JULY TO JULY

There was never a fairer morn in Plymouth than on the 17th July when DARING, funnels belching and engines turning, left that green and pleasant land for the foreign leg of her General Service Commission. The sun shone, to send us away with the memory that England, after all, was still worth returning to. A few wives and girl friends were there to wave good­bye - with the First Lieutenant and a couple of reluctant AB’S.

Gibraltar was but three days sailing, via an afternoon at Portland, and an even-tempered Biscay. The strained relations between England and Spain over Gibraltar did little to dampen our spirits ashore. Many crossed over the border to La Linea where, as in Gibraltar itself, it was fiesta time, and a blaze of lights and blare of sound provided the background to the lovely senoritas in Spanish traditional dress.

On the Rock itself there was plenty to occupy our time for the whole of the two day visit. A ride on the cable car to the top of the rock was worthwhile for the splendid panorama over the Straits to the North African coast; while many swam in the clear waters to cheat the terrific heat of the day. Gibraltar was having its hottest day for many a year, and the Soccer team, kicking off in the evening, had twenty minutes each way of torture with the thermometers at a bursting 105 F. A 3-3 draw with HMS ROOKE was very creditable in the circumstances.

Saddest of all to see the Rock disappear in the heat haze must have been Chief Dixon who got married on the Friday and had only time for an eighteen hour honeymoon with his English bride.

Shortly after leaving Gibraltar the weather deteriorated and we were only to see the sun through a watery atmosphere until our arrival in Simonstown, where a downpour cleared the air.

The first of many small ads. began to appear in the ‘DARING NEWS’ expressing both a feeling of frustration and a desire to return to the bows and arrows navy:-

·             FOR SALE: Two storey mobile residence on semi-permanent site within stones throw of the sea. Mains electricity. Twin electrically opera­ted disposal units. Hydraulic lifts between floors. Observation bubble with upholstered seat - can be rotated to follow the sun or at night ideal for stargazers. Plenty of storage space. Workshop with fitted bench and engineers vice. Telephone and private intercom unit. Air-conditioned throughout. Owner must sell due to impen­ding nervous breakdown. Any offer considered (over 3 tots) Apply sole agents:- PINNEGAR, GREEN & EVANS Co. Ltd. X Turret.

DARING officially and actually “crossed the line” at 1000 hrs GMT’ on 30th July 1967 for what we believe to be the first time in her life. A riotous crossing the line ceremony, well organised by S/Lt. John Stoakes and ably suppor­ted by Chiefs Beasley, Taylor and Judson, provi­ded welcome relief from the long journey. Nearly every member of the ship became coated in an evil smelling mixture of paste, feathers and purple dye - and the fresh water consumption figures were classified for that day.

A short stop at Freetown, necessitated by having to land a sick ERA Warren (who fortunately rejoined us within an hour), enabled us to see the hot and steamy jungle clad hills of Sierra Leone and provided a few extra days of LOA.

Rough seas, heavy swell, torrential rain and howling gales were poor travelling companions around the Cape and in False Bay, and were not the kind of reception we needed after days of high speed steaming to meet our ETA.

Our first mammoth run ashore was Simonstown where the Ship’s motto “If you can’t stand the pace….. DOUBLE IT” was not at all an exaggeration of the hospitality received. True enough, it was wintertime, and many got cold feet, literally, waiting for the early morning trains at Cape Towns modern station but many returned for more of the same punishment. Even the First Lieutenant decided it was time to rejoin, just to see what we were up to. Our nav­igator, George Pearson, kept up the average of a marriage a visit (which we were unable to main­tain), and reached the dizzy heights of the Cape Town Press, a position both his bride, known to the QMs as “just Fay”, and George himself, sustained for days.

No visit to Cape Town would be complete without mention of Table Mountain, which provi­des an impressive backcloth to a hustling, booming city. For those to whom mountains have a special appeal, and, indeed to those who want to climb every one they see, Table Mountain is a great seducer. The interplay of light and shade, clouds appearing and dissolving in a matter of minutes, the wonderful colours and hues produced by the setting (and rising) sun give it an air of enchantment that is felt within, rather like a moving piece of music. It was a great pity that the cable way to the top was out of order, but even from half way up there was a superb view of Cape Town, Table Bay and the huge South Atlan­tic rollers venting their spite on the miles of golden sand.

