SEA YOU LATER

HOW DID WE MEET?

1962, lord Carrington was the First Lord of the Admiralty, the MoD was still to come. One day he came to his office and was struck by the idea that as keeper of the Queen’s navee he might enjoy a day out on the ‘oggin. Casting around to see whch of his fleet was not especially gainfully employed at the time his attention was drawn to the Dartmouth Training Squadron, five WWII heroes now converted from fleet destroyers to fast Type 15 anti-submarine frigates, young officers for the training of. Commanding this exemplar of nautical education, the torch of learning attached to each worthy funnel, was former Belfast alumnus Captain Terry Lewin, class of 1939, ?flying his small pointed flag in HMS Urchin, 1943, battle honours Anzio, Mediterranean, Normandy and Pacific. It being summer and outside term-time at the august establishment of Britannia Royal naval College the squadron was alongside at Plymouth painting ship and repairing this and that as ships always need. Down the wires came the signal to TTL and the good ship Urchin, weigh, proceed to Portland to collect the 1st Lord and take him to Portsmouth where he will be met and returned to Whitehall. Not only was the DTS at something of a loose-end, so was I it also being my schools holidays from Do the-boys Hall in Canterbury. When the DTS was between terms at BRNC the ship’s company was very much reduced, enough to work the ship but not much more, thus I was enlisted to support the force hastily detailed off to slick up the ship fit for a Lordly visit from the owners representative. Bluebell and rag in hand with the instruction “If its brass, polish it”. There is a little lobby behind the bridge in a type 15, at least there was in Urchin, that lead from the bridge to the Captain’s cabin, “The Captain’s Flat” in which there was a large piece of machinery whose use or purpose was totally obscure as it did not appear to be attached to anything, nevertheless it was handsomely endowed with brass tallies, the little plate engraved with numerical code that at one time might have identified its place in the universe but now with my attention its role was to look important to the unknowing civil Lord. TTL had a thing about tallies, clearly dating back to an earlier age as a First Loot and impressed by earlier holders of the role, tallies are not to be painted over, they are to be polished. No doubt this was important when all those little hieroglyphs could inform what spare parts were needed to retain fighting efficiency. Thus steam having been raised we set off at a stately 17kts, the defined most economic speed for a warship to proceed under an ailing economy, me polishing until the little passage shone like Solomon’s temple while the seascape glided past. TTL took the time to come and check on my efforts and explain to me the “Bay Effect” as we crossed Lyme Bay (Apparently ships crossing a bay are drawn into the bay so a wary eye needs to be kept on the compass and the bearing of any distant landmarks). Soon enough we were entering the great work-up base of Portland, anchoring off to lower the cutter to collect our visitor and provide the maximum stimulus of the sea-time experience. Away went the boat, as it chugged its way to the jetty bearing TTL to greet ?the great man lights began to flash from the shore. Long story short, as his Lordship arrived to the gates of the base he was passed the message “Urgent you return to Whitehall, ghastly spy drama is upon us” or words to that effect. In what became known as “The Vassal affair, a mid-rank civil servant had been caught revealing our innermost maritime secrets to the wrong people the far side of the Iron Curtain. This being long before mobile phones Lord C. had travelled blissfully down to Portland only to be turned round at the gate to return at high speed with no doubt equally high anxiety. Back chugged to cutter, TTL all smiles, absolved from an afternoon of diplomatic pleasantries. Where next? Back to Guz, or on to Portsmouth? Portsmouth won. In came the anchor, up came the cutter and off we went again. Having polished everything within reach I was able to visit the bridge, open, as befits a WWII origin destroyer until we slid into the great harbour at Portsmouth, Spice Island to Starboard, Gosport to Port. Moor alongside HMS Belfast at South Railway Jetty came the signal from the controller of moving ships. In my limited exposure of watching TTL drive his ship the coming alongside, out wires and fenders, or the opposite, casting off, slow ahead on the forrard spring to bring out the stern has always fascinated. With all the grace of a yacht we came alongside Belfast quarterdeck, a brow went across and officers were invited to the wardroom, horses necks all round, still being in my mid-teens I got the horse but no neck, or vice versa. I remember the quartermaster’s lobby of Belfast sporting a sign on the lower half of its stable door that read “Garden Gate”. The QM leaning over it chatting away like a jolly farmer. I was given a brief tour while old friendships were rekindled, stoked and enjoyed, then all too soon it was back aboard Urchin for a night passage down channel back to Guz.

?Here is a view of South Railway Jetty empty now but with the memory of HMSB alongside, in commission, and Urchin lashed to her stern. Memories are made of this.