HMS Mounts Bay - October 20, 1956 to December 18, 1957

I actually joined the Mounts Bay at HMS Pembroke (the Naval barracks in Chatham) on September 4, 1956 and was there, in barracks, until October 19, 1956. We all moved aboard on October 20. After a work-up session, where everybody gets used to what they're supposed to be doing on board, we headed down on our trip to South Africa with many interesting stops along the way.



Class and type:	Bay-class frigate
Displacement:	1,600 long tons (1,626 t) standard 2,530 long tons (2,571 t) full
Length:	286 ft (87 m) p/p 307 ft 3 in (93.65 m) o/a
Beam:	38 ft 6 in (11.73 m)
Draught:	12 ft 9 in (3.89 m)
Propulsion:	2 × Admiralty 3-drum boilers, 2 shafts, 4-cylinder vertical triple expansion reciprocating engines, 5,500 ihp (4,100 kW)
Speed:	19.5 knots (36.1 km/h; 22.4 mph)
Range:	724 tons oil fuel, 9,500 nmi (17,600 km) at 12 knots (22 km/h)
Complement:	157
Sensors and processing systems:	• Type 285 fire control radar • Type 291 air warning radar • Type 276 target indication radar • High Frequency Direction Finder (HF/DF) • IFF transponder
Armament:	• 4 × QF 4 inch Mark XVI guns on 2 twin mounting HA/LA Mk.XIX • 4 × 40 mm Bofors A/A on 2 twin mounts Mk.V • 1 × Hedgehog 24 barrel A/S projector • 2 rails and 4 throwers for 50 depth charges

The first stop was an old familiar friend, Gib. I think that everybody was looking forward to going there. We were there for about a week, and then set off down the west coast of Africa. Actually, there was so many stops before we got to South Africa, I really can't remember visiting lots of them, they were that small. Basically, we were just flying the flag for Her Majesty - ambassadors on the Grey Funnel Line.

One place we stopped at that I remember was Freetown in Sierra Leone. That's where a they had a war about blood diamonds many years later... I was hoping to get ashore there because there was a guy from my home town living there. But due to the fact that I was under stoppage of leave, I was unable to get to see him. Then there was Conakri which I believe was a French Protectorate. We had native dancers put on a show for us on the jetty - and it was quite impressive feeling their feet thumping into the ground (even though we were on board). Our next stop was Accra - which used to be the Gold Coast and they were in the midst of gaining independence from Britain and becoming Ghana. We had a street parade, which I LOATHED. You had to dress up in your white suits and march through the streets - complete with rifles and boots. After Accra came Warri in Nigeria. Now to get to Warri, we had to go up the Forcados River and the Warri River - backwards. It was one of those little British outposts to do with oil, I do believe. There was a country club ashore where large quantities of libations were drunk during our 5 day stay. Seeing as there were no jetties to tie up to, we were tied up to two trees - fore and aft. It was most enjoyable stay - there was not a lot to do ashore, other than go to the country club. You couldn't BUY a drink, they just kept pouring them. Of course, there was the obligatory ship's soccer game against the local side (who I think were all black). The natives nicknamed me "Long Tom", I guess because I was tall and could run fast. Our goalkeeper, a short and rather thick-set gentleman, who was a friend of mine - Knocker Quint - played an absolute corker of a game, really impressing the other side (and us too) with his goal-keeping prowess - seeing as he wasn't the regular ship's goalkeeper (the regular player being on watch).

Also in Warri I perforated my ear drum. There was a banyan (or picnic) organized at one of the local watering holes, sans crocodiles. Complete with beer, off we went. Not being equipped with any refrigeration for keeping the beer cold, we dumped it in the river. We were having a good time larking about in this beautiful clear water. There was only a couple of beers left and I went to pick one up and it started rolling down the bank into deeper water. I swam down after it and just as I was about to grab the bottle, it felt like my ear exploded. There was considerable pain. I made it back to the surface, but I wasn't exactly sure where I was or what was happening. Eventually, the pain and discomfort went away. On the completion of the banyan and going back on board, I went to see the M.O. who told me I'd perforated my eardrum. He told me there was not a lot I could do about it, and that it would heal on its own. He added that if I had any thoughts about being a shallow water diver, I should forget about them. Ah well - didn't want to do that anyway...

We left Warri on the 13th of March, and after nine days at sea, got to Simonstown, South Africa on March 22nd. It is 22 miles west of Capetown. This was the Naval dockyard for the South Atlantic Fleet (which doesn't exist anymore).

Whilst in dry dock it was tradition to paint your ship's crest on the dock wall. I do believe there's probably crests from when this photo was taken (1957) - when we were there we saw crests from ships that were stationed there during World War II.

Once we arrived we were looking forward to our first run ashore in Capetown. To get there, it was a train trip, and if you took the commuter special at about 4:30 for the 22 mile journey, there were 27 stops along the way. So we used to get to Capetown about 6 o'clock. Once we got there, first thing is to find somewhere to drink. Most Matelots gravitated toward the Delmonico which was one of the largest drinking establishments in downtown Capetown. It was almost Spanish/Moorish decor, as far as I can remember. If you weren't drinking beer, the favorite drink was brandy and coke - as brandy was very cheap - and you could get absolutely hammered if you so desired. But the hangover was something else again, so I stayed with beer. While at "the Del", there always seemed to be lots of "ladies" around looking for a good time with all these sailors who thought they were God's gift to women. We weren't the only sailors in there; there were lots of guys from the merchant navy as well. All in all it was quite a popular watering hole. To coin a phrase; if you got lucky with one of the ladies, you had to make sure that she wasn't a Cape Coloured. Because if you got caught in a compromising situation, it was jail time. These ladies were supposed to carry a card identifying them as "coloured". It was difficult to tell because a lot of them were "three of cream and one of coffee". One of the ways you could tell, if they didn't have the card, was the half-moons on the fingernails. But seeing that most of them wore nail polish, that could be difficult. Also, the local white population would warn you off, and the police knew most of the girls who went in there.

Just to illustrate how serious this situation could be. Three guys off the Burghead Bay got caught dipping their wicks in Silver City, a shanty town outside of Simonstown, and got nine months jail time in South Africa. But with a lot of political wrangling the British government persuaded the South Africans to let them serve their sentence at home, and they were deported. Which, of course, would end up being nowhere near nine months. Doing what they were doing would be considered a "social exercise" and not a crime in the UK.

