THE MISSING COMODORE
 
In March 1966 the President of France, General de Gaulle, announced the immediate withdrawal of France from the military command of NATO. The decision was ratified a year later by NATO and the withdrawal of all foreign military personnel stationed in France began in March 1967.
As a young RNR Lieutenant I played a small part in the immediate consequence of the earlier unilateral decision.
A major NATO naval exercise was planned in March or April 1966. 
Ships from most NATO countries were to take part out of Tor Bay. Exercise direction was ashore in Brixham. I had volunteered to participate but had no specific task. 
When I had settled into my lodgings in Brixham I was surprised to be summoned by a senior officer who offered me a job.
“One result of the French decision to withdraw from NATO is that there will be  no French ships in this Exercise." He briefed me. “We can manage without them but there is a problem. The Commodore of the fleet was to be French in a French ship. Neither he nor his ship will be in Tor Bay. The Royal Navy has been asked to provide a Commodore and we will oblige. But none of our ships is adequate to house the Commodore. Your job is to find one. There are plenty to choose from in Tor Bay.”
I collected my Commodore and we boarded an MFV. (Motor Fishing Vessel; an old slow maid of all work for the RN at that time.)The biggest ship in the bay was an American oiler. Her size and our close relationship with the Americans made her an obvious choice
 for my valuable cargo who agreed. The MFV was crewed by members of the RNXS, the successor to the wartime Mine Watching Service. A happy and friendly bunch. The coxswain was a Dutchman; of whom more later. I was the C.O! my first (and last) command.
To find the big US Ship was easy I was told. “Just find the Christmas tree; that’s her!” 
Tor Bay seemed full of ships and it was dark, so finding my Christmas tree was not easy. Then I spotted one and we set off to board her. 
After 10 minutes I was disconcerted to note that we did not seem to be getting any closer. I ordered full speed and we surged forward at 6 knots instead of our cruising speed of 4. Still no closer until two large flares lit the sky. My experienced crew told me the flares were to warn us off: we were following a fishing boat with her nets out. She had a "Christmas tree" of lights which any experienced mariner would have recognised as a warning to others that she was out fishing.
Not a good start so I was relieved to see another bigger Christmas tree which belonged to a large grey ship which loomed out of the darkness and which belonged to the US of A. We were piped aboard and repaired to the wardroom. The Commodore had told me earlier that we should not immediately declare the purpose of our visit and simply explain that it was a courtesy call in case he should conclude that he would not be content with the choice of ship. The Americans were very friendly. Then we were offered coffee and I received a look from my commodore that he was not content. American ships of course are dry.
We moved on and were piped aboard a Belgian frigate. Her officers were French speaking and a good bottle of red wine was broached. On this score the Commodore was content but the omnipresence of the French language, although it pleased me, did not appeal to him. I noted that he looked rather disdainfully at the deckhead which was festooned with fishing nets on which were clinging star fish. This attempt at making the wardroom cosy clearly did not please the Commodore. He said nothing but intuitively I knew he was not content so we moved on.
There was a slight delay while our Dutch cox’n was persuaded to leave the conviviality of the Belgian messdeck. Then we went on to be piped aboard a Norwegian frigate. Her Scandinavian air of austerity was compensated by a generous helping of drink from which the Norwegians abstained. “Guests only” they smiled. The commodore was not content with this lopsided arrangement so we moved on after a slightly longer search for our Dutchman who had clearly enjoyed his one sided hospitality.
The lapse of more than 45 years since these events took place has prevented me from remembering details of the next two visits where I and the Commodore (and the Dutchman) enjoyed a drink. He was still not content.
We then approached a large Dutch supply ship, with a name like “Onverdrofen” which was instantly anglicized as “Underdriven” by one of my crew. Our Dutch cox’n hailed her to ask her name and was very content to board a dutchman. We went into the Captain’s cabin where after a minute’s conversation and a generous helping of Bols the Commodore’s eyes caught mine and it was clear that he was content. 
I bade them goodnight, went back to the MFV and observed a loquacious Dutchman leaving his fellow countrymen from the Underdriven in high spirits to rejoin our MFV which had become a little boisterous as the wind was getting up. I ordered him below for his own safety.  An order which was obeyed only intermittently. He wanted to share with my crew on the upper deck his joy at having found his fellow countrymen and kept popping his head and shoulders up through the hatchway. A truly Falstaffian figure.
We made it safely back to Brixham Harbour rather late at night. My lads from the RNXS had to make their way home. I stopped a driver with a big car whom I persuaded to act as an unpaid taxi.  Miraculously the Dutchman’s wife was on hand to take her spouse home.
Thanks to the decision of a less chauvinist President Sarkozy, France rejoined the NATO military command in 2011 The General’s decision of 1966 was daft. However it enabled me to enjoy a hilarious evening and provide our Commodore with a congenial ship to fly his pennant.
Dordogne, France, December 2012