Scozmo's Photery

Once again, thank you for the feedback and support for writing this, it’s a little cathartic sprinkling all these memories and emotions onto these pages. I think I’ve been smiling quite a bit as I have been writing, good memories, for the most part 🙂

As I said before, I had signed up for three years in the RN and at this point in time, it felt like a long way away.

We had been herded, nicely, into an old wooden hut, there was a ‘street’ of them lining both side running down a gentle slope. Some were already occupied, some empty. Each had approximately 30 beds on each side of a central passageway, just like you see in those movies. At the far end there were a couple of bunk beds, one up, one down and at least one guy ended up on a top bunk, he ended up being known as Kami, short for kamikaze 🙂 When you throw 30 young lads together, there’s a whole horde of emotions in the room, there may have been a few sobs that night, I don’t recall, I don’t think I felt that bad.

I found an older photo of the huts but, this was them. While we were there, new accommodation was being built and we actually moved part way through our training, more later.

At the far end of the dorm was a shower / toilet area, a laundry and drying room; laundry is probably not what some people imagine … a longish room with big sinks down both sides and a doorway through to a very warm, humid room with thick, heavy piping running just above the floor level, full of hanging spaces and an extractor fan in the external wall.

The showers were essentially tiled, concrete booths with a shower head, a line of tall metal hanging stanchions between for towels and so on. No room for modesty now, no doors, no locks, except on the ‘traps’ in the toilets.

There had been some “getting to know you” going on in those first hours, joking, false bravado but, lucky for us, we had two re-joiners! They had joined before but for mixed reasons, left and had now re-thought it or circumstances changed. These guys gave us a great head start in learning the ropes.

On the first morning there was very subdued showering and dressing, we still had our civvies, no uniform yet, we wouldn’t have know what to do with it if we had 🙂

I vaguely remember being split into groups and wandering between different huts to be briefed on lots of things, fill in forms, make decisions like what religious persuasion you were for services on a Sunday!

Again, memory just about reminds me of all meeting up for a main briefing on joining the navy and what that meant for us. We were given handfuls of paperwork to read, understand and, when ready, sign! Actually signing on! I think most of us hesitated at this point, unsure what to do but I did sign up, for three years, during which I could “give notice” and get out. There was also an option for those under 17.5 years old that they could get out quickly as an “unhappy junior” or PVR, Premature, Voluntary Release! I didn’t have that option being over 18!

What the hell? I wasn’t going back to Belfast, I didn’t want to work in a shop or sell insurance or ………. ?

We signed one at a time with an instructor helping us and talking us through next steps. Once we signed, we walked out the door ….. RUN! Double! Get your arse over here at the rush!!! What? Where? Why are you shouting?

Yup, all change. We were in the navy now. We belonged to them!

So began the process of gathering up “kit”, running in and out of huts, being shouted at quite a lot, I’m laughing here, carrying pairs of boots, itchy jumpers, caps, coats, jackets, shoes, gym kit ….. how much is there?????

There’s a lot to be said for a military career. You are housed, fed, taught how to walk in straight lines, fed, paid and even taken on holiday to foreign climes! Not quite yet though.

I’m not sure how long all this took but, we only had a small metal locker to cram all this kit into so, we were taught how to iron it, there were special ways, how to fold it, again, special ways. How to shine our shoes and boots, wash our clothes, what to wear and when. Steam iron? No such thing, a spray bottle and one of those old flat, but electric irons, the ones that will burn steel if you get it wrong 🙂

It was chaos and a very steep learning curve. We no longer ambled around the establishment, we were taught to “fall in” three rows of us all exactly one arms length apart and (almost) perfectly lined up. We were sized, tallest on the left shortest in the centre! What? The tallest chap was now our “marker”. What? We were walked to a parade ground where an entirely new level of instructor took over. The Chief GI or one of his parade staff and boy could they shout! We were “marched” up and down, taught how our arms worked, how our legs worked and how to stay perfectly in those rows. I remember one poor guy, a big Brummie lad (from Birmingham UK) who walked like a big farm lad and just could not get the step for marching. He did eventually of course. I think we had parade training every day, regardless of weather, that’s why we had been given a selection of coats.

Once we had learned how to walk in straight lines with our arms held correctly and keep our spacing, we started learning how to change direction ………. while still marching! Wow! All pretty scary at first but, we soon started to learn “Pusser’s” humour. Very dry, very dark and very sarcastic. WOKE, did not exist back then.

Pusser’s? Pusser – a definition

“The term is a British Royal Navy term which has been in use for about 300 years The officer in charge of finance,administration and stores keeping in a naval ship was called the Purser He was responsible for pay, the supply, issue and accounting for of all the ships equipment food, clothing, rope, canvas, rope etc. Others may have used the equipment but he was the administrator for it

To the seamen he was the one who issued them with their daily needs. Virtually everything they received was issued by the Purser. Over time the title became corrupted to Pusser. Everything the sailor and many of the officers received from the navy was Pussers Issue.

The old tradition of rum issue each day was Pussers Rum issued to each sailor. This was discontinued in the 1980s, to the horror of many an old matelot. After the discontinuation, the stocks of rum on hand was sold to a commercial company along with the naming rights to Pussers Rum and it is sold on the spirits market.