And so to Beira, with Dr. Nobbs elegantly quartered in the DARING Hilton complete with a dignified modern-day Jeeves.

We had been firmly led to believe that the waters off Beira were a veritable paradise for our growing army of fishermen. Competitions were soon under way for the longest, heaviest and prettiest fish to he caught. Middle watchmen were heavily outnumbered by glassy eyed, stoop­ing shouldered, finger twitching zombies using every available method, fair or foul, to outwit their unsuspecting prey. Unsuspecting? We did not catch a fish for days - and dynamite was no help either.

The days passed more quickly than we all expected; kite flying, whaler racing, small arms shooting, indoor games and tug-of-war all helping to relieve the monotony of the patrol. We quickly began to realise though that Sundays were Mon­days, but that Mondays were infrequently Sundays.

A Sod’s Opera on the forecastle on passage to Mombasa gave us a good excuse to let our hair down, though none more successfully than AB Jenkins, whose performance as a sex-kitten was nearly more than an audience of lusty sail­ors could stand. Maurice Shreeve gave us a superlative display of his talents as comedian and raconteur with Brien Beasley as his foil.

Mombasa gave us our first opportunity to take station leave and many stayed at Silversands, a few miles up the coast, or took a free train journey to Nairobi, where the higher altitude meant a more refreshing climate than that of the hot and sticky sea board.

Silversands is aptly named, for its palm frin­ged beach, fine white sand and clear sea would grace any expensive travel brochure. We arrived there to relax after our long spells at sea and it cost us very little, whereas European and Amer­ican holidaymakers were paying the earth.

The visitor to Nairobi also fulfilled his mis­sion, arriving back to the ship with an empty wallet, thick head and a fund of travellers’ tales. Even the train journey by itself was well worth­while with good food and comfortable beds and a view of the Kenyan landscape if one was early enough to rise. It is a strange and unnatural feeling to gaze out of a train window and meet the stare of a giraffe before you have collected your wits. Nairobi, too, will be remembered for its modern hotels and office buildings, its parks and gardens and rows of jacaranda trees, but perhaps more so, the night life. Mention Nairobi to some, and they automatically think of “The Sombrero”.

A safari to the Tsavo National Park proved to be the highlight for the dozen who managed to rise at 0400 and survive the bone-shattering journey to Buchama Gate, seventy miles from Mombasa. Their efforts did not go unrewarded, for, as well as seeing all the usual big game, a chase through the scrub after lion added an unex­pected excitement. When we stopped some ten yards away from two mature lionesses O.E.M. O’Niel caused some considerable consternation between our two drivers by nonchalantly getting out of one car and walking over to the other to ask for a can spanner! A good day, hot and dusty, but something you cannot do from Ply­mouth unless you go on an RN cruise.

What can one say of the ‘Star’, ‘Casablanca’ and the ‘New Florida’ that has not been said before, except that a few of our juniors literally got ‘carried away’!

And so, back to Beira, for rest and recuperation.

Diego Suarez, a run down old French colonial town in northern Malagasy, gave us a five day break from the blockade. A juniors exped., a few sports fixtures, including a shooting competition with the crack marksmen of the Foreign Legion, and the gyrations of the Malagasy maidens at the ‘Taverne’ are all worthy of a mention.

And Beira.

Another short stay in Mombasa and we were off to the Far East, leaving Dr. Nobbs behind with malaria, and LMA Wilson kneeling on his prayer mat chanting magic formulae before his sacred rabbits whilst counting the elephant hairs on his wrist as if it were a rosary. The DARING Hilton was never to be the same again.

In the middle of the Indian Ocean in the early hours of a Wednesday morning DARING suffered from an apoplectic fit. A complete power break­down left us wallowing and trumpeting like a sick elephant. Candles flickered throughout the ship and the voice of the PO Writer (complete with inflated life jacket), pierced the confusion “Which side shall I jump?”

