Hong Kong
After the trip to Gan and a short stop over in Singapore we once again set off for Hong Kong, everyone's favourite port. Again the old drooping bird was to be the guard ship.
The Naval dockyard was still just that in those days of around Christmas 1959. It was still enclosed, and boasted a battleship-sized dry dock. Just outside the gate was the Union Jack Club, and then about a mile down towards the main waterfront was the China Fleet Club.
Both were frequented by the ship's company, or should I say by those of us on the lower deck (those not senior NCO’s). The Union Jack Club was more of a drinking place, in the China Fleet Club one could get a really decent meal, and many liked to play darts and snooker there. The most frequented place, however, would be Wanchi. This area was where all the stalls and ordinary small shops were. There were also many tiny workshops; these would make anything from real Gucci handbags, to genuine Rolex watches!
The thing that struck most people was the noise. Well, at least those people visiting for the first time. All the houses and flats above, and the stalls and business workshops and bars underneath them, had two things in common. They all had open-shuttered windows. There were hundreds of them in the area with three and four-story houses. The shutters were always open, and behind which one thing was always happening.
Everyone it seemed in Hong Kong was a Mahjong addict. The whole population would be playing day and night! Now when a Chinese plays any sort of game, be it cards or Mahjong, they do not lay down a card or a piece; it is a a national trait to raise the hand above the head and then slam the object down to the table when played.
Imagine tens of thousands of Chinese all playing their favourite game; slamming down their pieces all night. The noise was almost deafening, but funnily enough it was a noise that one soon got used to and didn’t consciously ‘hear’ after awhile!
To the west of the city and up on the western heights was the ‘Shanty town’ area. Most places there (one could hardly call them houses) were constructed of old, rusty, corrugated iron, black plastic bags, driftwood...basically anything that came to hand.
Many new stores and blocks of offices were being built at this time. Not for the Chinese the use of cement lorries and high-lift pumps to raise the concrete to the upper floors. This was real “coolie’ work. While many men were mixing the cement on the ground, there were hundreds of both men and women collecting the cement in wicker baskets; picture a person carrying a bamboo pole with a basket on either end (to even out the weight). Then, with the shambling gate that only Orientals seem to be capable of, they would climb up the bamboo scaffolding to the top of the building in a continuous stream; from a distance looking very much like blue ants. This was done day and night; never stopping until the building was finished; meanwhile making sure that none of the concrete was ever allowed to dry before the next wicker basketful was added. And yes, I did say bamboo scaffolding!
There were of course many bars, and most of the men on the ship had particular favourites. It seemed that 8-mess tended to favour the Luk Kwok. This happened to be more or less on the waterfront by the ferry jetty as I recall. It was a good bar but, in the main, one where we would just meet and have a beer or a John Collins together, then disperse to make our way to our own particular place.
Of course towards late evening many of the crew might go to have something to eat and then perhaps go to the bar where they favoured a particular girl. This was always after about 2330 when most of the American sailors who had been buying the bar girls drinks all evening then had to leave to return to their ships by midnight (we used to call them 'Cinderellas'). It was then that the girls could leave the bars they worked in and we would take them out for a meal or to the movies and so on. Oft' times they would take us.
The best way to get around the place was to hop on a tram. These green-painted, antiquated means of transport would take you anywhere for 10 cents - less than a penny!
On other occasions two or three of us would just have a few beers and then go to the stall that we liked best for a meal. This would be cooked at extremely high temperature in a Calor gas-fired open terracotta basin, where the wok would be shifted and tossed around. The ingredients were cooked in very short time, and were always delicious.
Considering that the average age of the guys on the lower deck was around 20, on the whole there was very little trouble either between us, or with anyone else; enjoyment being the name of the game when ashore.
Typical of the forces during my experience was the lack of money. Most men sent a small allotment of money home; be it to a wife or mother, or even a bank. The pay was so poor (please don’t think 'Ah, but you should take into account board and lodgings'.) that if people in Civvy Street were offered the conditions we had to live in, they would refuse to live that way unless they were given some serious extra money to do so!
Sod's Operas
Another way we would amuse ourselves and, I might add many others, was to have a Sod’s Opera. This was to sing the Naval working songs, ditties and rugby type of songs. (some of these can be found on the internet under the title of Naval/Rugby songs). This was not only a good start to our evening ashore, but could also be a good way of getting free drinks from our audience of Yanks. And if an American warship was about to leave for the States, even getting cash to add to our ‘kitty’ (float).
The American sailors, who had no traditions like ours, would flock to see and hear us Brits in full voice and would buy us drinks or give their Hong Kong dollars if they were leaving, because they could not change their money back to US dollars on their ships. We would sing for a couple of hours perhaps before dispersing to our favourite bars or eating places. It has been known to happen that if we were in a bar with a number of US sailors, just prior to them having to catch the last boat back to their ship for the last time, to be given the equivalent of a week of our wages by them! Again the money would be put in a kitty.
Exercises
Now having read thus far, one would think life was nothing more than a game, but we did have to carry out various ship exercises from various ports, and of course going to and fro, plus continually looking after the old girl.
There were three ships in our squadron as I recall. All similar but not the same. The Mounts Bay (captain of the flotilla), Cardigan Bay and ourselves. We would take part in anti-submarine exercises. Working as a group one ship would be hold the sub contact, while the other two would persue it; only for exercise with hand grenades, not hedge hogs or depth charges.
