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2:1 (1976) With her eyes glued to mine I said “We’re going to Gibraltar”.

11 Saturday Jun 2016

Posted by in Gibraltar, Memoirs of Gibraltar, ROYAL NAVY

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19 December 1975. Wedding day at Portsmouth.

Not long after leaving HMS Scylla I met my wife Carol and by 1975 we were married with a child and with another on the way. Carol hailed from South Wales and her childhood had been as insecure and as challenging as mine in many ways (but probably even more miserable) and so we had a certain something in common from day one. It doesn’t take long for two people with those kinds of backgrounds to bond and the closer we became, the calmer I became; for the first time in years I didn’t feel the need for alcohol, more often I’d rather be at home.


Southsea, Hampshire.

Our first daughter Tracey was born at Withybush Hospital, Haverfordwest, Wales and in due course all three of our children would be born in different countries. I loved that.


Early in 1975 we were awaiting the arrival of our second child Samantha at St.Mary’s Hospital in Portsmouth. Carol never had easy pregnancies and was often kept in hospital for extended periods before giving birth which naturally made her feel really low. And although I was there for the birth of my children I always got kicked out after delivery due to post natal complications and so they were always worrying times for me.


Since leaving HMS Scylla I’d had several postings including HMS Vernon, HMS Danae and HMS Pembroke and these drafts often meant me being away from home for extended periods of time. Having been at sea for more than my quota I was due some shore time and with my family growing I requested a particular ‘married-accompanied’ posting. Some weeks went by before I heard anything and then one day Chief gave me news that I had a feeling would lift Carols spirits – and I couldn’t wait to tell her.

Visiting time at the hospital was 2-3pm and so with Tracey looking pretty in a frock, her hair in ribbons and her dolly in hand we set off for the hospital arriving (on time) to find Carol naturally feeling fairly low at being bed-ridden ‘having tests’. These days with the NHS being so depleted of both beds and staff she wouldn’t even have been admitted but back then that wasn’t the case; for those patients ‘kept in’ there was a massive feeling of disempowerment in terms of being dictated to when they could get out of bed, have something to eat or even use the bathroom.

Seeing Carol in that situation was really hurtful to me, she was a proud young woman feeling unnecessarily controlled and though I do ‘get’ that more vulnerable patients need special care sometimes I’ve never ‘got’ the way some professionals in hospitals become power driven and turn into little Hitlers. Not wanting to upset Tracey we put a brave face on the situation, had our rudimentary hugs and kisses and as Tracey settled down to play with her dolly I told Carol I had some ‘good’ news. 

With her eyes glued to mine, barely blinking, it was almost manna from Heaven for me to see the low subside and a slight sparkle of hope come back. Without her having to have a second longer of anticipation than necessary I said “I’m drafted to HMS Rooke. We’re going to Gibraltar”.

1:11 (1974) I’d seen the world’s underbelly and thanked God for Gibraltar

07 Tuesday Jun 2016

Posted by in Gibraltar, ROYAL NAVY

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Arriving back in Gibraltar after eight months in the Far East felt like coming home. As we berthed alongside I felt a huge sense of relief to be back where I felt safe and welcome after what had turned out to be a six months nightmare; life had hit me from all of those angles I wasn’t ready for from drink, sex (being come onto by both women and men), being beaten up, almost drowning, being locked up and being in very dangerous situations, all during the time I was grieving for my parents. With no real home left to go to in UK it wasn’t surprising I felt as though arriving back in Gibraltar was like coming home. In some ways I grieved the passing of my naivety, in others ways I gave thanks for my survival. 

It was a paradox in a way. I’d looked forward so much to seeing some of the most exotic places in the world that Cousin Paul had told me about yet ended up seeing their under-bellies and so could no longer see the exotic; my eyes had been opened and I couldn’t close them again. In Thailand I was so moved by their Buddhism that I became Buddhist (and still remain so today) but I would have to have been blind not to be aware of the appalling poverty being shored up by their ‘in-your-face’ sex industry. In South Africa I found the apartheid shocking; while Nelson Mandela languished in jail on Robben Island for trying to stamp it out I was sickened to see that there was still pavements for white people and pavements for black.


