Many a happy night would be spent in the Flying Fish, Osprey's club – all establishments have something similar.

On this evening I was eyeing up the local talent on bop night- Weymouth's finest would often visit.

On this particular evening I was making a fool of myself on the dance floor with a striking blonde bit. OK, OK! It was the Babysham girl! And – Yes! It was a cardboard cut out – damn it I was desperate!

Well, a charming new baby wren, who I had not noticed, seemed to have found me interesting and, I later learnt, was a bit miffed I had ignored her charming self. Poor deluded girl! To cut a long story short. I treated this poor deluded girl for an ingrowing toenail. Wooed her at a party with a hidden bottle of Bailleys.

Many years later we are still happily married. All I can think to explain this is that she must still be very deluded indeed!

Well, fast forward to 1982 and the Falklands conflict – you are now thanking your lucky stars that you have been trained for shoring up holes that are gushing water into your ship and, you can put out raging fires caused by an Exocet paying you a visit.

However, it's November 1973 – you've been in the Navy for less than a month. Now is the time to do some serious damage control training. Great! This will utilize the freezing cold water from the River Orwell.

So, can't wait. Here is a small group of us, about 4 or 5 – wearing just overalls, standing outside the training unit clutching our mallets, bits of wood, metal boxes to stop water getting in.

Sounds all perfectly straightforward, doesn't it? Well the clue is in the title. One our group is an Irishman, nicknamed Paddy of course, who is around 5ft 3" tall. This will have consequences for poor Paddy.

So, in we go, armed with everything you need to save the day! Overalls and bits of wood! The hatch closes behind us. All hell breaks loose!

Water starts flooding into the compartment at great force – it's hitting us from above, below and through the bulkheads (walls for you landlubbers!).

We are all drenched and frozen with alarming speed – we all desperately start to plug the holes – with our bits of wood. Oh, did I fail to mention that the compartment is dimly lit and is tilting just to help simulate the real thing.

Well, we're doing quite well, scrabbling around in the gloom, shaking with cold, but managing to patch up some of the holes. Unfortunately, there is now a lot of water in the compartment, some of us are up to our chests in it.

Not good news for Paddy – he is now panicking and calling for his mother – I also failed to mention that Paddy is not a particularly strong swimmer. One of our team comes to the rescue – Andy (a passing resemblance to John Cleese) – he manages to get Paddy up to a safe height. Andy is tall.

The exercise ends and we all get out alive. Paddy, however, does not last much longer in the service and eventually returns home. Damage control – not for the faint hearted!

Footnote

Andy went on to serve on HMS Antelope during the Falklands crisis – Antelope was one of the ships that was sunk. Andy survived this, physically. But, I think, he wasn't quite the same guy afterwards.

Extract from  the Navy Lark – memoirs of a RN Medic

The objective is to create a shine good enough to see your ugly mug in.

No matter how hard I tried or how long – my feeble spit was just not up to it. At best my boots and shoes would look clean, definitely not sparkling. Oh, I usually got by inspections (these were very regular) OK. But, somehow, when looking around me at some of the top spitters, I felt a little inadequate in this crucial kit area.

However, all was not lost! I did possess a valuable talent. I was a damned good wielder of an iron. So when shiney shoes were critical – I could trade ironing for some super spit.

It did seem that during the first week or so at Ganges, we spent most of our time marching, ironing, cleaning, sewing and polishing and spitting!. So much for the jolly jack tar's lot.

Extract from  a Navy Lark – memoirs of a RN Medic

So here I am, fully trained. I am now an MA (Medical Assistant) ready to take up medical duties wherever I may be drafted. So, will it be a ship, abroad or a shore establishment? Any of these would be exciting for me.

My first draft? The army cadets, of course! I will be going to spent 2 weeks based at Tidworth army barracks looking after around 300 army cadets on their summer camp. Oh well, how hard can it be?

I pack my medical kit, a grand term this. It is, actually, a fairly large canvas bag packed with some medical kit including a few choice drugs. Should suffice; I wouldn't expect more than a few cuts and bruises – nothing too challenging. Only a bunch of kids after all!

First thing to note is army food. Although we camped out in the surrounding area, remote from the base the food deserved a mention. Navy food is pretty good but, the army have got it taped when catering in the field. The food was superb. However, I digress. Back to the cadets.

Expecting no more than a few minor injuries I was presented with a little more than that. These kids had fits, hysteria, broken limbs, lacerations, beri beri, trenchfoot, swamp fever, the list goes on! OK the last three were a slight exaggeration!

Blimey! Fresh out of training and these youngsters were certainly presenting me with enough problems to keep me busy. The 2 weeks passed rapidly. Great fun and a great experience, in fact.

Over the years I was to work with the RAF and the Army again. More of that later..