We would also carry out anti-aircraft shoots (Crane was the first ship to knock down a jet aircraft in the world - this during the Suez war).
Besides this there would be replenishments at sea (RAS); the passing of oil, ammunition or goods between ships while both were steaming along. Sometimes there was an exchange of personnel, the latter by wires and ropes, with the man riding below the wire with one foot in a rope stirrup, the other foot pressed over it, and a safety harness around his chest.
This, if the swell was high, could be a bit hairy, particularly if the person going across was not well liked. A little slackening of the wire (purely by accident of course) could see him dip into the sea up to his armpits!
But what we saw very little of in the way of exercises was working with other more modern ships. We with our antiquated propulsion system were just too slow to partake and were normally sent off somewhere to play at anti-submarine games with others of our Flotilla and probably no submarine either.
Runs Ashore
On British warships the average age of the crew is about 21 years. The Crane was no different, and at that sort of age most "unattached" men liked to go ashore and enjoy themselves! We all met up in various clubs for a bit of a laugh and a singsong (called a Sod’s Opera), but after about 10 o'clock the lads drifted off to their own favourite bar. We used the Luk Kwok often in a small group, but eventually in ones and twos we would find ourselves making for a quiet little bar, perhaps in a back street, one that we had been using for some time.
Now this wasn’t necessarily to carry on drinking. We, having been using the same bar for quite some time, would have taken up with one of the girls who worked there. Their job being to encourage the customers to drink more, and of course to get them to buy drinks for the girls (mostly coloured water). We sailors used to call the drinks Green Biddies.
But most of us had gone beyond that stage and we would just pop our heads in and, if for instance we were wanting to go to a movie or a meal, for a very small sum we could buy the girl's time for the evening. Or if not going out we would be given the key to the girl's ‘flat’ there to await their return. This was routine in Hong Kong by most young men.
One evening I ‘bought out’ the girl I was seeing; we went to the movies and on the way back to her flat had a meal. In the morning there would always be a knock on the door giving you ample time to get washed and dressed and have a cup of tea before returning to the ship.
On this particular morning as I was about to leave the building the the old lady (janitor) the one who saw to it that her ’guests’ were up in time, stopped me and in her broken English explained, "Sailor upstairs, no can wake, he be late for ship!”
I told her “OK, I will go to his room and try to sort him out.” I went back upstairs - hammered on the door and got drunken moaning noises in return. Eventually the door opened, and standing there was one of the Cranes officers!
“Come on, Sir! Get dressed or we will both be in the shit!” He stumbled about finding his clothes, still very much the worse for wear. I asked my girl to give him a couple of aspirin and some hot coffee while I went into the street to hail a cab. In Hong Kong that didn’t take long then. Back upstairs I went and then helped the officer down and into the taxi. We finally got back to the dockyard area.
I got out of the taxi and sent it on to the ship's gangway, warning the officer to try to get from taxi to ship's gangway without falling up it arm over apex! Meanwhile, I walked the short distance from where I had been dropped off out of sight of the ship.
Later that evening, as I was doing some book corrections in the Operations room, the now sober officer entered. Quietly, not to be overheard, he said “Thanks for what you did this morning, I hope I can trust you not to tell anyone of what happened and where I was?”
I assured him that I would be like dad and keep mum, and I never did let anyone know of this incident until now, and even now I would never divulge his name.
This was a wise move as it turned out and will be explained later.
Shore Patrol
After a spell in the dry dock in Singapore, off we went to our second home, the port of Hong Kong. We, as was usual most of the time, were acting as guard ship berthed alongside what was then the old (and now gone) Royal Navy Dockyard. The usual trips to the United Club for the ‘Sod’s Operas’ as mentioned before, with mates like Hank and Tony (the ship's Postie), and with other pals who drifted in and out of our particular shore going group. I remember well the meals we had in Wanchai, accompanied by the rattling din of the Mahjong pieces - a constant noise; and the cheap and convenient rides on the Green Trams visiting our favourite bars.
Then it was time to set off for Manila in the Philippines. Just to carry on as before but instead of the Green Trams now the mode of transport were the highly decorated Jeeps from the second world war. Although many had been repaired and embellished so many times since, I suspect there was very little of the original vehicle remaining. They had multi-colours; mainly reds and greens with chromed stars; circles and tasselled fringes evident everywhere, and of course the Madonna and other icons on the dash. Horns were the most important instrument. They were blown while the drivers gesticulated and waved their fists at every other jeep near them. The driving was frightening; the driver with one hand pressing the horn, the other making rude signs toward the other jeeps. Not a very desirable form of getting about! The other thing that certainly put me off was to hear about the amount of killings in the city! Though I guess not surprising when 14 year olds walked about openly showing guns in their waistbands.
