The Ancient Submariner – A Day in the Life (1957-1970)

By Derek Powell

At Last, My Own Command

 It all began one evening in July 1966, the boat was secured alongside the Dockyard wall in Gibraltar Harbour; we were going to sea the following morning to take part in an exercise working with A/S frigates.

The majority of the crew decided that they were going to have a last run ashore before spending a week at sea.  As a rule, the junior ratings went ashore together, as did the Chiefs and Petty Officers, we would then all meet up in a particular bar, one usually frequented by submariners. We did not generally mix with the surface Navy because we were different, for a start we all reeked of diesel fuel maybe that was why; we certainly were not in their Navy.

Later in the evening, and after a few pints and anisette shots, in walked the Captain in company with the Navigating Officer and the Torpedo Officer, all dressed in civilian clothes. The reason Naval Officers would wear civvies ashore is that, in uniform they could possibly come up against some drunken sailor or stoker bearing a grudge or grievance which could lead to a serious problem.

Our Captain was quite approachable and often held court in the bar confessional, listening to drunken sailors moaning about this or that but at the same time buying them drinks, he was that sort of Captain.  After a few more pints, I decided to have a word with our illustrious leader.

“Sir, why do you spend your evening listening to the drunken babble of your crew?”

“Because if they can unload all their gripes and moans before we go to sea, then when I have them up at 0600 tomorrow morning bright eyed and bushy tailed, they will be ready to do their jobs in a much better light.  Don’t forget Harbour Stations at 0700.” 

“Which brings me to another point, Sir.  You know when we go to Harbour Stations and slip and proceed to sea; it’s alright for you on the bridge shouting orders down the voice pipe, half ahead starboard, slow astern port etc.  You should try it in the Motor Room.”  (An integral part of the engine room where the main manually operated electrical switchgear for stopping and starting the two main electric motors is located.  As the Petty Officer Electrician, this was my domain, propelling and manoeuvring the submarine and hard work it was too.)

“What about those of us on the bridge when we are going to sea, at night, in winter, in a gale force 9, in pouring rain, getting soaked and there you are Petty Officer Powell all snug and warm in the Motor Room” said the Captain.

The drink was beginning to take its toll by this time, “Fair point Sir, what are you going to have?”

After the Captain had heard a few more confessions, the Officers decided to take their leave as the evening was becoming quite rowdy, to say the least. It must have been about 0200 when we decided to head back onboard to grab a couple of hours sleep before all Hands were called at 0600 to prepare for sea and wait for Harbour Stations at 0700.

“Harbour Stations, Harbour Stations” was piped over the intercom and everyone, I wouldn’t say rushed, but dragged themselves to their harbour stations, bleary eyed, thick headed, in fact severely hung over from the night before.  I went to the motor room where my two lads were waiting, one to operate the starboard motor the other the port motor.

“Morning PO, my word you do look well” 

“Petty Officer Electrician to the bridge” was piped over the intercom.

“I wonder what they want?” thought I, as I climbed up the conning tower and onto the bridge.

The bridge team consisted of the Captain, a Canadian 1st Lt., the Navigating Officer, the Signalman and a Royal Fleet Auxiliary Captain, who was coming to sea with us for the week.  I managed to get to the bridge, it wasn’t easy the way I was feeling.

I was wearing my usual sea going rig of American jeans, denim shirt, and a Pea jacket with US NAVY on the back, unwashed, unshaven (Why should Russia tremble?)

“You wanted to see me, Sir?”

“Ah, good morning Petty Officer Powell, and how are we feeling this morning?  You recall last night when you told me how easy it was up here on the bridge?” 

“Did I, Sir” 

“Yes you did, well if it’s as easy as you say it is, you won’t have any trouble taking us out, will you?”

“But Sir!”

“No buts, Petty Officer Powell, she’s all yours.”   With that he took off his cap and plonked it on my head. “I’m going below” and off he went.

I turned to the 1st Lt. and said “Sir, can you help me?”

“I’m afraid not Sir, you out rank me, we await your orders.”  

I took stock of the predicament I was in and thought I’ll never have an opportunity like this again, let’s do it!  If I’m the Captain so be it. 

