For our first season the work was planned to follow a pattern that had been established over the past 15–20 years. The winter nights would coincide with our preparations in the UK and we would make the most of the Antarctic summer. The ship was to sail in late September and was due to return to Chatham the following May where repair work would certainly include damage to bottom plates and the bilge keels caused by ice and other underwater obstructions.
In our widest role, as guardship to the Antarctic, we were encouraged to visit the bases of the other nations. It was perhaps the only place in the world where you could have instant access to the Administrator of a Russian base. We also got to know the Poles, Chileans and Argentines within our operational area.
Within the Weddell Sea and Peninsula areas there were four British and an equal number of Argentine bases. There were also two Chilean bases, one each manned by the US, Russia and Poland, and several more temporary camps established by other nations. But projects of greatest scientific note were invariably inspired by the US or Britain. Alongside the US presence in other parts of Antarctica were the French, Australians, New Zealanders and, more recently, the Germans. The Argentines, Chileans and Uruguayans also had a wider Antarctic presence which anticipates the day when the International Treaty breaks down. As any student of history knows exercising a territorial claim is largely about being there.
Chapter 2
ENDURANCE GOES SOUTH
Coming from a long line of Military and Diplomatic forebears it seemed inevitable that I should follow suit and join one of the armed services. My father had been killed in command of the destroyer Ardent on 8 June, 1940, whilst escorting the aircraft carrier Glorious off the Norwegian coast. It had been a brave action as the odds against two small destroyers sinking or damaging the German battle cruisers Scharnhorst and Gneisenau were long. But even so, and with appalling loss of life, the destroyers managed to inflict considerable damage by gunfire and torpedoes on the Scharnhorst, My mother had come from the Paget family who were steeped in traditions of service to the country, including commanding the cavalry at Waterloo. She died in 1943, so my paternal grandfather, Henry, a retired Naval Captain, decided to bring up my sister and myself. A strict disciplinarian, his clear intention was for me to follow the Naval tradition, but most of all for us both to enjoy our childhood at home in Cornwall.
In the circumstances of a war-scarred family (my father’s brother had also been killed), my schooling had been pretty standard. I was sent off to a preparatory school at the age of 6 and then to Canford. It is fair to say that education during and shortly after the war was not good. In my own experience, schoolmasters were much more enthusiastic about their wartime exploits than passing on their classical or scientific know-how.
However, despite a much enjoyed but mediocre education, my enthusiasm to join the ‘Family Firm’, the Royal Navy, was not diminished and I entered the Naval Service (for National Service) in 1951. Following my initial training, I served as a Midshipman in HMS Vengeance, an aircraft carrier in the Far East, in the Rhine Flotilla as second-in-command of a landing craft and in HMS Bermuda as a dogsbody in the Mediterranean. In some respects this was a particularly impressionable period as we were closely involved in a major rescue operation during the floods of Southern Holland in 1953. Another but more unpleasant rescue operation followed an earthquake on the Greek island of Zante. In both instances it was death by large numbers, although the main differences were the climatic extremes. Having experienced the aftermath of the Plymouth blitz, these were situations where I could be of some assistance and deeply felt the anxieties of life-saving against a short time scale.
After training courses I served in a destroyer and was subsequently given my first command, a patrol boat as part of our Coastal Forces. It was a dream come true, which progressed into a command of a Squadron of three Patrol Craft with their associated ship’s companies. However, in 1958 it was back to reality when I became the Navigating Officer of a new frigate HMS Chichester for a trip away from home lasting over a year when we circumnavigated the globe. More importantly I was married, in 1957, and met my elder son Henry, on return from the commission in Chichester, when he was already seven months old.
