NEW SCHOOL

I used to walk to my Primary School in a local village, some one and a half miles, and only catch a bus if it was seriously bad weather.  I then passed my 'eleven plus' and cycled the five miles daily to my new Grammar School in a nearby town.  Come September 1951 I was twenty days too young to take the 'matric' and was faced with the inevitability of repeating a year of the same stuff, a prospect which did not fill me with enthusiasm.  So parents and I searched for an alternative exam which might give other options than marking time.  Sure enough, there was then a test called the National Civil Service Competitive Entrance Exam and I was duly entered.  It was not a pass or fail trial, but instead listed all entries in order of results obtained.  I came 128th among some 500 entries.  Together with these results came a list of available Civil Service  entry options.  These included the Armed Services in those days and I was eligible to apply to the Royal Navy, but not the Foreign Service, among many other possibilities.  I applied (my Scottish ancestors had been sea captains) and was accepted, subject to interview and checks.  .

The interviews and medicals commenced, firstly in Queen Anne's Mansions just opposite Scotland Yard in London, and then further down the line at Dartmouth, where potential cadets underwent a gruelling three days of both physical and mental tests.  Have you ever been tasked with taking a team of young and recalcitrant youths over a fake river in a gym?  Or having to solve a 3D engineering puzzle in no time at all?  It was demanding, even for a tried and tested ex-Sea Scout.  Finally we heard that I had been accepted for the Supply and Secretariat specialisation and not much else, as my eyesight was not good enough for the fish-heads (as the Executive Branch was then impolitely called), and clearly I was no good at puzzles.  Somebody accepted the Admiralty offer on my behalf, probably my parents, who decided I needed to leave home to let my three brothers have some peace, and before you could say 'Jack Robinson' I had joined the Andrew and had to see if I could survive the 16-year-old entry two-year course at the Royal Naval College at Dartmouth.  So it was back on the train from Paddington to Dartmouth with no means of escape until the end of term.  My first real break away from home and parents and friends - and comfort!

The College was, for the likes of me, a continuation of the regular secondary schooling, but with an incredible range of extras.  This would explain why a simple Headmaster was insufficient - he reported to a Naval Captain in overall charge of the whole shooting match.  We had not just a 'tutor' as a house master, mine was called Mr P (‘Fruity’ among ourselves) but also a house officer, a submarine specialist Lieutenant Commander.  During my time this post was filled by one Lt Cdr Oliver .. (Ollie to all,  but us), a red-headed firebrand who seemed to have done a course with Al Quaida and had no problem with torture: cold baths, morning runs down the 365 steps to the River Dart below, and back after some rowing or similar, or even parade ground training before breakfast…

We lived in 'houses' named after famous naval people or places and mine was Exmouth. It was as far away from the Mess Hall as possible, so we learned to slide down the wooden steps at enormous speed for fear of being late or to satisfy hunger.  It was definitely life in the fast lane there, from a piped reveille at 0630 in the morning to bed time, lying to attention in one's bed on the chest-flat for rounds by various dignitaries at about 2130.  The chest with all one's clothes and any personal belongings was also open for inspection and guess what happened if it was not all immaculate and 'ship-shape'?  Even the covers on one's bed had to look freshly ironed or at least properly smoothed.  But the food was good and we were encouraged to eat as much as we wanted by a certain Miss B and her team of slaves, mostly retired service people.  Three meals a day and afternoon tea served for those who wished it.  You do eat a lot at that age…despite rumours that bromide had been added to quieten the passions…

During the forenoons and early evenings we had 'school', all the normal subjects and some with naval additions like hydrostatics added to physics, Nelson added to History and maths with a navigational leaning.  All these were taught by masters and very well taught to boot.  Slipped into the syllabus, however, were the extras which made it very special:  seamanship, navigation, parade training, and for all of this we would wear a uniform of blue trousers, blue shirts, a woolley-pully in cool weather, topped-off with a white lanyard and bosun's call on the end or the key to your chest drawer, black shoes and a naval cap, this mainly so that we could perform the exercise on the parade ground of 'off-caps', I guess.  We did have more formal rigs to wear for Sunday 'divisions' when we would be inspected on the parade ground by the Captain, or a visiting fireman.  Later on  we were trained to form the 'guard' and had rifles to play with, sometimes with fixed bayonets. During seamanship lessons, once the 'bends and hitches' were mastered, we would learn to 'pipe' on the bosun's call and use this daily to wake us up, to hoist and lower the ensign and finally to 'pipe-down' at the end of the day.

Overall, what remains strongest in the memory?  For me, it was driving the 45ft twin diesel picket boats on the river; sailing the yachts; unofficially escaping on the river at night;  chasing beagles chasing rabbits and ending up with a 'scrumpy' in one's hands on a Saturday afternoon when there might actually be some female company present (the only in that all male scene);  playing all the games in the book, from squash to swimming, cross country running to rugby and soccer;  taking diesel engines to bits and trying to reassemble them in the workshops at Sandquay on the river and learning to weld, braze and work wood and wrought iron.  As a voluntary thing I even learnt how to bind books.

Then there were the one-offs:  taking a picket boat to Torbay to visit HMS Vanguard and hear the big battleship guns fired;  an off-shore sailing race which ended with a storm, broken mast and tow back to the Dart; a three-day trip to London to line the streets for the Queen's Coronation, but first we had to practice by 'standing' for long periods;  another outing to Portsmouth to board HMS Indefatigable for the Spithead Fleet Review.  Not quite like your normal school, state or public!

The final proof that I had joined a new school came after my first term when I returned home  to the family.  My three brothers enquired in unison 'You speak differently, where did you get that posh voice?'  I had joined the Royal Navy, the start of thirty-four years' subsequent service.

Donald Pike