One night while there I was detailed as the British representative on the military patrol. With all the guns about not something I was looking forward to. I was picked up off the Crane and taken to the local police station. Already there were the representatives of the American and French navies with a Phillipino army chap, and the driver of our transport - a local policeman. Now in other navies, so I believe, the patrols are from men who, on their ship, are regulators (or police). In our navy you werejust part of the duty watch. Given a band with NP and crown to be worn at the wrist, and a white belt, gaiters and an axe helve! Why the latter I was never sure. The thing was only about 15 inches long, with a metal band around one end. Off we went and sitting in the van I couldn’t but help notice the other sailors, both Yank and Frog, with their 3-foot riot sticks, and a gun in a holster at their side. Typical British navy, I remember thinking at the time, politicians cut backs reducing us to a bloody axe helve! At about 2 in the morning we were called to a brothel. An American sailor had been stabbed while upstairs admiring a ladies etchings! Luckily he was not too badly hurt. Our orders were to clear the bar, get the man out, and await an ambulance. On arrival, the rest of the patrol, drawing out their night sticks, were ready to charge in busting heads to extradite the orders. Now we all know this is not terribly British.
I said just as we arrived at the seen, “Now just a minute. I will go in and get my lads out!”
“What with?” retorted the Yank.
“Why nothing.” I said, and promptly opened the door to the very large bar, where there must have been about 150 men and women in various states of intoxication.
At the top of my voice I yelled our ship's name, “Come on lads, out you come! Bring your beer if you like and just stand outside while the rest of the patrol gets their men out!” With a bit of grumbling all the Royal Navy lads trooped out in groups of twos and threes and stood outside.
”Now you can do your bit." I informed the rest of the patrol. Night sticks swinging; heads splitting; eventually those who could still stand were forced out of the bar.
During this procedure there were cheers of encouragement from my lot. Booing if they thought that one man had too many hits, and cries of “Give ‘im another!” if not enough. At the end, with the rest of the men out, and the ambulance now full, my lot re-entered the bar laughing and rejoicing at the free floor show the rest of the patrol had just laid on.
After a few days in Manila it was time to move on to South Korea. As I never went ashore there I cannot make any observations as to what it was like. From there we went further east to Japan. I liked Japan. The only thing is, after our mess dinner ashore with plans for even a greater run ashore, most of the crew, me included, came down with what was later called Asian Flu which confined us to the ship, if not our beds. But we did have a couple of runs ashore which were, as I recall, good ones. Beppu and Nagoya were a couple of places visited; we even got invited to a peasants house for a glass of Saki and an introduction to his family .
About this time I had my biggest test as the Senior Radar man on the ship, we were to take part in a large Navy exercise.........
At the briefing we expected to be given all the code books, and plans for the exercise. He and I sat together, and we were somewhat apprehensive to say the least. As Radar men second class we were the least qualified heads of our department in attendance, and both lower in rank than any others there - me being the lowest of them all!
The briefing got underway and we were told the object of the exercise (to escort a convoy, and protect it from whatever the enemy threw at us). After awhile, when things were getting down to details and the books of instructions and code book had been passed out, we realised that our ships had not been given anything!
I don’t know who asked the question. I think maybe my boss. “Why haven’t we been given any exercise details?”
The reply was “As your ships are so slow, you won’t need them. You will be acting as the convoy, and will be ordered what to do as we find necessary”. To say that all representatives of the two old ships were annoyed, was to say the least!
Taff and I had words after the briefing. Having collected a couple of charts of the exercise area, and along with our officers returned to our ships. Taff and I had decided no matter what we would try to be a part of this thing. Having sailed the following morning, all ships took up their stations around us, the piggy in the middle - the convoy.
On the Crane I had the senior RP always on the air trying to find out which ship was talking. Sometimes by the accent (deep American south) or Espanic, they soon got to know the broadcasts of the American ships, and after a little while we were also mainly - through a slip of the tongue or bad voice procedure - able to actually identify the call sign belonging to the ship and thus the ship itself!
If it was a deep south accent, for instance, it gave us as the convoy a change of course for us to take, and that established him as being on the control ship. The "control ship" was easy to work out. If another was chasing a sub, then by watching the movements of his ship and his escort in the attack on our radars and plotting their movements, we knew who they were and so on.
But our best means of intelligence was to be able to talk to one another, and without the use of the non-existent codes! We, in a very short while, began to build up a pretty good picture on our plots of exactly what was going on. These plots, the paper copies, would be part of the debrief after the exercise.
When the exercise was over we had to attend the debriefing; how things went and so on. The main body of ships put their charts with all the movements and mock battles with the enemy on the wall, and cheekily so did we at the bottom. Both proudly noticing that after the first few hours into the exercise our plot was very very close to theirs in the depiction of events, and who was who! The briefing went off very well, and it was pointed out by the briefing officer how good our plot was with the limited equipment we had been issued with, not realising we hadn’t been issued with any!
Having returned back on board, as both ships lay alongside each other, Taff from Cardigan Bay and I were sitting in my tiny operations room when there was a knock on the door, and three or four Chief Radar men from the Yankee ships stood there!
“OK you guys,” said one, “how the hell did you do it? You passed information back and forth in some goddamn language we just couldn’t figure out!”
One of the other men told us, “We had every damn Indian in our CIC (combat information center) - which we Brits used to refer to as (Christ I’m Confused). “We also had every code book out, and every foreign born man on our ships to try to figure out what you were saying"!
I then said just “Hang on a moment." and called one of my RPs into the room. I introduced him, “This is Taff Johns.” Then he and Taff off the Cardigan Bay started talking.
“That’s it!” said the Senior Chief, “What the hell kinda talking is that?”
“Welsh, dear boy, Welsh!”
Exit three very bemused American Radar men.