Later appointments as a Lieutenant included HMS Jewel, an Ocean Minesweeper attached to the Royal Naval College at Dartmouth where I was involved in teaching both Seamanship and Navigation to cadets, another navigating appointment in the Middle East-based Frigate, Loch Fyne and then two more Commands, HMS Squirrel and HMS Brereton in the Fishery Protection Squadron before being selected for the Staff College Course in 1966. This was followed by another training appointment at HMS Ganges and another small ship command, then a superb commission as second-in-command of the Tribal Class Frigate HMS Nubian, operating in the Middle and Far East Stations.
Putting this experience into practice, I was appointed to serve on the staff of Flag Officer Sea Training based at Portland. Going to sea each day in a different ship, including a variety of ships belonging to NATO Navies, was a hard task, after which I was promoted to Commander. Subsequendy there was the reward of a shore job in Naval shipbuilding and ship acceptance from an office situated at Newcastle upon Tyne. It was also a time to get to know my family which by then had expanded to four children, all very close together in age.
In 1975 it was back to sea, in command of a new Type 21 Frigate HMS Arrow, a wonderful appointment with a tremendous team of officers and ship’s company. Furthermore, and quite coincidentally there was a family continuity. My father had been serving in the previous HMS Arrow, based in Malta, when I was born. Indeed I was christened on board.
My next appointment was to the Ministry of Defence in Whitehall. I was to be the ‘Appointer’ – the person who allocates jobs to all seaman Commanders. Suddenly I had friends I had never heard of. People constantly came to see me about their career progression and prospects of promotion.
Part of my responsibility was to weed out those who had no chance of immediate promotion. There was no ulterior motive in this; it was simply to make the Captains’ promotion lists more manageable. Only eight or nine Commanders would be promoted to Captain every six months, so the job was always likely to enhance my understanding of human nature.
There was an elite you rarely saw. They knew that promotion to top-class jobs would follow reasonably quickly. There were also some officers whose self-belief was not matched by ability and others who were more competent than confident. At the bottom of the class there were a few who were only ever going to be offered fringe appointments and whose chance of further promotion was as likely as Shergar making a winning return at Epsom.
But it was important to make everyone feel valued. An appointment to a missile or torpedo range in the Outer Hebrides may not be a mainstream career move, but with limited options I had to make it sound as attractive as possible.
‘There will be plenty of fishing and shooting,’ I would enthuse.
For each ‘customer’ I generally held half a dozen possible appointments. Having looked at the career pattern of each officer, I had a view of what was most appropriate. I would always push in that direction. The first card I played had to look like the winner. The ‘customer’ usually accepted that. But sometimes there would be objection on family grounds. If this seemed valid I would take the next card from the pack. Very rarely did I have to put all the cards on the table.
The job, which was fascinating, helped me develop skills in an area somewhere between PR and Personnel Management. But it also involved an Everest of paperwork. I worked more or less the standard office day, then late into the night at my lodgings. The plan was always to clear my desk by the middle of Friday afternoon and then beat the traffic as I travelled down to spend the weekends with my family in Dorset.
Two and a half years later, and rather before my time, I was promoted to Captain. I went to see the Naval Secretary who told me I had been selected to go back to sea in command of HMS Southampton. Predictably perhaps the new ship w
as delayed for a year because of labour disputes at Vosper Thornycrofts. This changed the course of my life. On my return visit to the Naval Secretary I was informed of my appointment to HMS Endurance.
I was disappointed. My recent insight did not encourage me to believe this was a main line job. HMS Southampton had represented a serious step up the ladder. HMS Endurance seemed to be uncomfortably close to an outward bound course. I was only consoled by a belief that I was not to be sidelined permanently. I cursed the dockyard unions.
Before I took up the new appointment I was to complete a series of specialist courses. These preparations meant a return to Portsmouth for six months. The courses included updates on administration, communications, engineering, navigation, supply and air warfare. And, because Endurance was quite unlike anything else in the Navy, there would be specialist briefings. This included input from the Foreign Office, the British Antarctic Survey, the Scott Polar Institute and the Security Services. The main thrust of it all was to understand the special conditions that apply to operating a ship in the South Atlantic.
