The mast....

So what is it with male bravado? See a mountain we have to climb it. Something dangerous - we'll give it a go!

Ganges had a permanent affront to this male condition. There sat on the parade ground a ship's mast - not sure of the actual height but it was about 200 feet. Bloody high, in my opinion.

It was common for trainees, at night, when there was less chance of being spotted, to climb this mast, just to show their 'bravery'. This failed to appeal to me. I already new that I could climb like a monkey - many happy hours spent scaling trees in Somerset, often jumping out of them into piles of hay - kindly provided by the farmers who owned the fields I was leaping into. often suffered gentle mickey taking for my lack of desire on this matter.

After about two weeks we got our first shore leave. A strange term this because we were serving at a shore establishment. Surely, we were already ashore. Not according to the RN. When leaving a naval establishment, be it a ship or a building, you always were said to be going ashore.

So, of a group of us went, to experience the heady pleasures of Harwich.

A few hours later, in darkness, we staggered back to Ganges all a little worse for wear. The result of young boys trying to drink like men! We managed to pull ourselves together to get past the guards on the gate. Drunkenness was frowned upon - particularly drunken trainees!

So, here we were, drunken trainees, still up for a bit of a lark. It was now that I had a rush of alcohol to the brain - I would climb the bloody mast. Not a clever decision given my state.

My classmates, of course, encouraged me. So up I went, past the lower netting up to the third level. Now this was high. It seemed to me in my alcohol driven state that it was a damn site higher than it looked from below.

It was a windy night and the mast was swaying alarmingly. I hadn't finished yet - the last 10 or 12 feet was just a pole that led to the button. The button was the top of the mast with a metal spike - this spike was for the button boy to lock his knees together on whilst standing, yes standing, to attention during ceremonies. Below him would be other trainees - dressing the mast.

So, I shimmied up the pole - touched the spike and climbed down again to my classmates who were now suitably impressed. Of course, a slight slip and I wouldn't be here to tell the tale. One of quite a few stupid things done in my early years - all put down to that very male of afflictions - bravado.