3rd September 1982

In one of my previous blogs, I mentioned that there were quite a few milestones in my life that occurred during the month of September.

 

Well the 3rd September 1982 is one of those dates.

 

In 1982, I was 16 years old.  I knew that I didn't have much interest in staying on at school and had decided sometime ago to look for a job in engineering, where I could do something practical but also have to use my mind.

 

Over the previous 12 months I had applied for many jobs and been to loads of interviews, but the career that really interested me was as an Artificer Apprentice in the Royal Navy.

 

Initially I had a standard recruitment interview.  This was followed by an aptitude test, which was similar to tests I'd seen at companies, when being interviewed.

 

About 6 weeks later I was called to have a medical in an office in London.

 

Then there was a long wait, before being called for a formal interview.  It was in front of a panel of 3 officers, who were very stern faced.  It was a very intimidating experience, but it all went OK.

 

Then finally I was called to take an entrance examination.  I went to a local recruiting office and was locked in a room, with an exam paper.  It was by far the hardest exam I had ever taken, and I had no idea how well I had done, but just knew that if I failed this, I wouldn't be joining up.

 

Well months past, and I took my o'level exams at school, and did pretty well.  I was offered a couple of the other jobs I had applied for, but didn't need to make any decision until September.

 

Then one morning in early August a letter dropped on the doormat, clearly marked from the Royal Navy.  I opened the letter and with huge relief, read that I had passed my entrance exam and was being offered a place at HMS Fisgard, in Torpoint, Cornwall, as an Artificer Apprentice.  There was a mixture of pride and relief at my achievement.

 

And so on the 3rd September 1983, I boarded a train from Paddington Station, London, bound for Plymouth, and then on to HMS Fisgard.  I had worked long and hard to get here and I was going to make the best of the opportunity that was being given to me.

 

The front gate at HMS Fisgard

 



On arriving at the ship - yes it was a land base but still called a ship - I was assigned to Bennett 1 Division, and prepared to start 4 weeks basic training.  My fellow recruits and me were under the supervision and command of Chief Donaldson, and his task was to mould us into a team, who could work and support each other, and also to identify any recruits who wouldn't make the grade.

 

Bennett 1 Division - I'm 2nd row, 2nd in from the right

 

D197553N Wood

It was a tough adjustment to a military life, but we were all in it together.  The 4 weeks consisted of lots of physical activity, lots of parade work, general military training, but the thing that stood out most was that for those 4 weeks we never stood still.

 

A typical mess on HMS Fisgard

 

We would be up at 5.30 am, and out for a run.  Back to the mess, showered and dressed and off to breakfast for 7.00 am, and then out again by 8.30 am.  We could be doing anything from drills on the parade ground, running an assault course, to having a lecture, regarding life in the military.  After lunch, it was more of the same.  About 4.30 pm, it was back to the mess and changed for dinner, before having to go out for another run, or swim.

 

Even in our "free time" we had to play sport.

 

Although some people did drop out, a hard core developed, carrying the others with us.  There were lots of hard times, but also many more laughs.

 

I had my first experience of firing a gun, with live ammo - and it was safe to say I couldn't hit a barn door. 

 

We tested gas masks in a bunker filled with tear gas, and when the instructors were happy that our masks fitted well, we were told to take them off, to experience what a gas attack might be like.  I vividly remember running round the parade ground, arms stretched out wide, gas mask in one hand, tears streaming down my face - from the gas - eyes itching like hell, and laughing about how ridiculous it all was.

 

We had lecturer's on military ranks, Morse code, STD's, you name it.  We were even given an instruction manual to military life.

 

We spent 3 days camping at an old fort near the ship, and engaging in more running, jumping, assault courses, abseiling, and being attacked by a bunch of Royal Marine's who stormed the fort early one morning, firing there guns next to our tents, before collapsing them and setting off a load of flash grenades.

 

The one thing we had to do during basic training was to pass a swimming test.  This involved jumping into a 50 metre pool in overalls, swimming 2 lengths and then treading water for 3 minutes.  I wasn't a strong swimmer and failed the first time, but noticed that when you jump in your overalls immediately fill up with air.  So I taped up the wrists and ankles of the overalls, trapping the air inside, and passed the test with ease second time round.

 

On the first Saturday of October, we had our passing in parade, where family and friends could come to the ship and watch us march on the parade ground, and finally become full serving members of the Royal Navy.

 

After this the pace of life suddenly changed.  It was more like being at a boarding school, attending lessons, doing workshop tasks, and less physical activity.  We could even have nights out off the ship and enjoy the local hostelries.

 

But it was at this point that I started to find myself having a problem.  During basic training, I had never had a problem with keeping up, and had usually been up front leading the way, but suddenly now I was struggling to do things.

 

I remember one night during basic training, we had been taken for a run, in overalls and boots, down to the river Tamar, and we had to run across the mud flats, which were left exposed by the low tide.  We had run about 3 miles to get there.  We then had to run out across the mudflats and back again, a distance of about 500 metres.  The mud was deep, and just seemed to suck you in.  If you stopped for a moment, you started to sink, and there was every chance of losing your boot.  Stand still at your peril.

 

Once back on dry land, we were soaked, muddy and worn out, but we still had a 3 mile run back to ship.

 

A Geordie lad called Paul "Cookie" Cook, suggested that to raise spirits and keep people going, that we start some running songs, for a laugh.  You know the sort of thing:

 

One, two three, four,

Chief Donaldson is the one we're for.

Five, six, seven, eight,

Running in mud is just great.

 

So we just made up words and verses, and as more people got into it, they added their own bits and it kept everyone going.  As we were running back, if anyone started to fall behind, we'd all run on the spot, whilst Cookie and I would run back, collect the straggler and bring them to the front to run with us.

 

When we got to the front gates at the ship, we were all running strong, singing loud and everyone looked at us in awe.  People commented on it for days afterwards.

 

However, only 6 or 7 weeks after this, I found I was struggling to do a basic 5 mile run.  I'd be the one at the back, needing to be supported.  And once we had finished, all I could do was sit down exhausted.

 

Playing sport, something which I had done with ease all my life, suddenly became really hard and I just couldn't cope.

 

Even standing on the parade ground started to become hard work.  Every Saturday we would have a parade, called Divisions, where all the divisions on the ship would parade their colours to an inspecting officer.  At first I just used to find that the standing still for the hour or so of the parade, made my legs and feet hurt, but eventually I'd faint and need to be carried off the parade ground.

 

The problems I was having physically, started to impact on my school work, and I started to fail course work exams - something I had never done before.

 

And so it all seemed to spiral from there.  The more I tried to do physically, the harder it became.  Because of the effort of trying to keep up physically, I was to tired to be able to concentrate on my course work, and this started to suffer.  So this just added more pressure on me, which just made everything worse.

 

I was seen by some of the medical staff, and of course, they couldn't find anything wrong.  How could they, even I couldn't really say what was wrong, other than the fact I was struggling.

 

Eventually, it became obvious that my instructors and officers thought I was putting it all on, and although no one actually said it, it was pretty clear that they were starting to think I was just being lazy and needed to pull my finger out.

 

After a short break at home over Christmas and the new year, thinks were no better, and just continued to get worse.

 

Eventually, towards the end of January, I realised that if things continued the way they were, I would end up being thrown out.  I made the difficult decision to leave.

 

On the 2nd February 1983, I was officially discharged from service in the Royal Navy.  Something I had worked so hard for, and had such high hopes for, had become a bit of a nightmare.

 

I was sad to have left something I had really enjoyed, when it had been going well, but was pleased to get home, where I would not have the same pressures on me, and could hopefully find out what was really wrong.