29WTB

Or who was it, that came down in the lift into the foyer of the hotel we were staying at in Williamshaven. Completely naked and the worse for alcohol, clutching his Dhobi-bag. He had spent the previous half hour walking around the upper floors looking for the bathroom. He was then spotted by one of the crew who inadvertently removed his towel, and pressed the down button on the elevator. Knowing full well that the next stop would be bang in the middle of the hotel foyer for everyone to admire.

At the same time a drinking competition was taken place nearby in the bar. The stewardess was introducing us to "Moorgeist", or doodle-bug fuel as we came to know it. We would have to set light to it, blow it out and then drink it rapidly. Unfortunately somebody forgot the "blowing it out" bit.

Whilst undergoing Contractors Sea Trials all the food onboard was supplied by Vickers Shipbuilders. And very good it was too. Lobsters, Salmon, Trout etc, but towards the end of the trials it was realised that there was still plenty of Steak left. So Steak was put on the menu for Breakfast, Lunch and Evening meal times. This didn't get rid of the steak fast enough so another idea from the stew-burners (chefs) was employed if you asked for fried bread you had to have an extra steak with it. Or if you wanted a portion of chips you had to have an extra steak with that also. On arrival in Plymouth the crew was sick to death of steak. I was offered a lift to the bus station by one of the Senior Rates who's wife had come to collect him. Whilst traveling to the station the wife said she had something special prepared for him. Thinking it was something sexual, he had a big grin on his face. This suddenly changed when she informed him she had purchased a nice piece of steak for his supper. We had only been alongside for an hour and their first domestic was taking place.

Another of the Senior Rates was also offered the opportunity to remove some of the fish from the cold store and decided to take a half hundred-weight of fish home with him in the back of his estate. He travelled home and did what most crew do, after a couple of weeks at sea. It was only when he got in the car on the Sunday night to travel back did he remember about the fish on the backseat. It was too late, the car stunk to high heaven of rotting fish.

Other culinary delights we were exposed to were 'Baby's Heads', 'Shit on a Raft', 'Elephants Footprints', 'Critter Fritters'and 'Horse Cock'. And you could guarantee if it was a rough sea the skipper would always come to periscope depth at meal times. This ensured the crew would be eating their meals off what ever plate happened to be hurtling past them at the time. Or they would wait until we had left the surface and continue their meal eating off the carpet on which it had landed.

Evening Movies who remembers after Jimmy's Round's a vote would be taken as to which movie we were going to watch. Having spent half an hour arguing with Frank Grinall the projectionist, an agreement was finally reached. Then on entering the fan room where the movies were stowed it was found that the movie reels we needed were jammed at the back behind the precipitator. So the nearest film cans were grabbed which was usually the movie we had watched the previous seven nights. Where did they find these movies? They were all B type with unknown actors and actresses and appalling story lines. And what was the animorphic lens supposed to do? You either watched the movie with characters 18 feet tall or 14 feet wide and nothing in between. Then you would have movie marathon nights where you would stay up and watch all 5 Rocky films or 3 Rambo films one after the other.

And the time everyone thought we were going to a Sumo Wrestling Club called the Geisha. Even when we knocked on the door and a little slot opened with a pair of eyes looking back at us. Even when asked if we were "off duty policeman", did we suspect anything. Having gained entry we asked what the price was. "50 dollars minimum", came the reply. "50 dollars to watch Sumo Wrestling, you got to be joking!!!". Nobody said anything about watching it, this was a place where you paid 50 dollar's to go into a room and have a young lady? beat the hell out of you!! The more you paid her, the more she beat you. We all decided to make a quick exit for the door.

At Wet-N-Wild the water theme park in Orlando, a dozen of the crew floating gently down the artificial river and coming to a stop in one of the shallow pool's. Decide as other people pass, to tip them out of their inner tubes and propel them on over the lip of the pool. After about 10 minutes, approximately a hundred inner tubes have been accumulated. As more and more bodies reached the end of the river minus their inner-tubes, the life guard's suspicion's were aroused. By this time the queue of people waiting to obtain an inner-tube at the bottom was getting longer and longer. Several more minutes past before the intensity of water pressure building up behind the inner-tubes ensured their liberation from the crew's clutches.