Also, while in Capetown, one must remember it wasn't all wine, women and song. There were other things to see and do. Like taking the cable car up to the top of Table Mountain; buying "rabbits" (presents), and working on your suntan.

After a night out in Capetown, if you hadn't booked a room at the Sailors Rest, the last train left for Simonstown at about 12 midnight as I remember. The first train in the morning was 5:30. The police did not like you sleeping at the station, so finding somewhere to crash was of the essence.

Along with going to parties, there always invites to BBQs, mainly held by the Boers, and such. I even went to one at the Paarl River valley - a wine making district of South Africa. Very nice it was, too. One overseer there even carried his jambok (a short whip used to keep the kafirs - or natives - in line, as he said). At one party I attended, there was a gentleman who asked me if I would be interested in joining the Capetown police force. He knew I was in the RN even though I was in civvies, but I declined his most generous offer...He was even wearing his gun!

We had on board a lieutenant from the Fleet Air Arm, who was on the Mounts Bay for rest and recreation. Because a couple of months prior, he was flying off an aircraft carrier when the arrestor wire malfunctioned and he just kept on going right off the bow. The carrier was unable to stop, as it was doing about 35 knots and plowed right over top of him. He told us that the speed of the carrier kept him sucked up underneath it. His biggest concern was that he'd get caught up in the propellers, and he could feel them vibrating and getting closer all the time. I guess it wasn't his time, because he came to the surface at the stern - much to his great relief. So they took him off flying duties for awhile and sent him to a General Service Commission ship, which was us. Nice man. Easy to talk to. Always seemed ready to go back to flying again though. But he was young and daft, so I guess it didn't matter.

Next on the agenda will be our west coast cruise. First port o' call was Tulear on Madagascar. I don't remember too much about it, as I think we were kept well away from all the fleshpots. I think we played a soccer game against coloured French Foreign Legion, but I wasn't a member of the team. Then it's over to Quelimane at Mozambique. Not much happened there either, but there was a dance set up - which I didn't attend - but from all accounts it was very strange because there was no music, no girls and no beer! I think it was a bit of a SNAFU situation. Then we back down the coast to Durban. Greeted by the Lady in White. As the story goes, she lost her husband in World War II and for whatever reason sings to all Navy ships as they come into the harbour. I think she would be considered a little eccentric. Durban was a good run ashore. There were lots of grippos (freebees) in the area. Myself and a few other guys took a trip to a game preserve called Hluhluwe (hu-loo-ee). We spent a couple of nights in accommodation provided by the local game warden. They gave us lots of booze, and I couldn't find my way back to where I was supposed to sleep, so I crashed on the floor of the living room in the warden's house - which was very kind of them. Also, while we were in this area, we took a trip to the Valley of a Thousand Hills, where a lot of Zulu people lived. It was very picturesque.

After our sojourn it's back to Durban and the fleshpots for 7 days. Then we returned to Simonstown to fuel up and get stores on board for our trip to South America. We left South Africa in the middle of August '57 with a proposed stop at Tristan de Cunha, but it was too rough to go ashore. On we sailed and it was "Harry Roughers" all the way across the bottom of the Atlantic. 16 days in total of extremely crappy weather! Nobody was allowed on the upper deck except on the Quarterdeck. The daily routine was: get up in the morning; clean up any mess that had occurred in the night, like lockers falling over and water leaking in. Then finish for the day. And that was it. The older hands used to look forward to "tot time". Meals were fairly simple affairs because the chef found things miserable in the galley. So I think we must have lived on stews and hard tack (ship's biscuits). It may have been a little better than that, but I don't remember. I was sick for the first two days and after that it was...just get on with it, you know.

Eventually, we ended up in Argentina at a little naval base called Puerto Belgrano with a small town called Bahai Blanca just up the road, where all these thirsty Matelots headed straight for, along with the crews from the Warrrior and the Lynx. From what I gather (I did not attend) a serious Barney ensued and several bodies ended up spending the night in the slammer. When the dust had settled, and apologies were made all 'round, the Captain cleared lower deck and gave everybody a little pep talk. Basically, it was how disappointed he was in the crew and he hoped that this kind of behavior wouldn't happen again.

Now we're off to our next stop, Buenos Aires, which wasn't a bad run ashore; good place for "rabbits" (gifts for people back home). One thing they told us time and time again is not to get into any discussions about the Falkland Islands. The money was a bit of a problem, as I discovered to my cost. Some of the lower denomination notes were the same colour as the higher ones. So after a meal, I tipped the waiter and it wasn't until it was my turn to buy a round of drinks at one of the nearby watering holes, I realized I must have tipped the waiter a high denomination note, which probably would have been more than his weekly wage. So I was out-of-pocket a little bit. We went back to the restaurant and of course the waiter denied everything. Hard lesson to learn when you're not making that much money to begin with. The rest of our stay in Buenos Aires was uneventful - mainly because I didn't have any money left to spend.

Then it was onwards to Fray Bentos in Uruguay, where they make corned beef. It was a little tiny place, and where they made the Fray Bentos itself was a big tower and the cows would go in and come out as cans. There was a local brewery there, run by a couple of Brits - don't ask me how they got there - who were just ready to put a new beer on the market and who better to test it on than a shipload of Matelots. So this guy brings a truck down to the ship and the Jimmy says "No way. You can take it away. The crew here are not having any of that!" (miserable bastard). So the truck turned around and went back to the brewery. In the end we had to pay for it and drank it ashore in the local boozers. There was the obligatory soccer game, which I managed to play in. If memory serves, it was the only the second time I did play for the Mounts Bay. Too bad for the ship they didn't recognize my talent!

Now we're off to Rio. De Janeiro, that is. Now THAT was a good run ashore! Lots of places where you wouldn't want to take your mother. One bar in particular, close to the docks, sticks in my mind. It was open 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. And what they used to do about 2 in the morning, was close up one side of the bar, clean it all up, and then close the other side and reopen the first side. Quite efficient about it, they were too. One night when I was in there with a couple of my mates, a lady of the night came in, flogging her wares, and she happened to pick on some guy who wasn't the slightest bit interested as he was three sheets to the wind. So she started berating him and giving him a real bad time, which we thought was extremely entertaining. Shortly after, the police arrived, and were going to take her away for disturbing the peace, I guess. So some hero - not one of us - gets up and makes a big fuss with the police, telling them with much arm waving that they shouldn't be treating this "lady" like this. Then, without further ado, one of the policemen stuck a rather large pistol in our hero's face and took him away as well! After this display of chivalry, we carried on with our drinking. Also, during our four days in Rio, there were opportunities for sightseeing. One day, a few of my mates and I took a trip up one of the nearby mountains to see the big statue of Christ the Redeemer which overlooks Rio. Very impressive! I don't remember anybody being too enthusiastic about going to Copacabana Beach because we had to go ashore in our uniforms and it would have been difficult to abandon them on the beach and go swimming.