Gradually I came to realize that the appointment to command Endurance was not altogether a bad thing. Officers with greater seniority had volunteered for this command. But I was not convinced. If I’d been offered the swap to a regular grey ship I’d have taken it. But the process of briefings completely changed my thinking. It was clearly going to be very different. I was particularly encouraged by the extent to which non-Naval Departments set such store by Endurance and her rôle in the South Atlantic.
I had always been interested in the remoter corners of the world. Parts of the Middle East, the North West Frontier in Pakistan and the deserts of Africa and Australia all captured my imagination. Perhaps the mystique of the Antarctic was even greater? This began by reawakening a boyhood interest in the history and heroism of Antarctic exploration. From there it did not seem too difficult to trace a line of descent to the scientific projects with which we were to assist. The Antarctic had been, and in many ways remained, the last terrestrial unknown. Even today we have hardly begun to learn the secrets of a continent that is half as large again as Australia.
I joined the ship in May, 1980, a few days after she returned from the Antarctic. There was a short handover from Captain James Lord and the next few months were spent generally getting to know my ship’s company. This was mainly done through planning my first season in the South Atlantic. Most of this time I was living in Chatham barracks, or I was with the ship in her dry dock. My officers had to follow their own briefing schedules and specializations, mostly in the appropriate schools in Portsmouth.
During that summer of 1980 I also met members of the ‘Antarctic Club’. In part this was seeking alliances with those who had a purposeful view of Falkland and Antarctic affairs. The most distinguished member was Lord Shackleton, a socialist peer who had served Harold Wilson’s Government in a number of capacities. He was a great man, and the son of a man who was arguably even greater. Eddie Shackleton was much respected and admired by politicians of various colours and had proved himself as a formidable and resourceful statesman. During that summer he came to lunch with me in Endurance. I remember him sitting at the dining table in my cabin. With him were his daughter Alexandra (the ship’s sponsor) and her husband Richard.
As we were chatting a pair of boots appeared at the window 40 feet above sea level. They were working boots suspended downwards from invisible ankles. This was towards the end of the lunch so the port had already been passed. I poured another glass, opened the window and handed it upwards. A hand reached down to take it and the boots disappeared. Eddie Shackleton noted what had happened and wryly observed that ‘labour relations’ with the workforce were not too bad in Chatham. What he didn’t know was that there had been a similar incident during a working lunch the day before. On this occasion it had been a violent clattering on the deck above. I halted the meeting and went up to the bridge with the remains of the decanter and some glasses. The dockyard workers quietly polished off the port and we sat down to finish our meeting. The bush telegraph works rapidly in the dockyard. In the weeks that followed it was surprising how the port supplies diminished.
In fact the relationship between ship and dockyard was excellent. It was good to see junior sailors and ratings on first name terms with the dockyard workers. The spirit of co-operation was also fostered by cricket matches, and the local game of ‘bat and trap’ played on any number of pub runs. There was also a fair amount of on-board hospitality. All this added up to a special relationship with the dockyard which I have no doubt contributed to the quality of work.
Even so it was touch and go as to whether the refit would be finished on time. But they just made it. We sailed on Monday September 22, 1980, for sea trials in the Thames Estuary. The trials were successful, with the exception of the calibration of the logs; this was to do with the second log fitted as an addition as part of a fleet trial.
The flight joined us off Portland, and we were able to have families on board and to give our dockyard workers and their families a trip down the Medway and out to sea. There was also time to visit a UK port and I requested the opportunity to affirm my links with Sunderland. As a red and white ship we could hardly go to Newcastle, could we? A highlight of the visit was having the Sunderland footballers on board. They must have enjoyed themselves but I was a little surprised when they managed a one-nil win the following day. Before we left they had already arranged, with the ship’s company, a similar visit to follow the 1981 refit.
