Og's Blog Pt. 08

Og's Blog Pt 08

Og becomes a civil servant. Part 04 To the end at Portsmouth.

Author's Note: Because of the Official Secrets Act, this has to be regarded as a fictionalised account and names will be omitted or changed. Any names given will not be the names of real people.

Please note that Parts 01 and 02 of Og's blog are transcripts of posts made on the Authors' Hangout and typed directly as a response to other posts. Og's blogs 03 onwards have been composed at leisure and edited. Where there are discrepancies between accounts in Parts 01 and 02 and subsequent parts the later version is likely to be a more accurate version because I have had time to consult my records.

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Travel

The second weekend after I started at Portsmouth Dockyard, Graham, who had arrived a week earlier, and I decided to go back to our parents in London for the weekend. I had brought the minimum when I arrived and I needed many things I had left at home.

On the way back I caught a late train from Waterloo on the Sunday evening. The train stopped at Portsmouth and Southsea station, short of Portsmouth Harbour, my destination. Apparently there were emergency engineering works on the last mile or so. I had intended to take a taxi from Portsmouth Harbour station but there were no taxis at Portsmouth and Southsea.

Cursing, I set off to carry my heavy large suitcase to my flat. But I didn't know the way to the flat from that station. I had gone about a third of the way and I wasn't sure which road to take next. I stopped alongside a lighted shop window and got out my street plan of Portsmouth and Southsea. I crouched down to spread the map on top of my suitcase. I had just opened it when there was a squeal of brakes beside me. Two policemen got out of a Police car. I was still facing the window when one asked:

"Excuse me, sir, can you provide an explanation for your presence here? You are outside a jewellers' window at one in the morning with a suitcase. That looks suspicious."

I stood up and turned around. The policeman nearest to me took a step backwards. The other smaller policeman put his hand on his truncheon. Both looked worried. I was taller than either of them and probably weighed more than the two of them. But as I turned my dockyard pass on the jacket pocket of my suit was visible.

They relaxed slightly. If I was a senior dockyard officer I was unlikely to be a jewel thief.

I explained that I was trying to find my way to my new flat from the station I had never been to before, and I would have used a taxi but there weren't any. I showed them my map with the flat marked with its address.

He policeman who had spoken first asked me about my rank and how long I had been in post. He thought I was very young for such a rank. I told him I had been employed for a whole two weeks and explained about the civil service examination.

They saluted me and offered to take me in the police car to my flat. I was grateful because my suitcase was heavy. On the way they told me why they had stopped and how worried they had been when I stood up and revealed myself as a very large and very muscular individual. They hadn't been sure that the two of them could arrest me had I resisted. My dockyard pass had been a relief.

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The winter of 1962/3 was one of the coldest on record in the UK. I had gone home for the New Year, having been on duty over Christmas, and I wanted to return to Portsmouth for Monday morning. The snow had been falling hard so I left home at twelve noon on the Sunday. I walked with my father to the railway station. From the bridge overlooking the station it was obvious there would be no trains. It was impossible to see where the platforms ended and the tracks began. The snow had covered everything. We went back to my parents' house and I made some phone calls. There were no buses running. The nearest station on the major line wasn't operational. Even if I had, somehow, got to Waterloo they didn't expect trains to be able to get as far as Portsmouth until tomorrow at the earliest.

On Monday morning I telephoned the personnel ANSO in Portsmouth Dockyard. He said at least one third of the staff, even if living locally, had been unable to get to work. As I was supernumerary, my presence wasn't essential. I should get back to Portsmouth when I could but a day, a couple of days, a week? It didn't matter. I would continue to be paid even if I couldn't get to the Dockyard.

It was the Wednesday before I was able to get to Waterloo. I had to walk four miles to the main line station, catch a train which took twice as long as normal to get to London, and then I caught a train to Portsmouth. Instead of the normal hour or so it took seven hours on the journey.

I took a taxi from Portsmouth Harbour which slipped and skidded its way to Southsea. I was pleased to be in that flat even if I was due to move out on the Saturday.

On Thursday and Friday mornings I took a taxi from the flat to the dockyard gates. I took some of my belongings from the flat and stored them in the trainees' room. On Saturday I would take the absolute minimum from the flat to catch the ferry to Gosport and walk to the Bed and Breakfast in Alverstoke. I could transfer the rest from the office to Alverstoke over the next week. It was only really necessary because the pavements were so ice-covered. If not, I could have put everything in my large suitcase, taken a taxi to the ferry and another taxi from Gosport. I wasn't sure that taxis would be running in Gosport. They weren't.

Over the next two weeks I was pleased that my journey time was reduced, easier and less costly. Instead of a bus from Southsea I walked to the Gosport Ferry and was delivered close to the dockyard gates. The Gosport Ferry had been running continuously even when Portsmouth was being blitzed during WW2. It had never stopped, which was just as well. The road alternative was seventeen miles and several changes of bus.