Then it was time to go back to South Africa, and it was a smoother trip. On the way back we did a little detour to St Helena, where Napoleon Bonaparte died. Two days there, and I had the opportunity to visit the house he lived in, and saw his grave. It doesn't hurt to be a little bit of a culture-vulture occasionally. I read all about him and one of the theories was that he was poisoned, but nobody did an autopsy. A pleasant little place - with two pubs and a golf course and lots of ex-Pats.

Next, back to Simonstown and we're nearly at the end of our commission, but the Admiralty had one more thing to throw at us - it was that the Opossum would come from the Far East and her crew would take the Mounts Bay back to the Far East, and we would sail the Opossum home. It was to be scrapped when we got it back to Devonport.

So we sailed up the west coast of Africa, totally uneventfully - likely stopped at Gib for fuel and returned to Devonport. And that was that.

One last story: While on the Mounts Bay, I was part of the Ordinance Party along with a CPO and PO and we used to look after the guns (for those who don't know). The Chief - whose name was Dalgliesh - became a Japanese prisoner of war when his ship, HMS Prince of Wales, was sunk. He was held for five years. After his release he returned to the UK and was married to the lady he'd left five years earlier. One of the things he wouldn't do on the Mounts Bay was eat rice. He said he couldn't face it. A nice man who unfortunately was killed in a car crash sometime after he left the Mounts Bay. A touch of irony - survive the prison camp, only to be killed at home.

Gunnery School - June 23, 1956 - September 3, 1956

So, in their infinite wisdom - after various tests - the Navy decided that I should be a gunnery rating. More specifically a Quarters Armourer. I'm still in Drake barracks - only a different section. I was taught how to take guns to pieces and how to maintain them. The biggest gun was a 4-inch mounting. There were also Bofors guns, which were renamed 40/60s after awhile, don't ask me why. On completion of this course, I became a 2nd Class QA unqualified - which meant I needed more experience.

About a week before this course was finished, I heard that I was getting another draft chit to HMS Mounts Bay - a Bay Class frigate.

HMS Drake - Devonport - February 9, 1956 - June 22, 1956

Not much happened there. You go for work parties - tidying up around the barracks, or go do some painting on the reserve fleet in Devonport - that's the ships that are in mothballs.

While in Guzz (the nickname for Devonport) I got a quiet number at Trevol Rifle Range. We lived there and it was a real quiet life - except when someone was shooting off rifles (which wasn't very often). In the afternoon if there wasn't much happening, we used to have a game of cricket. The time there was too short.

I really only have one tale to tell from this time:
After my "holiday" at Trevol was over, I went back to barracks. They were huts, not stone buildings, and they were close to the playing fields, as I remember. There were about 30 of us in each hut - complete with all the mod-cons except really good heat. Our heating source was a pot-bellied stove in the middle of the hut.

We had this one kid, 19 or 20-years-old who always used to get up before anyone else. We could never figure out why, but something didn't feel quite right. No one seemed to remember him actually ever going for a shower - and we all showered every day. So one day, I just went over to his bed when he wasn't there and pulled back the bed cover. I almost wished I hadn't. The blanket and mattress underneath were FILTHY! I can never forget it. So when this kid came back to the hut, he was confronted by three or four guys who told him what they thought of him and threatened him with scrubbing by a hard broom, or be reported - he could take his choice. He chose to be reported. A couple of RPOs (Regulating Petty Officers) took him away with them. The story that got back to us eventually that they made him shower, put him in cells for a couple of days, he saw the Captain, and that was the end of his Naval career.

We could never figure him out. Sailors are pretty clean bunch, as a rule. Working on the old maxim of cleanliness being next to Godliness (and we weren't going to go to heaven), we had to do the next best thing. On board a ship you had to contend with various smells: paint, diesel oil, smoke from cigarettes, people...and if you didn't shower, you would have no real "close" friends. So this habit of showering carried over to the shore establishments.

HMS Triumph - September 14, 1955 to February 8, 1956

 

Displacement: 13,350 tonnes

Length: 695 ft

Beam: 80 ft

Draught: 24.5 ft

Speed: 25 knots

Crew: 1300

So now I'm off to the Triumph - it's a light fleet carrier. Didn't mean diddly to me - could have been Noah's Ark as far as I'm concerned, but they're getting bigger as we go along. I get on board this thing, and go to the boy's mess deck - and you have to remember that even though the Navy is trundling me around like this - and "paying" me - my time in the Navy doesn't actually start until I'm 18. So they're getting free time up to this point.

So we're off to Scotland on the Triumph's Autumn Cruise. We left Plymouth - well, Devonport - on September 26 heading up the west coast to Invergordon (Sept 29-Oct 5), which I remember nothing about, and then to Rosyth on the east coast (Oct 6-7) for fueling and supplies. Then, we're heading for Leningrad (Oct 12-17), now called St Petersburg - and will spend 5 days there. The Triumph was among the first Allied ships to go to Russia after the war. So we go up the Neva River - and it was quite interesting because there were lots of dockyards on either side - and seeing a lot of women dockworkers. I remember when we got to Leningrad it was quite wide, but I think we went up the river stern first and that it took a few hours to get there. We lined up on the flight deck because it's a courtesy as Leningrad is a Naval base as well. Also, alongside the Union Jack and the Andrew, we had the Russian Naval Ensign flying on the masthead too. So we're moored and there's a possibility of organized trips ashore and they're doing bus tours. We had advisements to be very careful what we said on the coach - like you mustn't say anything derogatory about your hosts or anything that's going to be perceived as political, because we're still in the Cold War, and the buses were probably bugged. We went for a trip around the countryside and went to see something in one of the Russian theatres. They said if you get invited to someones home - you go the first time, but don't go again. There was somebody always following you.

