Chatham Field Guns Crew 1951

Jock lock
Jul 1
4 min read

We had just recently returned from the North Pole—or at least, as close as we could get by water. I was aboard HMS Gabbard, a Battle-class destroyer, on a secret mission called Operation Rusty. It involved testing man, ship, and equipment, as well as escorting HMS Vengeance, an aircraft carrier, which was conducting aircraft and rescue procedure tests.

One day, we noticed a bulletin board posting calling for volunteers for the Field Gun Crew (FGC) at the Royal Tournament. Several of us applied and were sent to the training station for a physical exam and running test. I was the only one who passed.

I was drafted to St. Mary’s Barracks in Chatham. Immediately, full-time training began. I won’t go into all the details—it was purely physical. Yes, 5:00 AM wakeups and 10-mile runs were quite common.

One Little Story

It was a Friday, and we had just been given weekend leave (very exciting!). I was on my way to visit my newly engaged girlfriend, Vera Watkins. As we were leaving the barracks, we saw our PTI’s (Physical Training Instructor’s) car parked very close to a pedestal about 4 or 5 feet tall. We thought it was a good time for a little payback. A group of us physically picked up the field gun and replaced it with his car—high and dry on the pedestal.

Before we could get out of sight, the PTI came out of the mess hall. Oh my!

With his cane tucked under his right armpit, he bellowed, “Attention! Form rank!” — which we did, very quickly.

In a calm but gruff voice, he snapped,

“I’m going back into the mess hall for a cup of tea… to decide whether or not I’m cancelling your weekend leave. If I do, you’ll be spending it in PT rig, starting with a 10-mile run.”

Oh, you’ve never seen a bunch of matelots move so fast—down came the car, up went the field gun. He reappeared, took one look at us, and said,

“Dismiss. Enjoy the weekend.”

The Accident

During training, we often got cuts and bruises, but one run in particular went wrong. I was stationed on the lead crossbar of the gun limber (which carried all the ammunition). First, we had to toss it over a 5-foot wall, then across what represented a bottomless canyon, using a wire rigged across to simulate a rope bridge.

On descending the far side, the release clip was triggered a few seconds too early. Down came the carriage—taking four of us with it—6 or 7 feet to the ground. The other three were thrown clear. I was not so lucky: it landed on my right leg, the steel axle pinning it down.

The sick bay assistant examined me and said, “No breaks—it’ll take a while to heal,” and gave me a painkiller. They carried me back and laid me in bed.

But by 4 or 5 AM, the pain had become unbearable. My leg had swelled severely and was badly bruised. I hopped on one leg to a bicycle outside the hut. One of the boys helped me onto it and supported me all the way to the sick bay at HMS Pembroke—holding the saddle as I pedaled with my left leg and kept the injured right leg stretched out to avoid the pedal.

They wheeled me in for an X-ray. Later, the doctor told me I had two nasty fractures—both the tibia and fibula were broken, with the tibia also splintered. I was transferred to the Naval Hospital in Chatham, which became my home for a while.

The Wedding

My wedding to Vera had been set for June 30th that year. We decided to go ahead with it—by then I was mobile with the aid of a crutch.

I had a couple of wild experiences while in plaster.

First: The Night Before the Wedding

Four of my sailor buddies took me out for a proper stag night. As the pub closed, I was the first one out. Outside stood a gang of "Teddy Boys"—clearly looking for trouble. They surrounded me. It was tense.

Then, my four shipmates emerged from the pub. With a loud battle cry, they charged forward. You’ve never seen Teddy Boys scatter so fast.Note to self: don’t mess with sailors.

Second: The Honeymoon

We caught the train to Portsmouth and were heading to the Isle of Wight to honeymoon in Shanklin. While waiting for the ferry, we took a walk around Portsmouth. (I wasn’t in uniform.)

Suddenly, I heard laughter behind me—two sailors were mocking my limp, mimicking my crutch walk. I didn’t find it funny.

Crutch raised and ready, I turned around and shouted:

“I’m Field Gun Crew—willing and ready to take you down!”

Their attitude changed immediately. Apologies all around. They even offered to buy us a beer.

Aftermath

Eventually, I was transferred to RN Barracks Chatham and given light duty until I recovered. Still using one crutch, I checked the notice board in the drill hall one day. My name was listed—I was to report to the Drafting Office.

I was being posted to join HMS Mounts Bay, operating in Korea.

I reported to the doctor at the sick bay and explained that I still couldn’t walk unaided and wouldn’t be able to fulfill my duties as a gunner, which could pose serious risks in action.

His reply?