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1945-46 Commission - 6th Destroyer Flotilla |
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George Taylor wrote on 15th November 2009 Memories
of a Bygone Age In
late October 2009 I had the pleasure of visiting HMS Cavalier in
Chatham Historic Dockyard. This visit set me off on a real journey
of nostalgia, since I do claim to have served on HMS Cavalier as
well as HMS Carysfort. I
joined the Royal Navy in December 1943 at the age of 17 ½ as a
volunteer in the “Y Scheme” as an officer cadet. After
approximately 8 months training it was decreed that I was not
officer material after all, and I was transferred back into the
ranks (a decision which I secretly welcomed, as I did not have
sufficient financial backing to ensure comfortable living as an
officer). An aptitude test indicated that I could make a successful
mechanic, so I was entered into yet another course of training, this
time to become a radio mechanic. Achieving good results in the final
examinations then determined that I should become a Radio Mechanic
(Radar). All this had taken a further 13 months and I passed out
with the rank of L/RM(Radar). I
was then shipped out to Colombo in Ceylon to await a posting which
ultimately occurred when I was informed that I should join HMS
Cavalier in Singapore. I travelled overland to Trincomalee from
whence I was given passage on an aircraft carrier to Singapore
(about 5 days of luxury cruising with no duties except from keeping
a low profile). I
duly reported aboard HMS Cavalier on December 17th 1945,
only to be informed on 18th December that this posting
was a clerical error as I should have joined HMS Carysfort which was
based – You guessed it - in Trincomalee. (My service records do
state that I served on Cavalier – hence my claim). This resulted
in a further luxury cruise, this time on a cruiser. So after a
further 5 days I joined HMS Carysfort on or about 28th
December 1945. I was to stay on Carysfort until she completed this
commission and paid off in Portsmouth. I have many pleasant memories
of my time aboard – and a few not so pleasant too. Early
on in my naval career, whilst on my first commission on HMS
Dauntless based on Rosyth and mostly patrolling the North Sea, I
found that I was prone to sea sickness. The first episode occurred
whilst we were still moored to the dock and the engines were started
up. After that, throughout my naval career I suffered bouts of
sickness on a number of occasions, although always when experiencing
rougher weather than I had had before. However, whilst returning to
Portsmouth to pay off, we passed through the Bay of Biscay in a full
gale and I was quite happily working on the half-cheese aerial at
the mast head with no problems. 9 months later I took my fiancée to
the cinema to see the film “Western Approaches” and I had to
excuse myself and bolt for the toilet – I had already lost my
immunity! In 2005, whilst on holiday in South Africa, after an
unexpected bout of vertigo and nausea, I was diagnosed as suffering
from “Menieres Disease” which fortunately, with the appropriate
medication, is fully under control. But
what about life on board the Carysfort? I can honestly say that I
only got seriously drunk on one notable occasion – my 20th
birthday. By this time I had already been given the rank of A/PO/RM
and was a member of the PO’s mess. Therefore I started to draw my
rum ration as “neaters” and also traditionally had “sippers”
from all my messmates. I just made it to the nearest locker and then
passed out for about 8 hours. A
fair amount of this commission for Carysfort passed with us
supporting the Dutch Government against the Indonesians who were
actively fighting for their independence. We quickly discovered that
the locals would not accept the official currency of Dutch Guilders.
They were willing to accept any other currency, and even preferred
Japanese Occupancy Currency. We were delighted to be informed that
the Ghurkas had captured a warehouse containing large quantities of
this Japanese currency and Japanese cigarettes. In addition to our
normal pay, the Dutch Government issued us with a weekly allocation
of the captured goodies. We also found out that if we drew our
savings from the ship’s bank in any other currency than the Dutch
Guilder (i.e. English pounds, Australian dollars etc) then these
could be changed into Dutch guilders at a very favourable rate of
exchange, and then put back into the bank at the official rate. I
think I made a profit of about £100 myself which, in those days,
was a small fortune. We
also gave passage to a number of Dutch men, women and children who
had been imprisoned by the Japanese. They had little in the way of
clothing, but appeared to have been able to conceal their savings.
We therefore sold them most of our spare kit, keeping only
sufficient for ourselves to be able to go ashore and replenish our
kit at the Q.M. stores when we put back in at Singapore. One
very interesting “excursion” was to sail about 50 miles upriver
to Palembang in Sumatra to where a refinery was under siege by the
rebels. Whilst moored there, a landing party secured a supply of
around 400 live chickens, which were most welcome. Perhaps unwisely,
I had mentioned in conversation that my family back home kept
poultry, and, at Christmas, my brother and I were expected to help
with the killing, plucking and cleaning of much of our stock. It was
therefore not surprising that I was “invited” to assist with the
detail allotted to wring the necks of the fowl. As most of those
pressed into service were unable to carry out this task, and I was
not going to do it all myself, I decided that decapitation, using a
large cleaver, would be more productive. Unfortunately, several of
the chicken were released too soon after decapitation and ran
around, spouting blood in all directions, and this too unnerved
several of the detail. Anyway, after a hard afternoon’s work, the
job was done, and we left a veritable mountain of chicken heads,
feet and entrails on the jetty. By the following morning there was
no evidence of the slaughter which had taken place there. And we did
enjoy the chickens, even though they were quite small and stringy. One
of my most vivid memories is of the routine for entering harbour.