As I recall there was a notice placed on our ship's notice board, asking if some of us sailors would like to volunteer to take part as extras in the making of a film. The big incentive was not only a few days off the ship and its routine, but we would also be paid! I don’t know how many men were required or indeed how many put their names down. However, a couple of days later there we were being told what was required of us. In total there were about 30 sailors there. The first thing was to act just as if we were having a normal evening in this bar.
Having obtained a ’wrap’ we were all given the $50 HK and all of us were told to be at the bar (not far from where our ship was berthed) first thing in the morning. Well, their "first thing" meant about 9 o'clock in the morning - so most of the extras went off to spend their small windfall.
First thing in the morning, I and a couple of others that had not been out on the tiles the night before, duly rolled up to the bar at the time requested. We were told to hang about for awhile while the more tardy of the extras turned up, and that included most of the bar girls. Well, as you might have guessed, it was some time before the sailors and the regular bar girls did eventually turn up. Later it was ascertained that with the girls and the men having the bonus of $50 each they had teamed up for a meal and most spent the night together.
Now this did not go down too well with the film crew - having most all their extras turning up late the worse for wear having spent the night boozing and getting their end away, so it was decided that that bar scene would be shot later, this time with real male actors dressed as sailors. No problem with them making off with the girls, for reasons I don’t think I need to go into.
Even at the end of that particular session there was still no sign of Cookie, and what is more he had not been back on board since the filming began!
The next session was to take place on the Hong Kong ferry terminal, in fact the film background boys had built a replica with paint aging on the wooden structure and so on. Our task this morning was to just walk down the gangway in pairs chatting away, board the ferry and act normal. I, and I am not sure who the other Matelot was, did just that; we boarded and as you can imagine the ferry for the purposes of the film was crowded so the pair of us stood by the guardrails, looking towards the terminal gang plank onto the boat.
I think it was in this scene that I first saw Nancy Quan, the lead actress, she must have been very photogenic, because to look at her in the flesh she was certainly no oil painting!
An old, white-bearded Chinaman sat on the bench seat 20-feet from us facing the other way, when into the scene came William Holden, and stood there pretending to draw the old bearded man (the drawing was already on the pad). After a moment or two, (my chum and I were facing outboard) there came the frantic yell of ‘Cut! Cut!’ We didn’t pay too much attention and having glanced around we carried on chatting as before. Then the director shouted “You there! Sailor!” That’s us? So we turned to see what all the fuss was about.
Pointing in our direction the director again yelled “Yes, you!” We both turned when we realised it must be us (behind us was the harbour). Both of us raising a quizzical eyebrow, pointed at our own chest with the obvious implication asking the silent question “Who me?
“Yes, you the tall guy!” Being about 6’4” I took a rough guess and pointed again at my chest and asked him “Me?”
He then shouted “ Yes, you! Either sit down or lean on the guard rail. You are making William Holden look like a goddamn midget!” That scene is the only one I am actually in, and the fact of the matter is that Mr Holden was not as tall as he looks on film.
Cookie meanwhile? Well being dressed as an American sailor, he decided to act as one, and spent a couple of days living on an American ship!
But this seemed to good to miss out on as there was a limit to the number who could go. Hank, myself and MacCauly plus ANOther put our names at the top of the list. We then made sure the list was placed behind a couple of other notices on the board! A couple of days later we were sent for by the coxswain (sort of ship’s cop) and told that we had been selected to go, and at the same time he expressed his surprise that more people had not put their name on the list. Still he told us there were only 4 places so we were it!
We were told to take some civilian clothing, but we must travel to the holiday camp in our whites uniform (# 6's). I asked him “Er, holiday camp ‘swain?"
"Yes” he replied. You will be staying at an army camp, near a place called Ipoh, somewhere up north of Malaya, so get your gear packed. A bus will pick you up in the morning.”
First thing we did was to rush up to my op’s room to find out where this place was. We found the place (a much smaller place than it is today), it was about 350 kilometres almost due north of the capital of Kuala Lumpur in the Perak area.
The following morning we four were picked up and taken to the airport where we flew on a regular flight from K.L to Ipoh. On arrival there we were then transferred to some ancient aircraft run by the RAF. I think it was an Anson. No frills at all; canvas and metal seats, and the noise and chill factor were unbelievable. This mode of transport was to take us more of less right to the army camp. On arrival, typical of the army, they had no idea about the navy whatsoever. As we all had a long service stripe (four years of undetected crime) they all assumed that we were NCOs. And of course who were we to dispute that assumption? We were duly logged in and shown to our billet for the period of our ‘R&R’.
This turned out to be what the army lads called a basher...a weird wood and thatched hut that slept about 12 men. Our bunks were across the far end of the hut where they had placed four beds side by side. The army lads were distributed along the length of the hut; their beds with their heads to the outside wall, their feet pointing to the middle. Each of their beds had a large personal wooden kit chest alongside it.
Now my memory fails me at this point as to which actual camp we were at and with which soldiers. I believe it was The Royal Scots Fusiliers at Colombo Camp. One thing I do recall is that it seemed that apart from the officers and NCOs the majority of the "pongos" were very young 18-year-old conscripts, where we sailors were in our early 20s!
