A first look...

So here I am fresh from a year in Gibraltar now just arrived at my next port of call - HMS Osprey, Portland.  This is were I was to meet and marry Sue (29 years on and going strong).

Many a happy night would be spent in the Flying Fish, Osprey's club - all establishments have something similar.

On this evening I was eyeing up the local talent on bop night- Weymouth's finest would often visit.

On this  particular evening I was making a fool of myself on the dance floor with a striking blonde bit.  OK, OK! It was the Babysham girl!  And - Yes!  It was a cardboard cut out - damn it I was desperate!

Well, a charming new baby wren, who I had not noticed, seemed to have found me interesting and, I later learnt, was a bit miffed I had ignored her charming self.  Poor deluded girl!  To cut a long story short.  I treated this poor deluded girl for an ingrowing toenail.  Wooed her at a party with a hidden bottle of Bailleys.

Many years later we are still happily married.  All I can think to explain this is that she must still be very deluded indeed!

A beach god!....

1978.

One last Catalan bay story.

I was, of course, a bit of a beach god - rippling muscles, golden tanned body - the works!  Um, well, not quite.

In reality I was a bit on the thin side - not an ounce of fat on me.  Being fair haired and fair skinned meant that the sun and I were not the best of bedfellows.  In fact, we had a pretty poor relationship truth be told.

So, a draft to Gibraltar for a year would pose a few sunny problems for me.

Obviously, one of the main attractions for most was the sun and beaches of the Rock.  My light skin did pose me difficulties - one look at a hot sun usually meant redness, pain, peeling and quickly back to a bright white finish again.

A strategy was called for.  For the first few weeks of hitting the beach I would lie for the most part completely covered in towels, occasionally breaking cover for a swim and a cool beer.  I could often be seen with the local seagulls standing on me, seemingly not bothered that the towelled rock was rising and falling with my breathing.

I was able to ditch the towels in favour of copious quantities of sun screen.  After a year on the rock, I returned home with a slight, very slight tan.  Impressive.

A Catalan Dip..

1978.

Another day at Catalan Bay.

I had just done a 12 hour night duty in the hospital, a quick dash to my flat, a fried breakfast and then off to spend the day dozing on the beach.  Never a wise approach whilst on nights...

So, having had a bottle of Rose, half a white, a few Calamaris and fries it was time for a quick doze in the sunshine.

One quick doze later - time for a dip.  Another bad idea.  Bottle and a half of wine and I'm in for a dip.  Of I merrily (literally) paddle.  Around the end of the bay, about 50 yards or so out, is a large rock.  About 20 feet below the surface is an archway in this rock.  Excellent.  Down, I go to swim through it.  Another bad idea.  I go into the arch and promptly rise with my back against the jagged top of the arch - a little bit stuck.  As I have mentioned before, one of my strengths is not holding my breathe, I'm bloody hopeless.

Could this be the end of Shiner (my naval nickname) then!  Not, bloody likely!  I manage to scramble out with a slightly cut up back for my troubles.  I get back to the surface and back to the beach.  It still remains a mystery to me, to this day, how I managed to get out of that little predicament.

However, a very good lesson learnt there - don't drink and dive!

A Catalan picnic...

1978.

Catalan bay is the main beach on Gibraltar - a very popular spot.  Particularly with the locals.

On a particularly warm, sunny afternoon I was sitting on the sea wall, surveying the scene below, drinking some Rose and munching through some Calamaris (squid) - still the best I have eaten.

I digress.  below me was a crowded Catalan bay beach - the locals were out in force.  Now these people could seriously picnic.  The beach was crowded with tables, chairs, families, all tucking in to impressive looking spreads of food.  A great day out.

To my surprise, I saw a fairly significant wave gathering, not quite a Tsunami but impressive nevertheless.  The wave swept in from one end of the beach and engulfed the happy campers - sweeping picnics and people before it. It was very funny indeed (nobody was hurt), the wave just decimated every picnic in sight!

I couldn't help but laugh from my perch above the beach - shame on me!

A Spanish hike...

1978.