We weren't allowed on the upper deck in our regular working gear - which was #8s. We had to wear our secondary blue serge suit. One night, one of the buoys broke loose, and we drifted right into shore, and the quarterdeck is overhanging the jetty, which it's not supposed to be doing. So the jetty is here, and the stern is about 35 feet higher. So we're all up on the flight deck looking at them, and all of them looking at us. Anyway, somebody started a singsong - not canteen songs, but British songs, like White Cliffs of Dover and all this patriotic stuff. There was always a big crowd on the jetty - they weren't kept away from us. We weren't in a dockyard - two steps off the ship and you were in the main street. Anyway, when we finished, then somebody on the jetty started singing a Russian song. And for the 3 or 4 nights we were there this became a regular occurrence. Late one evening, a Russian got a bit enthusiastic and he got pushed into the chuck. So this guy climbs out of the water, he stood there, took all his clothes off, wrung them out, and put them back on. Nobody batted an eyelid.

I was always impressed with the public transport - the trams. They'd go beetling down the street, and they'd sort of semi-stop, people would pile on and off while it's still going, and there'd be arms and legs hanging off all over the place. On every corner there was a soldier, with a big long coat and the long black boots and a Tommy gun of some sort over his left arm. People were big on those souvenir badges - they were just as potty then as they are now about these things. We exchanged several of those - but I don't have them anymore. A couple of us got invited for eats at a local cafe with some guy, and I think the main part of the dinner was raw fish and vodka - or as the gentleman so delicately put it "Russian white wine". People were super-friendly once they got used to us. Nobody got into trouble ashore, because you'd be hung, drawn and quartered if you did.

So, we've departed Leningrad and we're back out in the Baltic Sea. And the Russian Naval Ensign gets taken down and stowed on the Flag deck in a little cubby hole along with all kinds of other flags. I thought "this would be a nice memento of our trip to Russia". So one night when I was on watch, I took a little stroll around the back of the flag deck and sort of relieved it from it's spot; tucked it in my sweater and quickly left the scene. I put it in my locker. There was never any hue and cry about this flag disappearing, so I guess it couldn't have been that important. I just "borrowed" it before someone else did. It now resides on a wall in the Army, Navy and Airforce Institute where I live. :)

So, there's a 3-badge Killick (Leading Seaman) in charge of the boy's mess deck, and as far as I can remember he was a grumpy Scots bugger, but he couldn't help where he came from. One day we're doing something up on the upper deck, can't remember what, and he told us to go and do something else, and most of us read the message as "Go back into the boy's mess deck until I come and tell you what to do." So we're sitting there waiting for this guy, and then he comes in and says "What are you doing here? You should be there." And I says to him "No, you didn't tell us to do that." And he says "Well, I'm going to charge you!" I thought, well you miserable bastard. I still believe to this day he forgot what he said, and didn't handle it very well. I can't remember what punishment we got - extra duties; cleaning up. Because when everyone's finished supper, they have cleaning up - that's a punishment. The object of punishment aboard ship is to make your life inconvenient from the daily routine for about a week, so that you understand what's been said to you. I still think we were wronged.

Just after that, I graduate from boy seaman to Ordinary Seaman (Oct 22). I've been moved out of the boy's mess deck and I'm in the real Navy, and finding somewhere to hang your hammock (your 'mick) - well, it's really inconvenient, because you're low man on the totem pole. The older hands had the best billets. And in the greater scheme of things, you're really insignificant when you're in this big mess deck with all these guys that have one badge, two badges - means they've been in 4 years, 8 years or whatever. And really, the only thing distinguishing you as an Able Seaman is a conduct badge on your left arm when you turn 22. On your regular suits it's red, on your best suit it's gold. Other than that, not much has changed for me - I'm still not drawing my grog. And the money, such as it was, was slightly better.

And then we head down into the Med to a place called Pollensa (Oct 29-Nov 3), and I can't remember that - it must have been really exciting. Then we go to Ville Franche (Nov 4-9) on the French Riviera. I thought "this is going to be nice". Well we're anchored out in the bay (anchored being you've dropped the hook - moored being on a buoy). So because there's no jetty, you have to go ashore by boat. And some of the other guys in the mess deck said "Come on Hancock, you've got to come ashore with the sailors now". So we go into this bar and we're sitting there chatting, having a couple of French beers and bullshitting about life in the Navy, and I'm sort of awed - these are real sailors I'm with. Then one said "Oh, it's about time, isn't it?" The other guy agreed. So they call this lady over - and all I remember is that she had dark hair - and one guy says "This lady's going to show you something, Hank. You'd better go with her." I think they'd paid her already, right? So I went into the back room with this "lady" and well, I'll skip the gory details, and later when I got back all the other sailors applauded. I must have gone about ten shades of red. I guess that was my inniation into sailor-hood.

Then we get to Malta (Nov 11-18) - been there, done that. Been in the Navy all of a year, and feel like an old hand by now. There's not much in Malta to go ashore for. Well, there's bars, but I'm too young for that. You go anywhere near these bars, which have been operating since forever, and they say "you can't come in here, you're too young". "But I'm a sailor!" "Go away."

From Malta we went to Aranci Bay (Nov 19-24) in Corsica, then onto Barcelona. Now you have to remember we're in the sunny Mediterranean here - blue skies, calm seas. But there are times when the Med can be as ugly as any ocean or body of water in the world. We went from Aranci Bay to Barcelona, and there were times when the bow of this light fleet carrier - whose bow is about 60 feet above the water - and we had winds of 100 mph and the bow was dipping in the ocean. So if you can imagine this thing slipping and sliding over waves 60 or 70 feet high. Yes, people were sick - only the strongest survived. And it wasn't me, I tell you. Of course, being an aircraft carrier, you always have to have a support vessel - either a destroyer or a frigate - because if you're flying planes you have to have a rescue boat in case one of the planes dumps itself into the ocean and the ship will then come and rescue said pilot. I think the ship we had for our escort was HMS Venus and it's a frigate, and we are an aircraft carrier, and if we're having trouble in these waves, then god knows what these guys on the frigate were thinking. I got brave enough at one point to get up on the upper deck and smell some fresh air, and I looked for the Venus and all I could see was a little bit of metal sticking up out of the ocean - that was the mast - the rest was submerged for the rest of the time. The storm lasted most of the night - about 16 hours, I guess. For a ship that big to be that overwhelmed by the weather was quite awe inspiring, and frightening to a certain extent.

So we get to Barcelona Nov 25-30) - and it's almost like sailors have a homing device when they get ashore. They know the place they're not supposed to go and that's the place they head for. I think we were there for 2 or 3 days - took a couple of bus trips.

Then the Triumph went to Gibraltar for a few days (Dec 2-8) - everybody has to stop at Gib - and then back home to Plymouth (Dec 12/55). We'd covered 9010 miles on our journey.