Having been given our bunks the first thing we wished to do was have a shower and do some dhobying, but unlike on our ship we had little or no facilities for washing our clothes as it seemed the army had a laundry, or could just exchange their gear. But being ever resourceful, we managed to overcome this difficulty and having had a shower, and done our washing, we decided to go to the local village for a few beers and a meal.
At the main gate - by this time it was about 8:30 pm - of course we had no army identification. In those days a pusser’s (naval) green pay book was all we had! The corporal of the guard told us where the village was, and at the same time reminded us we were in a CT area (Active Communist Terrorist area), there was a curfew in effect, and we were to be back in base by 10 pm. We explained that we were Royal Navy, and our leave expired at 8 o'clock in the morning. He phoned someone who was as ignorant as he was about us, and in the end he just shrugged his shoulders and off we went.
We found the village and a suitable bar; wished the army chaps good night as they obeyed the curfew, and the soldiers left about 10 pm to return to the camp. At this time we decided that since we were in the village on our own it would be a good time to eat. Having had a good meal and a couple of more beers our long day began to catch up with us, and we too returned to the camp around midnight or a little after.
Having done our washing and hung it to dry the night before, there was little for us to do but quietly turn in and sleep, and sleep we did, like the sleep of the dead. Sometime early in the morning there was a lot of stamping and bawling going on and one us told the army chaps to keep the f*****g noise down. At this point we all stuck our noses above the sheets, only to see an almost transfixed army officer and a NCO carrying a bamboo cane.
They stood like rabbits caught in the headlights of a car. At the same time the regimental Sargent Major (we found out later that was who the NCO was) looked as if they were about to have an epileptic fit, as both were all red in the face with their necks bulging over their collars.
The RSM recovered first and shouted at the corporal of the basher to kindly explain what was going on. (only not in those words). The corporal could only splutter out four words “They're Royal Navy, Sir.”, as if that explained why we were still in bed and why we had a string of very garish washing hanging on a linen line across the basher. (at that time on the Crane the more colourful and outlandish the underwear the better), and lastly the RSM - now able to breathe properly - demanded to know why there were four fire buckets; one at the end of each of our beds.
Having told him they were soaking our socks, both he and the officer made a somewhat hasty retreat! Having been rudely awakened we thought we might as well get up and go for breakfast. There was a fairly large mess hall, with the galley off to one side behind a partition. We were of course late for the meal, so the fact that it was none too hot we put down to our tardiness.
We wandered around the camp for the rest of the morning noticing that all the different ranks had different NAAFI facilities, but the toilets were crude. Just a sheet of corrugated iron in a V-shape with constant running water flowing down it and logs on either side to squat on; but as a bonus there was also a cinema. Having spent most of the morning just swanning about, lunchtime came and we four trooped into lunch, all sitting at one table being looked at by the pongo’s out of the corner of their eyes. Then we went up to collect our lunch and, having had army meals before, the meal was up to the normal army standard. Cold and crap!
We had just sat down when in strode a sergeant, seemingly wandering aimlessly around the place, as he approached each table those sitting there put their heads down and ate. Then in the middle of the room he said in a loud authoritative voice, “Any complaints?" At this juncture two things happened! All the army lad's heads went down and four sailor's hands went up! Now apparently nothing like this had ever happened before! Approaching our table we started to tell him what was wrong with our meal, but he seemed to be completely out of his depth and called the sergeant chef to our table!
A complaint? I don’t think he had ever had one before, and certainly not one that gave him the fuss that we were making. He solved his dilemma by telling us to make no more fuss and in future, starting from that day, to come back when meal times had finished and he would see to it we got properly cooked hot meals. Now this suited us a treat. It meant we could have a bit of a lie in in the mornings; an extra ‘jar’ at lunch time; and do our washing and shower in the evenings without having to meet a deadline for a meal.
Then it was time to set off for Manila in the Philippines. Just to carry on as before but instead of the Green Trams now the mode of transport were the highly decorated Jeeps from the second world war. Although many had been repaired and embellished so many times since, I suspect there was very little of the original vehicle remaining. They had multi-colours; mainly reds and greens with chromed stars; circles and tasselled fringes evident everywhere, and of course the Madonna and other icons on the dash. Horns were the most important instrument. They were blown while the drivers gesticulated and waved their fists at every other jeep near them. The driving was frightening; the driver with one hand pressing the horn, the other making rude signs toward the other jeeps. Not a very desirable form of getting about! The other thing that certainly put me off was to hear about the amount of killings in the city! Though I guess not surprising when 14 year olds walked about openly showing guns in their waistbands.
One night while there I was detailed as the British representative on the military patrol. With all the guns about not something I was looking forward to. I was picked up off the Crane and taken to the local police station. Already there were the representatives of the American and French navies with a Phillipino army chap, and the driver of our transport - a local policeman. Now in other navies, so I believe, the patrols are from men who, on their ship, are regulators (or police). In our navy you werejust part of the duty watch. Given a band with NP and crown to be worn at the wrist, and a white belt, gaiters and an axe helve! Why the latter I was never sure. The thing was only about 15 inches long, with a metal band around one end. Off we went and sitting in the van I couldn’t but help notice the other sailors, both Yank and Frog, with their 3-foot riot sticks, and a gun in a holster at their side. Typical British navy, I remember thinking at the time, politicians cut backs reducing us to a bloody axe helve! At about 2 in the morning we were called to a brothel. An American sailor had been stabbed while upstairs admiring a ladies etchings! Luckily he was not too badly hurt. Our orders were to clear the bar, get the man out, and await an ambulance. On arrival, the rest of the patrol, drawing out their night sticks, were ready to charge in busting heads to extradite the orders. Now we all know this is not terribly British.
