91ÈȱŹ

Anyway I took my seven days leave in Coventry and what do you know, my big brother-in-law Joe was also on draft leave. Where was he going? You’ve guessed it, Australia, to join the aircraft carrier ‘H.M.S. Unicorn’ and he doesn’t want to go! Isn’t fate cruel?

We had a good leave together, but my sister didn’t like him going out drinking with me and commented that it was a good thing that I wasn’t going to ‘Aussie’ with him!

Joe was a fine fellow, but he had the bad habit of cigarette smoking, he was a heavy smoker in fact and because of the war they were always hard to get. This was a problem for Joe — and this is the meat of the little story I’m about to relate.

You see, I could get plenty in R.N.B. because naval ratings are issued with a ration of cigarette tobacco every month. In the barracks there is a cigarette-making machine and for the small sum of 2/- (10p) the matelot in charge of the machine would turn your loose tobacco into cigarettes, two boxes, two hundred in a box.

Luckily I was stationed in Portsmouth and Joe at Lee-on Solent (where they didn’t have a cigarette machine), so we arranged that when we got back off leave I would have two boxes made and smuggle them out of barracks and Joe would get his ‘FAGS!’ As one may realise this sort of thing is not strictly legal, a serious naval crime in fact, but I was just a ‘Big Head’ trying to impress his big brother-in-law!

We returned to our depots after the embarkation leave, having previously arranged to meet in ‘Pompey’ the following Tuesday evening; everything was in place for the big scam — so I thought! More explanation is needed here:

When a rating returns to his barracks, whether it be off leave, from a ship or shorebase, he is issued with a ‘Station Card,’ this being his I.D. card during his stay there. On the card is a statement saying which part of the ship he is. This may be confusing, but it is an important part of the tale. My card stated that I was ‘2nd Part Port.’ The other parts of the ship being 1st Part Port, 1st Part Starboard and 2nd Part Starboard. This made four parts of ship, each part having one night’s duty in every four, leaving the other three nights free for shore leave in town.

Here comes the rub! Yes folks, this Tuesday, the evening I’m supposed to meet Joe, I’m duty watch. Well I can’t let Joe down can I? So I use the system of having one of the ‘Oppo’s’ in the mess who is not going ashore that evening to stand in for me in case the duty watch is called out. This is unofficial of course, with dire consequences for all, if the ruse goes wrong, but this didn’t worry me or the guy standing in for me — hadn’t we done this dozens of times before? More explanation!

Before being allowed out of barracks on a night’s shore leave, a naval rating must go through the ritual of ‘Liberty Boat’ inspection. The men going ashore parade in front of the ‘Officer of the Watch’ and his duty P.O. who check to see if everyone is in full dress uniform, (a credit to the ‘King’s Navy’ and especially for the girls ashore!) and during the war the gas mask and case was considered a part of the serviceman’s uniform and was to be carried at all times! What does clever clogs do? He takes the gas mask from its case and replaces it with four hundred cigarettes, stupid really wasn’t it? There I am ready to carry out an act of smuggling contraband cigarettes out of R.N.B. just for Joe and his ‘Fags.’

Off I march from the ‘Signal School’ across the Parade Ground, which is easily five hundred yards in length, to fall in with the rest if the ‘Jacks’ for the 4.30pm liberty boat. We stand in line, waiting for the Duty Officer and his P.O. and they, with all the pomp and ceremony of the ‘Changing of the Guard’ walk through the ranks, closely inspecting us, making sure we were properly dressed, ‘shipshape’ and clean shaven! It was all important that we had to be a credit to our uniform, because it was representative of our ‘King and Country.’ In those days that’s what it was all about — Patriotism!

After the inspection the officer and his minion returned to the front of the parade, after a few words together the office faced the men and yelled, “On Gas Masks!” This was a command carried out in war-time on unsuspecting ratings to check and see if their masks were in good working order! With the command ringing round the parade ground and the liberty boat men delving into their cases struggling to get their masks on, there I stood, with the mother of all ‘Panic Attacks’ pounding in my chest, trying to keep calm!

What was I to do? With four hundred cigarettes in my gas-mask case, how was I going to get out of this mess? After the panic in my mind receded, my overpowering thought was to be away from there. While the rest of the parade was in a confused state, because of the sudden order of the officer, in sheer terror I decided to make a dash back to the ‘Signal School.’

I don’t know whether it was the complete surprise of my action, or the confused state in the ranks of the liberty men, probably both, but I was almost halfway across the parade ground before I heard the P.O. calling in the distance, “Stop that man!”

Two naval policemen started the chase, calling me to halt. When one thinks about it, it may have been the craziest thing seen in R.N.B. for years, because all the matelots witnessing the event were falling about with laughter and cheering like mad, enjoying the whole episode. This somehow spurred me on and I managed to get to the Signal School before my pursuers. I got to the Mess Deck and sat down with my fellow mess-mates, who were having their tea. There I sat, completely drained of all energy, waiting for these two naval cops to yak me out of my seat and frog march me back to the Guard Room.

Fortune smiled on me that evening because within seconds, onto the mess deck they pounded, searched along the messes and when they reaches ours, all the guys had their heads down in their tea, me included and they completely missed me. My relief was overwhelming when the cops gave up the chase and left — but Joe still hadn’t got his ‘Fags’ yet!