“Right No.1 let’s go to sea!” I leaned over the bridge and shouted to the seaman Petty Officer in charge of the casing party, “Alright Rodney, you ready?” 
The 1st Lt. spoke quietly to me. “May I advise, Sir, you cannot say alright Rodney, let her go!  The order is Stand by casing party.”

“Roger No 1, stand by casing party, single up bow lines, single up stern lines,” I yelled to Rodney, he passed the order to his casing party and off they went and did what they had to do.

It was nerve racking and, as I was getting no assistance from the 1st Lt., I had to tell myself I could do this, I knew the routine perfectly well and little by little my confidence improved.

“Obey telegraphs” I shouted down the voice pipe to the Coxswain who was the helmsman and the senior Chief Petty Officer at harbour stations.  

“Obey telegraphs” was repeated back up the voice pipe.  (Obey telegraphs is rung up on the hand operated telegraph system to the motor room, then the next order given is acted on).

“Let go for’d, let go aft, port 20, slow astern port, half ahead starboard,” I yelled down the voice pipe and the order was repeated back to me on the bridge. The boat started to move away from the jetty towards the middle of the harbour.  I knew the motor movements, I had operated the switches a million times but I had no idea what course to steer so I decided to aim the boat for the middle of the harbour entrance and once past the entrance I could get a course to steer from the Navigator.

“Casing party fall in for leaving harbour.” 

The casing party all lined up on the forecasing standing at ease. 

“Stop together.”  I ordered down the voice pipe, to stop both engines while I figured out what to do next.  I looked at the compass rose and aimed the bows at the centre of the harbour mouth and took a bearing. “Steer 150, half ahead together.” The boat started to move towards the harbour mouth.            

Alongside the harbour wall was HMS ARK ROYAL (the older aircraft carrier) the 1st Lt. leaned over and said “Sir, we have to salute Ark Royal as she is obviously senior to us.”

 “Roger No. 1.” 

At this point it all started to go wrong.  I shouted to the control room for a Bosun’s call to be brought to the bridge. (A Bosun’s call is a whistle that gives a high pitch note, used for piping  senior Officers on and off ships and saluting senior ships when under weigh).

“We can’t find it” came the reply from below.  We are about to pass the most senior ship in the Royal Navy and we can’t find the whistle.

“Who had it last? Ask last nights’ casing sentry.” 

“He said he never had it, he couldn’t find it either.” 

As luck would have it, at the time I was able to whistle at a very high pitch through tongue and teeth, similar to a Shepherd at a sheep dog trial.  I thought I’d do as all good submariners do, improvise, adapt, execute.

“Attention on the casing, face to Port, HMS Ark Royal.”  I then stuck my fingers in my mouth for maximum effect and blew for all I was worth to simulate the sound of a Bosun’s call.  I dread to think what Ark Royal would have thought had they been watching our bridge through binoculars.  They would have seen a four ringed Master Mariner- the RFA Captain, a Captain with US NAVY slapped all over his back – me, and a Canadian Officer.  A motley crew!
However, that was not the case because onboard Ark Royal we could see lots of movement on the flight and upper decks; a Royal Marine bugler was seen running to his station.  He then bugled a return salute and all hands on the upper deck stood to attention and faced to Starboard.  My ruse had worked; the day was saved.

We at last cleared the harbour mouth and headed for the open sea.

“What course Pilot?”

 “Steer 270, Sir”

“Very good, steer 270, stop together, in both engine clutches, start main engines (Diesels), fall out harbour stations, red watch passage routine.” I yelled down the voice pipe.  I was getting the hang of it by this time.  All the time I had been on the bridge, the Navigating Officer kept taking the mickey.  For the final time I could pull rank “Fall out the bridge team, Pilot, you can take the first watch, I’m going below.” 

“Captain off the bridge.” Said the 1st Lt. down the voice pipe.

I climbed down into the control room and at the bottom of the ladder was the Captain, who congratulated me. “Well done, Petty Officer Powell.”

“Did you go back to the motor room and do my job Sir?” 

“You must be joking, now can I have my boat back?”

“It is with much sadness that I hand over command but I know that the boat is in very capable hands.  Without further ado, I hand you this cap of command, treat her well Sir, she’s a good boat.” I got a rousing cheer from the control room team, then slunk away back to the motor room, to the grease, the oil, the diesel from whence I came. 

My command had come to an end …..