But during that winter of 1962/3 something very unusual happened. The upper reaches of Portsmouth Harbour, despite being salt water, had frozen solid. There was a short slightly milder spell and then a very high Spring tide. That tide dislodged the ice in the harbour which began to move outwards with the tide, running fast past the ferry route. The floating ice also produced thick fog. The icebergs were typically a metre cube which was enough to hole the ferry if it struck one, and the steersman couldn't see to navigate and certainly couldn't see the icebergs.

The ferry service was suspended and I was stuck on the wrong side, looking into the fog for Portsmouth Dockyard which was invisible. I was one of dozens if not hundreds of Dockyard employees who couldn't get to work. The dockyard tried to get a local coach company to collect us and bring us by road. The roads were so foggy and ice-covered that no coach operator would take the risk. The dockyard would send some RN trucks but they wouldn't arrive for an hour at least, maybe two.

I remembered that the Victualling Stores Yard was also on the Gosport side of the harbour. If I got there, there was a navy boat service that ran between that yard and the dockyard. It might be running or if not I might be able to work at the Victualling Yard for the day. I walked to that yard.

The naval boat service was running. It was an old 1890s steam pinnace that was commanded by a young midshipman a couple of years older than me. It was a solidly built, riveted boat with a strong bow. Despite lacking radar the midshipman thought he could get across to the dockyard and if he hit an iceberg his boat would either brush them aside of shatter them. The transit would be at my own risk. He gave me a lifejacket - probably useless in such cold fast running water. As far as he knew no other vessel would be out and about in the harbour. I was the only passenger.

He cast off and crossed the harbour at fifteen knots sounding his fog horn continuously. He was obviously enjoying himself. We struck about three icebergs but he was right. His boat brushed them aside easily. Five minutes later I was landed in the dockyard. When I walked into the office the other staff were surprised. I was the only one to cross from Gosport to the dockyard in the morning. The rest arrived by about 2 o'clock. I went back by steam pinnace but the others didn't get back to Gosport until 8 pm.

I repeated the process for the next two days until the ferry service resumed.

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Our next training course was a week split between an aircraft repair yard and the nearby Royal Naval Air Station.

We were sent to the Air Station to collect an aircraft that needed repairs. I drove the empty tractor towing a Queen Mary trailer down the wide road between the two. The vehicle took up almost the full width of the road and we were preceded and followed by motorcycle escorts who kept any other traffic away. After the aircraft was loaded, Graham drove it to the repair yard. Both of us were very worried about driving such a large vehicle even if we didn't exceed five miles an hour.

We saw how precise and meticulous the mechanics were. They had a compelling reason. Any repaired aircraft delivered to the air station would perform a low level flypast, typically between the ventilation chimneys of the main workshops and no more than six feet above the roof.

At the air station Graham was given more rides in naval aircraft than I was, because he had never flown in any aircraft before even commercial airliners. As an Air Scout in Gibraltar I had flown many times and even been catapulted from an aircraft carrier at sea. At first Graham was worried. By the end of the week he was enjoying himself. With my height and size I just couldn't fit in the co-pilot's seat of smaller aircraft but Graham could.

Later we went to another naval air station in Cornwall and flew in helicopters. One ride worried us. It was in a Whirlwind helicopter that had a known intermittent fault of a failed main gearbox that would cut drive to the main rotors, leaving them windmilling as the pilot did a crash landing. It had been repaired - again - but the staff weren't sure that the fault wouldn't recur.

It didn't help our confidence that our pilot had spent lunchtime in the wardroom sinking multiple pink gins.

We took off for a sightseeing tour of Cornwall. We were even more worried when the pilot descended over the sea to about six feet above the water; and then descended over a farmer's burning field, scattering the flames and ashes. When we landed safely we needed to go to the wardroom for a drink to calm our nerves.

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Firefighting

The six trainee ANSOs were sent for a basic firefighting course. We were shown the various types of fire extinguisher and which to use for what type of fire.

There was a large pile of recently time-expired fire extinguishers that need servicing and refilling. The training staff set up a series of different fires and expected us to choose the correct fire extinguisher and use it.

We were worried that almost half of the water/acid fire extinguishers, although being only a few weeks after their service date, failed to work. One small fire took six extinguishers before it was out.

We were also shown what happened if you used the wrong sort e.g. on a fat fire. A water/acid extinguisher would just spread that everywhere.

The main message was if there was a fire, get everyone out and direct someone to call the dockyard fire brigade from a safe distance. If you couldn't put the fire out yourself within thirty seconds - get out and leave it to the professionals.

[Aside] I had two later experiences with firefighting, years after I had ceased to be a trainee.

I was the ANSO in charge of the depot's new and expensive computer unit. I had been trained at IBM, St John's Wood in London. IBM had instructed us what to do in case of a fire in or near the computer unit. Apart from evacuating everyone, there was a bright red lever on the side of the main processing unit. If the fire was close, that lever should be pulled.

I was unhappy about that. The lever ripped out the main bus bar to which all the processing wires, thousands of them, were connected. If that lever was pulled, IBM would take at least three months to repair the main processing unit and there were no spare ones in the UK at all. For three months I would have to drive one hundred miles to the next Admiralty computer and use that at night before returning the next morning. I would slow the operation of the whole department.