After taking all sorts of abuse from the boys on how stupid I had been, one of them remarked that if I still had the station card, why didn’t I go ashore on the free gangway at 5pm? Being new to Pompey barracks, I knew nothing about this routine. It was that, at 5pm, all one had to do was walk up to the gate house, present one’s station card to the P.O. at the gate and walk out to freedom! After the trauma I had suffered during the last hour, I couldn’t believe it, Joe may get his fags after all!

Off I bravely went again, over the parade ground I marched to the main gate with someone else’s station card and my gas-mask still full of cigarettes, expecting that at any moment I would be jumped on from the rear by the Naval Patrol, but no, all went well for me.

I handed in the station card and calmly walked through the gate to freedom. The relief of the tension was so lifting I very nearly jumped in the air with joy, but that would have been silly. With my luck, the cigarettes would have spilled all over the ground outside the barracks gate and with every cop in Pompey swarming all over me, I’m sure Joe’s fags would have been doomed.

Now to Fratton Park to meet my illustrious brother-in-law, more than half an hour late.

“Where have you been?” he growled.

“Oh balls” I replied, “I’ve been held up at the barracks!” Not mentioning the trauma and the fear I had suffered during the last hour. I couldn’t tell him anyway, him being a Petty Officer and the clever one in the family. He would have kicked me around the backside and called me an ‘effing’ idiot for even trying such a stunt!

“Have you got my bloody fags?” was his only comment.

“You bastard” I thought, “All you are thinking about is your rotten fags!”

“Yeah” I said, “Now let’s go and have a drink!”

“Hang on” he countered, “we eat first.”

“Oh God” I thought, “this is going to be some run ashore, as any matelot knows, we drink first and eat after the pubs are closed. If they can stand up that is!

“I know where there’s a good little cafĂ© that has steak and chips on the menu for special customers and I’m one of those people, so come on.”

“What a big head” I thought, “He must be joking, it’s just got to be horse meat!”

Down the road we go to this special place of Joe’s and sure enough he is greeted like a long lost son by a huge Greek. In fact, I thought the guy was going to throw plate in honour of our presence! Just an emotional Greek I suppose, or was he just after our money?

After this heart rending display we sat down to our steak and chips, help down with a bottle of ‘red plonk.’ Joe certainly surprised me, after all we were in England and this little cafĂ© was an oasis in the desert of a rationed country.

Maybe, all things considered, this was worth the trauma of the last two hours. In fact I was so pleased with Joe’s effort, I had a rush of blood and offered to buy his beer for the rest of the evening! Actually I know I was in safe territory here, because he wasn’t a big drinker. His only vice was his ‘Fags.’

When our feast was done, off we went to find a pub with a piano, where we could have a drink and a good old sing song. This was the normal run ashore for the men of the armed forces and it used to be great, ecstatic sometimes, as the songs matelots sang turned the air blue and civilians loved it especially the ladies — more so the ladies! The time passed quickly and the happy Jacks, with great reluctance on their part, would be thrown out at closing time (10pm) to find a place to eat, or return to barracks and their hammocks.

Me — I was quite merrily drunk and didn’t care where we went, but Joe, as the reader may have guessed, walked out of that bar as straight as a guardsman and as sober as a judge. Disgusted with me as usual, he barked, “Come on stupid! I’m taking you back to barracks.” He poured me into a taxi and back to R.N.B. we went. Stopping the cab about fifty yards from the main gate, making sure I was properly dresses, he pushed me towards the gate house saying, “That’s as far as I go and the best of luck” Joe had got his fags and he didn’t want to be involved with me any more this night. After all he was a Petty Officer wasn’t he!

I stumbled into the gate house to retrieve my station card and on being asked my name by the P.O. on duty, I gave my own name and not the name on the station card! An evil grin beamed on the face of the Petty Officer, the look that said ‘Gotcha.’ He called ‘Guard!’ and within seconds I surrounded by naval patrolmen and was charged with breaking out of ship, trying to break into ship by using a false station card and being drunk in the King’s Uniform!

“That’ll keep you quiet for a few months,” the P.O. giggled.

The Officer of the Watch was called to hear the charges made against me, he remanded me to the Division Officer’s report and I was hauled to the cells for the night! Next morning it was ‘off caps’ in front of the Division Officer to be ‘weighed off’ (sentenced). Being so obviously guilty, when I was asked by the D.O., “What did I have to say?” With trembling lip — not mentioning Joe’s ‘Fags’ — I told a tear-jerking story of two naval brothers having a farewell meal and drink before being parted for the duration. Drafted to opposite ends of the world! Joe to Australia and me to Canada. By the time I had finished my tale of woe, everyone in the room was full of tears! Anyway, whether the Division Officer believed me, or took pity on me, I don’t know, but the outcome was I was sentenced to ‘Ten days No. 11’s’ which meant I had virtually got away with it, because this punishment was very light really, I only had to do extra work in the galley during the evenings.

Thankfully I never did see Joe again until he was de-mobbed from the navy in 1947. Joe and his fags went to Trinkamalee in Ceylon (Sri-Lanka) to pick up his ship ‘H.M.S. Unicorn’ and sail on to Australia to join the Pacific Fleet and me to Londonderry, Northern Ireland to join ‘H.M.C.S. Assininoine’ transfer to the Canadian Navy and sail into the ‘Battle of the Atlantic.’

Joe and his ‘Fags’ will never be forgotten, because the poor guy died of cancer in the late 1970’s. I suppose there’s a message in this story somewhere!

Is it — ‘Smoking Kills!’

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