Godfrey's Questions and Answer Time!  - See also 'A product of my time and experiences'      

1. Where and when was I born and who were my parents?                                                                     
2. Have I any siblings ?
3. Apart from siblings, who are my known [non close family]  relatives?
4. What about my marriage?
5. My three sons!
6. About my hobbies and interests
7. The cars I have owned.
8. Likes and dislikes             
9. My first career 

Where and when was I born and who were my parents ?

In No 30 Queens Terrace,  Otley, West Yorkshire England on the 27th July 1938.  [Taken August 2004]  This was a registered nursing home and because of the relatively high birth mortality and death in delivery, it was normal to be born away from the family home if possible.  My mother always talked about nurse Adams who I understand attended at many of my siblings arrival, including those of the still births.

My father was HARRY DYKES and my mother was DOROTHY MAY PERKINS. My father died on the 4th January 1980 in Leeds Infirmary of a stroke - he was 72 [born November 1907].  My mother died in Elm Nook, a residential care home in Pool-in- Wharfedale [near Otley] on the 22nd March 1988 of Alzheimer's disease - she was 80 [born December 1907]. Both were cremated and their ashes are together spread in a marked plot at Lawnswood Crematorium, Lawnswood Leeds. The family home for all their married life was 5 Park Terrace Otley West Yorkshire.     The following pictures  tell the story of its disposal.     .  Just in case you forget your childhood home as you grow old, I have drawn some rough sketches of what it looked like inside. Remember that it was on four levels.  Here goes!  The cellars , the ground floor , the first floor  and the attic .

The King and Queen were George VI and Elizabeth, and these portraits date from May 1937 shortly after their Coronation .       

The Prime Minister was Neville Chamberlain

  A picture of my mother and father  taken at Christmas time when they were in their mid to late 60's. My second world war ID card - Front/Back cover and the reverse. 

My father was born to Bennett and Florence Dykes [nee Cartwright] in Morley Leeds and had one sister, Mabel. My mothers start in life was, by any standards, then and now, terribly sad.   Sarah Ann Hartshorn who was unmarried, gave birth to a little girl in 17 Stanley Street, Castleford, South Yorkshire, on the 7th of December 1907.  Those details are taken from my mothers birth certificate which she obtained 60 odd years later [with me by her side] in order to qualify for old age pension [OAP] status.  Up until that point in her life, she always wondered whether she should celebrate her birthday on the 9th of December [which was the favourite] or the 7th, which proved to be correct. The story goes that at the same time, Sarah's mother was in hospital along with a woman whose married name was Eleanor Perkins and who was unable to have children.  They got talking and Sarah's mother offered her daughters illegitimate baby to Eleanor. She and her husband James, accepted her and the papers were drawn up.  The adoption was dated the 17th January 1908 when the girl, named Dorothy May was virtually 6 weeks old, and the address shown on the transfer document as being the home of Sarah was 6 Lower Station Road, Normanton, South Yorkshire, which, like Castleford, is in the coal mining belt. 

As  children, we saw our paternal grandparents regularly because they lived a few marching paces distant from our house, but, in keeping with strict Victorian values [my parents were born Edwardians] they showed a type of affection and love which by today's standards, we would call 'cold and aloof'. Just before I reached my teens, they moved from Otley and settled in Morecambe with Aunty Mabel where sightings became less frequent.  All three died and were cremated in Morecambe.  My maternal grandma [by adoption] died of cancer in 1934.  However, what became of my maternal grandpa [by adoption]  James Perkins, paints a bizarre picture.  Shortly after his wife's death, he took a housekeeper, a Miss Armitage to look after my mothers former home in Albion Street, Otley.  Mother told  us that she used to go back there ostensibly to visit her father, but that Miss Armitage would deny her access either to the house or to Mr Perkins.  Eventually, mother ceased her attempts and lost direct contact with him, although I well remember him shopping in the town, and when together as siblings, we used to point and say that that was grandad.  On one occasion he came to our home to visit mother, and I should imagine that they reminisced, but I don't think he ever made a return visit.  I am not sure who died first, Miss Armitage or Mr Perkins, but mother said very little about the situation.  We never knew her true feelings!

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Have I any siblings ?

Yes, 6 of them, plus two sisters who were still born.  By order of birth they are Pamela [still born] Brian, Gordon, Margaret [still born]  - then me - Vernon, Susan, Peter and Brenda.  Brian married Marilyn [deceased], Gordon married Dorothy [deceased], I married Beryl, Vernon married Kathy, Susan married Donald, Peter married Anne and Brenda married Gordon. Currently, Brian lives in Barnsley South Yorkshire, Gordon in Armdale South Yorkshire, I in Hampshire, Vernon in Silsden West Yorkshire, Susan in Otley West Yorkshire, Peter in Arthington Pool-in-Wharfedale West Yorkshire and Brenda in Otley West Yorkshire. 

