11 minute read
Curious REME Job
“One of the most alien cultures a REME guy could experience” – How Robin Ford, a retired ASM who served the Corps from 1951 to 1970, remembers how, despite intentionally not joining the Navy, he still ended up all at sea as a REME Corporal. Dedicated to Brenda Ford; his clerk, scribe and inspiration of 63 years.
As an ex Corps member (retired ASM), I recently purchased a copy of “From the Archives” by Mike Sibbons. He included stories and anecdotes of great interest and made me reflect on a rather unusual posting I had during my service (19511970). It was not only unusual for me, but also for any V + P Electrician (as was) of those days. Whilst I am one who believes our youth and young soldiers are as good today (and sometimes better) than they were in my younger days in the REME, I wonder how current generation would have tackled the posting I am about to describe.
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In 1959, I was coming to the end of a three year tour in Singapore and anxiously waiting for the ‘lottery’ letter of my next posting. The Singapore posting at LAD 3 BOD RAOC had probably been the best posting in my service. The chief clerk at the “kremlin” informed me one day that I am to be posted back to the UK and to a workshop at Chislehurst, then part of Kent. I constantly heard “you lucky so and so”; even the Padre said it was known as ‘love in a cottage’ country. Having just got married in the garrison chapel, I thought this was great! However, it didn’t last, as another “lottery ticket” was delivered; the bad news was that this cancelled the former and telling me that I was now being posted to a RASC unit. The good news was, or so I thought, was that this job was in Portsmouth. Really good news as I was born in Portsmouth and all my family resides there. I couldn’t believe my luck again – somebody up there likes me!
May I digress, troop shipping was phasing out and air trooping
Oct 1958. Beached on St Kilda delivering radar spares (St Kilda scanned the North Sea/Atlantic during the Cold War)
Supplying Unit on St Kilda with usual assortment of stores/spares and a new diesel generator
was coming in, so my wife and I felt lucky to be able to experience a plane fight. However, after staying in chartered hotels in Karachi, Calcutta and Basra, we were not sorry to arrive in the UK after four days of traveling. And so to Portsmouth and my new posting. On completion of my disembarkation leave, I was instructed to report to my new unit based at Southsea Castle on the Common. How strange, I thought the last bloke to switch the lights off there was Henry VIII. This was the castle where I had spent many a play day in my youth.
Although clearly wearing two stripes, I was greeted by a surly RASC clerk who glared at me with “yeah, what do you want”? He turned out to be a disgruntled young London stock broker doing resentful national service. I will skip my equally belligerent but satisfying response and gave my rank and my name. With a rather more respected attitude, he asked me how long I had been on disembarkation leave. When I told him, he said “well the good news is you’ve got an extra ten days as your boat won’t be back from Stanraer till then as it is on a run to St Kilda!
“Oh! You’re with RASC water borne transport. The transport is a 1000 ton Tank Landing Craft of which there are seven. Your boat is LCT 4097. This is only the land based headquarters for only us twelve ‘lucky ones’.” I was to find out what ‘lucky’ really meant!
With my young wife settled in the bosom of my family
and waiting for a married quarter, I was given joining instructions and a railway warrant to Stranraer – hoke of the Belfast ferry. The long tedious journey to Stranraer via Euston and Dumfries over, I arrived at the jetty at Cairnryan on the Loch Ryan at six in the morning. How do I remember the time – all will be explained. Moored to the jetty was a thousand-ton Mk 8 tank landing craft – my posting!
I put my compliment of kit down on the jetty and went down a short gang plank, but to my amazement, there wasn’t a soul around – was this a modern day version of the Mary Celeste? Then a bleary eyed “Quartermaster” appeared and asked me who I was. Things started to happen and a little life was stirring as well as a mug of tea. As I was talking, I heard engines starting up, which caused me to panic as my kit was still on the jetty. “Don’t panic, it’s just the generators kicking off for a seven o’clock start. That’s how I recall the exact time – panic!
I was now in the land (or perhaps sea) of the ‘Army’s Navy’ as I called it. One of the strangest, most unusual and alien posting any REME bod could have. It might be beneficial to describe 76 Sqn RASC before moving on. The MOD (known as the War Department then) had six of these craft, which were an American design built in the UK for the D-Day landing, but like so many other things, it was not finished in time. There evolved a need to carry military equipment to various locations, for example –Northern Irish garrisons, the Hebrides as well as scheduled sea invasion exercises for UK forces and NATO. So there I was, and it took me twenty minutes to orientate myself – why? Because just one month previously, I was on Singapore embarkation leave, laying on a sandy beach of a tropical island called Blakang Mati and now I stood in the middle of a tine crammed mess deck with some twenty-five squaddies waiting to be served breakfast.
This was my rude awakening to one of the most alien cultures a REME guy could experience. Nobody bothered to speak to me, as new arrivals were common as this was the main ‘National Service boat’ where only one objective dominated – do your time and get out as only ‘regulars’ are mental enough to tolerate this. But I have to say that contrary to this, service on this vessel was at times enjoyable (just a bit) and some parts good (only just!). At this stage, I have to say that I could write chapter after chapter of anecdotes that would perhaps protract this article to an unacceptable length, so I will included only my most memorable facts of interest.
