Og's Blog Pt. 09

Og's Blog Pt 09

Og becomes a civil servant. Part 05 Starting in Devonport.

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.

The Devonport accommodation office apologised. They had booked me into a Temperance Hotel which they knew was not the place to put a Naval Stores Officer but they did that for all new people to Plymouth/Devonport. The Temperance Hotel was just across the road from Plymouth's North Road station and there was a good bus service to Devonport Dockyard. Over the next few weeks they would find somewhere more suitable for me.

I arrived late on Saturday afternoon. After booking in and an early evening meal I decided to walk down to Union Street, Plymouth's roughest and toughest area where all the night clubs were.

I had just left a public house full of sailors and was walking to another when there was commotion outside a night club. A Marine had just been ejected and was threatening to beat up the door staff. His threat was more verbal than actual as he had difficulty standing up. A Marine Corporal came out of the night club and attempted to get the Marine to calm down. The Marine swung a punch at the Corporal who easily avoided it, but if the punch had landed the consequences could be serious. I walked up behind the Marine, wrapped him in a bear hug and lifted him off his feet. His legs were flailing wildly and he was swearing as only a Marine can when the Naval Patrol arrived. As I held his arms by his sides they put handcuffs on him and put him in the back of their Landrover.

"Thank you, sir," The Corporal said. "If he had hit me that could have been awkward."

"No worries, cobber," I said in an Australian accent. The naval patrol wanted my details. I showed them my Portsmouth Dockyard pass and told them I would be starting in Devonport on the Monday. I walked on the next public house.

On the Sunday I went to the fairly new local YMCA and joined their gym.

On Monday morning when I arrived at Devonport Dockyard at 10 am as requested, I was met by the Marine Corporal and the Marine who had been arrested on Saturday night. I was wearing my Portsmouth Dockyard pass that would be replaced by a Devonport pass today.

"Oh shit!" The Marine said. "You're a fucking officer, sir, and I might have hit you!"

I laughed.

"I might have officer status, but I'm a civilian, Marine. If you had hit me, which you were too drunk to do anyway, all that might have happened is that I would have hit you back."

"And that would have hurt," The Corporal said. "But thank you, sir. It could have been awkward if he had hit me. Thanks to you, all that happened was he spent a night in the cells to sober up..."

"... and got a bollocking from me." The Marine Sergeant had come out of the guard room.

"Welcome to Devonport, Sir. My colleagues in Portsmouth told me you were coming but I didn't expect you to save a Marine from a serious charge even before you started. Marine? Escort this officer to the naval Stores Department. And be grateful to him."

I followed the Marine through the dockyard.

"Thank you, sir," he said. "but you don't sound Australian. The Corporal told me an Australian giant had stopped me from doing something stupid."

"No, I'm not Australian, I returned from two years there a year or so ago, but I tend to revert to Aussie speak when I've had a few beers."

"A few beers? How many had you had when we met? You picked me up like a baby."

"When I met you? It was fairly early that evening. I suppose I'd had ten pints."

"Ten pints? Fucking hell! I would be unconscious after that many."

"But as your Corporal said, I'm a giant."

The Marine looked up at me.

"I suppose you are. You must weigh twice as much as me. I'm glad I didn't try to hit you."

We had arrived at the Naval Stores Department. The Marine shook my hand before leaving.

+++

I was shown the section I would be in charge of. Among many other things it dealt with anchors, chain cable, wire ropes, security furniture and metal furniture generally such as filing cabinets and cupboards. I would have a staff of twelve, almost all of whom were very experienced. The most junior Clerical Assistant was a lady 25 years old who had been in post in that section since she was fifteen. I was now a whole nineteen years old. The most senior Clerical Officers? They were gentlemen close to retirement. Both had served in the Second World War, one as a Chief Petty Officer and the other as a full Captain who had commanded a cruiser. Neither needed the pay but they were both widowers working instead of moping at home.

