Like so many other youngsters at the beginning of the war, I could not wait until I was old enough to join one of the Services, in retrospect, foolishly thinking that it would be an exciting adventure. As soon as it was possible I volunteered for the Royal Navy at the age of seventeen but did not receive my calling up papers until a day or two after I had reached eighteen years of age.

Overjoyed at receiving the long awaited notice, ordering that I report to Chatham Royal Naval Barracks, I arrived there early on the appointed Wednesday morning, April 1943, full of enthusiasm. Disillusion was reached quicker than the eagerness of the anticipation of now serving as a member of His Majesties Royal Navy. Frustration came faster than the previous thoughts of achieving glory. Boredom rescinded the hopes of excitement.

The first realisation that I may have made a mistake came within five minutes of reporting at the main gates of the Barracks, from where I was conducted by an ordinary seaman to the new intake area, about a quarter of a mile away. Stepping from the road onto the pavement, a voice issued forth from the main gate area only yards behind, bawling out.  Get orf that footpath, Orff-is-sers only. It did not take long to be aware that the person with the gravel voice, was one of many whom it was refereed to as being an issue of unwed parents.

Within a half an hour of arriving at the barracks I had been registered in, and the rest of the day was available to do; ---absolutely nothing. So a boring morning was followed by a boring afternoon, that proceeded a boring evening accompanied by dozens of other bored personnel.

The next day boredom was broken for at least a half an hour in the morning with a medical examination. This virtually consisted of ensuring that new recruit was breathing and free of crabs, lice and any visible form of an anti-social decease. An hour in the afternoon was taken up with a simple trade test, which could have been passed by anyone with the minimum aptitude for the trade which had been followed in civilian life, and to which was about to be entered in a service capacity. 

A restricted freedom was permitted when we were allowed to go ashore in the evening. Ashore! Weren’t we already ashore? Not when one is in the Navy. The acres of Tarmac, the miles of dockyard buildings, the concrete jetties, were HMS something or other. So that evening, along with new friends we left HMS whatever it was and went to the cinema. I have no idea what the main film was but the first programme to appear on the screen was the Newsreel. This created both nostalgia and considerable excitement for me for on the screen I immediately recognised the High Street of my own hometown. Not only that I had been present several months earlier when the film of Black American Solders performing marching drills had been photographed. The following day being a Friday, we were told that we would not be needed over the weekend so that anyone who wanted to take leave could do so provided they returned by 8am on the Monday morning.  I, like so many others naturally took advantage of the opportunity of returning home for the comforts that we had so quickly deserted.

In the first full week at HMS Thingy, a full set of uniform and necessities was received, as well as inoculations and vaccinations, to be followed by six weeks of square bashing.  On completion of basic training and performing at a passing out parade before the Commander in Chief, of whatever he was C in C of. We marched in line abreast formation the full length of a large parade ground, right wheeled at the end to be obscured from view by a row of dockyard buildings. Then in the true British tradition of presenting a display of manpower to impress the top brass, out of sight we ran like hell to the starting position to repeat the performance. Not once but twice.   

After seven days leave, a boring month was spent at another HMS shore establishment to receive specialise training.  An event that could have been carried out by a modern day industrial training establishment, in a couple of days. After this a drafting was given to what was to be our appointed unit for the duration of hostilities. My appointment being to Combined Operations force at HMS Lizard at Hove, Sussex, and another shore-based establishment that was previously a posh pre-war Hotel.

HMS Lizard had a lot of Naval personal who as previously mentioned were reputed to be the offspring of unwed parents, and these persons had the privilege of having their own dining hall or as they are known in service quarters, their Mess Hall. A place for them to dine and relax away from the other lower classes of serving men.

To this hallowed ground I was appointed to be a Mess Man. Having technical qualifications which were supposed to be appreciated by the Royal Navy and that being one of the prime reasons that I chose that branch of the services, the last thing that I wanted to do was to act as a servant, to a group of ungrateful over privileged Petty Officers. Of course there are exceptions in people’s nature and one day one of these exceptional persons arrived late for lunch to an empty mess hall.  He took one look at me as I handed him his lunch and told me that I didn’t look very happy. Telling him that I was bored with the job he said.  Something will turn up lad. 

A day or two later, the same Chief whose parents must have been a happily married couple approached me to say that he had another job for me if I had a couple of mates that I could call upon to join me. Quickly rounding up a couple of my Pals we set off with the Chief to a bungalow situated on the shorefront at Portslade on Sea. There we were told that the bungalow was to be our base until such time as when our unit was to be called to take up it's appointment.  Our duties we were told was to defend the Country against any invasion that the Germans may carry out at Portslade on Sea. Should such battle ensue we were issued with a 1914-18 war time rifle and five rounds of ammunition. Not each. Just between the three of us.

The Chief informed us that we were to make our way back to HMS Lizard for our meals, and if we wanted to go ashore in the evening we could do so providing we were back in the Bungalow before midnight. Just in case of a sneaky invasion at night we supposed. Our weekend leave, we could continue take as normal we were also happily informed. That we took to imply that it was most inconceivable that Hitler would consider an invasion at a weekend.

So for almost a month, three of us vigilantly guarded our Country, alert and ready to defend its citizens against the Nazi enemy. Boredom we never accepted, as it was a righteous duty we had to perform, and in between the card games we would see who could throw a pebble into the sea. We were aware that if we should run out of bullets in conducting the defence of our Island, then we would repel the enemy with pebbles. Didn’t Winston Churchill say “We will fight them on the beaches”. It could have been possible that, that beach could have been the one that Winston was referring to if there had been a Battle of Brighton, well Hove, well actually, Portslade on Sea.  

Submitted by Ted