Scapa Flow

Scapa Flow is a channel in the Orkney Islands. It used to be used as a base for the North Atlantic convoys, I believe. I can't remember what ship I was on, but we got shore leave to just wander around, and five of us boys got up onto a headland, and there was this round tower with a pointed roof. It looked to have been built around the 1700s, something like that. It had the slits in the walls - like a castle - and the only way in was an opening in the wall about 8 feet off the ground. We managed to climb in and we got into the one main room - no graffiti or rubbish or anything, but there was a set of stairs going down. So being the intrepid explorer...off I went. We didn't have any flashlights, but we did have matches because some of the kids smoked. So I got to the bottom of the stairs, and it's getting quite dark - I couldn't see the floor - but I did notice to my right what looked like an opening with a pointed ledge. I took one further step forward and stepped onto nothing. Somehow or other I remembered that ledge to my right, and managed to grab hold of it, and then saying to the others not to come any further. Somebody had enough sense to light a match and help me get back onto Terra Firma. Once my heart had calmed down a little bit, we dropped a stone down the hole and it seemed to take a long time before we heard a splash or a sound. So we figured out that this must have been a garbage dump when this place was built. We decided that was enough exploring for the day and left.

Also, while we were out on this little exploration trip, it was quite warm and after working up a sweat for awhile we came across this really nice looking stream, and it looked so inviting we thought we'd strip off and go for a dip. But who was going to the first...guess who??? Well, I jumped in and God Almighty was it cold!!! I think I became countersunk in about 5 seconds. It really took my breath away. And seeing how much I'd enjoyed this, my erstwhile companions decided it wasn't for them. Wimps. That was the end of our expedition for the day and we made our way back to the jetty to get a boat back to the ship.

HMS Bermuda - November 17, 1954 to September 13, 1955

 

displacement: 8000 tons

length: 555 ft

beam: 62 ft

draught: 16 ft

speed: 31 knots

complement: 650

My first draft chit was to HMS Bermuda - a Colony Class cruiser with 6-inch guns - out of Plymouth. So if I'm going to Plymouth it means that for the rest of my time in the Navy I'm a Devonport rating, and I have now an offical number so the Navy recognizes me, and I've never forgotten it (it is one of those numbers you never forget) and mine was D/J928425 - and that was my number for the time I was in the Navy. I was a Devonport rating because of the part of the country I came from. There was also Chatham, and Pompey. They know where you come from, so you're going to be a Devonport rating.

So, big draft chit day. We took the train to Plymouth - it's a couple of hours away. There was only about 4 or 5 of us that went to the Bermadoo. The rest scattered to the four corners, I don't know where they went. What they did was send you to ships that were big enough to have boys mess decks - whether it was an aircraft carrier, or a cruiser. Not the small ships like frigates or destroyers. You were still under training when you went on board these ships, because you still had school everyday.

There was about 600 men aboard. They jammed you in there some way. It was pretty awesome - I'm going to live aboard this thing. We were down in the bowels of the ship - I don't remember any portholes in the boy's mess deck. You were given an action station - you're part of running the ship, even though you're a boy seaman - you have to do your thing. And my action station was the shell room of A-turret and I remember the guy that was in charge was a leading stoker. For action stations everybody has to have somewhere to go, and if he's not in the engine room, this is where he would be. Of course, in wartime, the compliment goes up by maybe 50 to 70 bodies. Don't ask me where they put them. Everybody had a space for their hammock, there were no bunks at all. Some guys used to have it hang over the mess deck tables - they were scattered all over the place. There were probably about 20 in my mess deck - all about the same age. We were all from St Vincent, but from all the blocks (not just Blake).

Everybody got a nickname - I was Taffy. Hank came later. If you came from Liverpool, you were a scouser. If you came from Scotland you were Jock. My dad was Hank in the Army and so was my older brother, David.

One of my jobs was midshipman's hammock boy. They are non-qualified officers. I had to get up at quarter to six and go down to where these guys slung their hammocks and wait until Reveille went, and then wait for these twits to get up out of their hammocks so I could lash them up and put them away. Waiting for them to get up was like waiting for the dead to arise.

Some mornings I was the boy's duty watch - used to get up with the regular guys (the seaman's duty watch) and go and scrub the quarterdeck. And when the weather was reasonably good that meant bare feet, long-handled scrubbers and buckets of soapy water. Then wash it down with hoses - using salt water - and that makes the deck go a white colour. You still do it in the winter time, but you put wellies on your feet.

Not every ship had a wooden quarterdeck - most of the big ones did - like battleships or like the Adamant and the Triumph. It's where the officers used to live at the stern, right? Drinking their Pink Gins. On smaller ships - like the Diana, the officers accomodation was in the bridge superstructure. But on the older, smaller ships - like the Crane - the officer's quarters were aft. The reason for that was that they were far away from the great masses and if there was a mutiny there would be marines between them and the officers.

We went to the Mediterranean a couple of times for exercises. The Bermuda's definition was "Home-Med". It was considered a decent draft for the older guys, especially if they were married, because they were only away from home 3 months at a go. Most guys if they were married would try to get a married-accompanied draft somewhere. We spent a lot of time at Gib and Malta.

While we're tied up, we're plugged in ashore - the boiler room and the engine room are shut down because they don't need the generators to run anything. It takes a few hours to start up again, because you have to get pressure in the boilers. Sometimes we'd fuel up at the dock, or sometimes as an exercise at sea. They used to get a ship come out - one of the RFAs (Royal Fleet Auxilliary) and they're merchant ships attached to the Royal Navy. They're painted the same colour, though they have a different set of rules. They have tankers, and store ships.

So now I'm finally at sea - on a real ship. It's the same, but different. You know, getting up early in the morning, having to do this and being at a certain place at a certain time. There was about 20 of us boy seamen, and we probably had a divisional P.O. - and a leading seaman (likely a 2 badgeman with a hook) who slept in the same mess deck as us.

Our first port of call was going to be at Gibraltar. But getting there we had to go through the Bay of Biscay, which at times can be notoriously rough. The next most enjoyable thing was being seasick. Bill and Huey weather and stuff like that. The Bermuda could probably do 20 knots as an economical cruising speed - though it could do 35 at a push...with a following wind and the galley range flashed up. The bay could be rough or it could be a calm as the top of a table. So this time though it was fucking terrible. It was roughers you fuckers. I was in some locker down by the boy's mess deck and all I wanted to do was die. "Death where is thy sting?" It was pretty bad. Some of the older hands that we've got on watch would say all you gotta do is get some hard tack (which is biscuits - like chewing concrete) and eat it; then put your coat on and go up by the funnel where it's warm and look at the stern. It's a lot easier to look at when you're seasick. So I took this advice and things got better.