At once I knew that my task as being in charge of this section would be easy. The staff knew far more than I did, and although I would bear the responsibility of the rank, any of them, even the junior Clerical Assistant, could advise me. As a new boy, they might play jokes on me, but they would be unlikely to be malicious. During my first week I showed that I wanted and needed advice and if I was given it acknowledged that my actions were based on that advice. If I made a wrong decision, and I did, it was my fault. If I made the right decision it was because someone had told me how to do it.

My line supervisor was a decorated WW2 Fleet Air Arm pilot. His superior had served in Naval Stores throughout the war, and like my father, had been heavily involved in the logistics for D-Day. But he was also typical of older Naval Stores staff. He was useless before the sun was over the yardarm and had to have several drinks before he was effective. But from then onwards he was a demon full of energy and did far more between 1 pm and 5 pm than many did in an eight hour day.

On the Wednesday morning my supervisor came to see me.

"What did you do in Union Street on Saturday night? I have been sent two letters addressed to the department about you. One, from the officer in charge of the Marine dockyard security is thanks for saving a Marine from a stupid action. The other is from the office of the Naval Patrol for assisting with an arrest."

I explained what had happened.

"Um. Union Street is the most dangerous part of Plymouth, especially on Friday and Saturday nights..."

"So are parts of Portsmouth, sir," I replied, "and I've never had any trouble."

"I can see why not. But be careful, please."

"Yes, sir, I will be. But most drunks take one look and choose someone else."

+++

On the Friday at the end of my first week my superior called me into his office for a review of my actions during the week. Yes, I had made mistakes, but they were the mistakes of youthful enthusiasm, not stupidity and I had taken steps to correct them. I had also admitted my errors and taken personal responsibility for them, and said that my better decisions had been because of cogent advice, which had also helped to correct my errors. Importantly I hadn't made the same mistake twice.

He was reasonably pleased that I had made a sound start. But he had a problem for me, a problem that my predecessors hadn't been able to solve in the previous fifteen years. He gave me a fat file to read.

In 1943 the stocktake of anchors had shown three old very large anchors that were obsolete. They had been spares for pre-dreadnought battleships. When the next stocktake had been carried out in 1945 after VE Day they were missing. Where had they gone?

No. They hadn't been destroyed by enemy action. Although the dockyard had been frequently bombed throughout WW2, no bomb had fallen anywhere near those anchors and even if one or more had, the remains would still exist.

No. They hadn't been issued to any ship. There should be paperwork and they were so large that very few ships could carry them.

No. They hadn't been transferred to another dockyard. If they had, there should be paperwork and enquiries at all the other UK dockyards had established that they didn't have three large old anchors lying around.

My superior told me he expected some sort of explanation by the end of the day on Monday. Even though the anchors had been last seen when I was a baby, they were now my responsibility and I had to find out what had happened.

But he had some other news for me. It was the Friday immediately after the end of the month pay day and the junior naval stores officers, i.e. those under 40, which didn't include him, went on a pub crawl. They would be collected from outside the dockyard by hired coach at 5.30 pm and would return at 11 pm after the pubs had shut. I was invited, if I wanted to go. I would have to pay a contribution for the coach hire but that was a few shillings. I accepted and he rang another ANSO to confirm my acceptance.

+++

At the coach I was welcomed effusively by the others. They told me, that as it was my first pub crawl from Devonport, for this time, and this time only, I would not have to pay for my drinks. They would be bought for me, except they bought at least one bottle in every public house for the driver. He had an empty crate behind his driver's seat. By the end of the evening that would be full with pint and quart bottles. Would I pay a ten shilling contribution to that? I handed over a ten shilling note.

