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!

One last Catalan bay story.

I was, of course, a bit of a beach god – rippling muscles, golden tanned body – the works! Um, well, not quite.

In reality I was a bit on the thin side – not an ounce of fat on me. Being fair haired and fair skinned meant that the sun and I were not the best of bedfellows. In fact, we had a pretty poor relationship truth be told.

So, a draft to Gibraltar for a year would pose a few sunny problems for me.

Obviously, one of the main attractions for most was the sun and beaches of the Rock. My light skin did pose me difficulties – one look at a hot sun usually meant redness, pain, peeling and quickly back to a bright white finish again.

A strategy was called for. For the first few weeks of hitting the beach I would lie for the most part completely covered in towels, occasionally breaking cover for a swim and a cool beer. I could often be seen with the local seagulls standing on me, seemingly not bothered that the towelled rock was rising and falling with my breathing.

I was able to ditch the towels in favour of copious quantities of sun screen. After a year on the rock, I returned home with a slight, very slight tan. Impressive.

I had just done a 12 hour night duty in the hospital, a quick dash to my flat, a fried breakfast and then off to spend the day dozing on the beach. Never a wise approach whilst on nights…

So, having had a bottle of Rose, half a white, a few Calamaris and fries it was time for a quick doze in the sunshine.

One quick doze later – time for a dip. Another bad idea. Bottle and a half of wine and I'm in for a dip. Of I merrily (literally) paddle. Around the end of the bay, about 50 yards or so out, is a large rock. About 20 feet below the surface is an archway in this rock. Excellent. Down, I go to swim through it. Another bad idea. I go into the arch and promptly rise with my back against the jagged top of the arch – a little bit stuck. As I have mentioned before, one of my strengths is not holding my breathe, I'm bloody hopeless.

Could this be the end of Shiner (my naval nickname) then! Not, bloody likely! I manage to scramble out with a slightly cut up back for my troubles. I get back to the surface and back to the beach. It still remains a mystery to me, to this day, how I managed to get out of that little predicament.

However, a very good lesson learnt there – don't drink and dive!

Extract from A Navy Lark – memoirs of a RN Medic

On a particularly warm, sunny afternoon I was sitting on the sea wall, surveying the scene below, drinking some Rose and munching through some Calamaris (squid) – still the best I have eaten.

I digress. below me was a crowded Catalan bay beach – the locals were out in force. Now these people could seriously picnic. The beach was crowded with tables, chairs, families, all tucking in to impressive looking spreads of food. A great day out.

To my surprise, I saw a fairly significant wave gathering, not quite a Tsunami but impressive nevertheless. The wave swept in from one end of the beach and engulfed the happy campers – sweeping picnics and people before it. It was very funny indeed (nobody was hurt), the wave just decimated every picnic in sight!

I couldn't help but laugh from my perch above the beach – shame on me!

Extracts from A Navy Lark – memoirs of a RN Medic

We had a weeks leave due, so we took of to hitch hike around Spain for a bit – armed with sleeping bags and a few squids!

We took the ferry across to Algeciras and thought we'd kip on the quayside for the night. A couple of armed Gendarmes turned up and persuaded us that this was not a good idea – onwards then!

If my memory serves we followed a route that took us via Cadiz and back again. During this time we managed to drink copious quantities of Sangria and slept in a variety of peculiar places under the stars.

I remember a bar in some small village where we drank Sangria out of pint glasses, having not been impressed with the jugs with glasses as was tradition. As we got progressively drunker I am sure a couple senoritas were taking a positive interest in us. To drunk and language challenged to respond, we made our way back to where we had decided to kip for the night. We crawled into our sleeping bags in the pitch black site of our choosing.

A particularly uncomfortable night was brought to an abrupt end in the morning with some foul smelling vegetables landing on us, having been lobbed over a fence from the camp site on the other side. My discomfort was due to having pitched my sleeping bag onto a mess of animal bones lying in the rubbish tip we had been sleeping in!

We also managed to sleep in a large pipe of some sort or other and under a hedge, I think, in Cadiz city centre. Now that's what I call roughing it!

Extract from A Navy Lark – memoirs of a RN Medic

I was lucky enough to spend 2 years on HMS Ark Royal, an aircraft carrier, in the late 80s.  While on deployment in the Mediterranean, we had a 17 year old prospective Medical Assistant join us for 3 weeks.  Hed just finished basic training and had several weeks to wait before his MA course started.  This guy was 17 going on 12, very naive – in the nicest possible way.  He believed anything he was told and was ready to follow any order with enthusiasm.  I couldn’t help liking him, but also had a hard time not taking advantage of his willing personality.

