Getting to grips with a real scrubber.

Down in the scrubber room on 3 deck. Starting them up prior to diving, these machines removed the carbon dioxide from the atmosphere. Displaying three weeks of beard growth, permission always had to be obtained from the Captain before you could grow a beard. And after a couple of weeks he would check to see if it was of an acceptable growth and appearance. My attempt failed!

Managed to receive a nasty bite from this machine. Showing a trainee around the compartment explaining to him the operation and dangers of the equipment and pointing out a particularly nasty valve, and warning him about snagging his clothing on it. I then demonstrated how to take machine readings, this had to be done every two hours. Whilst bending over in what was now an even more confined space to take a pressure reading. My belt caught onto the said valve causing it to open. Resulting in 160 degree centigrade Amine Acid at 60 psi blasting a way through my trousers and pant's, and erupting into the opening at the end of my alimentary canal. (polite). Knocking the trainee out the way, legged it onto two deck straight into the shower demanding immediate attention of the medic. When the medic finally arrived and the injury was explained to him, there seemed to be some reluctance to treat the said injury. I pointed out to him that as well as being an engineer, I was also responsible for the running of the Laundry whilst at sea. And unless he administered immediate relief he would find that any of his clothing entering the laundry for the remainder of the trip would take on a strange shade of pink. Usually the result of a mix up of 'Dhobi-Dust' (Washing Powder), and Strawberry food colouring that the Chief Stoker always kept hidden for difficult customers. By the time he agreed to help, word of the injury had got around the boat and a large crowd had gathered in the door way of the Junior Rates bathroom. It is very difficult to maintain your composure whilst bent over the wash-basin having your anus massaged with antiseptic swabs by the doc, with 40 so called comrades? cheering in the background. Never mind, at the end of that particular trip, those that were seen to be cheering the loudest, all seemed to be walking off the gangway with odd coloured shirts!!

Shift handovers

Shift handovers in the Control Room at sea were always good for a laugh particularly when finishing the 0100 to 0700 shift. During the night the Control Room was always in what was called 'Black lighting'. All the main lighting was switched off, and all the illumination on the control panels was turned right down.

It was very dark but after about an hour, your eyes became accustomed to it. It was done, so if we had to come to periscope depth for whatever reason. The Officer of the Watch's eye's were already accustomed to the low light levels and he could see through the periscope more easily. Anyway, for the Sonar Crew 

 coming on-watch they had to negotiate their way through the Control Room to get to the Sonar Shack. They have just come from the bright lights of two deck, into what for them seemed like total darkness. So they can't see a bloody thing! It was the hobby of the off-going Control Room staff to strategically place themselves around the Control Room and hammer the hell out of the Sonarmen as they were walking through. At around 0655 every morning, there would be a flipping great punch up in the back of the control room. And the Officer of the Watch would shout 'keep the bloody noise down, back there'. One sonarman was called Brendan Blackey and he had a broad Scot's accent, I can still hear him shouting 'Git ouf me, yeah inglish bastards', as the punches were thrown. Only to hear the Officer of the Watch roar "Blackey stop messing about, and get out on watch"... Well stitched.