So we finally get to Gibraltar, and it's a nice sunny day. Looking at Gib for the first time is very impressive. The first thing you see is the water catchment they have on one side to catch rainwater. It's huge. There's no water there other than from desalination. They're not going to get any from Spain, obviously. And we got to see the Barbary Apes...they're not monkeys! It's a common misconception that they're monkeys. And the saying is that if the apes die, Britain will leave Gibraltar. Apparently, it's honeycombed with things from the war. Tunnels and things like that, but you're only allowed to see certain parts of that. And, being a boy seaman, I couldn't visit the dens of iniquity.

One of my watches was in the wheelhouse - well, the wheelhouse is not on the bridge. It's down in the depths. So you go down there, and the Quartermaster is there and a couple of the regular sailors (ABs that have been in the Navy a little bit). And they say, okay you're going to steer the ship now. I'm thinking about this huge chunk of steel that floating around me. So the guy that's on the wheel now is going to call the bridge to get permission for you to take the wheel, and when you get on the wheel, you will say "Bridge...wheelhouse. Boy Seaman Hancock, permission to take the wheel, Sir." "Permission granted. Course to steer, and such and such...both engines half ahead, revolutions 120. Very good, carry on." And I would be on the wheel for half an hour. Any more than that and you almost get hypnotized watching the tape. I guess the reason the wheelhouse is not on the bridge is that if the bridge gets knackered, who's going to steer the ship? We'd had some kind of training in boy's school about ticker-tapes. Basically what it is - you have a little monitor in front of you that goes from 0 to 360...and there's a little line in the middle which is the bow of the ship for all intents and purposes. So this ticker-tape will keep going past you, if you keep the wheel still - as the tides and the winds move the ship, this ticker-tape starts going tictictic. So what you have to do - you have to turn the line to follow whichever way that's going. The most common mistake most people make is chasing the lubber's line. So if the tape starts to tic to the left, most people start to turn the wheel to the right to bring the tape back, but all you're doing is making the ship go farther away from it. If the numbers start to go right, you have to turn the wheel right to get to the proper course. It takes a bit of getting used to, but once you get the hang of it, it's easy. I probably had the wheel several times on the Bermuda.

My action station was working in the shell room, and taking shells off this circular rack that surrounded the compartment, lift them up and put them into a hoist that took them up to the turret. These shells weighed 112 pounds. And I don't have much meat and muscle on my bones to lug these bloody things, and drop them in the shute. It put some muscle on me, I suppose. Nobody's going to help you. It was enough to make you feel tired just thinking about it. The guns were 3 barrels, and so they had 3 hoists, so there'd be one body per hoist. Usually boy seamen or lower ranks. Somebody else would bring the shells from the magazine and somebody else would put the cordite into another hoist.

While we were in Malta - they have a big lagoon called Selima Creek (or as it's known affectionately to the guys in the Navy as Slimy Creek) we'd have regattas in the bay. The Mediterranean fleet would be there in full force. There was always ship rivalry, and we'd have rowing regattas. While in Malta - now that I'm a sailor, I should go and get tattooed. I got 2 done - one on each forearm. A dragon on my left and a snake wrapped around a sword on my right.

We'd usually go out to sea for five or six days and then head for port - Malta or Gibraltar. They were a big part of "the Empire". Usually just to 'fly the flag".

There were some strange characters on Bermuda. There was one Petty Officer that used to run the laundry...he liked young boys. And he was always trying to get them to come and work in the laundry with him, because it was considered a quiet number - you could sleep there without hammocks or bunks. But I didn't like him - I'm 16 and I'd never experienced anyone like him before. Today, in this day and age, he would not be allowed to act the way he did. He made overtures to the boys...touching and standing very close to you...and you didn't know what to do. You didn't need to be a rocket scientist to figure out what he was trying to do. He rubbed against me one day when I was on the upper deck leaning against the guardrail looking at something on shore (I think his name was P.O. Ahearn and he'd been in the Navy forever). I didn't want to go and work in the laundry because he scared the shit out of me and I tried to stay clear of him. I couldn't say anything because it was my word as a 16-year-old seaman, against someone who's been in the Navy for 22 years. You just stayed away from him. Nobody ever said anything.

Then one day one of the RPOs (Regulating Petty Officer) said there's draft chits for some of you guys. I said "oh, where am I going?". He said you have to go to the Regulating Office to pick up your draft chit up, and they give you a printed piece of paper - it comes in on a Telex or something - and I'm going to HMS Triumph. I guess I had about a week or two warning. It wasn't a pierhead jump - meaning no notice at all...the RPO says "oh, you're going over there" - where virtually you'd walk from one ship to another.

Boy's Training - November 10, 1953 to November 16, 1954 (age 15 1/2)

Well, after my discussion about my future with my father, and he's saying, "Well, the best thing you can do young man is join one of the Forces because I'm not going to have anything more to do with you."
"OK, I guess I will."
"What are you going to join?"
I said "Oh, I'd like to join the Navy."
So we agreed on the Navy and we did all the things, like we went to the recruiting office in Bristol, I think that's where it was. We caught the train to Bristol...checked the recruiting things - checked out the books (still got one actually).

I didn't want to join the Army. I wanted to go to sea, I don't know what it was, something in the back of my subconscious made me want to go to sea. So we did the book thing and finally got accepted and then the big day came...I'm going to be shipped off from the bosom of my family and I'm off to be a sailor. And I guess I was a bit nervous about it all because I'm leaving home - well, for who know how long, really - I didn't know how long before I could come home again, right, for leave and things like that. I didn't know what the Navy was going to decide for. I guess I had some idea it was going to be every three months or so. I wasn't quite sure if it was going to be weekends or what they would or wouldn't allow me.

So, I think there was a bunch of us on the train out of Bristol headed for Portsmouth with our suitcases - fifteen and a half - we all looked the same, I suppose. Not all from Newport - from all over the countryside. But that's the jumping off point to go to Portsmouth. So then we got to St Vincent - which is in Gosport, just across the river, or sound, whatever it is. St Vincent wasn't the only boys school - there was also Ganges. Chas was a swede, right - he came from Suffolk - a swede, as in head. They used to call country people from that part of the world swedes. Suffolk born, Suffolk bred, strong in the arm, weak in the head.