I was a member of the seaboat crew and we were out 2-3x daily carrying out man overboard drills using a dummy.  The boat bay was about 45feet above sea level and the RIB (rigid inflatable boat) was swung out and lowered from a hydraulic boom on a cable.  Smudge (our intrepid prospective MA) was watching us one day & expressed an interest in coming out in the boat.  Smudge was promptly invited to play ‘man overboard’.  I told him we sometimes rescued a ships diver who would be dropped from a helicopter, but that he would have to jump from the side of the ship.  This was not really possible & there would be a fair chance of being sucked into the screws and turned into fish bait.  He said yes, but after looking over the side his face took on a worried look.  Once I saw this, I slowed things down.  Smudge was told it might be several days before he'd get the chance to jump.  Every day he’d ask if it was time.

3 days later we dragged him out of bed at 0500am and dressed him in a wetsuit, lifejacket, mask, fins and snorkel.  I strapped a dive knife to his leg and told him it was fend off sharks. “Poke them in the eye with it”.  We made him walk through the ship to the boatbay in full kit, breathing through his snorkel and peering through his steamed up mask.  He had to walk backwards up the stairwells.  People were backing up against the bulkhead to let him pass.  All 900 of the crew knew what was going on.  Only Smudge was less than blissfully ignorant.

When we got to the boatbay,  a ‘safety line’ was tied around Smudges waist.  He was told that when the time came to jump hed be untied.  The bosun sat Smudge on the edge of the ship.  He was so terrified that his trembling buttocks were lifting his body up and down.  The bosun counted him down from 5, and to give him his due, he moved to jump.  At the same time, 4 burly seamen heaved him back into the ship by his safety line.  Right at that moment, the ships photographer took a pic of the scene.  I had the Phot section make me a few copies that day.  For the next few years I stayed in touch with Smudges drafting and made sure a copy of the picture was on a noticeboard before he got where he was going.

Smudge – I wish you well, wherever you are & hope you have got over your POSD (Post Owen Stress Disorder)  I need to add that Smudges honour was upheld with help of CPOMA John Clinton.  JC helped Smudge turn the tables on Steve Moutrey and I.  Watch this space for the follow up dit…

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

I will revisit Haslar on a few occasions. My first tale concerns my first visit to a ward and my first 'procedure'.

Around two to three weeks into part 2 it's time to meet a real patient. Theory is great, of course, but it takes on a whole new perspective when applied it to a living, breathing subject.

I now have proudly displayed on my arm, a red cross, signifying I am a member of the medical branch of the Royal Navy. It's OK to wear it at Haslar because it is obvious that I am a lowly trainee. In fact, I revel in the 'rank' of Junior Medical Assistant 2 (JMA2) – can't get any lower than this in the pecking order.

Anyway, back to the task in hand. What fascinating thing will I be doing this morning? This thought runs through my eager mind as I enter one of the general surgery wards. Here, my tutor lets me know that I will be performing a high-colonic lavage (popular in some parts of the community, today) on a poor, unsuspecting patient.

Trust me, this is not the procedure to start your medical career with! I will spare you all the gory details – suffice to say it involved shoving a tube up the patient's rear end, pouring many pints of warm water down the tube and, cleaning the lower intestine as well as possible. This is in preparation for surgery.

So, a smelly, thoroughly unpleasant hour later – I leave the surgical ward having, well and truly, been introduced to the reality of my job. Welcome to my world!

Extract from  a 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

Yes, we are still at Haslar in early February 1974 undergoing part 2 training. We have a particularly sadistic, or so it seemed at the time, Chief Petty Officer as our instructor. He believed a fit trainee is a happy and alert trainee. Alright as far as it goes.

So back to the sea wall. It is 06.00 in the morning – my class is up and dressed in shorts, vest and plimsolls. This is our standard exercise gear. We are in the freezing cold winter air running alongside the sea wall. We do this most mornings in the week. After a couple of miles we reach a grassy clearing. This is were we get to play a fairly unique game for the RN – I'm sure that the other services have something similar.

We now partake in 15 minutes of Murder ball. Murder ball? Yep – Murderball. A simple game with no rules. We are split into two teams. The objective is to score touchdowns – you can kick, throw and run with the ball. The Chief blows the whistle and bedlam ensues. Bodies everywhere!

Oh, I failed to mention the main strategy when playing Murder ball – get rid of the ball as soon as you get it! If you fail to do this you will find yourself underneath a pile of bodies intent on crushing you, seemingly, to death. After 10 minutes or so the 'game' comes to an end. Who knows who won? I just know some of us have a few more bumps and bruises.

Right, back to the school. No, not quite yet. We run back along the sea wall. Now, just to make sure we are wide awake we all plunge into the icy cold Solent. Bloody hell, it's freezing! My testicles panic and try to get as deep into my abdomen as rapidly as possible.

Now soaking and frozen we run, pretty rapidly, back to the school, shit, shower, shave and have breakfast. Then it's into the classroom for the day's lessons.

Funnily enough, nobody ever seemed to doze during these lessons!

Extract from  a Navy Lark – memoirs of a RN Medic