Whilst in Gibraltar in 78 I shared a flat on Main St with my mate Pete Wright, another branch member serving at RNH Gib.

We had a weeks leave due, so we took of to hitch hike around Spain for a bit - armed with sleeping bags and a few squids!

We took the ferry across to Algeciras and thought we'd kip on the quayside for the night.  A couple of armed Gendarmes turned up and persuaded us that this was not a good idea - onwards then!

If my memory serves we followed a route that took us via Cadiz and back again.  During this time we managed to drink copious quantities of Sangria and slept in a variety of peculiar places under the stars.

I remember a bar in some small village where we drank Sangria out of pint glasses, having not been impressed with the jugs with glasses as was tradition.  As we got progressively drunker I am sure a couple senoritas were taking a positive interest in us.  To drunk and language challenged to respond, we made our way back to where we had decided to kip for the night.  We crawled into our sleeping bags in the pitch black site of our choosing.

A particularly uncomfortable night was brought to an abrupt end in the morning with some foul smelling vegetables landing on us, having been lobbed over a fence from the camp site on the other side.  My discomfort was due to having pitched my sleeping bag onto a mess of animal bones lying in the rubbish tip we had been sleeping in!

We also managed to sleep in a large pipe of some sort or other and under a hedge, I think, in Cadiz city centre.  Now that's what I call roughing it!

I'm sure if Pete ever sees this he'll put me straight on any facts dimmed over time!

Rugby - a star is born?

HMS Osprey, Portland, 1980.

Now an LMA (Leading Medical Assistant), serving at the Royal Navy airbase that is Portland (another since closed, sadly).
I have always been a keen sportsman and have played many sports over the years - some more enthusiastically than others.  I used to be a winger in the school rugby team, being a bit nippy back then.  It was never really a game that excited me too much, seemingly a little pointless.  I, of course, also lacked any desire for communal bathing a bawdy songs with boozed up giants!
So it was, that I found myself drafted into the HMS Osprey rugby team.  Don't ask!  I have no idea how this came to pass.  Nevertheless, I found myself cast in the role of nippy winger again. Hopefully I could manage to keep broken bones to a minimum.
Sitting on top of Portland was the borstal, full of various hard cases, I think.  Now the powers that be thought it was a great idea to play rugby against the borstal guests.  So, sometime during a cold December, the Osprey rugby team of men set off to conquer a few kids residing at Her Majesty's pleasure.  Should be easy the team thought.  Yes - right!
The team of 'kids' looked like they be more comfortable in the scrubs.  No matter, us men would prevail.
I found myself, hurtling down the wing, ball in hand, heading towards the byline.  Ah, glory!  A certain try for the team and me.   20 yards to go, I'd make it - no problem.  Why, oh why, did I choose this moment to glance to my left.  A particularly bad move.  Hurtling towards me was what I can only describe as a human shaped block of granite with, murderous intent in his eyes. Always a quick thinker, I assessed the situation rapidly and took immediate action.  To my undying shame, I threw the rather ridiculous shaped ball to the granite block, thus avoiding, surely, serious injury!
Surprisingly, that was my final rugby game of a short lived career. And, yes, I can live with it!

Where the hell are we?

So here I am - at HMS Raleigh leadership school, some time during 1975, I think.

Leadership school, does what it says in the title. Creates leaders of men - right then - here we go!
14 days of manly fun, marching, running, climbing, classroom leadership lectures, assault courses - fun, fun, fun!
Oh, I forgot to mention - the outward bound bit. You've probably all seen this on the TV by now. Take a bunch of service type people, drop em in the middle of nowhere.  Their mission, if they choose to accept it (no choice here, of course!), is to yomp (in our case - meander) around Dartmoor looking for a few way points, and then to our final destination - hot meal, pat on the back, etc!
Pretty straight forward it would seem.  Well, on this particular leadership course, we were blessed with a particularly mouthy and cocksure stoker (marine engineering mechanic of MEM in navy terms). This guy new it all and wasn't given to taking much advise from his team mates.
As these things often go - this fool was designated leader for my little group.  Oh joy!  This was going to be fun.  Being the leader, he wasn't one for delegation, he would covet the compass - he was an expert in all things remember.  Pity map reading and orienteering weren't really part of his extensive skill set.
To cut a long story short, we spent many cold, wet hours going around in circles, totally lost because of the outstanding leadership of this fool.  Following a minor mutiny (swabs!) we managed to get back to camp tired, wet, hungry and very pissed off!  another glowing example of leadership in action.  This fool probably went on to be a senior officer!