So eventually we got to Gosport and the Navy bus came and picked us up with our suitcases, and took us to St Vincent (which isn't there anymore), and you go through these very impressive gates, and then you see the parade ground and all these blocks in the background - with all their windows open to just the right height, all the way along...and I thought "Oh Christ".

I was in Blake division (the other guys were in some other division, I can't remember which), and that was pretty close to the mast. I think there was about six blocks and it's the big mast that everybody had to climb at one time or another - just at the edge of the parade ground.

So, the first thing we got to do is get kitted out. Get rid of your civilian clothes, pack them up and put them in the suitcase. They put them in storage - you couldn't keep them with you. They say "take them home on leave and don't bring them back". Because you're a boy seaman...you're not allowed to go ashore in civvies. There was all kinds of gear you had to get, and they got a stamp made up for you, and then you had to stamp all your clothing - put your name on it at a certain point - and then you had to chain-stitch your name into all these clothes. There were a couple of guys, they were fortunate, there names were Fox and Cox, but I felt sorry for the poor sod whose name was Satterthwaite. I thought I was bad enough with seven letters, I think he had thirteen, so poor bugger, but we all trudged on, and some of the sewing was okay and some was a bit mediocre. You tried to cut corners, but you had to be neat with it.

So the next thing was the haircut, and I remember the barber saying "I hate to cut off a haircut like this - you got a really nice haircut - but I gotta spoil it for you." And he buzzed it right off. That was the shortest I ever had it. After school they weren't quite so fussy about how long - I mean you couldn't have it hanging down the back of your neck - but it could be a bit thicker on the top and sides, but not scalped like we were when we joined up.

And then we got our beds and bedding and lockers and put everything away. There was about 30 of us in this dormitory, I think. You had to strip the bed every morning - fold the sheets, the blanket and put it on the bed - you didn't have footlockers. You couldn't just put the sheets back. They're teaching you to be neat and tidy.

That's where I first got teased about my nose...where this kid was folding his sheets (his name was Bailey) and making his bed, and he turned around to me, held up his sheet and yelled "Hey Hancock...blow!" Well, you might say I was a tad upset, and he could see that, because he was heading down the stairs away from me, and I picked up the neared thing I could, which was a shoe brush and threw it at him with some accuracy and venom (I might say) and hit him right between the shoulder blades, and it hit him that hard it drove him into the wall, and he banged his head. I called him a little shit or something, and that was the end of that. He never said it again. I thought "this is life in the Navy, I suppose."

I think you had a head boy, or class boy, that they picked as a senior boy, but otherwise you're all the same - all terrified out of your skulls. Some would be a little stronger than others - took challenges more easily. Some would be a bit reluctant, but there was no pecking order in the dormitory. There was a block Petty Officer, and a block Chief Petty Officer, I think, that were in charge of Blake division. Blake being the entire building. And then there was Anson, Howe...I can't remember the rest...they were all named after Admirals.

So now we're into our #8s, our working clothes. It's like a long sleeve pale blue shirt, with two pockets and dark blue pants. You got two black hats and one was for best and one was for everyday. And then you had a cap tally that said HMS St Vincent on it. You weren't allowed to fiddle with it - like twist it around toward the front a bit. The bow is supposed to be over your left ear, but you sort of bring them around a bit so it would be over your temple - though the name of the ship still had to be centered at the front of the cap. I could make a bow out of what was left over - I got more sips of rum for making cap tally bows than I could shake a stick at. That was my party piece, making cap tally bows - tying them for guys who seemed absolutely incapable of tying a decent bow.

Food. So we go down to the mess hall. Now the mess hall is right on the bottom floor. There was a kitchen for each block (180 boys - 60 per floor). There were long tables the width of the building, and the table would fit the 30 of us. I can't remember if we went up to the gallery or we got plates. I think we got plates...like a buffet. Now when you're a junior entry you start closest to the kitchen. There's a reason for this, because the floor has a slight slope on it. So when everybody's finished, they all put the benches up on the tables. Then you have to scrub out. You get the soap and water, and all the shit...it's concrete and painted a muddy red...and all the mud and crap got swept down to your end. And as time went on - about once a month - you'd move up a table, and by the time you got to leave Vincent you were at the top. Just about 16 and we're the old farts now. And a new entry was a nozzer.

So we got three meals a day. We were woken up about 6 o'clock, somewhere around there. Breakfast was probably about 6:30 to 7:30. Then you had to scrub out and if you were low people on the totem pole you had to scrub out after every meal. And if you had to be somewhere, you had to make time for that. Classes started at 8:30 or 9. At mealtimes it could sound like an Irish Parliament in there! You were allowed to talk, but there was no skylarking. And at the end of the table there was a big fanny and everyone had to wash their plates up to get the crud off, then they went through a dishwasher.

Then, to make you really feel at home, you had early morning laundry. And that means getting up once a week or so, probably 5:15, with your sheets, underwear...everything. You got a big block of Pusser's Hard (looks like the old bars of Sunlight) and you went down to the laundry with your laundry hamper, and you had a big laundry tub, you stripped off near naked and did your laundry. And then you had to go have a shower. Any inhibitions of privacy went out the window pretty quick. You didn't have any. The only time you had any privacy was under the covers if you wanted to play with yourself. The showers were a cold, barren place. And after your shower, you had to come out and there was a duty Petty Officer would have his little stick, and you had to peel back the foreskin so he could have a look to see if you'd washed behind it properly. He'd get the stick, and go "Let's have a look. Right, you're clean - go get dried off." That would happen every time you had a shower, if there was a Petty Officer there. I found it embarrassing. But it's to teach you that you can't have inhibitions in the Navy. When you get on board a ship, it's too close. You can't be shy or coy about your body. Every so often there'd be inspection and if your clothes or your bedding wasn't clean, you'd be sent down to the laundry room until they were clean.

I never got punishment for anything, I thought it's not worth it, the Navy's going to win every time. I learned pretty quick the Navy is bigger and stronger than me. I think I regretted joining up almost every night - I think most of them were the same. You could probably hear a few snuffles during the night.

