Open Writing

Once upon a time, long ago, it was every boy’s ambition to be a train driver. Now I suppose they want to be a footballer, an astronaut, a celebrity.

My dream was to be a submariner...

At the end of February in 1963, two black diesel submarines departed from their moorings in Haslar Creek and proceeded out of Portsmouth Harbour on the morning tide before the dawn chorus had begun. In fact, the only bird there to wave us goodbye was the skipper’s wife. Our destination was a secret, but as we had all been issued with string vests and woolly hats our chance of a spring cruise in the Mediterranean was a bit remote.

When the boats were clear of England their Captains opened sealed orders which revealed that we were bound on a voyage to the North Pole. The object was to dive under the ice to test new equipment, some of which was on the secret list. Could that explain the bucket and football I had found in my bunk?

We soon went to Diving Stations. That's what submariners do from time to time. “Flood Q” came the order. “Flood Q” was repeated, followed by “Q flooded.”

With the quick-dive tank flooded, we opened main vents and the submarines slid beneath the waves, heading north, bound for the dark and frosty wastes of the land of the midnight sun.

Our submarine was about to enter this dread region when a thump shook the boat. Somehow the periscope was blacked out, so we were forced to the surface to see whether there was any damage. Puzzled crew members saw that the periscope standard had been twisted. They were even more puzzled when they saw two strange looking persons who announced themselves as Neptunus Rex and Queen Aurora Borealis. Apparently, we had just rammed the Arctic Circle and did not hold the paperwork to proceed. Down below in the Control Room a ceremony was organised in order to obtain Royal Consent for our voyage. King Neptune ordered a bucket of salt water to purify anybody that had not previously been awarded a Blue Nose certificate. The citation on the certificate read:

The entire crew of this Submarine are designated as Abominable Icemen, being well acquainted with Icebergs, Growlers, Bergy Bits, Scotch on the Rocks etc, but are not allowed to talk about their experiences - more than three times a week.

Given under a Large Seal

Queen Aurora Borealis.

for Neptune Rex.

With the paperwork completed, the Royal Pair vanished and the boat moved forward under its own power. We stayed on the surface now, looking for the Island of Jan Mayen, our last landfall south of the Pole.

Jan Mayen was named after a Dutchman, it is now owned by Norway, but the place names indicate an American presence. The airport is called Jayne Mansfield and the active volcano which dominates the island is marked on the chart as Beer and Burger. (Incidentally, the stratovolcano Beerenberg is the northernmost active subaerial volcano on earth, it has erupted three times since our visit in 1963. The last eruption was in 1985.)

We had now reached the edge of the pack ice. With ice forming on the upper deck it was again time to dive the boat. “Dive, dive, dive, open main vents.” But the vents, being frozen, did not want to open. Diving stations would take a little longer tonight!

Eventually, after liberal applications of salt water, the vents were working again. Now the boat dived to the comparative warmth under the ice. North to the pole steering 000 degrees True or 360 for a change to beat the boredom under the Arctic ice cap.

Soon it was calculated that we had arrived at the top of the world. Time to surface. “Polynya Stations.” What do you do at polynya stations? Well it was explained to us that a polynya (Russian for ice hole) is any non-linear area of open water surrounded by sea ice. The Russians have a way with words and anyway “Ice Hole Stations” just don’t sound right.

So its 1963, global warming and the greenhouse effect had yet to be invented and we have a hole in the ice at 90 degrees North, big enough for a submarine to dock in!

This was the North Pole and Jack the Matelot could not resist a run ashore and a game of Soccer so I lent them my football. I do not recall the score but all the players left the icecap at half time, complaining of the cold. They failed to return for the second half. Match abandoned - and I lost my ball!

One of the reasons for remaining on the surface was to make a rendezvous with an RAF Nimrod aircraft which was testing equipment designed to smell out diesel oil. Well done that pilot with a keen nose! H3 managed to drop a sack of mail and some fresh bread onto the foredeck of the submarine.

With ice closing in on us, it was time to get out of this place. We dived back into our world under the ice and headed south for England. Now the problems really started. Condensation inside the submarine had turned into ice on the way up to the pole. This ice started to thaw as we headed south. The boat became a giant refrigerator set at defrost. With that much water, the electronics went into freefall, emergency systems kicked in and we managed to limp home looking a sorry state.

Ice had badly dented the boat, punching holes in her conning tower and scraping off most of her black paint, exposing the yellow undercoat beneath. The lads at the submarine base at Portsmouth cheered us into port.

This voyage to the North Pole was no dream. Some years on, my wife threw out one of my old string vests, saying it was full of holes and smelt of diesel.

*****

I offer condolences to the family, friends and the crew of the Royal Navy submarine HMS Tireless on the loss of two British sailors killed in an accident on their nuclear-powered submarine.

HMS Tireless was submerged under the ice cap at the time of the incident on the 21st March 2007.

My tongue in cheek tale relates to HMS/M Grampus and HMS/M Porpoise who made a trip under the ice some forty years earlier.