I joined HMS Manxman as an Ordinary Seaman – National Service – in January 1956. She was lying in the dockyard at Valetta, Malta, and we, her new crew, were temporarily housed at the shore base known as HMS Ricasoli, overlooking Valletta Harbour. Our immediate task was to prepare Manxman for sea trials following the refit she had just undergone.
Life on board the ship was a great eye-opener for us ‘green’ landlubbers. Accommodation was much more cramped than we had expected and it took some time for us to become accustomed to sleeping in hammocks above the mess-deck dining table. Naval routines and traditions, accumulated over hundreds of years, were strange to us. The regular naval ratings must have viewed us as an imposition because we had to learn even the most basic features of shipboard life. Looking back, I can sympathise with the Petty Officers and Leading Hands who had to ‘wet-nurse’ us through those early days. They were not always patient with us but we all learned, often the hard way, to get along together. Gradually we were welded together into a workable ‘machine’ or team so that the ship could become a useful part of Her Majesty’s Mediterranean Fleet. There was much work to do, though we had little idea, during those early days, what it might entail.
Our superiors had the job of selecting men (there were no women serving afloat in those days) for the multitude of tasks vital to the efficient running of the ship. My first role was as Main Signals Office Messenger. Apparently I was selected for that because I had some basic skill in use of the typewriter (learned while I was a Police Cadet in London). Apart from typing and duplicating messages I was required to distribute copies personally to the Wardroom Officers and CPO’s. But many other tasks fell to my lot, floor-scrubbing and cleaning being the least of them. A large number of new signal flags had arrived and they each had to be fitted with toggles and their rope-ends back-spliced – a job that could be fitted in at any spare moment between other activities. I remember working in the MSO with Signalman Whinney who hailed from Ipswich in my home county of Suffolk.
Fast Motor Boat
After some months at sea I was told that I had been selected to serve as bowman with the crew of the Fast Motor Boat (FMB). Evidently my previous boating experience had been noticed on some form filled in weeks earlier. This was regarded as a ‘plum’ job because, when in harbour, it relieved me of some of the watch-keeping that my mess mates had to do. I was pleased to discover that the Coxswain of the FMB was Leading Seaman ‘Nobby ‘Clark who was from my home town of Lowestoft. Whether or not I learned his true first name I cannot recall, but he was an excellent coxswain and a fine seaman all round. The ship’s Boat Officer was Lieutenant Tait.
Being crewman of the FMB was an enjoyable experience, most of the time, and I counted myself privileged to have been chosen for it. The third member of our crew, the engineer, a ‘stoker’ of several years’ service, was a fiery Scot with red hair and a sharp tongue who did not receive ‘national ords’ with any pleasure. However, we learned to trust each other and worked well together. Much could be said of my experience as bowman of that boat but, as an aside, may I interject a story?
Man Overboard
Early one morning when Manxman was approaching Cyprus, a seaman, who shall be called ‘Nameless’, was sent to uncover the FMB and prepare it for lowering. It would be needed upon reaching the coast to disembark a sizeable number of War Correspondents – destination Suez. It was dark at the time but we could just see a few lights on the shore, several miles away. Nameless climbed up onto the FMB, still on its davits, and began uncovering the craft. He must have missed his footing, for he fell off the boat into the sea. Fortunately someone witnessed his fall and reported ‘man overboard’ to the officer on the bridge. By the time the ship was stopped Nameless must have been about a half mile astern of us. Manxman was turned around and steamed back on a reciprocal course. All hands were alerted to watch for their hapless comrade, the large signalling lamp being employed as a searchlight. Of course the War Correspondents, true to their journalistic calling, were at the ready with cameras and notebooks. Thankfully Nameless was eventually spotted and lifted back on board, safe and sound. But, thinking that his fall had not been noticed, he had cast off his Wellington boots (service issue) in order to swim for the shore. A wise precaution, you might think, but he was later charged with some offence against Naval Regulations for losing those items of property. Such is service life! Of course, the press men made much of the whole event but I overheard one of the crusty old sailors remark, “The things some people do to get their picture in the papers!”
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