Dr Death..................

My last draft before leaving the branch was to Portsmouth. The NBCD (Nuclear, Biological and Chemical Defence) School at HMS Phoenix. It was here that we instructed all branches in these cheery subjects. The clue is in the name!

I was a Petty Officer by this time and my role was that of an instructor. My subjects were light rescue, first aid and the fun one - the medical effects of NBCD agents.

These agents ranged from mustard gas (first used in Ypres, France to devastating effect in the trenches of WW1), through blood agents like cyanide to nerves agents like tabun and sarin. Some of these charming forms of warfare are thought to have been used by Saddam in Iraq against the Kurds.

When I wasn't putting poor souls through the CS gas chamber I was lecturing them on what to expect if they came into contact with the various agents already mentioned. This, of course, I delivered with a smile resulting in the nickname of 'Dr Death'. Charming, eh?

We also taught decontamination procedures in the event of nuclear or biological attack. This involved the use of fullers earth to absorb any external fluid contamination and then the careful removal of protective clothing. I'm sure you have seen the military dressed in their green hooded NBCD suits.

I came away from this particular role with the feeling that the procedures we taught were somewhat dated. In fact, in the heat of war I doubt how effective they would actually be. To this day I still think if the bombs were dropping, I would prefer to be directly heading one back - poof!!!!!!!

Mind you, my wife maintains if there was any form of disaster she would prefer to be with me, at least we'd have the skills to deal with it - possibly........

What shall we do with the drunken sailor.....?

Young sailors often get into spots of bother due to a little alcohol here and there. I, of course, am no exception to this ancient maritime law.

A couple of examples illustrate the point (I'm sure if I rummage through my memory banks I can find a few more).

The first finds me at RNAS Yeovilton (my first proper draft after training) -now a fully fledged, highly responsible medic. Hmm? Its Friday and time to have a run ashore with the lads. We head for Yeovilton, a couple of miles from the base.

A great evening is had by all. I spent the evening imbibing and fleecing the locals on the pool table. A winning streak sees me the recipient of many free pints of beer. Closing time sees me leave the pub somewhat later than my mates. Worse for wear I determine to walk back to the base. Only a couple of miles after all!

Around 10 hours later I make it. Roger Bannister - you can relax. This amazing feat of endurance and speed is probably due the the fact that I spent the walk taking one step forward and two steps back! With the occasional fall into the fields alongside the road. I'm not even sure how I managed to get through the gate without incurring the wrath of the officer of the watch. Ah well , we live and learn. Well....perhaps not.

My second example finds me on another run ashore. This time in Plymouth, another Friday night. The details are a little dim, however, the end to the night is very clear in my mind. I am slowly waking up, head pounding, cold and surrounded by noise. As my consciousness clears, I realize that I am not where I should be, that is in my bed back at the hospital quarters. I am, in fact, quite high up a fir tree in the middle of a roundabout in the centre of Plymouth. The noise is that of traffic and Saturday morning shoppers!

I casually climb down from the tree, drawing curious glances from the locals, and gingerly make my way back to the hospital to get some more kip, in my bed this time.

Boys will be boys...!

Sometime in 1984

I am still serving on HMS Yarmouth. We are now acting as guard ship in the West Indies.

So what is a guard ship? Basically the ship's duties are to patrol the islands and to respond to any requests for help, particularly in disaster areas. For example if an island was struck by a hurricane or tsunami we would provide search and rescue assistance, medical support and disaster relief.

Of course, during such a deployment there is usually plenty of opportunity for shore time to explore the islands. This is one of the better locations!

Now, let me explain a little about 'Jolly Jack' to you. He is away from home and tends to adopt the attitude that 'what they don't know, won't hurt them!" So, presented with the opportunity for, let's say, some female company, he usually doesn't try too hard to resist.

