Farewell to a Geordie cook, a cook and a monkey
The old Vetch was an unusual ship in many ways. For a start there seemed to be a preponderance of Yorkshire lads onboard and a merry old bunch they were. The communication mess was on the starboard side, well forward, quite large as we had extra members of the crew who were specialists like radar mechanics etc. The sleeping arrangements were hammocks and bunks and of course the fellows who got the bunks were the guys who were with her when she was first commissioned.
We had a situation onboard when a cook had the bunk adjacent to our mess table, which did not please some of the members in our mess. This lad happened to be a Geordie from Byker (in Newcastle) and a compatriot of mine, so I took his side. The communication ratings are inclined to be rather snooty in many respects, as it requires a little bit more up top than the average seaman (keep that dark).
When you are training to be a communication rating the navy has a tendency to build this opinion up, stating halfway through the course for those that are slipping that you will end up with a cook’s hat if you don’t pull your socks up and this sword was hanging over your head all through training. We therefore came to believe that being a cook was a terrible thing.
Now a cook is anything but, he is a very important member of a ship’s company; especially so on the Corvette as we were on canteen messing. So much per day is allocated to each member and goes into a fund to buy the products for the meals. The mess members have to take turns in preparing meals and washing up. Now the average man who joins the navy, you can be assured, has never been near a kitchen and the conglomerations and fiascos that are the end results are appalling, causing lots of less than savoury comments.
As usual in the navy you have to learn it the hard way and the fellows in my mess paid for their high and mighty ideals.
I had my turn at preparing and had my Geordie cook friend to assist. I was a typical matelot, spoilt at home, hopeless at preparing meals and providing for a mess of 28 is quite an exercise. There would be at least four of us to provide that meal and then take it to the galley to be cooked, collected when ready, served and then washed up. Everybody gets there turn to cook…
This happened once a week in the mess on a rota basis. The idea was to provide a main meal, sweet and tea/coffee. If this was done skilfully, savings (in cash) could be made but there were too many fiascos for us to be lucky in our mess. It was just impossible to eat at times and one reverted to bread with jam or cheese to fill the void. The waste at times was heart breaking but we must suffer at times for being high and mighty.
The climax here was the bunk was eventually released because John (the Geordie cook) died on his 21st birthday due to sippers of rum, which made him vomit in his sleep, and he choked. Nobody was very eager to occupy that bunk – I can only put it down to collective guilty consciences.
The ship had its livestock problems too – rats, a dog and a monkey. The rats were plentiful, mostly in the air conditioning trunkings, and at night they came down to the mess table and decks to get the leftovers. The rats were quite smallish about 9” bodies with prominent tubby backsides. We used to stand back quietly and let them come down and let go with our boots that was a bit hilarious at times. One died inside the trunking once and the smell was unbelievable. It was so bad the ERAs[1] had to dismantle the system to clean it out. This led to fumigation at Malta that resulted in a similar number of dead rats to the crew of the ship - 93.
Tipsy the monkey was a bloody menace and not to be recommended. On action stations sounding, the bloody thing positioned itself on the steam pipes above the exit door and it was this locality that became a heaving mass and chaos of pushing humanity when action stations was called. In its excitement, the monkey would piss in short spurts onto the heads of the occupants. It was bloody painful getting the monkey’s obnoxious liquid in your eyes as it burnt for quite a while. The lads said it was the rum that caused it and Tipsy loved a tot, and often had a few too many that often led to her flaking out.
The dog Oppo came as a pup and was a little fellow when fully grown. He shared a hammock with Tipsy. He had developed a twisting action to get out of his hammock that was rather neat. The only trouble was that it also tipped out the monkey who liked to lie in and got vexed with everybody including the dog, who was very popular with all the square rig crew and fed at all four messes on our deck (stokers, two seamen and communications). In fact the latter called him Flags that he responded to – typical.
We had a situation onboard when a cook had the bunk adjacent to our mess table, which did not please some of the members in our mess. This lad happened to be a Geordie from Byker (in Newcastle) and a compatriot of mine, so I took his side. The communication ratings are inclined to be rather snooty in many respects, as it requires a little bit more up top than the average seaman (keep that dark).
When you are training to be a communication rating the navy has a tendency to build this opinion up, stating halfway through the course for those that are slipping that you will end up with a cook’s hat if you don’t pull your socks up and this sword was hanging over your head all through training. We therefore came to believe that being a cook was a terrible thing.
Now a cook is anything but, he is a very important member of a ship’s company; especially so on the Corvette as we were on canteen messing. So much per day is allocated to each member and goes into a fund to buy the products for the meals. The mess members have to take turns in preparing meals and washing up. Now the average man who joins the navy, you can be assured, has never been near a kitchen and the conglomerations and fiascos that are the end results are appalling, causing lots of less than savoury comments.
As usual in the navy you have to learn it the hard way and the fellows in my mess paid for their high and mighty ideals.
I had my turn at preparing and had my Geordie cook friend to assist. I was a typical matelot, spoilt at home, hopeless at preparing meals and providing for a mess of 28 is quite an exercise. There would be at least four of us to provide that meal and then take it to the galley to be cooked, collected when ready, served and then washed up. Everybody gets there turn to cook…
This happened once a week in the mess on a rota basis. The idea was to provide a main meal, sweet and tea/coffee. If this was done skilfully, savings (in cash) could be made but there were too many fiascos for us to be lucky in our mess. It was just impossible to eat at times and one reverted to bread with jam or cheese to fill the void. The waste at times was heart breaking but we must suffer at times for being high and mighty.
The climax here was the bunk was eventually released because John (the Geordie cook) died on his 21st birthday due to sippers of rum, which made him vomit in his sleep, and he choked. Nobody was very eager to occupy that bunk – I can only put it down to collective guilty consciences.
The ship had its livestock problems too – rats, a dog and a monkey. The rats were plentiful, mostly in the air conditioning trunkings, and at night they came down to the mess table and decks to get the leftovers. The rats were quite smallish about 9” bodies with prominent tubby backsides. We used to stand back quietly and let them come down and let go with our boots that was a bit hilarious at times. One died inside the trunking once and the smell was unbelievable. It was so bad the ERAs[1] had to dismantle the system to clean it out. This led to fumigation at Malta that resulted in a similar number of dead rats to the crew of the ship - 93.
Tipsy the monkey was a bloody menace and not to be recommended. On action stations sounding, the bloody thing positioned itself on the steam pipes above the exit door and it was this locality that became a heaving mass and chaos of pushing humanity when action stations was called. In its excitement, the monkey would piss in short spurts onto the heads of the occupants. It was bloody painful getting the monkey’s obnoxious liquid in your eyes as it burnt for quite a while. The lads said it was the rum that caused it and Tipsy loved a tot, and often had a few too many that often led to her flaking out.
The dog Oppo came as a pup and was a little fellow when fully grown. He shared a hammock with Tipsy. He had developed a twisting action to get out of his hammock that was rather neat. The only trouble was that it also tipped out the monkey who liked to lie in and got vexed with everybody including the dog, who was very popular with all the square rig crew and fed at all four messes on our deck (stokers, two seamen and communications). In fact the latter called him Flags that he responded to – typical.
¹ Engine Room Articifers.