Extract from  a Navy Lark – memoirs of a RN Medic

The first helicopter crash I had some knowledge about was when I was serving at the Royal Naval Airbase at Portland – HMS Osprey. A bunch of journalists were up in a Sea King, I think, when it plummeted into the sea off Portland. No survivors, tragically. The wreckage basically consisted of a crushed fuselage. It must be said that if you survive the impact – it is highly likely you will drown. Not much too look forward to then!

I recall that before I joined HMS Leeds Castle, in 1982 to go to the Falklands, I received no training – at 24 hours notice there was no time. I would have to wing it then. I would witness a helicopter ditching in the South Atlantic during the conflict. Oh by the way, this was my first time at sea. Not bad, eh – 9 years to get drafted to a ship. And then it was to go to war. Anyway, more of that at another time.

In 1983 I was drafted to serve on the frigate, HMS Yarmouth – a veteran of the Falklands conflict, known as the 'Crazy Y'. This time, there was time to do some appropriate training.

So, it was off to HMS Sultan – the RN's Safety Equipment & Survival School for some underwater escape training. Yep, I did say underwater!

I was with a small group who were to be trained in how to escape from a sinking helicopter. HMS Sultan, near Portsmouth, has a swimming pool with a helicopter fuselage complete with seats and harnesses. A bit like a high tech modern day witches dunking stool.

The objective would be to escape from different seating positions whilst the fuselage is lowered into to pool and then flipped upside down. Sounds huge fun doesn't. Oh, by the way, holding my breathe is not one of my strong suits.

We are kitted out in overalls, life jacket and flying helmets. We will be 'dunked' 3 times each. Once in a front seat facing forward, once in a back seat facing backwards and once with the helmets visor blacked out, simulating total darkness.

There will be a couple of divers in the pool, just in case anyone panics – as if! I am strapped into the front seat, the fuselage is slowly lowered, turning upside down as it does so. We strain away from the water to allow us to take a final breath at the latest possible moment before we are fully submerged.

I keep my hand near to door opening to keep my orientation. We have to wait until the fuselage settles on the bottom of the pool. As soon as it does – I release my harness and pull myself out easily and get to the surface with no problem. The guys in the back seat have a slightly more challenging task – they have to wait until the front seat passengers escape. Not a time for anyone to panic. They all exit OK.

Right, I'm now in the back seat – facing backwards. Hopefully my breathe will hold out this time. Still with an arm stretched backwards to locate the exit – we are 'dunked' again. This time it is not so straightforward. One of the front seat guys struggles a little to get out – he's helped by a diver. I unbuckle and get out over the seat OK – if feeling slightly panicky that my breathe would give out. I didn't want to look a wimp in the present company.

Last run, I'm now strapped in, facing backwards with my visor blacked out. This isn't much fun – you are disoriented – in darkness, upside down and under water. Again, I, obviously, manage to get out. Surviving a watery end – this time.

It crosses my mind, however, just how terrifying the real experience could be. Say, in a force 6 wind, heavy swell, at night in the freezing waters of the South Atlantic. Not something to look forward to. Fortunately, I never had to do it for real!

Extract from  a Navy Lark – memoirs of a RN Medic

It was here that I was to have, a somewhat ludicrous, run in with a particularly jumped up young Surgeon Lieutenant (a doctor). I was on duty, one morning, in reception. Booking in patients and getting them seen by the doctors. I recall that it was pretty busy and I had a waiting room full of ratings and officers.

The Surgeon Lieutenant called me into his consulting room. "Tea and toast!" he barked at me. Oh dear, not a good move on his part. I had got to be an LMA through study and hard work. The medical red cross on a medics arm is one of the few badges that has to be earnt before being allowed to wear it. With this comes pride in your chosen career – not too be trifled with.

I stood before the Lieutenant – looking at him. "Pardon Sir" I respectfully replied. "Tea and toast" again. No, no, no – this wouldn't do at all! I pointed to the hook on my left arm and asked "what is this Sir?". Then I pointed to red cross on my right arm" and asked "and this Sir?". He being a Lieutenant, and quite bright, answered correctly on both counts. This instantly brought the response from me – "Yep, your right, that means I am LMA and not a bloody steward (no disrespect intended)! Get your own tea and toast!" I smartly about turned and returned to reception, leaving the Lieutenant doing a smoking goldfish impression.

Having resumed my seat, I get a call from the Lieutenant informing me that he would not see any more patients until he got his tea and toast. Oh dear! I let the waiting patients know of the the Lieutenant's decision. Of course, this didn't go down too well with the Commander waiting to see him – in he went and issued a bollocking to the Lieutenant. Service resumed as normal.