We are alongside in Antigua. This is one of the larger islands that is at once beautiful but of stark contrasts. On the one hand, there are beautiful beaches and expensive homes, on the other, there are many people living near the poverty line.

I am enticed ashore by a couple of my mess mates and we head out to find a suitable watering hole. This doesn't prove too hard and we settle down for a few beers! I haven't led a sheltered life but it takes me awhile to notice my surroundings fully.

While I sit at the bar I notice that there are quite a few of my ship mates here also. They regularly disappear upstairs and appear a little later. I casually mention this to my mates. They aren't concerned, after all we are sitting at the bar of a fairly large brothel! My ship mates are getting acquainted with the locals!

A few days later, we are back on patrol and my sick bay is pretty busy. I have about 25 cases of STD's (sexually transmitted diseases). This to Jack, is an accepted hazard of his life style! Around 15 of these new cases appear to have got their little problem from the same girl - yep, you guessed it - this group paid a visit to the brothel in Antigua.

So, many smears and painful injections later, all of the new cases are treated. The worrying thing, for me, is that it is during this period that the world is beginning to wake up to the threat of Aids. One of my roles is to lecture the crew on health & hygiene. But Jack, I think, always adopts the attitude to jump first and ask questions later!

Of course, as part of my stores I carry a good supply of contraceptives. I don't think there was a single occasion during my time on the ship that I was ever asked for any of these!

Emergency dash...!

RNAS Yeovilton 1975

After the army cadets I was 'properly' drafted to my first shore establishment. Again, oddly, it was an airbase. Yes the Royal Navy does have them. This one was at Yeovilton in Somerset.

This was my first experience of working in a sick bay serving the medical needs of the base. Duties could range from mundane administration, treating the sick and dashes to the airfield for emergency or precautionary landings of aircraft. All in all an interesting place to work.

Again, I volunteered to work over the Xmas period. As I have said, this is usually a pretty good time on a naval base. Paddy was my colleague who would be working over the festive period with me.

The days were passing fairly slowly and quietly with not much happening. This was to change on Xmas eve.

Paddy and I, together with a nurse were watching a bit of telly to while away the hours, when we received a call. One of the duty drivers had taken a turn and didn't look to good. Paddy and I dashed around in the ambulance.

When we got there, the driver had, indeed, taken a turn for the worst - a major heart attack. He was collapsed in his chair - no pulse or respiration. Paddy and I went into auto. We rapidly got him into the ambulance and sped of towards Yeovil hospital which was 7 miles away.

We now had to keep this guy alive until we got there! Let me explain; hurtling along at 70 miles an hour in the back of a range rover ambulance is no fun. The thing rocks and rolls alarmingly. Now, normally, one of us would have been giving mouth to mouth, the other cardiac massage. In this case, this was proving to be impossible.

Paddy and I quickly worked this out. I basically, held on tight to Paddy to stabilize him while he worked on the patient. We got to the hospital in double quick time. Happily, the patient survived this episode and made a good recovery.

Back to the telly then!

Trained and ready for action....!

Sometime in 1975

So here I am, fully trained. I am now an MA (Medical Assistant) ready to take up medical duties wherever I may be drafted. So, will it be a ship, abroad or a shore establishment? Any of these would be exciting for me.

My first draft? The army cadets, of course! I will be going to spent 2 weeks based at Tidworth army barracks looking after around 300 army cadets on their summer camp. Oh well, how hard can it be?

I pack my medical kit, a grand term this. It is, actually, a fairly large canvas bag packed with some medical kit including a few choice drugs. Should suffice; I wouldn't expect more than a few cuts and bruises - nothing too challenging. Only a bunch of kids after all!

First thing to note is army food. Although we camped out in the surrounding area, remote from the base the food deserved a mention. Navy food is pretty good but, the army have got it taped when catering in the field. The food was superb. However, I digress. Back to the cadets.

Expecting no more than a few minor injuries I was presented with a little more than that. These kids had fits, hysteria, broken limbs, lacerations, beri beri, trenchfoot, swamp fever, the list goes on! OK the last three were a slight exaggeration!