Gan, a small coral atoll in the Maldive Islands quenched our thirsty fuel tanks, and its beaches and clear warm seas gave us welcome relief from our hot decks. Swimming over the coral amongst the brilliantly coloured fish was an enthralling experience. One could have been in a silent world where fear is unknown. The fish were so tame and inquisitive that no strenuous efforts were necessary to explore this colourful fantasy.

At long last we reached the home of the Far East Fleet in Singapore, where we were to spend the next seven weeks. For four weeks of this time the ship was out of water in a floating dock, and the ship’s company off the water in HMS TERROR whose facilities were enjoyed to the full. Many took the opportunity of flying out their wives and families; others sought their own entertainment in the swimming pools and bars of TERROR and in the streets of Singapore, J.B. and Sembawang.

The Rugby and Soccer teams went to the RN Training Centre at Frasers Hill to toughen them­selves for future conflicts, and many a pound of DARING fat must have been left behind in the cool, but soggy, Cameron Highlands. On their return to hot and clammy Singapore, eager to thrash all opponents in sight, just one proved too wily and too invincible. Rain, rain, rain.

It took a Scotsman to brave the vagaries of the weather; having been so bitten by the golfing bug at Frasers Hill, Jock Hutton could be seen daily bashing hell out of the rain, driver or putter making no difference, often up to his knees in mud, and completing the nine hole course at TERROR in a record 187 strokes.

Christmas Day back on board was, of course, a mixture of excitement, booze and pathos. There is no substitute for a Christmas spent at home with one’s family, and no amount of liquor can stave off that feeling of emptiness. Enough of the sob stuff. Junior Seaman Bruce, acting local three-ring Captain for the day, did rounds of the ship before lunch, followed by a huge retinue, but even Goodhew’s whites were not ample enough to appear in the procession. The already oiled carolers outside the Wardroom were suit­ably rewarded with more Tiger, and we virtually said goodbye to our jovial hydrographer, John Stoakes.

Much more could be said of Singapore, but we will keep our secrets to ourselves, shall we!

No one had not looked forward to arriving in Hong Kong, which we did just in time to celebr­ate New Years Eve, however untraditionally in Wanchai and the Dragon Bar at the Hilton. What London appears to the British Isles, so Hong Kong appears to the whole of the Far Fast. A bustling and thriving city of millions, set in magnificent surroundings (unlike London), with an exotic and erotic air all of its own - a typical James Bond setting. The view from the peak, by day and night, made one drunk with wonder and astonishment, though the chilling winds whistl­ing through the lookout shelter at the top of the tramway soon dispatched all but the hardy tourist, and the twenty minute exposure photographer.

The Americans were there too, on R and R from Vietnam, or as civilian tourists, and could pay the prices the British sailor just could not afford. Many of us who were revisiting Hong Kong felt that its position at the top of the ‘rabbits’ league had gone - spoiled by the uncautious spending of the money laden Americans. As a comparison between the two navies, most of the USN Officers took a room at the Hilton, whilst all we could manage was bed (sometimes) and breakfast on board.

Two don’ts from the American Navy handbook:

“Don’t pick a fight with a British sailor - they are too tough!“ and “Don’t go drinking with a British sailor - they last the course better!” gave us some amusement and Goodhew, in no uncertain terms, certainly proved the latter, by drinking enough not to have to pay for any, and then having breakfast at the Hilton, all at the expense of his naive American host.

Subic Bay, with exercises, and Olongapo brought no rest from the hectic runs ashore in Hong Kong. Olongapo, a one street town of bars and nightclubs, 5000 registered ‘girls’ and 2500 reserves, served the needs of the American Fleet and, on this occasion, DARING too. Sixty-four American ships, including the massive ENTERPRISE were reported to be arriving in Subic Bay to enjoy a weekend, but the PUEBLO affair caused a 180° diversion, leaving the town comparatively free. It was at the ‘Riviera’ that Harrington confirmed his notoriety, performing without inhibitions with the lithe Philippino strippers. Anyone for a sausage on a stick? And who will forget the ‘East Inn’, where girls were girls and showed it?

The Americans appeared to be favourably impressed by us, so much so that one even turned up at ‘Both Watches’. However, after employing him with a paintbrush for some time he was duly returned.