I said just as we arrived at the seen, “Now just a minute. I will go in and get my lads out!”
“What with?” retorted the Yank.
“Why nothing.” I said, and promptly opened the door to the very large bar, where there must have been about 150 men and women in various states of intoxication.
At the top of my voice I yelled our ship's name, “Come on lads, out you come! Bring your beer if you like and just stand outside while the rest of the patrol gets their men out!” With a bit of grumbling all the Royal Navy lads trooped out in groups of twos and threes and stood outside.
”Now you can do your bit." I informed the rest of the patrol. Night sticks swinging; heads splitting; eventually those who could still stand were forced out of the bar.
During this procedure there were cheers of encouragement from my lot. Booing if they thought that one man had too many hits, and cries of “Give ‘im another!” if not enough. At the end, with the rest of the men out, and the ambulance now full, my lot re-entered the bar laughing and rejoicing at the free floor show the rest of the patrol had just laid on.
After a few days in Manila it was time to move on to South Korea. As I never went ashore there I cannot make any observations as to what it was like. From there we went further east to Japan. I liked Japan. The only thing is, after our mess dinner ashore with plans for even a greater run ashore, most of the crew, me included, came down with what was later called Asian Flu which confined us to the ship, if not our beds. But we did have a couple of runs ashore which were, as I recall, good ones. Beppu and Nagoya were a couple of places visited; we even got invited to a peasants house for a glass of Saki and an introduction to his family .
About this time I had my biggest test as the Senior Radar man on the ship, we were to take part in a large Navy exercise.........
Exercise FOTEX
Having had a trip to Penang, HMS Crane, along with HMS Cardigan Bay were to take part in an exercise called Fotex. I believe the object of which was the protection of an imaginary convoy. The whole thing was being run by our American cousins at the briefing I attended, along with a couple of our ship's officers, and it was the same thing from Cardigan Bay. Although we rarely met, the Senior Radar man on Cardigan Bay was a Leading Seaman, Radar Plot 2nd class; a nice chap and we got on very well. He was a Welshman, I am not sure from which part.At the briefing we expected to be given all the code books, and plans for the exercise. He and I sat together, and we were somewhat apprehensive to say the least. As Radar men second class we were the least qualified heads of our department in attendance, and both lower in rank than any others there - me being the lowest of them all!
The briefing got underway and we were told the object of the exercise (to escort a convoy, and protect it from whatever the enemy threw at us). After awhile, when things were getting down to details and the books of instructions and code book had been passed out, we realised that our ships had not been given anything!
I don’t know who asked the question. I think maybe my boss. “Why haven’t we been given any exercise details?”
The reply was “As your ships are so slow, you won’t need them. You will be acting as the convoy, and will be ordered what to do as we find necessary”. To say that all representatives of the two old ships were annoyed, was to say the least!
Taff and I had words after the briefing. Having collected a couple of charts of the exercise area, and along with our officers returned to our ships. Taff and I had decided no matter what we would try to be a part of this thing. Having sailed the following morning, all ships took up their stations around us, the piggy in the middle - the convoy.
On the Crane I had the senior RP always on the air trying to find out which ship was talking. Sometimes by the accent (deep American south) or Espanic, they soon got to know the broadcasts of the American ships, and after a little while we were also mainly - through a slip of the tongue or bad voice procedure - able to actually identify the call sign belonging to the ship and thus the ship itself!
If it was a deep south accent, for instance, it gave us as the convoy a change of course for us to take, and that established him as being on the control ship. The "control ship" was easy to work out. If another was chasing a sub, then by watching the movements of his ship and his escort in the attack on our radars and plotting their movements, we knew who they were and so on.
But our best means of intelligence was to be able to talk to one another, and without the use of the non-existent codes! We, in a very short while, began to build up a pretty good picture on our plots of exactly what was going on. These plots, the paper copies, would be part of the debrief after the exercise.
When the exercise was over we had to attend the debriefing; how things went and so on. The main body of ships put their charts with all the movements and mock battles with the enemy on the wall, and cheekily so did we at the bottom. Both proudly noticing that after the first few hours into the exercise our plot was very very close to theirs in the depiction of events, and who was who! The briefing went off very well, and it was pointed out by the briefing officer how good our plot was with the limited equipment we had been issued with, not realising we hadn’t been issued with any!
Having returned back on board, as both ships lay alongside each other, Taff from Cardigan Bay and I were sitting in my tiny operations room when there was a knock on the door, and three or four Chief Radar men from the Yankee ships stood there!
“OK you guys,” said one, “how the hell did you do it? You passed information back and forth in some goddamn language we just couldn’t figure out!”
One of the other men told us, “We had every damn Indian in our CIC (combat information center) - which we Brits used to refer to as (Christ I’m Confused). “We also had every code book out, and every foreign born man on our ships to try to figure out what you were saying"!
I then said just “Hang on a moment." and called one of my RPs into the room. I introduced him, “This is Taff Johns.” Then he and Taff off the Cardigan Bay started talking.