Blimey! Fresh out of training and these youngsters were certainly presenting me with enough problems to keep me busy. The 2 weeks passed rapidly. Great fun and a great experience, in fact.

Over the years I was to work with the RAF and the Army again. More of that later..

New arrivals....

RNH Stonehouse 1974

Every month or so, can't remember exactly, there would be a new class of nurses arrive for training. This was quite an event for most of the male staff at the hospital - probably a slightly scary one for the new nurses!

The hospital, of course, had it's own bar called the Geneva club. It was here that ratings would gather in the evenings for a few beers, a disco or as a prelude to a run ashore. This was also a place of ordeal for a new class of 'baby' nurses.

I remember these nights very clearly. Once the new nurses had settled into their new surrounding the would pay their first visit to the Geneva club. It must have seemed like a cattle market to them. Male staff members would be in attendance to 'welcome them' and eye up the new talent! I'm sure that this first visit to the club must have been an uncomfortable experience.

Of course, these freshly pressed nurses would soon become extremely comfortable in their new surroundings. Stonehouse was a great place to live and work.

However, I always felt some sympathy on these nights and, would often introduce myself to help them feel welcome. I knew many, many nurses during my time at Stonehouse, purely as friends. There was many a good night at the Geneva club!

Xmas - ho ho ho....

If you are single, Xmas in the Navy can be good fun, even when you are working.

Here's an example....

It's Xmas 1974, I am working on the officers ward at RNH Stonehouse in Plymouth. I have reached the heady heights of PMA (Probationary Medical Assistant). I am working the day shift over the Xmas period.

Xmas eve sees a pretty good 'thrash' going on in the Geneva club - the hospital bar. There is much alcohol and frivolity - a good evening is being had by all!

Note to self - in future try to keep alcohol consumption down to sensible levels when I have to work the following morning. On this occasion I fail to do this and get well into the fun! Frivolity and alcohol consumption goes on late into Xmas eve - no surprises there then!

The next morning sees me waking up not feeling quite as cheerful as the evening before. I have the mother of hangovers - take it like a man! I report for duty on the officers ward - smartly dressed in pristine ward whites, oh.. and 6 foot of tinsel wrapped around my neck. seemed like a good idea at the time - Xmas morning after all!

The sister in charge, takes one look at my sorry face (I must have looked terrible) and sends me to lie down in an empty room. This I do with gratitude and promptly fall asleep. Remember, I am supposed to be on duty.

Sometime later I am woken with a gentle shake. Let me explain something - it is a tradition for the senior officers of the hospital to do rounds on Xmas morning to spread some good cheer. I try to focus, still feeling bloody awful from the night before, this proves to be difficult. I am dazzled by the amount of gold braid that appears before my eyes!

It is, of course, rounds! There in front of me is a Rear Admiral, the Executive Officer, Matron and assorted others. Bloody hell! I must be deep in the mire. The Admiral wishes me a very merry Xmas, which I return. He about turns with the rest of the party and exits the room.

I promptly roll over and go back to sleep. To this day - I have no idea how I got away with it! I do remember that the Admiral in question was Rear Admiral Binns, he had come through the ranks - a fairly rare thing to achieve his rank (hell he was even rumoured to have tattoos!). Maybe, he remembered what it was like to be working on the wards at Xmas!

Promotion..........

Promotion in the Royal Navy is, like civvie street, dependent on other people's views.

The Navy operates within a divisional system with a divisional officer looking after a group of lower ranks ( a division ). Within this division will be a number of officers, non-commissioned officers(nco) and junior ratings. A chain of command exists within this setup and is, actually, a reasonable way of doing things.

You do remain, however, dependent on the view of your divisional officer when it comes to promotion. It was this fact that, ultimately, decided my future for me.

Promotion through the ranks comes from passing the right exams and courses, combined with a six monthly assessment of character and efficiency. The latter is crucial, from this assessment a number of points are awarded - these points determine when you get promoted. So, pretty important then.

