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I had earned accelerated advancement at the age of 17.5 years. That entitled me to be called Ordinary Telegraphist instead of Boy Telegraphist. I was, however, too young to drink but old enough to join my first ship the HMS Devonshire.

Because the war was still being fought; though it was drawing to its close, I, along with the rest of the draft of 8 ex-boy telegraphists from HMS St George, boys’ training establishment, Isle of Man where we had fought between ourselves in boxing rings and on wrestling mats, for the past eighteen months to two years, did not know where we were bound. Mind you, if we had been old enough to drink we could have nipped into the Prince of Wales pub, opposite the Albert Dockyard gates, in Devonport and asked the barman. He would have been able to tell us exactly where HMS Devonshire was bound and which Ports of Call she was making en-route.

We struggled up the portside gangway with our Pussers cases in our left hand’s, we had to have a salute available with the right hand for the quarterdeck at the top of the gangway; leaving our kitbags and hammocks on the quayside to be hauled aboard later.

“Jump to it you lot and fall in here” bawled a voice on the quarterdeck. After just completing the journey from the Isle of Man by ferry to Fleetwood; train to Devonport, changing at Crewe; everybody and the Lord changed at Crewe in late 1944; then truck loaded to the dockyard we felt more like jumping ON the voice rather than jumping TO the voice. The two-ringer and telescope, why a telescope in harbour? Shouted to a nearby Petty Officer “Put these ratings on the for’ard messdeck guns”. At that time, not knowing that ‘Guns’ meant gunlayer, we thought that we were going to finish up astride a messdeck gun. Oops.

We were issued locker space in which to store our meagre possessions and left to our own devices — for about 15 minutes. But, where were we going? A three striper, Stripey to the initiated, stood at one end of the mess so, I asked him. Gosh he looked old; well he was over thirty years anyway. His prompt answer went something like this: “Due South, first left, then, first right, then on and on meandering South-eastward stopping here and there until we reach the Mantle of the Free where we have a run ashore and, afterwards, continue round the corner of the island of Australia until we dock safely at Woolloomooloo” “And where’s that Stripey?” “Sydney the last time I was there” was the short retort.

Watching the dolphins leaping and cavorting ahead and on both Port and Starboard bows was a sight to behold whilst navigating the Mediterranean Sea. Those sleek, shiny, sea animals put my swimming prowess to shame. I used to discharge my duties in the Radio Room and, during the day, take up position under the for’ard gun turret and just dreamily watch. I distinctly remember waking up after dozing off and having to report to the sick bay after having suffered intense sunburn. I had made myself unfit for duty by self inflicted injury thereby warranting a seven day stoppage of pay and privileges from the Commander. Oh dear. A criminal at the tender age of 17.5 years. I never ever sunbathed from then on.

‘If you think about it, Stripey’s instructions were spot on. Left at Gibraltar, right into the Suez Canal and the meandering southeastwards took in Aden and Ceylon (as it was called then), where I played football against a team of Sikhs who sported bare feet instead of football boots. I got kicked on the knee which put me out of the game for awhile, then on to Freemantle. Etc.

I got shipped ashore to HMS Golden Hind, Warwick Farm on the outskirts of Sydney and from there I got a draft chit to HMS Bonaventure, the hush hush midget-submarine depot ship but that’s another story.

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