Now that my predecessor had departed and I was left to my own devices, it was time to take stock of the situation. It was very clear that the guy I’d relieved had concentrated all his efforts into understanding the political and military aspects of the on-going situation in this area. Nothing wrong in that. In fact, what he had done in that area was commendable. But he’d ignored the simple fact that he was operating from a ship that was supposed to be ready for sea and capable of being part of a Naval operation. So, to the annoyance of just about everybody, I had to re-introduce parts of the old Portland training regime.
Truth to be told, some of the older and wiser hands told me on the quiet that it was about time, as many of “the lads” were just treating all this as a bit of a holiday.
Music to my ears!
My first “project” was to re-introduce the operation and uses of the IR (Infra Red) cameras. At £8000 a pop not many shore fire stations have one, never mind two. But we did. Normally used for finding people in a heavy smoke filled atmosphere, this needed a team of people. The “leader” holding the camera. Oh, I should mention that to imitate a “smoke filled atmosphere” the “team” would all be wearing full fire-fighting gear (heavy) and equipped with, and using, the BA sets.
As, unfortunately, most people never take note of their surroundings, it was necessary to get them used to working by touch and feel in total darkness…with a hissing air bottle strapped to their backs. To avoid total disruption to the ships routine I found that my old recipe of blacking out the masks with black tape made them (the team) effectively blind. Forget the camera operator for now, ‘cos I can’t black out his mask. This is a preliminary exercise.
Over the next few months I’ll escalate this programme…..in my own way. Portland (now read Devonport) and Portsmouth had very good fire-fighting and damage control schools, I accept that as true. But for an individual “pupil” the class sizes at these establishments were always too big. On a ship a “trainer” can take a small group out of the ships routine and do everything needed at the speed of the slowest, even to the extent of changing the tasks given to them on joining that that person may not be suitable for.
At the risk of becoming a bit boring, although I hope not, I’d like to expound a little on the sort of Emergency Organisation that prevailed (possibly still does) within an RFA. RN ships have a different set-up as they have larger crew numbers.
The RFA system was in many ways far too rigid. The “Emergency Stations List” did all the obvious stuff like allocating lifeboats, and which Fire Party etc. they would be part of. So far, so good. But there were also other columns which “fixed” the task that the individual would undertake within his “party”. A serious nonsense that just made things easier for the paperwork. In other words, instead of being “horses for courses” it was “courses for horses”. So, mixing my metaphors, I always tried to put the round and square pegs into the correct holes, rather than shave them to fit. I always enjoyed this sort of “tight group” sort of training…..and the prospect of being on a ship that, barring unforeseen circumstances, would remain alongside but fit and ready to go to sea at any time was an opportunity too good to miss. “Resource” did stay alongside for my entire 6 months aboard her. Gradually these little sessions became competitive between the various groups, to the extent that some who knew they’d “failed” asked to do the dummy runs again. Very gratifying….except that it was always me who got wet the most. Another thing that irked me was that the “organisation” always put an officer in charge of each party, no matter how inexperienced the poor soul may have been. A senior PO was generally a better choice. Some junior officers welcomed the chance to “learn” from the POs, but alas, as always, some would stand on “dignity” and their rank to make things awkward. Win some, lose some.
My “blacked out” obstacle courses were always a favourite. Every now and again I’d watch someone having a panic attack when confronted with an obstacle, even though there was no danger, and a “safety number” was within reach (but he wasn’t to know that!). All this seemed to get the message across. Sometimes to the extent that the “failure” would fret over it for a couple of days and then come to see me and ask if he could have another go…..because he didn’t want to “let his mates down”, or to rebuild his self esteem. This self imposed part of the job soon went from being a chore to one of pure pleasure when observing people growing in mental and professional stature.
So there was still at least one part of the RFA that I could take satisfaction in. I even got some of the more enlightened Senior officers to take part. But with others “dignity” was all.
However, these little exercises were like manna from heaven. In what other situation could this happen? A fully crewed up ship, ready to sail within 2 hours of a warning…..but going nowhere.
My first “full scale” exercise emergency was entirely legitimate. Even Captain Speaking thought it a good idea. And the Ch.Engineer went along with it.
My “pitch” to the top brass was that although only the 2 of them would know all the details, we should put the ship on at least a sea-going watch system and sort of pretend we were actually at sea. For a start, the gangway would have to be raised and the ship “isolated”. No mail, no phone calls, no nothing. “Outsiders” like the army, the local police and fire brigade had to be told it was a serious sort of exercise. The ships agent (my mistake) wasn’t told, and she was understandably a bit miffed at being prevented from getting anywhere close to us.
Actually, although most on board expected the alarms to go off sometime during the second day (you just cannot keep a “secret” very long on a ship), I only let it run for 4 hours before setting off the alarms. The “alarms” on a major ammo ship like “Resource” were not the sort of thing you hear ashore…dear me, no. At every deck lift opening there was an 18” diameter alarm bell (an overgrown version of an old alarm clock) with a rotating hammer inside it. Enough to waken the dead. Although, thinking about it, that was probably its purpose.
For the first half hour or so chaos reigned supreme. Not good. Stop exercise. Do a “Captain Speaking” sort of thing and try to cool down the situation, and remind everyone of what they’d learned during the previous few weeks….and before I’d finished talking I pushed the main alarm button again. Boy oh boy, did I get some stick after that! But it all settled down again, and even the die-hards agreed that it had been necessary, if unwanted. Punctured incipient complacency, at least.
Back in the early 1990s there were very few avenues open to ratings who wanted to rise up through the ranks. No matter how “happy” the ship was, there would always be an undercurrent of “them” and “us”. Over the years there’ve been many ratings who’d bucked the system and gone on to great things. I’ve sailed with some, and with few exceptions they were the best seamen, had more open minds and understanding of their ships company. But I suppose that applies to any organisation that allows someone to rise through his own efforts. But just about all of these organisations are those where the individual can go home and study…not possible in a ship. So a rating wishing to join the “them” brigade had to endure the snide remarks of some class warrior or other. The “Seamens Education Service” provided a lifeline here. And, to their credit, so did the RFA management.
Now that the rank structure within the RFA has been drastically overhauled and modernised I can only salute the pioneers that struggled so hard to better themselves.
Enough of all that. It really only started off as a small example of how quickly a “honed” crew can become a bit “blunt”.
Time I returned to Split and further meanderings.