When assessing character and efficiency an individual is usually compared to other people of the same rank and job - so an MA will be compared to other MAs within a division. So far, so good. But - what happens when you are the only one with your rank and job?

On joining the Leeds Castle in 82 I was the only medic on board so could not be compared to other medics of my rank. The approach from my divisional officer on board, the first lieutenant (jimmy), was to evaluate my performance as a medic - the only way to do it, really. A medics role is totally different to say a seaman or a mechanic on board a ship.

By the time I joined the Leeds Castle I was an officer candidate; in fact, this is what got me the gig in the first place. On leaving the ship, after the conflict, my conduct was VG (Very good) and my performance Superior, with a glowing report from the first lieutenant - this is good, meaning that high points would be awarded towards promotion to Petty Officer.

This level of assessment continued until I joined HMS Yarmouth. Still an officer candidate my DO dropped my assessment to Satisfactory - this was, of course, enough to put back my promotion a good six months. He, apparently, thought it appropriate to compare my to seamen on board who spent the day painting and doing seamen type things. Of course, my responsibility was too ensure the health and welfare of the ship's company was maintained.

So, one individual affected my promotion prospects because he failed to understand the role of a medic on board a frigate. This, ultimately, made up my mind to withdraw as an officer candidate and to leave the RN prematurely after 14 years of service.

Mind you, there are plenty of ineffectual and frankly poor managers littering civilian companies - so no surprises there then!

Make my day - punk.....!

16th June 1982.

We are acting as the guard ship at Ascension Island.

This is particularly boring although the sun shines constantly.

A party of us go ashore for a tour of the defence stations on the island and a shoot in the afternoon. Yes - the fools allow me to fire a weapon - bloody crazy if you ask me!

Let me explain - a naval medic gets to carry a weapon, in this case a 9mm browning pistol, in a combat situation. The objective, of course, is to protect any casualty you have in your care. Yeah - right! I agree with this in theory but reality bites. If I see any enemy approaching me, regardless of casualties or not, I will definitely have a pop!

The shoot in the afternoon goes well. I am, in fact, a pretty good shot. That is providing, the target is no more threatening than a stationary oil drum. God knows what would happen if presented with a moving target.

So, there you have it, fear not, Leeds Castle's very own 'Dirty Harry' is on hand. Blimey!

Anyone for a dip.......?

11th July 1982

We are again in the TEZ and spend the day transferring stores to RFA Fort Grange. This was to prove quite an eventful day.

The weather was very cold and the seas a little choppy, but not too bad. The flight deck is covered with a thick sheet of ice, making moving stores extremely difficult - however, we press on.

The stores are being transferred via the ship's sea riders and with the aid of a Sea King helicopter from the Fort Grange. Quite an impressive site seeing this large aircraft landing and taking of from our flight deck!

The crew works hard getting the stores shifted and all proceeds well until mid afternoon when the Sea King has a mishap. It had just taken off from our flight deck and had moved away some 30 yards, or so. It obviously had developed some sort of engine problem because it just dropped from the sky! Fortunately, not from a great height - if it had done, the outcome may have been different.

The aircraft's flotation bags deployed as it hit the water and then it just sat there for a while bobbing in the water. Our sea rider responded rapidly and recovered the crew with minimum fuss. A good job - well done. The aircraft's crew were all fine with no injuries. They had not been immersed, so no problems with hypothermia or water ingestion. In fact, they were drier than the sea rider crew that picked them up!

There was a further bit of drama when the Fort Grange's sea rider capsized while trying to attach a line to tow the ditched aircraft back to their ship. This crew were then rescued by our sea rider crew. Again, no injuries.

I can't quite remember the fate of the Sea King - I suspect it sunk.

So, another eventful day demonstrating the skills of the well trained men of the Royal Navy!

Is it a bird, is it a plane....?

1982 in the TEZ, South Atlantic.

Well, I'm back were I started these ramblings - I'm in the crows nest again - taking the middle watch duty (midnight to 0400).

Again I'm up here keeping lookout for signs of enemy aircraft. A pretty boring, but necessary job. I continually scan the horizon looking for tell tale signs of aircraft above. We are particularly concerned about Hercules bombers who have already bombed a tanker; these planes have a range of 1800 miles so are an obvious threat.