Having virtually drank my way around half of the world the temptation to visit a few of those 365 Gibraltarian pubs (my shipmates had told me about) and drink myself ‘mortal’ was massive rather than walk the back streets or check out the apes; but although I was aware I had a serious drink problem I didn’t want that to interfere with my love of Gibraltar; worse still I didn’t want to end up drunk in a gutter there and have that forever in my memory. I walked the back streets.

During my brief second visit to the Rock the Chief gave me the maximum time off which in real terms was only a few hours but those few hours (he knew) were so cathartic. Wandering the back streets allowed me to touch base and to get back in touch with myself. I had an almost pathological need to walk and walk and walk to give myself time to think and reflect. Right now Gibraltar was the only place in the world I could do that; to walk those streets that I was becoming familiar with, where ordinary families lived and which reminded me of childhood days in Newcastle. 


Parts of the Old Town were very challenging with their long sets of steep steps; they made me think how physically hard life must be on a daily basis for some of the older residents or young parents with babies. Yes I had problems but so did many other people who couldn’t do anything about their issues. Long after leaving the Royal Navy I would spend over 30 years in the Social Care profession, but that memoir is a long way off.

Later today my ship would sail for UK and on the way over the English Channel I would have a skin-full of ale along with my mess mates during what was known as a Channel-ex. In 19 months I would be back. With my family. To live. For two years. Thank God for Gibraltar.
                                                                

END OF CHAPTER 1

1:1 (1974) I screamed inside with delight. I was going to Gibraltar.

28 Saturday May 2016

Posted by in Gibraltar, ICELANDIC CONFLICT, ROYAL NAVY

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It was January 1974 and I was serving aboard HMS Scylla (F71), Flagship of the 7th Frigate Squadron. By then I’d been in the Royal Navy for about two and a half years and had served on Scylla for the previous 13 months.
During 1973, following a major refit, Scylla had been on work-up and trials at Portland which was pretty draining for the crew. It was the Royal Navy’s way of putting a warship through its paces to check its systems, weaponry and crew readiness – ensuring (to put it bluntly) that it was ready for war. Some of the exercises went on for hours and hours and necessitated men having to wear additional heavy clothing, head gear or masks and remain at ‘action stations’ for very long periods of time; needless to say we were all glad when it was over. It wasn’t too long though before we were rewarded with a couple of courtesy visits to Brest (France) and Flensburg (Germany) prior to escorting HM Queen Elizabeth aboard HM Royal Yacht Britannia around Scotland.
Flensburg, Germany 1973

Escorting HM Royal Yacht Brittania. The Queen and Duke in the foreground, Prince Andrew watching.

Significantly that year we had also taken part in (what later would be referred to as) the Icelandic Cod War during which we had been rammed by the Icelandic Gunboat Aegir. The Icelanders only had five gunboats which were small compared to a Leander Class Frigate but were all fitted with ice breakers capable of causing serious ruptures. Although we had sustained damage the affected compartments were shored up and we continued then completed our tour of duty regardless.


HMS Scylla during the Icelandic conflict


My Ink Painting of the Icelandic conflict

Sometime in the autumn of ’73 news of our next deployment came through and all-to-a-man were delighted to hear we were finally off to see some sunshine, particularly after the drain of Portland Trials and the chills and gale force storms of Iceland. Come January ’74 Scylla was to lead a deployment of 6 warships and 2 RFAs (Royal Fleet Auxiliaries) out to the ‘Fez’ (Far East) calling at an amazing selection of places including Sierra Leone, South Africa, Mombasa, the Gulf, Singapore, Hong Kong, Bangkok, Australia and New Zealand.

Particularly exciting for me was the very first (and very last) stop on this fabulous trip – Gibraltar; that big Rock where the apes lived. I screamed inside with delight, then phoned my cousin Paul.