Wanchai, Kowloon, Victoria, the ‘Dateline’, B.M.H., ‘Suzie Wong’, the China Fleet Club (who threw a grand party for us) - what blood stirring memories they elicit, and here, indeed, we must count our best runs ashore. The sports teams too, made the most of their opportunities, but their stories are best left to other pages.

DARING shone like a new pin after all the efforts of the side party (and the Buffer?) when we finally said goodbye to Hong Kong to sail down under to a land of Kangaroos and Koalas, A week of uneventful sailing through the Philippines and the Indonesian Islands, punctuated by yet another shoot at Subic Bay, was enough to see us arrive at a hot and sticky Darwin, where a hard and rugged life awaits the would be sett­ler. Being ‘buzzed’ by a scantily clad blonde water-skier on entry provoked a wry smile from a tense bridge and a view of what lay in store for us around the corner.

Around the corner! It took another week, sail­ing inside the Great Barrier Reef, before being embraced by the open arms of Brisbane. The cry of “Go home, you pommy bastards’. Leave our women alone” did not particularly worry us as it came from the one half of the population in which we had little interest. The first invitation to arrive? Forty-Five throbbing girls wished to take an equal number of sailors out for the day to the Gold Coast, Queensland’s fun and sunspot, playground of the Pacific! The Routine Office, normally a place of hiding where one can hear the steady drone of Wiley’s typewriter producing the daily issue of “How yesterday’s sea-boat drill went wrong”, was so bombarded with volunteers that the port passage could have been painted without any interruption whatsoever. (For readers unfamiliar with DARING and all stokers, the Routine Office is on the starboard side.) Five days passed all too quickly to enjoy and explore Brisbane to the full, but our first real contact with the Australians certainly open­ed our eyes. They are more English than we are in their attitudes and ways, and their socials appeared typical of those found in a small rural English village thirty years ago. They are proud of their country but very sensitive to criticism.

We were virtually a non-starter in Sydney, for our three day visit immediately preceded Captain D2’s Harbour and Sea inspection. The inspe­ction passed off extremely well, and unbiased, but jealous, opinion was that we were certainly the smartest looking ship in Sydney. Mention Sydney, and automatically a picture of the famous bridge springs to mind, but its architectu­ral dominance is now being challenged by towering buildings and the harbour-side Opera House with its futuristic sail-like roof. Bondi beach, King’s Cross (Sydney’s Soho) and the famous Sydney rock oysters all provoke a desire to return to sample these and other attractions. (All right for some!)

For the benefit of the Australian Cadets, the Fleet exercised off Jervis Bay, a completely new experience for DARING to be in company with no less than seven other ships. An impress­ive day for the cadets we had on board - it see­med as though we fired more bullets than the rest of the Fleet combined. The climax came when all ships turned into line abreast and sim­ultaneously fired their A/S weapons.

Part of a herd not being our custom, we begged our leave from FO2FE and pointed our bows for Williamstown, a dingy, smelly and scruffy suburb of Melbourne, where a small Naval dock­yard complete with typical English strike, allow the Ship time for an assisted maintenance period with the help of the FMU from HMS TRIUMPH.

“Let’s get together and have fun”! is the literal translation of the aborigine word ‘Moomba’ and the theme of Melbourne’s annual festival. Although we arrived towards the end of the festivities, the theme of ‘Moomba’ extended throughout our visit.

A few days local leave gave us the opportun­ity of seeing something of the surrounding countryside. Parched earth, withered grass, the black hulks of burnt eucalyptus trees were conspicuous signs of a State undergoing its most serious drought this century, and, of course, there were fire-warning notices around every corner. A day tour to the Sir Colin Mackenzie Sanctuary, forty miles north east of Melbourne through the very scenic Blue Dandenong Mountains, showed us the peculiar animals and birds of Australia in natural surroundings, including that freak of evolution, the duck-billed platypus.

DARING was not without its touch of glamour in Williamstown, for no less than four beauty queens visited the ship at one time or another, and the newly crowned Queen of the Pacific, Baby Santiago, with equally delicious chaperon, witnesses the fair distribution of the daily tot of rum issued on the forecastle.