By the fourth pint of local bitter and the second public house I was beginning to form an idea about the missing anchors. I suspected that my colleagues were trying to establish my capacity for alcohol. Was I suitable to be a member of Naval Stores? I didn't disappoint them, in fact I astounded them. After eight pints of various local bitters I switched to pint bottles of Newcastle Brown. By the end of the evening when we arrived back outside the dockyard, I had drunk fourteen bottles of Newcastle Brown, making a total of twenty-two pints. I walked off the coach and walked back the mile or so to the Temperance Hotel. The hotel's night staff didn't suspect that I had been drinking or they might have remonstrated with me. However I decided I needed to move to another place before the next pub crawl.

I went to bed and didn't get up until eleven am on the Saturday morning. I then went to a coffee shop and had four black coffees before I felt able to face the world.

+++

I spent an hour in Plymouth's main library, checking my general knowledge of the events of 1944. I couldn't use my school history studies. My UK version had ended in 1870; my Australian one in 1914. Combined with one of the few statements my father had made about the logistics effort in Plymouth in the weeks before and after D-Day I was beginning to see a solution to the missing anchors. I would need to look at my section's records for 1944 but if they confirmed what I thought I would have an explanation.

+++

First thing on Monday morning I asked my two most experienced Clerical Officers to join me at my desk.

"I need your help," I said. "I want you two to go through the records for the issue of old or obsolescent anchors for the period from May to December 1944."

"He's given you that file, then," the ex-Captain RN said. "That's a good sign. He must be pleased with you. He usually waits until a new ANSO has been in post a month, not a week."

"I am beginning to have an idea that might work but what you discover will either support my idea or wreck it. What I need are the types of anchors, when issued and more importantly when that issue was recorded if it wasn't done on the day of issue. OK?"

"Yes, sir, it shouldn't take long. There can't have been more than about thirty at most. What we won't find, because many people have looked for it, is a record of the issue of the three missing anchors."

"Thank you. While you're looking, I'm going to the accommodation office. I need to move out of the Temperance Hotel."

The ex-Captain laughed.

"I'm surprised they haven't evicted you, sir. You drink like a Naval Stores Officer should."

"They haven't noticed. When I return I'm apparently sober."

+++

The accommodation office understood my concern at staying longer in the Temperance Hotel. It was more expensive than a flat or bedsit and not really suitable for an ANSO who drank.

They suggested a bedsit in a quiet street near The Hoe. It would be close to the City Centre, the sea front and bus routes to the dockyard. The elderly landlady had been running it as theatrical diggings but the reduction of the size of touring companies, and the very basic nature of the facilities she offered had made that unpopular. The cost was very low. I would have one room with a gas single ring appliance for cooking and boiling a kettle and the use of a shared bathroom with an over-bath geyser that needed the meter fed with pennies. I arranged to see it that evening. If the landlady and I agreed I could move in within a couple of days. The cost was the most attractive part of the offer.

+++

I returned to my section office after about three-quarters of an hour after I had left it. The two Clerical Officers looked pleased with themselves.

"There were twenty-six issues during the period you had suggested, sir," the ex-Captain said. Here are the record cards and we have listed them.

He gave me a neatly handwritten list.

"As you will see," the ex-Petty Officer said, "most of them were issued in the first couple of weeks of June 1944 but some weren't actually recorded until as late as November..."

"That's great," I said. "What I had hoped for."

"And, where normally the issue would be recorded as going to a particular ship, that didn't happen," he continued. "They are all marked 'Mulberry'."

"Fantastic! Thank you."

"And the rest were marked as issued from 20 June to the end of June - also marked Mulberry."

"That would have been after the storm damage on 19 June. Great."

"After the end of June, except for the three missing ones, Devonport Dockyard had no old anchors at all. The few that were left were for modern ships currently in commission."

"Thank you both very much," I said. "You have found exactly what I had hoped to find. Maybe we can close that file at last."

+++

At 2 o'clock I went to see my superior clutching the fat file, the record cards and the Clerical Officers' list.

"I think I have an acceptable explanation, sir," I said.

He smiled, sat back in his chair and tented his fingers.

"OK. Proceed."