“That’s it!” said the Senior Chief, “What the hell kinda talking is that?”
“Welsh, dear boy, Welsh!”
Exit three very bemused American Radar men.
The World of Suzy Wong
As I recall there was a notice placed on our ship's notice board, asking if some of us sailors would like to volunteer to take part as extras in the making of a film. The big incentive was not only a few days off the ship and its routine, but we would also be paid! I don’t know how many men were required or indeed how many put their names down. However, a couple of days later there we were being told what was required of us. In total there were about 30 sailors there. The first thing was to act just as if we were having a normal evening in this bar.
For authenticity the bar was just that, there were no actors. It was done to give a background to the film as to what life was like in Hong Kong, to which end the director informed us, and the genuine bar girls were to act as normal (happily, there was free beer as well).
The scene went off pretty well. Lads standing up at the bar, or at the tables having a drink and chatting to the girls. This went on for awhile, then the director suddenly realised the sailors were all British, so the wardrobe department rustled up a few American uniforms and those of the right size were told to don them. The scene was once again shot, this time with a sprinkling of pseudo Yankee sailors in the bar. One of these was a chap from our ship name of Cook. Now Cookie could get into trouble locked in a cell buck naked and in a straight jacket...he had a knack for it! So to give him a good reason to get up to mischief was a bad move, as will be revealed later.Having obtained a ’wrap’ we were all given the $50 HK and all of us were told to be at the bar (not far from where our ship was berthed) first thing in the morning. Well, their "first thing" meant about 9 o'clock in the morning - so most of the extras went off to spend their small windfall.
First thing in the morning, I and a couple of others that had not been out on the tiles the night before, duly rolled up to the bar at the time requested. We were told to hang about for awhile while the more tardy of the extras turned up, and that included most of the bar girls. Well, as you might have guessed, it was some time before the sailors and the regular bar girls did eventually turn up. Later it was ascertained that with the girls and the men having the bonus of $50 each they had teamed up for a meal and most spent the night together.
Now this did not go down too well with the film crew - having most all their extras turning up late the worse for wear having spent the night boozing and getting their end away, so it was decided that that bar scene would be shot later, this time with real male actors dressed as sailors. No problem with them making off with the girls, for reasons I don’t think I need to go into.
Even at the end of that particular session there was still no sign of Cookie, and what is more he had not been back on board since the filming began!
The next session was to take place on the Hong Kong ferry terminal, in fact the film background boys had built a replica with paint aging on the wooden structure and so on. Our task this morning was to just walk down the gangway in pairs chatting away, board the ferry and act normal. I, and I am not sure who the other Matelot was, did just that; we boarded and as you can imagine the ferry for the purposes of the film was crowded so the pair of us stood by the guardrails, looking towards the terminal gang plank onto the boat.
I think it was in this scene that I first saw Nancy Quan, the lead actress, she must have been very photogenic, because to look at her in the flesh she was certainly no oil painting!
An old, white-bearded Chinaman sat on the bench seat 20-feet from us facing the other way, when into the scene came William Holden, and stood there pretending to draw the old bearded man (the drawing was already on the pad). After a moment or two, (my chum and I were facing outboard) there came the frantic yell of ‘Cut! Cut!’ We didn’t pay too much attention and having glanced around we carried on chatting as before. Then the director shouted “You there! Sailor!” That’s us? So we turned to see what all the fuss was about.
Pointing in our direction the director again yelled “Yes, you!” We both turned when we realised it must be us (behind us was the harbour). Both of us raising a quizzical eyebrow, pointed at our own chest with the obvious implication asking the silent question “Who me?
“Yes, you the tall guy!” Being about 6’4” I took a rough guess and pointed again at my chest and asked him “Me?”
He then shouted “ Yes, you! Either sit down or lean on the guard rail. You are making William Holden look like a goddamn midget!” That scene is the only one I am actually in, and the fact of the matter is that Mr Holden was not as tall as he looks on film.
Cookie meanwhile? Well being dressed as an American sailor, he decided to act as one, and spent a couple of days living on an American ship!
Rest and Recuperation (British Style)
Our time on the Crane was coming to an end, but there is one tail still left to wag. We had all heard that in the American forces of their rest and recuperation periods after serving abroad for some time. We had indeed come across some of their men who were enjoying such breaks, both in Japan and Hong Kong, we were told that they could even choose which area to rest in within the limits of the scheme! Hotel accommodation, all their time free, a real holiday. Imagine our surprise when on our ship's company notice board there was an offer of a similar holiday! I know to never volunteer for anything. If an NCO asks if anyone can ride a bike, don’t raise your hand as it is bound to be his way of getting you for a nasty job!But this seemed to good to miss out on as there was a limit to the number who could go. Hank, myself and MacCauly plus ANOther put our names at the top of the list. We then made sure the list was placed behind a couple of other notices on the board! A couple of days later we were sent for by the coxswain (sort of ship’s cop) and told that we had been selected to go, and at the same time he expressed his surprise that more people had not put their name on the list. Still he told us there were only 4 places so we were it!
We were told to take some civilian clothing, but we must travel to the holiday camp in our whites uniform (# 6's). I asked him “Er, holiday camp ‘swain?"
"Yes” he replied. You will be staying at an army camp, near a place called Ipoh, somewhere up north of Malaya, so get your gear packed. A bus will pick you up in the morning.”