You had to learn how to use an iron - and it was an old iron. I think I got a quick once over lesson from a Leading Seaman but after that I was on my own. And if you had to press your serge pants, you had to do it from the inside out. They had seven creases - and when you folded them up that's the "seven seas". There was no steam irons - just a regular iron, and you used a damp cloth and you'd steam one fold one way and the next fold the other way. They show you how to do this, right? And you had to have a nice sharp crease in your #8s, too. And then you had your two sweaters, scarves, white fronts. And one white hat, because you might go into the Mediterranean. And what you used to do in the wintertime...your worst black hat got thrown away, and your best black hat became your second best. And you had to buy them. The same thing applied to your white hats. And when you had black hats, you used to have to brush them - one half one way and the other half the other way. Like cutting the lawn - so it looks nice. There was also the sewing - if I had a button come loose I had to know how to sew it back on.

My classes would be something like rowing, seamanship, gunnery, school, sailing (in a cutter, or a whaler). I liked rowing, but I was better with the oar sticking out to my left. So I always tried to get in the boat and get the oar on that side. Some guys it never bothered - they just jumped in and sat down. Some guys if they were really good at sailing, they let them go out with some senior people and used to do dingy sailing, which is a little boat about 12 feet long. Some guys were really good at it - but it never really interested me. There was always lots of sports. They got you to play everything - you played field hockey (which I loathed - I thought it was the most dangerous sport I'd ever played in my life), rugby if you wanted, soccer. I nearly played for St Vincent - I got a try-out anyway, because the Petty Officer we had in charge of our division (P.O. Cutting - always remember him - nice guy) and he used to do footie, and he'd say "Oh, you ever try for Vincent, Hancock?" I'm only a boy seaman, these are old guys! He said "Well, give it a try, you're not bad." I didn't make it but still he was encouraging about it. But at 15, I didn't have enough confidence - that I was as good as them. When I was 15 I was a shy kid. I didn't like a lot of people - I had Keith Wallace as my friend, but I was nervous around them. I didn't know if I said the right thing, or whatever.

When I joined St Vincent, I didn't know how to swim. The navy liked all of its bodies to (at least) float. I was one of a few that got roped into learning how to swim. One of the P.T. instructors had a novel approach to this problem. He made me wear a small inflatable life jacket. Standing in the shallow end of the pool, he told me to swim a length using the breast stroke. Not being a complete twit I managed to get to the deep end. He got me to turn around - saying he wanted to check my life jacket - then told me to swim back to the shallow end. Same thing happened at the other end, and this went on for two more lengths, as I recall. Then finally he said, "That was very good. You swam that last length without any air in the life jacket. Now you can try it without it." So I swam one more length without it and I passed my swimming test.

There were treats during the evening. There were movies. The strongest thing to drink was called Goffa. It's a fruit drink, they used to sell it at NAAFI (Navy, Army, Air Force Institute or better known as No Ambition and Fuck All Interest).

We had home leave every three months. For, I think, two calendar weeks. There were also long weekends, but I didn't go home then because it was too far and I didn't have the money anyway. So to go on leave they used to give you a warrant - a ticket warrant - and you'd cash that in and change it for a ticket when you got to the station. A couple of kids went on leave and never came back. If they try, the Navy will bring them back, because now you belong to the Navy. But if you keep trying it, they'll just decide it's a waste of time, and they're not going to expend all this effort to put you on board a ship and have the same thing happen.

There was a thing called Beating The Retreat. And it's from a battle or battles - I can't remember. And when everybody Beats The Retreat, everybody retreats... I think it's more of an Army thing, so I don't know why the Navy comes into it. It's one of those things they used to do at St Vincent every year. It was sort of fun - you dress up in these funny old uniforms they drag up from storage and off you go.

Marching...oh Christ, there was lots of marching. You have to learn to keep in step. And the Navy marches to a different step than the Army. The Army is so many paces a minute and the Navy is so many paces a minute. We don't get explained things like this - we're just told this is what it is. And you always have to have something - whether it's a drum or some kind of music to keep you in step. I had a real problem swinging the arms and legs at the same time. Everybody did. But after awhile you get the hang of it. It's not that you're walking...it's that you're all trying to walk together. There was some right shambles at the beginning of that. But you just keep counting to yourself...bump, bump, bump, bump... The band was usually a Royal Marine band. Once you got it right, I guess you sort of felt proud of what you'd accomplished. You didn't want to let your division down, you had to do it properly...make sure you were clean, and the stuff you wore was pressed and the boots were shiny and the caps were clean. You had what they called a passing out parade when you're ready to go to sea.

Before you leave St Vincent's they issue you with a hammock. And you had to do fancy - what they call clews and lashings on the hammock. And there was a neat way of doing it, but nobody bothered after you got to sea. You took your hammock with you on every ship you went to - and your mat and bedding. But after awhile the Navy stopped doing that and you got issued one when you got to the ship. You can always tell a Matelot that's going on draft because he's got a great, bloody kit bag and a hammock right along side him. So you were taught how to lash up a hammock, and all your kit went in your kit bag. After awhile they took away things like the little brown suitcase, and hat-boxes, because it was all white hats - there were no black hats anymore.

You had leave. They had some kind of duty roster for you - like cleaning the barracks. Most weekends you could go out Saturdays and Sundays. We'd go to Gosport and go to the movies, and go to Aggie Weston's (which is a sailor's home) a place for sailors to go rather than going to taverns and whoring around.

So now we're just about the end of our time at Vincent, and all that remains now is to get all our jabs, and get fitted for our sea-suit - which were a little bit tighter and more fitting than the things we'd been wearing for the past year. And by now it's all naval lingo - there's no such thing as walls, floors or ceilings, it's all bulkheads, deckheads and decks. So we're encouraged to talk like this, because you can't go on board a ship - walls, floors and ceilings will get sort of laughed at and no one will pay any attention anyway.

I was at St Vincent one year. I started November 10, 1953 and finished November 16, 1954. I could have gone in at 15 - when I finished school - so I was not the youngest guy there. I was probably middle of the range. You have to be 17 to be an Ordinary Seaman - and if you joined the Navy at that age you wouldn't go to boy's training, you would go somewhere else as Junior Entrants and would go to Ganges. For a lot of young kids it's their first time away from home, in any way, shape, or form. I mean, a lot of them didn't come from homes at all. A lot of them came from orphanages and institutions and things like that. Unless somebody volunteered information about their family, you never asked. If they came from somewhere they didn't like to talk about, they wouldn't talk about it, and you never asked. After awhile you just learned to respect that. Not everybody came from a loving family. There was a seaman's training school called the Arathusa - Michael Baker came from there, and he was one of my buddies on the Bermuda. It's a Naval school, and then they join the Navy as Junior Entrants. The cap tally they used to wear was TS Arathusa (TS for training ship).

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/HMS_St_Vincent_(Gosport_shore_establishment)