One lunchtime a fire broke out in an office along the corridor. Someone, just before going to lunch, had discarded a cigarette end into a wicker basket full of waste paper. That paper had caught fire and then had spread to the cardboard modesty (or draught) screen around the desk. The few staff in the room had evacuated, hit the fire alarm, and called the dockyard fire brigade. There was a considerable amount of smoke which was coming into the computer unit. On hearing the fire alarm I had ordered my staff to evacuate, which they had.

I was standing by the main computer unit with my hand on the red lever as the smoke got thicker and thicker. Would the fire brigade arrive before I had to pull the lever and send the department into three months' of chaos?

The ANSO in charge of that room returned from lunch. He grabbed a water/acid fire extinguisher and put the fire out. He walked along the corridor to check everyone had evacuated. He saw me.

"What the hell are you doing?" he asked as I stood there with my hand on the lever.

I explained IBM's fire instructions and the consequences of pulling that lever.

"Stupid fucking IBM!" he said. "Why didn't you turn it off at the main switch?"

Of course. If I had cut the power we might have lost a few minutes processing that could have been replicated easily.

The fire brigade arrived five minutes later.

I felt stupid. As the result of my report to IBM they deleted the red handle from all future computers of that model and changed their instruction for fire to 'turn off at the mains'.

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My computer ran on punch cards, tens of thousands a day. Its main output was printed forms in quadruplicate. The printer was very fast. It had 144 character width and each character position had a vertical rod with all the characters on them. The rods moved too fast to see. When printing, it would produce forms at a mile of paper per hour. But when it got into a loop it would feed paper at four miles an hour with the continuous forms shooting ten feet up into the air. It was very noisy. Although it had an acoustic hood, the operators had to wear ear defenders.

But the item of equipment that caused me most problems was the combined punch card reader/cutter. While punching holes in cards it would produce dust and get very hot. After about an hour of continuous working it might reach the flash point for that dust and catch fire, destroying any cards in the machine. But we needed it to be working eight hours a day.

I put a thermometer under the transparent hood. If the temperature was within about 5 degrees C of the flash point I would raise the hood and spray inside with a CO2 fire extinguisher. That lowered the temperature enough for another half an hour of continuous working when I would repeat.

But I was using a CO2 extinguisher a day, more than the whole of the rest of the dockyard. The Chief Fire Officer was not amused because CO2 extinguishers had to be supplied by him and I was costing him a lot of money. He complained to my local Departmental Head who summoned me for an explanation. The Head accepted my explanation and seemed to mollify the Chief Fire Officer by transferring funds to repay for the CO2 fire extinguishers. The cost of them was far less than the cost of having the computer out of action.

However the Chief Fire Officer was not amused by being worsted by a very junior person. He decided, that since I was using more fire extinguishers than the whole of his brigade, I needed specialist fire fighting training.

Over the next few months the Chief Fire Officer made sure I regretted upsetting him. He sent me on the following courses:

Fire fighting at sea in a storm;

Fire fighting in a submerged submarine;

Fire fighting under nuclear and/or biological attack wearing full protective year and operating in a darkened room filled with tear gas;

Fire fighting at the top of the tallest extension ladder;

Fire fighting in a skyscraper;

Fire fighting in an underground chamber with the risk of explosive gas - etc.

I passed every course, often better than his professionals. At the end of them, he admitted he had been trying to push me beyond my limits, but had failed. I had demonstrated that I was larger, heavier, stronger and fitter than any of his firemen. The only problem I had experienced was in the tear-gas filled room. The protective helmet and suit weren't really large enough and the tear gas had affected me. But even though I could barely see, I had completed the task. He made me an honorary member of his fire brigade and we became friends.

The fire-fighting courses were added to my civil service training record and had consequences later.

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Graham and I attended more training course and sat with more ANSOs for the rest of the year. Either the training courses were like the one in South Wales, and I don't remember them, or they didn't produce any memorable items to put into this blog.

About a year after Graham and I started in Portsmouth, the training officer called us into his office on a Friday morning. One of us was needed to take up a post in charge of a section in Rosyth, Scotland starting on Monday. Neither Graham, nor I, as Londoners, wanted to go to Scotland. The training officer said it didn't matter which, but one of us had to be there Monday morning.

Graham and I left his office for a few seconds. We tossed a coin. Graham lost and he would go to Rosyth. After about a year there Graham applied for a transfer to a civil service department in London and was accepted.

The next Friday morning the training officer summoned me. I knew what was coming. I had been appointed to Devonport Dockyard and should be there Monday morning. I had already warned my B and B landlady that I was likely to leave soon, at short notice. I paid her for a week's notice. Before I left for my parents' house in London she kissed and hugged me so much I was worried her husband, standing beside her, would object. He didn't. He shook my hand and thanked me for looking after his wife and child while he had been away. I was home on the Friday evening. On previous visits home I had taken as much of my belongings as practicable.

The end of Part 08.