Later, I was called into the Fleet Chief's office (he was the most senior non commissioned officer and my boss – to be feared, much more than the jumped up Lieutenant) to explain myself. He issued me with a suitable verbal reprimand but, could not help smiling as I left his office. I think I know what he was thinking.

Extract from  a Navy Lark – memoirs of a RN Medic

It was here that we instructed all branches in these cheery subjects. The clue is in the name! I was a Petty Officer by this time and my role was that of an instructor. My subjects were light rescue, first aid and the fun one – the medical effects of NBCD agents.

These agents ranged from mustard gas (first used in Ypres, France to devastating effect in the trenches of WW1), through blood agents like cyanide to nerves agents like tabun and sarin.

Some of these charming forms of warfare are thought to have been used by Saddam in Iraq against the Kurds. When I wasn't putting poor souls through the CS gas chamber I was lecturing them on what to expect if they came into contact with the various agents already mentioned. This, of course, I delivered with a smile resulting in the nickname of 'Dr Death'. Charming, eh?

We also taught decontamination procedures in the event of nuclear or biological attack. This involved the use of fullers earth to absorb any external fluid contamination and then the careful removal of protective clothing. I'm sure you have seen the military dressed in their green hooded NBCD suits. I came away from this particular role with the feeling that the procedures we taught were somewhat dated. In fact, in the heat of war I doubt how effective they would actually be.

To this day I still think if the bombs were dropping, I would prefer to be directly heading one back – poof!!!!!!!

Mind you, my wife maintains if there was any form of disaster she would prefer to be with me, at least we'd have the skills to deal with it – possibly……..

Extract from  a Navy Lark – memoirs of a RN Medic

HMS Osprey, Portland, 1980.

Now an LMA (Leading Medical Assistant), serving at the Royal Navy airbase that is Portland (another since closed, sadly).

I have always been a keen sportsman and have played many sports over the years – some more enthusiastically than others.  I used to be a winger in the school rugby team, being a bit nippy back then.  It was never really a game that excited me too much, seemingly a little pointless.  I, of course, also lacked any desire for communal bathing a bawdy songs with boozed up giants!

So it was, that I found myself drafted into the HMS Osprey rugby team.  Don't ask!  I have no idea how this came to pass.  Nevertheless, I found myself cast in the role of nippy winger again. Hopefully I could manage to keep broken bones to a minimum.

Sitting on top of Portland was the borstal, full of various hard cases, I think.  Now the powers that be thought it was a great idea to play rugby against the borstal guests.  So, sometime during a cold December, the Osprey rugby team of men set off to conquer a few kids residing at Her Majesty's pleasure.  Should be easy the team thought.  Yes – right!

The team of 'kids' looked like they be more comfortable in the scrubs.  No matter, us men would prevail.

I found myself, hurtling down the wing, ball in hand, heading towards the byline.  Ah, glory!  A certain try for the team and me.   20 yards to go, I'd make it – no problem.  Why, oh why, did I choose this moment to glance to my left.  A particularly bad move.  Hurtling towards me was what I can only describe as a human shaped block of granite with, murderous intent in his eyes. Always a quick thinker, I assessed the situation rapidly and took immediate action.  To my undying shame, I threw the rather ridiculous shaped ball to the granite block, thus avoiding, surely, serious injury!

Surprisingly, that was my final rugby game of a short lived career. And, yes, I can live with it!

Extract from  a Navy Lark – memoirs of a RN Medic

So here I am – at HMS Raleigh leadership school, some time during 1975, I think.

Leadership school, does what it says in the title. Creates leaders of men – right then – here we go!

14 days of manly fun, marching, running, climbing, classroom leadership lectures, assault courses – fun, fun, fun!

Oh, I forgot to mention – the outward bound bit. You've probably all seen this on the TV by now. Take a bunch of service type people, drop em in the middle of nowhere.  Their mission, if they choose to accept it (no choice here, of course!), is to yomp (in our case – meander) around Dartmoor looking for a few way points, and then to our final destination – hot meal, pat on the back, etc!

Pretty straight forward it would seem.  Well, on this particular leadership course, we were blessed with a particularly mouthy and cocksure stoker (marine engineering mechanic of MEM in navy terms). This guy new it all and wasn't given to taking much advise from his team mates.

As these things often go – this fool was designated leader for my little group.  Oh joy!  This was going to be fun.  Being the leader, he wasn't one for delegation, he would covet the compass – he was an expert in all things remember.  Pity map reading and orienteering weren't really part of his extensive skill set.

To cut a long story short, we spent many cold, wet hours going around in circles, totally lost because of the outstanding leadership of this fool.  Following a minor mutiny (swabs!) we managed to get back to camp tired, wet, hungry and very pissed off!  another glowing example of leadership in action.  This fool probably went on to be a senior officer! 

Extract from  a Navy Lark – memoirs of a RN Medic