Then on to the water flume, about 6 storeys high and comparable to a toboggan run. As we neared the start one of the crew noticed the lifeguard looking down. He was ensuring that the person already on the flume had reached a flag before he could let the next rider go. This was to ensure a safe distance was maintained. It was suggested that the first person who went down was to stop just after the flag out of sight of the life-guard. All agreed. First person went down, got past the flag and stopped. Next person down past the flag and link up with the first person. This went on until all six had linked up. By this time a large quantity of water had built up behind the group. Everybody wrapped their legs around the person in front, and off we went. Instead of going down at about 10 mph, the sheer weight of bodies and water following behind them, put the speed at nearer 30 mph. Instead of taking curves gently, we were up on the side walls looking like something from a St Moritz toboggan competition. The final bend led into a dark tunnel from where you were ejected into the pool at the bottom. A couple of the crew who had decided to remain at the bottom and watch, all they saw for a while, was every twenty second's somebody would come out the pipe and drop into the pool. Then they heard an almighty commotion, then witnessed an aggregation of bodies come hurtling out the pipe and skip across the surface of the swimming pool for about 40 feet, a bit like a stone skipping across a lake. Excellent!

And Dave Goodhead who had hired a Pontiac in Cocoa Beach. Only to take back a 'Gull-Wing' to the car rental shop, having reversed it into a lamp-post.

Dave 'I could sleep anywhere' Goodhead, whilst flying out by Hercules to Gander, Newfoundland decided to get his head down on the cargo ramp at the back of the plane. After a couple of hours the load master informed us we would be landing shortly. And that we were to buckle up. Dave was given a shake, only to find he couldn't get up. His jacket had frozen to the fuselage of the plane. Having released him from his jacket, we landed at Gander and were then transported to our hotel. I was sharing a room with Dolly Gray. Got the key's to the room, went in and plonked myself down on the nearest double-bed. Bad move, Dolly leapt onto the other bed and discovered his was a water bed. There then followed a heated discussion, as to who was to get the water-bed! Trying to pull rank didn't help as Naval Regulations didn't cover the use of sleeping equipment. After a few bevy's around town it was decided we would share the water-bed, with a couple of strategically placed pillow's between us. It was no good though during the night we just "drifted apart".

On two occasions I have witnessed fingers going missing. The first instance was when the boat was leaving Barrow-in -Furness for the first time on Contractor's Sea Trials. We were just passing out the lock when a tug came alongside. A dockyard worker standing at the front of the tug leant over to grab the ladder on the side of the boat, not realising the tug was still moving forward. His Thumb was sliced off between the ladder and the hull of the tug. The junior rates being the considerate people they are. Sent him a pair of gloves for Christmas, one with four fingers and a thumb. And the other with just four fingers. To rub salt into the wounds, they got it mixed up and cut off the thumb on the wrong glove!

Then many years later on my last trip on Spartan, we were within twenty miles of Plymouth Sound having spent two and half month's at sea. I was going back aft to check the Hydroplanes and Steering Hydraulic Plant. When going into the forward tunnel airlock, I was joined by some on-going watch back-afties. One of them (Phil Boland), was closing the hydraulically operated doors whilst talking to someone outside the airlock. The door closed, we then stood there watching this blood squirting everywhere. Where the bloody hell is that coming from? We look at each other and notice the blood is coming from Phil who had just shut the door. He had been so busy talking to his mate outside, that he hadn't realised his finger was resting on the locking mechanism. As the door closed it had ripped the end of his finger off and he hadn't even noticed. It's only British Craftsmanship that can give you that sort of cutting ability. Anyway we immediately called for medical assistance, the Doc looked at it and decided to put a big bandage on it. A radio signal was sent to Plymouth to inform them we had a casualty, and to have an ambulance standing by, and also to inform his wife. We asked the Doc, what we should do with the severed finger, he said 'chuck it away' as it was too badly damaged. It was planned for later that evening, to put the finger in the 'garbage grinder'. This machine was used to 'digest' all the waste generated onboard. It could very easily eat steel bolts, tin cans and pork chop bones etc. We wondered what a human finger sounded like going through it! We arrived alongside and the ambulance crew came onboard and examined the injury. Said there was a good chance of sewing the finger back on, where was it? Luckily for us we still hadn't disposed of it. Jesus, Phil would have done his nut if he had found out we were about to "grind it". His wife was none too happy, it was her favourite finger! But she did break out into a smile, when she saw the size of his bandage!!!

Who was the lower level stoker that used to leave a certain sticky liquid on the handle of one of the bilge suction valves just as he was going off-watch. He would hand over to his relief and on passing up through the Manoeuvring Room going forward, would mention that such and such a bilge would need pumping.

A Pipe from maneuvering "Lower level, Manoeuvring pump Engine Room Bilge"

Lower Level "Roger pump Engine Room Bilge".

