The Depth Charge Incident.
Created | Updated May 18, 2007
I thought I would share this story with you all, as it just came into my mind a few minutes ago while I was surfing on the ex service that I visit on a regular basis. We were talking about some of the daft things that had happened to us during our time in the forces, and the silly orders that we had been given; it was then that this incident came into my mind. It was while serving on my first ship right after my basic training, which was not a happy ship by any means, and to make matters worse we had a skipper who installed no confidence in the crew at all. He had this thing against drink in general and took his wrath out on any rating that was up in front of him on any drink related charge. To make matters worse the crew had lot of ratings, (crew members below the rank of petty officer) who had been busted down to the ranks for drink related incidents, in fact we even had a couple of ex chiefs amongst us. They carried a grudge over this and did not make life on our mess very comfortable at all. If that was bad enough we had a mixed crew that came from all different parts of the U.K. and this also caused problems as there has always been a thing between the Scots English and the Welsh, so you can see that it was not a happy ship by any means.
We had just failed a six week work up, and were told that we would have to through the whole thing again.
This was devastating news for us, for a work up is where the crew and the ship get put through every conceivable aspect of war, and involves round the clock exercises and action stations being called at all hours. On many occasions the galley is shut down as is the ventilation system so that meant we lived on cold rations like corn beef sandwiches and lime juice, and the air was foul. We were not allowed to smoke at all during action stations either, so you can image how all that along with hardly any sleep made the crew a bit grumpy to say the least. My job amid all this was outside machinery, which covered all machinery that was not part of the main engines, this includes the generators (which make electricity) ventilation system, fridge’s and the like. As well as all that I was also part of the damage control team, which included the main fire fighting party as well as the boarding party which we had to train for as well. On top of all that I was also one of the flight deck firemen who had to be there every time our chopper took off and landed on our small flight deck, as we were just a small frigate so only carried one chopper. So all in all I was kept busy, in fact we all were, and so sleep at that time was a luxury.
It was during one for these spells at action stations that I found myself on watch, and was down below one of the generators taking the oil temperature. This involved removing the deck plates and standing right of the ships bottom hull plate, as the gauge was in the sump of the generator. It was a noisy machinery space, so like all the rest it had a red flashing light that told us that they were going to be firing one or even two of the weapon systems. We soon got to know each of them by the sound, smell and the vibration of the ship, if it was the main guns for example, the movement of the ship was soon followed by the foul smell of the cordite that came wafting down from the upper deck, and would hang around for days sometimes, if the ventilation system was hut down. So there I was standing on the very bottom of the ship, about waste height below the deck plates, when I heard the familiar sound of the depth charges being fired. This was usually followed by a sudden change of course to get away from the blast, so I got myself ready by holding onto the deck floor supports and waited for it to happen. Unknown to me at the time they were carrying out other exercise at the time, which must have taken the attention of our skipper who was in charge on the bridge at that time.
When we had not changed course after a short spell, I thought that maybe they had fired the depth chargers over the stern of the ship, which would mean that there would be no need to change course, so I relaxed my grip and started to pull myself up out of the bilge. Then without warning I felt the steel plate I was standing on start to vibrate, and heard this roaring sound that I had never heard before, and then the plate just “pinged” which launched me right out of the bilge and sent me flying upward, the noise was deafening. I don’t know how high it actually sent me, but I landed right on top of the generator which was around eight feet above the deck plates.
Unfortunately for me, I landed on top of the exhaust pipe, which ran the length of the generator before going though the ships hull. I immediately pushed myself off this hot pipe but unfortunately I never had anything else to grab hold of, so found myself falling onto the deck plates below. Luckily I never landed on the whole where I had earlier removed them to gain access t the bilge, as that would have added another three feet to my fall as well as the chance of damaging myself on the edges of it. In the end I managed to land on my feet and rolled myself over to break the fall. My hands were stinging with the burns from the hot exhaust pipe, and my ears were ringing with the noise, I was totally confused and dazed, so I just sat down on the deck plates with my feet dangling in the whole I had made earlier.
I don’t know how long I sat there for, but the flashing light form the phone seemed to waken me up again, so tried to get up to answer it, but my hands were burnt and I could not get a hold of it, so I flicked it out of the box using my elbow, and knelt down to listen. It was the main control room asking if I was alright, they had previously called a few of the other places where I might have been at the time.
It appeared that the skipper had forgot to order a change course after firing the depth charges and we were too close to the area of explosion when they went off. I was taken to the sick bay where I hoped I would to be told that I was unfit for duty and be sent to a cushy shore base hospital. But it seemed my injuries were not bad enough to warrant such a luxury at least that was what they thought. I spent the rest of the work up struggling to cope with my hands bandaged up, which was good laugh to all my mates, at least I managed to boost their moral, but they soon got tired of rolling my cigarettes for me on the rare occasions where we were allowed to smoke. I was soon nicknamed the flying stoker, and we all had a good few nicknames for our illustrious skipper. I must admit it was a happy day for me some eighteen months later when I eventually managed to get off that ship.
Smudger. 5/07.