To this day the Royal Navy and many Commonwealth Navies still use the term for much of the equipment and stores they use and even call their Navies “Pussers”.

The title Purser lives on in many merchant ships where the accounting officer or manager on passenger ships still uses the title.”

So we were starting to learn all sorts of new stuff, a new language, cameraderie, teamwork, how to walk, talk eat and sleep Navy!

And, we were getting new names; I was Paddy, or was it Jock? It was a bit confusing for many. I was Scottish with a broad Belfast accent. Our new names, nicknames were usually based on where you came from or your name like, Chalky White, Swampy Marsh, Brum (from Birmingham) Scouse (Liverpool) and so on.

We had been given new clothes, our civvies taken away from us because ….. we weren’t allowed out for a wee while so we went everywhere in some form of uniform. I was lucky, there were a few of us over 18 yrs old so we got to go out before many of the younger lads. Not that none of them ever snuck out 😉

We had THE itchiest jumpers on the planet. We had trousers knitted from wire wool that left your legs red raw (until you got used to them). We wore 8’s, 2’s, ovies! Parade boots and working boots, shoes, sports gear a blur of new!

We ate in a galley! We queued for ……… food? Not always the best but you ate it or starved. We shopped in the NAAFI!

Another odd occurrence during the inital shouty, signing up bit was being asked “do you smoke?” I kind of had smoked towards the end of my school time but I didn’t want to SMOKE so, “No!” I was aksed again “do you smoke?” erm …… no, why? “You’ll be issued with three stamps a month, those stamps get you an allowance of 100 cigarettes per stamp!” erm ……. ” you can trade those stamps or cigarettes for other things you might need.” Oh, ok, yes, I smoke!

As we progressed, we started learning a great deal more. Ropes, hawsers, curling down, sizing, we were even taught how to paint …. battleship grey, of course. A bit like Mr Myagi … laying on, laying off!

I had joined up as a Seaman Operator. I had a badge on my right arm, once I’d learnt how to cut and fold it to the correct shape and size and sewn it on by hand! (Ignore the crown for now)

We were whistled and jeered at as the new recruits, our turn would come soon.

A whirlwind of learning in a short space of time. We had all had our hair cut on day one and it would be kept short from here on …. except for me!

We became a Class, Walker 11 (old Admirals apparently) We now had a class leader and a deputy leader as well as a class instructor. HMS Raleigh was the training establishment for all seaman trades, Seamen and Stokers, our instructor was a WAFU, an Airman, a Petty Officer Aircraft Handler! Woooo. Not only that, his name was Moth so he was known as Tiger Moth, an old biplane. He was a great character and really helped us all keep our chins up and try to enjoy the training course, it was 13 weeks long (if I remember rightly)

We had started our training just before Easter, we got a week’s Easter leave (holiday) and I lived in N. Ireland where it wasn’t good to be identified as a member of the armed forces so, I was allowed to “grow my hair” to disguise my chosen profession a little.

However. There came a day, just before we went on leave, where we would take part in our first parade on the parade ground, in front of a senior officer. This was to inspect us ALL on our dress and bearing as we “fell in” in our classes or squads and then marched past the raised podium where the inspecting officer would give us the beady eye as we attempted to march past and keep in line while looking up at him, on our right. March, march, march …. EYES RIGHT! March, stumble, waver, march, EYES FRONT! Once past the podium. It was at this point that things went a bit awry for me. There were “runners” on the podium, ready to obey any commands to be related down to the marching classes. One appeared alongside our class, marching in time with us and shouting … centre rank, three, fall out! There was much looking around, assessing of our positions and it came to pass, that meant me. But wait. We’re still moving! We haven’t been taught that bit yet! No matter, I had to skip and hop my way between the front or rear rank, look around, baffled until a voice shouted DOUBLE, that means run in a marchingly manner. So I doubled alongside the runner, up onto the podium where a red faces Commander was waiting to remove my dignity! I won’t try to remember the exact words but basically, me, a horrible little irk had had the audacity to parade on the parade ground with hair beyond Naval length!!! I tried to mumble but Sir, I’m going on Irish leave … to avail. “Get you feckin’ haircut and report back to me asap!” I had to double back to my now disappearing class, hop, skip and jump back into position to much querying and laughing.

Once we halted and right turned, stood at ease (relaxed a little). Our class instructor asked me what had happened, I explained and he told me to get off to the barbers asap. I was not a very happy young chap but, orders is orders so I got some cash (we got paid £15 a fortnight!) and went up to the barber. Sat in the queue, got my hair cut and mumbled, muttered and swore my way back to our hut. AT which point our Chief Instructor, an Irishman walked in shouted “Scott, don’t get your hair cut … oh, too late!” He explained that the Commander didn’t know about Irish leave and the hair thing but, it was too late now. He commiserated with me, they weren’t all gorgons but I was going home to N. Ireland with short hair.

But let’s save that for another article shall we? I’ll leave this article with a couple of old photographs ….

A very young 18 year old, bright eyed and clueless 🙂

Stay safe and well.