This is the family group taken in the back garden of 5 Park Terrace Otley just before my 19th birthday in summer 1957.

Back row L-R is me, mother, father, Susan, Vernon and Gordon. Front row L-R is Brian, Brenda and Peter.

Year of birth was Brian 1935, Gordon 1936, me 1938, Vernon 1939, Susan 1941, Peter 1942 and Brenda 1944.

I , Brian and Brenda are left handed!

I am the tallest in the family!

I was the first to leave home permanently and Brian and Gordon left temporarily to join the Army/Royal Air Force respectively as National Servicemen sometime later.  Peter was the last to leave home.

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Apart from siblings, who are my known [non close family]  relatives ?

I am an uncle and a great uncle as follows.

 At the back standing, my great aunt Ada, my grandpa Bennett and my great aunt Elizabeth.  Elizabeth died in 1918 when aged 33, and I don't recall ever having met Ada who died in 1969.  Seated left of centre, my great grandpa Arthur Bennett and his second wife Louisa Smith.  They had six children, five of whom survived and are shown here, L-R: Dora, Arthur,  Frank, Maurice and Cecil Dykes.

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What about my marriage?

Beryl and I married on the 6th August 1962 at Stoke Road Methodist Church Gosport Hampshire, which has since been rebuilt after a serious fire.  This is what we looked like then

 We have not changed much!!!!  

In those days I was a young Petty Officer serving in Submarine Auriga in UK waters, and her home port was Devonport Plymouth.  Beryl lived with her Aunt Nell in Gosport and I came home at weekends - Friday evening until Sunday evening.  Early in 1963 we sailed to our new base in Halifax Nova Scotia Canada, there to patrol and protect the North American coast from Boston Mass to as far north as Argentia in Newfoundland, and on one occasion, up near the north pole well inside the artic circle where we played football with sailors from an American submarine.  Beryl sailed to Halifax in the Liner Sylvania out of Liverpool. We had two addresses in Halifax during our 21 month tour of duty, and Steven, our eldest child, was born on the 6th September 1963 in Halifax Infirmary. Beryl flew home to the UK from Montreal in July 1964 when Steven was 10 months old.  We sailed home to Plymouth, via New York [Brooklyn Navy Base] and Bermuda arriving late September 1964. Between Beryl's home coming and mine, Beryl lived in Gosport with her Aunt Nell, in Hounslow with her mother and father and in Otley with my parents. At my home coming, we set-up home in Alverstoke Gosport in a rented house with a reduced rent on the understanding that we looked after the cat during the known and temporary absence of the owner [a Naval Hospital Matron] stationed in Malta.  During this period I served in submarine Grampus operating in UK waters.  When submarine Auriga returned home from Canada she underwent a refit to get her ready for a new commission.  Towards the end of that refit, I rejoined her in Portsmouth Dockyard in late summer of 1965. Shortly after this, my mother was knocked down by a car outside her home in Otley.  Her legs were badly injured and she was hospitalised in Leeds Infirmary for quite some time.  Beryl, now pregnant with Phillip, moved up to Otley lock stock and barrel to look after my father and those still living at home.  She worked very hard and often became over tired and frustrated with her lot.  For most of this time I was at sea, off the Clyde and Western Isles [Hebrides] putting our newly refitted submarine through it's war routines in preparation for joining the active fleet.  I came down at weekends from Glasgow by train and my brief visits were a cushion to Beryl's everyday domestic chores.  Beryl gave birth to Phillip in Otley General Hospital on the 18th December 1965.  We all spent Christmas together in Otley and shortly afterwards Beryl went south to Hounslow and Gosport and I went back to sea for the preparations for Far East deployment based again on Plymouth. Mum came out of hospital shortly after Beryl left Yorkshire. We sailed for a two year duty in the Far East based on Singapore in early 1966. Beryl flew to Singapore with Steven and Phillip [3 months old] in a small aircraft called a Britannia.  It was a long haul and Beryl was pleased to see me waiting for her at the Singapore Pyleba airport.  We drove to our brand new home on the edge of the jungle and lived there throughout our tour of duty.  Regrettably for Beryl and the boys, their time in Singapore was cut short by a couple of months because we were sent to the Red Sea to protect  British Forces evacuating Aden when it ceased to be British, and became The Yemen. The evacuation had been a long time coming and was the culmination to a long local war.

