Naval misadventures from a previous coronation, part two
[Editor’s note: This is the second and concluding part of John Graham’s account of being a first-year naval cadet in training aboard the veteran frigate HCMS La Hulloise and his naval misadventures during Queen Elizabeth II’s coronation in 1953. The first part can be viewed here. When we had last left our hapless cadet-in-training, he was taking his tun at the ship’s helm . . ..]
My experience was not auspicious. The ship was ploughing directly into the waves, but the action of waves and wind when one side of the hull was even briefly exposed to the force of the wind would overpower the rudder. When that happened–and it was obvious from the movement of the compass needle–I would take corrective action with the wheel.
But the elements were not on my side. The ship continued to slip off course. Alarmed, I gave the wheel another turn and still the rudder, pushed by wind and wave, failed to respond. The needle kept moving in the wrong direction. The ship’s side was increasingly exposed to the gale.
One more push at the wheel and suddenly the rudder took over. The ship began to move swiftly back on course and then beyond. More frantic action at the wheel when the captain’s voice boomed down the copper speaking tube from the open deck above, “Get that God-damned cadet off the wheel!”
Water and booze
Fresh water was a bigger problem. As part of our training routine when outward bound, the ship engaged in an anti-submarine exercise off the coast of Newfoundland. Unfortunately the explosions of depth charges damaged the ship’s aged condensers, the devices responsible for converting salt water to fresh water for the boilers, cooking and personal hygiene. The crew conducted an inspection of the condensers in the harbour at St John’s. The results left the captain with two choices: return to Halifax for repairs, which would mean abandoning the Queen’s Review of the fleet, or proceeding to England at lower speed and with draconian rationing of water for hygiene. Without hesitation, the captain opted for England.
Eventually we reached the English coast and took up station in the Solent. With the anchor down, our time was spent removing salt, cleaning, painting, and polishing until (it seemed to us) that our ancient vessel gleamed unnaturally like a gem–but did not smell like a gem. The price for reaching England was a ship that smelled.
As it happened an invitation for drinks in the gunroom aboard the Magnificent arrived at this time. A colleague from Queen’s University, a midshipman on the Maggie, had invited two of his friends from university. The party was the night before the Queen’s review. Tony and I cleaned ourselves and our grotty uniforms as much as possible and set off up the line of warships in a bum boat from La Hulloise.
‘Glassy and garrulous’
The party was ‘advanced’ when we arrived with a score of midshipmen from foreign and Royal Navy ships. One had already been ill over the side and unfortunately into the Captain’s barge. My booze exposure was a few pubs and the Gunroom in Kingston where the selection was beer or sherry. Tony’s exposure was a bit wider, but neither of us knew when to stop.
Baker, our host, recognized that we were becoming glassy and garrulous. He hustled us out of the gunroom, through the corridors, up the ladders and along the flight deck to the ladder that ran down the ship’s side to where our small boat waited.
Tony started down. He was nearing the bottom of the ladder–a long way on an aircraft carrier–when at gathering speed his feet skimmed the steps until he lost all control and plunged.
Fortunately, he fell just as a swell separated the boat from the ship’s side. I followed. Although almost as zonked, I was now forewarned and managed to keep my feet on the steps. At the bottom I helped the two sailors from the La Hulloise bum boat fish Tony out of the water and aboard.
‘Green mist?’
The next morning arrived bright and clear, but too soon for those of us with hangovers. After more last-minute polish and preparation, then at last the vessel bearing the Queen approached and we could see the tiny figures of the Queen and the Duke of Edinburgh on a podium set up on HMS Surprise, the temporary Royal Yacht.
Despite the preparations, ours was still a stinky ship. Some of us worried that instead of a benevolent wave, our sovereign would notice a faint green mist emanating from La Hulloise and hold her nose as she passed.