On 13 October we sailed for an intensive period of sea training off Portland. There was also a special rededication ceremony for which we were delighted to have Sir Vivian Fuchs and Zaz Bergel, our sponsor and daughter of Lord Shackleton, as guests of honour.
On 30 October the ship sailed south, flying the flag of Rear Admiral John Cox, Flag Officer 3rd Flotilla, so he could see us operating at first hand.
On that long passage south we concentrated on flying training, missile firings and damage control exercises. Admiral Cox meanwhile had taken the opportunity to visit most departments and to meet the ship’s company. He created such a positive impression that we were almost reluctant to land him at Funchal. Later we were disappointed that he was not eligible to lead the Falklands Task Force, particularly as we learned that he missed out on becoming Commander of the Group by retiring a few days too soon. It was natural that we should want our man, but any fears we had were misguided. Admiral Sandy Woodward proved to be an effective leader with an acute mind and sound tactical know-how.
In Madeira I gave a lunch party which a number of local dignitaries attended. After drinking a toast to the President of Portugal, the Deputy Military Governor, Carlos Lacerda, rose and raised his glass to Margaret Thatcher. I thanked him and waited for what seemed like a decent pause before toasting the Queen. This threw the Deputy Governor into confusion as he began to realize he had made a major gaffe. This probably explains why I was offered a car and driver to tour the island. Certainly his over-profuse apologies continued not only for the rest of the visit but for the next three years. Whenever our paths crossed he always brought up the subject before offering further recompense. This included an apartment on the island and the use of his private aeroplane.
On 24 November, 1980, we arrived in Rio. It is impossible not to be enchanted by the magnificent scenery at the harbour entrance. There are many spectacular ports in the world, which must include Cape Town and Hong Kong on any shortlist, but Rio would be my choice as the best. It has one of the most attractive harbours in the world. The Sugarloaf mountain dominates Guanabara Bay. Above everything is that giant statue of Christ, floodlit at night in a way that makes it seem suspended in the sky.
The city itself unfolds as you round the headland and enter the bay. On this occasion we were berthed in what seemed like the city centre. This was wonderful in terms of a good run ashore and I believe every one of the ship’s company of 150 took full advantage. Someone later calculated they had spe
nt around £12,000 between them.
One problem with being a Captain on this kind of visit is that you see rather more diplomats and dignitaries than night-clubs, but I could hardly complain that this was not a worthwhile compromise. On this kind of visit there is little that is accidental about the guest list for on-board entertainment. An RN ship represents an alternative extension of UK ‘soil’ to the more formal atmosphere of the Embassy. I was carefully instructed by the attaché, Captain Anthony Wheatley, as to who the Ambassador would like me to invite on board. A visiting RN ship is a magnet for local politicians and members of the military. The relaxed mood of these encounters means it is possible to learn a great deal.
From a UK standpoint the major difference between Brazil and Argentina is largely to do with cultural and historical links. Argentina had traditionally been close to Europe, and Britain in particular. Brazil is perhaps more like the USA: there is mutual respect and even affection, but sometimes the history and culture divides them as much as it brings them together. That sense of distance is perhaps accentuated in Brazil by the fact that the diplomatic missions are now all centred on the new capital, Brasilia. This city is well detached from the main centres of population which include the extensive urban areas of Rio and Sao Paulo.
I was returning from a late party one night when a sense of disquiet began to grip me. It was the sort of feeling you get when you suddenly become sure that you forgot to lock your car and the world is illuminated by a burglar’s moon. As I focused on the road I recognized the true source of my anxiety. My Brazilian driver was clearly intent on jumping all the red traffic lights along the Copacabana beach road. Although my Portuguese vocabulary is hardly better than my Cantonese I managed to convey my concern. Happily his English was adequate to put me at ease.
‘If we stop,’ he explained, ‘we will be ambushed.’
Beyond Endurance: An Epic of Whitehall and the South Atlantic Page 5
