A Eulogy for Able Seaman Tony Watson

— and a Tribute to the Men of the Hong Kong Flotilla — 

Given by Peter Yeates, Veteran of HMS Tamar and the Hong Kong Flotilla (1949–1959) 

To Tony’s Family, and to Those Who Remember 

Today, we gather in honour of Able Seaman Tony Watson — a loyal shipmate, a cherished friend, and one of the last of our extraordinary brotherhood from the Hong Kong Flotilla. Though this is a eulogy for Tony, I hope you’ll allow me to speak also of those we served with — our proud band of young sailors who once wore the White Ensign in the Far East, and of the great adventure we shared together, now held only in memory. Most of them have already crossed the bar. Only a few of us remain. 

The Hong Kong Flotilla was a small, gallant force based at HMS Tamar — Britain's historic naval station in the heart of Victoria Harbour. Our fleet was made up of wooden motor launches: elegant to look at, modest in speed, but unexpectedly fierce. Each vessel was armed with a tank-busting 6-pounder gun at the bow, and an anti-aircraft gun mounted at the stern. It may sound improbable now, but we really did sail into danger like that, with little more than pluck and a sense of duty to carry us. 

Tony was one of those rare Boy Seamen — which meant that by the time I joined as a National Serviceman at 18, he already had a sailor’s bearings. He was one of the originals — a quiet but steady presence, always ready, always reliable. In truth, there were very few of us in those days. We were just ten men and a young officer per boat. Some were Royal Navy regulars; others, like me, were called up. There was good-natured teasing at first — the “call-up boys” getting the mickey taken — but that didn’t last. Because we belonged. We had earned our place. And for all of us, it was the beginning of something unforgettable. 

After each three-day patrol, we returned to spartan Nissen huts — stifling in summer, freezing in winter — but we also returned to the most dazzling, abundant city we had ever seen. For wartime kids like Tony and me, raised in the shadow of rationing and austerity, 1950s Hong Kong was nothing short of miraculous. Neon lights, street markets, music, colour — a modern city bursting with life. It was our first taste of the world. And how lucky we were to have tasted it. 

But the patrols were no pleasure cruise. We slipped through the maze of islands around Hong Kong, always on alert. Red China was newly Communist, and the scars of the Korean War still fresh. We were told to watch for smugglers — and sometimes gunboats. And watch we did, night after night. We stood silent watch through tropical storms and sleepless nights, peering into darkness, sometimes frightened, but always ready. The experience matured us quickly. It gave us a sense of comradeship and purpose that would last a lifetime. 

In 1953, tragedy struck. Motor Launch 1323 was ambushed by Red Chinese forces. Seven of our shipmates were killed. The boat was almost destroyed, but by sheer courage and seamanship, the survivors got her back to harbour. After her repairs, Tony was posted to that very launch. He wore no medal for it — we rarely did — but his quiet readiness to serve again, after such a loss, was a mark of his steady courage. 

That boat, and its story, came to symbolise something for all of us. We even adopted the image of a Chinese junk — with its distinctive sails — as our flotilla badge. It seemed right. We were modern sailors in ancient waters, keeping the peace in a turbulent time. We still have some of those badges, if anyone would like a memento. They remind us of the life we led — and of those who never came back. 

The reunions we later held — year after year — brought us back together. We would tell our stories again and again, each time with a little more flair, a little more pride, and perhaps a little more embellishment. But through it all, we remembered. And Tony’s family, in particular, kept coming. They came to remember him. And by remembering him, they honoured us all. We will never forget that. 

There are very few of us left now. The reunions have finished. The flotilla is history. But let it not be forgotten. Let the name of Able Seaman Tony Watson be remembered as a symbol of that proud little band — of the wild, young sailors who once patrolled the South China Sea in wooden boats, under the White Ensign, loyal and true. 

We were young. We were reckless. But we were proud. And we still are. 

Rest easy, Tony. You were one of the best of us.