A thirty second break then from the lower levels, would be heard profanity s galore. You dirty this!!!. You filthy that, I'm gonna rip your bo**acks off etc.etc.

Alongside in Faslane. The Forward Staff were loading up with Hydraulic Oil, sent Dave 'Crashman' Ashley over to clag up the shore supply cable onto the connection in the small arm's locker. Then sent someone down into the Torpedo Stowage Compartment to monitor the tank level to make sure it wasn't over-filled. Started pumping 10,20,30,40,50,60 gallon's transferred, then a message from the TSC, when are they going to start pumping. We are pumping 70, 80, 90 gallons. Another shout from the boat, still nothing going into the tank. Where the bloody hell is it going then. Stopped pumping go onboard to check. He's only gone and clagged it up to the wrong connection!!! He connected it to the Amine filling line. Leg it down to three deck into the Scrubber room to be greeted by a pink mist enveloping the compartment. The Amine tank had distorted and ruptured releasing atomised oil into the room!! We had to drain down the tanks and get the tank seam re-welded by the dockyard staff. The contaminated Oil/Amine mix was then transferred to the Slop/San tank ready for pumping through the shore waste connection. This was to be my final job as duty forward technical junior rate, so at 4 a.m. started pumping the tank to shore. At about 5.30am got a call from the casing watch keeper to come up onto the casing. There stood a very irate Officer-of-the-Day from the Diesel boat parked directly behind us. Our shore connection had broken, and instead of pumping the tank's contents to shore it had basically pumped everything out into the Clyde. What made matters worst, was the hydraulic oil that was released, when it came into contact with sea water turned a horrible shade of pink. It had floated to the surface and drifted onto the diesel boat. Most of their structure around the waterline was now pink, and they had just painted it ready for inspection, to be held that very day. Oop's! Then to add insult to injury the Clyde Police River Service turned up in their launch demanding an explanation for the pollution. Our OOD was then summoned to 'smooth' things over. Needless to say Crashman was never asked to bring on hydraulic oil again. And although the tank was welded they could never get the distortion out, and it served as a constant reminder to him every time he went into the Scrubber Room, which was usually a dozen times a day to take readings.

Scroat's Special Sock. Yuck!

I had deliberately forgotten this story, unfortunately Handsome George Malone would like it to be included! This is George's description of events

I remember finding Scroat Ealings wa*k sock under his pillow in the bunk space. I was doing evening rounds with the TAS Officer and we had to investigate this evil smell. When we piped Scroat (who was on watch in the Sound Room) to the Control Room to explain what this disgusting article was, he grabbed his pride and joy from the finger and thumb of TASO and simply said " hey - that's my wa*k sock, giz it back" and then walked away disgusted at the idea that we had disturbed it. TASO was so gutted and blown away at the idea of touching this that he sulked off to the wardroom without any further comment, whilst the control room watch keepers fell about in bulk! Nice one scroat - where are you now?

Contributed by George Malone.

I was sad to read of Coxswain Harrison - we has a real character, especially when he lashed me up with pusser's rum during a 'splice-the-main-brace' alongside in Lisbon. After that I went ashore and had all my money robbed from my shirt pocket during a run "Downtown"! I still reckon it was something to do with wobbly sea legs and not the sixteen pints....

[Rattler]. 16 pints!!! Perhaps you should have had a Chili Kebab instead?

I have two fond memories of Coxswain Harrison. The first was when he sent me up to the Trident Club in Faslane as there had been a bit of trouble there the previous night. I went up to investigate and somebody had deposited something? on the stage, and the cleaning ladies were refusing to clean it up. They told me to do it? I explained to them that I had been on duty the night it had happened and so there was "no way in hell" that I was going to clear it up. The Coxswain was informed and he went and dealt with it. It turned out that it had nothing to do with the Spartan crew.

The second memory was the Coxswain didn't like to see junior rates watching video's in the mornings at sea and whenever he caught us, he would make us switch them off. One morning we were watching a video that my wife had sent out to us in America with all the latest episodes of Coronation Street, Emmerdale and Top of the Pops and whilst Laura Brannigan (very hot totty) was singing Gloria, the Coxswain stuck his head round the curtain. Instead of telling us to switch it off, he sat down and began to watch it as well. At the end of the song he asked who she was, where did she come from etc, and could he borrow the video tape for the Senior Rates Mess. He never stopped us watching video's after that. I still have that tape at home fifteen years later and on the odd occasion that I put it on I still remember how that one song managed to get the Junior Rates an early morning video show.