First thing we did was to rush up to my op’s room to find out where this place was. We found the place (a much smaller place than it is today), it was about 350 kilometres almost due north of the capital of Kuala Lumpur in the Perak area.
The following morning we four were picked up and taken to the airport where we flew on a regular flight from K.L to Ipoh. On arrival there we were then transferred to some ancient aircraft run by the RAF. I think it was an Anson. No frills at all; canvas and metal seats, and the noise and chill factor were unbelievable. This mode of transport was to take us more of less right to the army camp. On arrival, typical of the army, they had no idea about the navy whatsoever. As we all had a long service stripe (four years of undetected crime) they all assumed that we were NCOs. And of course who were we to dispute that assumption? We were duly logged in and shown to our billet for the period of our ‘R&R’.
This turned out to be what the army lads called a basher...a weird wood and thatched hut that slept about 12 men. Our bunks were across the far end of the hut where they had placed four beds side by side. The army lads were distributed along the length of the hut; their beds with their heads to the outside wall, their feet pointing to the middle. Each of their beds had a large personal wooden kit chest alongside it.
Now my memory fails me at this point as to which actual camp we were at and with which soldiers. I believe it was The Royal Scots Fusiliers at Colombo Camp. One thing I do recall is that it seemed that apart from the officers and NCOs the majority of the "pongos" were very young 18-year-old conscripts, where we sailors were in our early 20s!
Having been given our bunks the first thing we wished to do was have a shower and do some dhobying, but unlike on our ship we had little or no facilities for washing our clothes as it seemed the army had a laundry, or could just exchange their gear. But being ever resourceful, we managed to overcome this difficulty and having had a shower, and done our washing, we decided to go to the local village for a few beers and a meal.
At the main gate - by this time it was about 8:30 pm - of course we had no army identification. In those days a pusser’s (naval) green pay book was all we had! The corporal of the guard told us where the village was, and at the same time reminded us we were in a CT area (Active Communist Terrorist area), there was a curfew in effect, and we were to be back in base by 10 pm. We explained that we were Royal Navy, and our leave expired at 8 o'clock in the morning. He phoned someone who was as ignorant as he was about us, and in the end he just shrugged his shoulders and off we went.
We found the village and a suitable bar; wished the army chaps good night as they obeyed the curfew, and the soldiers left about 10 pm to return to the camp. At this time we decided that since we were in the village on our own it would be a good time to eat. Having had a good meal and a couple of more beers our long day began to catch up with us, and we too returned to the camp around midnight or a little after.
Having done our washing and hung it to dry the night before, there was little for us to do but quietly turn in and sleep, and sleep we did, like the sleep of the dead. Sometime early in the morning there was a lot of stamping and bawling going on and one us told the army chaps to keep the f*****g noise down. At this point we all stuck our noses above the sheets, only to see an almost transfixed army officer and a NCO carrying a bamboo cane.
They stood like rabbits caught in the headlights of a car. At the same time the regimental Sargent Major (we found out later that was who the NCO was) looked as if they were about to have an epileptic fit, as both were all red in the face with their necks bulging over their collars.
The RSM recovered first and shouted at the corporal of the basher to kindly explain what was going on. (only not in those words). The corporal could only splutter out four words “They're Royal Navy, Sir.”, as if that explained why we were still in bed and why we had a string of very garish washing hanging on a linen line across the basher. (at that time on the Crane the more colourful and outlandish the underwear the better), and lastly the RSM - now able to breathe properly - demanded to know why there were four fire buckets; one at the end of each of our beds.
Having told him they were soaking our socks, both he and the officer made a somewhat hasty retreat! Having been rudely awakened we thought we might as well get up and go for breakfast. There was a fairly large mess hall, with the galley off to one side behind a partition. We were of course late for the meal, so the fact that it was none too hot we put down to our tardiness.
We wandered around the camp for the rest of the morning noticing that all the different ranks had different NAAFI facilities, but the toilets were crude. Just a sheet of corrugated iron in a V-shape with constant running water flowing down it and logs on either side to squat on; but as a bonus there was also a cinema. Having spent most of the morning just swanning about, lunchtime came and we four trooped into lunch, all sitting at one table being looked at by the pongo’s out of the corner of their eyes. Then we went up to collect our lunch and, having had army meals before, the meal was up to the normal army standard. Cold and crap!
We had just sat down when in strode a sergeant, seemingly wandering aimlessly around the place, as he approached each table those sitting there put their heads down and ate. Then in the middle of the room he said in a loud authoritative voice, “Any complaints?" At this juncture two things happened! All the army lad's heads went down and four sailor's hands went up! Now apparently nothing like this had ever happened before! Approaching our table we started to tell him what was wrong with our meal, but he seemed to be completely out of his depth and called the sergeant chef to our table!
A complaint? I don’t think he had ever had one before, and certainly not one that gave him the fuss that we were making. He solved his dilemma by telling us to make no more fuss and in future, starting from that day, to come back when meal times had finished and he would see to it we got properly cooked hot meals. Now this suited us a treat. It meant we could have a bit of a lie in in the mornings; an extra ‘jar’ at lunch time; and do our washing and shower in the evenings without having to meet a deadline for a meal.
We were going to enjoy this R&R we all decided...we spoke too soon!
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