I was second to a REME Sergeant Electrician and our job obviously was all things electrical – some might as well have
‘Empty’ – in rough seas, it skipped across wave tops and rolled into troughs – very unpleasant
come off another planet. No matter how competent you may feel, nothing prepares you for what stared me in the face; like the diesel engine starters the size of a wheel barrow or electric cabling six feet under the bilge water in a copper clam. There were Paxman Ricardo diesel engines each the size of a car, several generators and a switch board the size of a barn door. Lucky I am so emphatic, because there was no pre-training or familiarisation with this world. The method of learning was “sitting with Nellie” or trial and error. My problem was ‘Nelly’ was on shore leave for a week when I arrived and I stood around sucking my thumb and trying to look non phased. The RASC Marine Engineers were of an excellent standard, very competent and led by a WO1 Engineer (the most pleasant and helpful mentor you could have). Mostly the Engineers were quite contemptuous of REME with little respect for REME as they knew we were plucked out of the blue.
I will recall my first day and say that I made my way around this Tardis with narrow passageways, tiny mess room and one ablution for 35 people. The WO2 Quartermaster took me to the sleeping deck where some 32 stacked bunks were creamed in. If
This was my switch board for the whole boat
Engine 1000 HP Paxman Ricardo engines. The starters were as big as a small car engine
you have been on a troopship, you would have found that as a ‘deluxe’ standard compared to the LCT. The Quartermaster showed me a bunk – third up from the floor. The mattress, I believe, was a leftover from a RSPCA dog home but what could I do but ‘bite the bullet’. (He remarked, smiling, that as a REME bloke I was “one of the chosen few” – it took all of my will power not to say – I wish they… chosen someone else!) I was now living and sleeping in a biscuit tin, so what about all this army kit –where to put it?
“That’s easy,” he said, “put it in your case and kitbag and it is stowed in a hatch locker ‘forrard’ but keep your eye on it as time to time there are people who up their deficiencies before they leave”. So what was this all about – my service for this unwelcome hour? The job consisted of the general maintenance of the ship board plant and electric equipment. Not least of all, an emergency lightning system of individual hanging lights with an alkaline battery – constant attention was needed. The heavy winches, motors and generator bearings needed scheduled lubrication, regular cable inspection, sea corrosion checks and other things too numerous to mention. Sounds fairly routine. However, at a hundred miles from the Outer Hebrides in a force eight gale when a diesel pump packs up in an engine room clouded in diesel oil vapour and yourself covered in seasick vomit – I promise you it is not routine.
From the human aspect, many of the crew were ex-merchant men who had jumped ship either in Ozzy or Lagos and on return were nabbed for National Service. Many had total disregard for discipline and even less interest in Army life. NCO rank counted for nothing as everybody had to contribute to domestic life, including a role known as ‘duty peggy’ when two of you served the entire crew with meals that day. This was done in the confines of a biscuit-tin-sized mess deck, where every cubic inch was precious. Army jargon has always existed but this landing craft had a language of its own; part Army, part Navy, part Merchant Navy, all corrupted by local dialects – mainly Scots and West Country.
Creature comforts were sparse. No TV, no chance to practise hobbies, radio without channel choice. There was even a strict rule prohibiting fishing over the side – ships protocol but what a lost opportunity! As for freshly washed clothes… no chance! Only when docked for a while where a local laundry was given a contract. There was a ‘NAFFI’ run out of a hatch locker, which I as an NCO had to account for, but with crew that you compared to a ‘box of crafty monkeys’ it wasn’t an easy duty. You took the blame if it ran out of rationed bottle beer. The galley was staffed by two ACC cooks – one a conscientious tryer, the other known as ‘Blackest Tom’ (he was a constantly filthy Engineer), so you can imagine his hygiene standards with his greasy whites, filthy hands, and constant “BO” in a tiny hot galley. However, we never went hungry and at sea the seasick man denied me food anyway.
But as I settled down to everyday duty as you do, with regular visits to my home port in Portsmouth, where I lived ashore in quarters. When not in Portsmouth the craft took us to many ports of call around the UK and add a changing scene. I was privileged to visit places in Scotland, far more than the average Scot, like Tobermory, Loch Boisedale and, the Ornithologist’s dream, St
Wheel house 50 years before SATNAV
Kilda out in the Atlantic. All in all, the good parts balanced out the unpleasant parts and the experiences alone were priceless. Even Nicholas Monserrat based part of one of stories on a vessel moored in Kilda Bay (where the dramatic event actually happened). Eventually the posting brought promotion to Sergeant and, apart from direct entries into rapid Artisan Sergeants Course, I was one of the youngest in the Corps with three stripes. The bonus was I moved into the senior ranks cabin and mess where, as they say, rank has its privileges. After two years at sea an application for a posting to enable me to apply for the Tiffy course was surprisingly accepted and I went shore side, back to the land of REME. This narrative could go on and on as there are dozens of anecdotes to relate – amusing, dramatic and even tragic but that’s another story. I would not have missed this experience for the world, but would I have liked to do it again – NO! If, as a Pompey man, I had wanted to go to sea I would have joined the Navy – that’s why I joined REME but had to take any posting as it came. You cannot pick and choose. Meanwhile, Craftsmen all, enjoy your service – you can’t beat it.
1959 in Appledore Harbour with Lt Swale on the bridge
