward to the husband.

     Around lunchtime the workers would gather at a particular point; not all at the same point but maybe about 20 of them would gather in the shadow of a large building; with other groups doing the same thing elsewhere. One thing in common though, was that each of these buildings had a water tap on its outside wall.

     Trundling down the road to these points would be the main mode of transport used to deliver these ‘take away meals’...bicycles! These bikes would be loaded with about a dozen or more ‘meals on wheels’.

     The meals themselves were in round-lidded containers; about 5 or 6 of them held together by a metal loop which was passed over the meal trays, and held tightly on the top, the loop being hinged from the bottom. The men would collect their particular tray, unclip the securing metal loop and place the trays in a semi-circle around him. Having taken off all the lids he would proceed to eat his lunch Indian-style. A ball of rice from one of the bigger trays; a bit of fish or meat or some veg were added to the ball; a dip into curry from another tray, and then popped into his mouth...and so on until the meal was finished.

     Having finished their meals they would wash the trays at the tap; then their hands; then re-stack the trays ready to be taken away for the next day, and then they would return to work.

Dockyard game

   

As with every military dockyard there were not only police, but also a standing fire brigade.

      To help relax the firemen (in this case nearly all of Chinese extraction) they used to play the most skillful and exhausting game I have ever seen.

    The court was just like a badminton court but about half the width; there was a net of similar height, out-of-bounds lines, and so on. The game, if I recall it right, was played by two teams of four players on each side. The ball was made of an open weave of rattan cane, about 5 or 6 inches in diameter. The object of the game was similar to that of badminton or volleyball; only in this game players could only use their feet to play the ball from one side to another. To do this the players would often leap into the air, perhaps 4 feet off the ground, to enable them to kick the ball at high speed across to the other side of the net.
     I have never seen it played elsewhere. But one thing is for sure, I used to be tired out just watching them!

     The game was called Sepak Takraw:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Indigenous_and_traditional_sports_of_Singapore