The announcement would be made that “We will enter harbour at
07.00 tomorrow”. At 06.59 we would pass through the entrance and
the flotilla would appear, moored head to stern. As we passed each
vessel, seemingly at a fair rate of knots, we would hear the
skipper’s voice over the loud hailer “Morning Caesar”,
“Morning Cavalier”, “Morning Carron”, “Morning Petard”,
“FULL ASTERN BOTH”. It was then as if we had hit the harbour
wall! Any loose crockery and cutlery would go flying, as would we
also unless we were prepared, braced and hanging on. And we would
come to a stop right by our mooring buoy. All the anchorman need do
was to shin down a rope and fasten the shackle. I never knew the
skipper to fail to judge the right moment. And, needless to say, the
engine room staff were equally on the ball. An
interesting episode occurred when the C-in-C East Indies came aboard
with a number of his staff, including Wrens, to witness a gunnery
shoot. An old, wooden river gunboat, fitted with a large target, was
towed out to sea. Several ships took part in the exercise, and we
scored a number of hits, but still the target remained afloat, so
the order was given to “Cease Fire”, and then we rammed the
gunboat at speed to ensure that she did not remain a danger to
shipping. On
our journey back to the UK at the end of the commission, whilst
Carysfort was on duty radar watch for the flotilla, Jimmy Dickinson
was one of my operators. He called my attention to a small blip
which kept appearing periodically on the PPI. We surmised that it
was probably a small lifeboat or piece of wreckage which registered
when it was on the crest of a wave, and then disappeared when it
dropped into the trough. As a precaution we notified the bridge and
a special watch was mounted by all ships. When the object was
spotted it turned out to be a mine which had broken loose, and was
floating, semi-submerged. We hove too, and had the task of setting
off the mine by rifle fire, which took about 10 shots to achieve. As
it went off there was a cry of “Watch out for shrapnel”, and
several crewmen did suffer small burns when they were hit by falling
pieces. We
entered Portsmouth harbour with pennant flying, and moored in the
centre of “The Roads”. Our first visitors were Customs and
Excise, who tried to persuade us that most of the items we felt
obliged declare were not actually taxable. Then the Harbour Police
came aboard, headed by a sergeant who was ex CPO, and who joined us
on our mess deck for a tot. We had accrued a healthy mess credit. I
spent my share on purchases from the NAAFI stores of many items in
short supply in the UK and finished up with a loaded tea chest. A
pop bottle full of “neaters” ensured that my tea chest was taken
ashore and, the following day, I received a ticket from the left
luggage office at Portsmouth Harbour Station. I collected the tea
chest on my first home visit. How I got it across London from
Waterloo to Euston is another epic story altogether. And
what about life after service? I was demobbed in January 1947 and
joined industry again as a laboratory assistant in the copper and
copper alloy manufacturing industry. I studied metallurgy and after
about 20 years reached my peak, being elected a Chartered Engineer,
Fellow of the Institution of Metallurgists (now the Institute of
Materials, Minerals and Mining). Over 45 years I was employed by
three companies, ultimately attaining the position of Technical
Director/Chief Metallurgist. In this capacity, one of my tasks was
to represent the company at meetings of The British Standards
Institution, represent BSI and the UK on European and International
Standards meetings, chairing most of the meetings I was called upon
to serve. I have often wondered why the Andrew decided that I was
unfit to serve as an officer, and have come to the conclusion that
either I was a slow developer or possibly that I had too inquisitive
a mind, and could not bring myself to blind acceptance of orders
that I disagreed with. Whatever the reason, I can say with absolute
conviction that, throughout my service and industrial life, I have
been fortunate that I have thoroughly enjoyed whatever I was asked
to do, my motto in life being “Problems are sent to interest us,
not to make us worry”. Go
well my friends and former comrades-in-arms God
Bless you all. George
(Red) Taylor A/PO RM(Radar).
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Stephen Thatcher wrote on 18th November 2006 D-O-B 1926 making me 80 at present time. Volunteered for Hostilities Only when 17. First reason to shoot a few Germans - when I got to the Army recruiting office it was closed and a few doors away a voice asked me " What do you want me lad? " That resulted in me being invited to step inside and sign on for the navy. In hindsight I was really lucky. Second reason - had I waited to be conscripted at 18 - living in Nottingham at the time - high probability of being drafted down the coal mines. My first draft took me to the D Day landings to join HMS Ambitious and the Capt in charge of all minesweeping ops until the capture of Le Havre. Following shore leave in UK I joined Carysfort and stayed from the initial sea trials until the Japs surrendered. Soon after the Indonesia bombardments I was drafted to the staff of C-in- C SEAC based at Trinco until working my passage home on a LST - that in a different way was more hairy than the convoys off the Norwegian coast and the roughers/cold we encountered. Of the current listing I can only recall Jimmy Dickinson - super chap and what a footballer. Played with him in the team a couple of times - he was a whirlwind in defence one minute and up in attack the next - tremendously fit whilst we were mostly knackered and left him to do the work of about 5 men. The only other name I can recall is Ron Kidd. Hope he is in good health. The other coder onboard was Alec Langshawe - another scouse - and the two of them kept us in fits of laughter recalling scouser incidents. I wonder if Ron has knowledge of Alec's whereabouts. The other crew member I would love to learn about was your namesake but he was Sammy Donaldson from Glasgow. He could dance as good as Fred Astaire and captivated the girls on the few occasions we could get to a dance hall - and he enjoyed demonstrating his skills entertaining us on the mess deck. He and I had a pact that if anything happened to one of us the survivor would contact a list of relatives. I am not superstitious so becoming the 13th listing is not a problem. Congratulations on putting together a very fine website - I am just amazed at the content. I will try to attend any future functions although time is running out. I am very lucky to have good health - helped by the fact that we live a lot of the time in Spain and play regular golf although we still call Llandudno " home”. |
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Jack Haydock wrote: |
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