"What started me thinking was something my father had said. He was in Victualling Stores in Plymouth during 1944. He had said very little about D-Day because he still regards that period of his life as covered by the Official Secrets Act. What he did say was that the months before and after D-Day were hectic and what was important for me, was that they didn't get their store records back into order until nearly December."

"OK. And?"

"I thought, who would need old anchors? The obvious use was for the Mulberry Harbours in Normandy. The timing was right. The missing anchors had been seen in 1943 and not in 1945. This morning I asked two of my Clerical officers to check the records."

I gave him the handwritten list.

"As you will see, except for the three missing anchors, all had been issued for use on the Mulberry Harbours. There were a large number of issues at first, presumably for the initial installation, and the rest were taken after 19 June when the Mulberry harbours were badly damaged by a storm."

"I follow you so far. And?"

"The recording of issues was often not done immediately as it would be now. That happened in the Victualling Stores department at the time. Even some of those issued early in June weren't recorded until September or October. The last record is late November 1944, nearly six months after the anchor had been issued on 3rd June to 'Mulberry'. So I think that what happened is that the three missing anchors had in fact been issued for use at the Mulberry harbours, either for the first installation or for repairs after the storm of 19 June but that someone forgot to enter the date of issue to Mulberry."

"OK. That sounds plausible. What do we do now?"

"The only way to prove it, and that might be impossible 19 years later, is to send a diver to check around the remains of the Mulberry Harbours at Arromanches and Utah beaches. What I suggest if that we just enter on the record card a date of issue to Mulberry of say 20 June 1944 and that the record has been made today.

"OK. It's your suggestion. You should do it."

He passed me the fat file with the stock record card. I entered 20 June 1944, to Mulberry, and today's date before signing it.

"Put a summary of what you have said to me into the file and close it. Thank you," he said. "That file has been a burden around my neck for the past five years, and with my predecessors since 1945. Now you can put it back in a filing cabinet for ever."

Back in my office I thanked the two Clerical Officers before writing a memo of my deductions and handing it over for filing.

"It's over, dead?" One of them queried.

"Yes, thanks to you two. Those anchors are now officially off our books."

+++

That evening I went to see the theatrical landlady. If I hadn't been told she was theatrical, a few moments would have shown me. She was in her eighties and walking with two sticks. Her white hair had been dyed bright red, a very unusual effect in the early 1960s. She was wearing the sort of clothes that might have been fashionable before 1914.

Her living room walls were covered with framed playbills and signed studio portraits, all dedicated to her. As far as I could work out, the most modern playbill that had her name prominently was dated 1931. As for the signed pictures? Even I knew some of the names - Charlie Chaplin; Mary Pickford; Douglas Fairbanks and in pride of place above the fireplace - Rudolf Valentino.

She told me she had been a bit-part actress and went to Hollywood in the 1920s but hadn't done much. She returned to the UK and joined several touring companies as an older actress who would play any part. Her last professional engagements had been with ENSA entertaining the troops during WW2. I worked out that she must have been in her 60s then.

Her husband had been killed in an air raid on Devonport Dockyard in 1940 and she had inherited this house from him and his father. Her father-in-law died in 1944 and since 1945 she had been running this house as a theatrical boarding house providing bed, breakfast and evening meals until about three years ago when cooking for others became too much. Since then she had had it divided into basic bedsits and one was vacant. I followed her upstairs. There was a medium size room with a folding settee, a gas fire, a sink, and a gas ring. The shared bathroom was half a flight of stairs further up.

I found her a fascinating woman to talk to. I agreed to take the room from next Saturday at the very low rate she was charging. Over the next few months I spent some evenings with her in her living room, listening to her anecdotes of Hollywood in the silent era, touring with end-of-the-pier shows, and of course, ENSA. After about a year she had to move into a home for retired thespians in London and I had to find another larger room nearby.

+++

I had already met one of her other tenants at the YMCA gym. He was small wiry man, stronger than he looked but he had been impressed by the scale of the weights I was using. On my first evening in that house we went out together to a public house and got to know each other better.