I've been up here for a couple of hours and am feeling pretty tired. It's difficult to keep awake and concentrate but I manage it.

The ship is rolling gently as we make our passage. Wait a minute! Is that a light? As the ship rolls a light high in the black sky comes into view and then fades again. As the ship rolls I see this light a couple of more times. Bloody hell! Could that be the light from a high flying plane - does anyone else see it?

I phone the bridge and talk to the officer of the watch to report what I see. A couple of minutes pass before he gets back to me. Well, I feel a bit of a pillock.

The light in the sky that comes into view when the ship rolls is, in fact, the moon! Amazing what tricks fatigue can play on the senses.

Mind you, the officer of the watch thought that it was better to be safe than sorry!

Leaning......

Well, here we are, steaming from ascension to the TEZ with more supplies to deliver throughout the fleet.

The Leeds Castle from the superstructure to aft is all flight deck - this probably accounts for half of the length of the ship. Pretty big for a ship of this size.

On this particular foray South, we are stuffed to the gunnels with stores - it seems that every nook and cranny has found a home for something. This means that stores have been stacked and secured on the flight deck.

These supplies take up a significant area of the flight deck and are stacked 12-15 feet high or more. No problem while the seas remain relatively benign.

As we get further South the conditions deteriorate with increasingly stronger winds and heavy swells. During this weather things take a dramatic turn.

It is early in the morning, maybe 5 or 6 am - it's still pretty dark outside. The seas are heavy and the winds strong. I am awoken with a start. 'All hands to the flight deck' is piped over the tannoy. As I struggle to get aft, I can't help but notice that the ship is listing severely to starboard - we are, in fact, at a crazy angle!

As I reach the flight deck it is now obvious what the problem is - the stores have slid across the flight deck and now lie starboard. The only thing keeping them from Davey Jone's locker appear to be the guardrails. The crew is turned to and gets rapidly to work.

We spend the next few hours shifting the stores back to a centre position on the flight deck. We then make sure they are firmly strapped down - panic over.

Mind you - it was a little hairy for a while. Being no seaman, I have no idea how severe a ship can list before it capsizes - I sure as hell didn't want to find out. I'm no Gene Hackman!

It could have been me..........

HMS Antelope took part in the Falklands War. On May 23, 1982, while Antelope was on air defence duty at the entrance to San Carlos Water, protecting a beachhead established two days earlier, she came under attack by Argentine A-4 Skyhawk jets. Not long after the ship exploded while bomb disposal worked onboard.

This was a particularly sobering experience for me. Let me explain...

Back in 1980, I think, my mate Andy Till and I were serving at the naval airbase - HMS Osprey in Portland. Now, both of us had not yet had a draft to a ship - this is 7 years after joining the Navy. This was not particularly unusual, there were a lot of medics and not too many ships. Nevertheless, both Andy and I were keen to serve on board a seagoing warship - after all, that's what we had joined and trained for.

The Navy attempts to send you on draft (new posting) to the ships or establishments you asked for. Often this is not possible. Andy and I both put down Antelope as a choice for our next draft.

At the time, I had been dating my girlfriend, Sue, for a month or so - nothing too serious at this stage (she is now my wife of 26 years and counting). Whilst having a beer or two at HMS Osprey's club, the Flying Fish, I happened to mention to Sue that I had put in for the Antelope. Well! She rushes out of the club in tears. Now, what the hell had I done? Women, eh!

It was obvious that our relationship was a little more serious than I had thought. So, I withdrew my request for the Antelope. Subsequently, Andy got the Antelope as his next draft. So there you have it, my best mate sailed to the Falklands in 1982 on the Antelope and the rest is history. Fortunately, Andy survived the fate of the Antelope, at least physically. I saw him a few years later - he wasn't the same happy go lucky guy I used to know.

There are no guarantees that I would have got the Antelope if I had left my request in place - there is a good probability that I might have. I do know, that Sue, inadvertently, stopped me making what could have been a fatal mistake....

Footnote. The Antelope had been in the TEZ for one day before it was crippled.