U3A Writing: Fred Karno, Or What?
Raymond Philliskirk describes in dramatic detail a training exercise which could have ended with loss of life when a 'plane overshot the deck of a Royal Navy carrier and ended up in the drink.
The shrill call of the bosun’s pipe came over the Tannoy, followed by the order, “Sea boat’s crew fall in.” The crew arrived dressed in the oddest assortment of clothes, mostly football jerseys and sweaters over our normal uniforms. All wore sea boots. We then put on oilskins and sou’westers and climbed up the ladder and took our positions in the boat.
It was the fourth or fifth time that day we had gone through the same routine. We sat huddled against the chill wind and occasional hail showers, waiting for when the ship would turn into the wind and build up speed to the 30 odd knots required for the aircraft to land on the carrier ahead of us.
We had been on this assignment for nearly a fortnight during pilot training. The planes came from shore bases in the morning and practised landings and take-offs the rest of the day . It had, luckily, been uneventful, just the odd plane finishing in the crash barrier. However, this time it was to be different. One of the planes on landing missed the arrester wires, bounced over the barrier and slipped over the side.
Suddenly everything came alive. Once more the bosun’s call, and the order came, “Clear the lower decks. All hands to fall in by the sea boat at the double.” A bit like the Pied Piper, the men appeared from all parts of the ship like magic. The crew in the boat came to life preparing for the boat to be lowered while the ship’s company manned the falls and readied to lower the boat to the First Lieutenant’s orders. Swiftly the orders were given, and the boat was lowered to just above the waves.
Meanwhile the ship had altered course and was heading for the plane. The boat’s crew was in their positions with shipped oars ready. The order to ship was given to the boat’s coxswain. He pulled the lever, and the boat dropped free into the sea. The order had been given a bit prematurely, as the ship hadn’t slowed sufficiently, and the boat took off like a fast motor boat, too fast for the bowman to slip the boat’s rope. An axe was passed to him, and he cut the rope so that the boat was free from the ship. Immediately the roller coaster slowed down and the crew were able to lower their oars and start rowing.
With a few pulls on the oars we reached the pilot. Nobby Hall and I grabbed him and pulled him aboard. For some reason his Mae West was not inflated, and his flying overalls were open at the top. As we pulled him aboard it seemed like half the Irish Sea came with him. We soon rowed back to the ship and on arrival we shipped oars.
On a whaler, which was our sea boat, to ship oars the bowman gets his oar in first, and when given the order the rest of the crew lie back and each throws his oars over his head to the man behind who grabs it and ships the oar and places it down the middle of the boat. Unfortunately, the pilot was sitting directly behind me and my oar hit him on the forehead, leaving a large swelling. After checking that he was all right we hooked onto the falls, and the ship’s company started to haul away and lift us out of the water. On coming level with the ship’s deck, they stopped so we could get the pilot onto the ship.
Nobby stepped across, took hold of the handrail with one hand and the pilot with his other hand, and I gave him a push from behind. He took hold of the handrail with both hands and stepped across onto the deck. I turned to start tidying the boat ready to secure it when suddenly the after fall snapped, and six of us were pitched into the sea.
When I surfaced it was to see the coxswain of the boat climbing up a rope hand over hand. At the time I thought he was like a monkey. It seemed like an age before they got us out of the water. And with all the clothes we had on there was not a lot we could do to help ourselves. A lad called Knutton and myself were the last two to be picked up. We were ordered down below to have a shower and change, and then a large mug of cocoa or ‘kye’ as it was called in the Navy.
The next day it was back to normal, in and out of the boat following the carrier while the planes landed and took off. Thankfully, we had no more crashes.