Beryl flew home to Heathrow and to her family. After Aden, the submarine returned to Singapore and to Far East duties.  We commenced our long journey back to Plymouth via the Pacific and the Panama Canal.  During this period, Beryl's mother died at the young age of 53. In my absence, Beryl had taken a rented house in Oxford Road Gosport as our family home.  I left submarine Auriga and returned to the submarine school at HMS Dolphin Gosport. In late 1968 I bade farewell to the submarine life and went back into the surface fleet and to HMS Mercury Nr Petersfield and the  family home was relocated to Lovedean about 4 miles away from HMS Mercury. Beryl was pregnant again! During this period we bought our first house in Waterlooville Hampshire.  Matthew was born on the 30th April 1969 at St Mary's in Portsmouth. In  late 1969 I went back to sea in the frigate HMS Rothesay based on Singapore. I was promoted out of Rothesay and rejoined HMS Mercury as a Chief Petty Officer. Whilst serving there we sold, and bought our second house near Gosport Hampshire. Once more back to sea this time at Portland training Royal Navy and foreign warships in combat/war conditions which involved much flying in helicopters. Beryl's father died whilst we lived in this house, again tragically young aged 56. Yet another move and a new house.  In 1975 we moved again  back to Waterlooville, and I was promoted out of Portland to rejoin HMS Mercury as a Warrant Officer. After an illness which involved a job-change in Mercury, I went back to sea in HMS Tiger, and in 1977 and 1978 toured the world showing The Flag for The Queen's Silver Jubilee.  I came ashore in late 1978 for the final time and was appointed to be The Officer of the Watch at HMS Mercury [where else?]. I left the Navy officially in July 1983 when aged 45, but I took up civilian employment in the June of that year. In November 1983, we sold up in Waterlooville and moved to our present house.  However,  it is now up for sale!

We are looking forward to celebrating our RUBY WEDDING ANNIVERSARY in August this year

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My three sons!

From the above, you will have gathered that Beryl and I have three sons, Steven [Steve], Phillip [Phil] and Matthew [Matt].  Steve is married to Nesba [an American] and they have a little girl called Madeley aged 5.  Steven and Nesba are both actors.  They live in Charlton South East  London. Phil lives with his wife Kate in Kingston-upon-Thames Surrey. They have two little boys, Billy 7 and Louis 5. Phil works for  a City Broker and Kate is a mum/part time teacher.  Matt lives with his partner Jo in Limehouse East London.  They both work in London.  Amongst the three boys and their partners , they have no fewer than 7 university degrees.

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About my hobbies and interests

These are:-

• British history - from Tudor times
• the Royal Navy  - 18th century to present
• British Royalty 
• astronomy with  Naval practical experience
• space exploration - NASA shuttle flights; weather satellites; military satellites and the International Space Station [ISS] and I run software which tracks the NASA launched projects.
• technology, electronics and computing
• DIY
• cars
• gardening
• current affairs, documentaries.
• war per se - particularly the 1st and 2nd
• sea war from Jutland onwards

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The cars my wife and I  have owned [from 1959, the Wolsley, to 2002, No's 17 and 18 below].  I passed my driving test in  May 1957.

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Likes and dislikes

On the premise that WE ARE products of our UPBRINGING, our EXPERIENCES, our INTERPRETATION of what is morally decent and acceptable, our SUSPICIONS and gut reactions plus others, which collectively,  give to each of US a unique set of Likes and Dislikes.  The proverb 'one man's meat is another  man's poison '  is never truer than when two or more human beings engage in a discussion about their likes and dislikes.  None will be allowed to finish their point before being interrupted , and the so-called discussion will result in argument if not confrontation, and all parties will be frustrated at not being able to put the 'world to right'.  Therefore, if of any interest to any other person, it is better to define oneself as belonging to certain categories/groups and implicit from that, a reader will get a good idea of your likes and dislikes. Before that, one should know that I am an Agnostic and apolitical and I trust neither Priest nor Politician.  

LIKES

DISLIKES

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My first career

Towards the end of a very happy childhood of carefree summer days playing cricket at every opportunity with my brothers and friends with  the occasional holiday to Bridlington, and in the winter months when snow was the norm, of sledging on the giants bum or down the Chevin fields, an event took place which was to change Britain and her Commonwealth and me also. I was just over 13½  when in February 1952 our King, George the 6th died as a relatively young man and his daughter Queen Elizabeth the 2nd came to the Throne.  The whole nation mourned; all flags flew at half-mast; radio programmes broadcasted somber music and my mother cried her eyes out.  At that time I made a scrap book of any newspaper cuttings I could get [our parents didn't read national papers - just the local weekly] so it was a case of beg steal or borrow, and I still have that book to this day.  What changed me was the presence of the sailors of the Royal Navy who were to pull the gun-carriage bearing  The King's coffin.

   I saw them as role models depicting the finest of men about to enact an honour without parallel, and almost overnight, I gave up my boyish hero's  and became a young man with ambitions to become a Royal sailor.  The funeral [unlike the Coronation of virtually 18 months later] was not televised, and I recall going to the local cinema, once with school and once with my mother, to watch the Pathe News filmed version.  From that day forward, I thought about nothing else other than going to sea, made the more profound by our visits to Bridlington and Morecambe [where my grandparents lived with my one and only aunt [no uncles or cousins], Aunt Mabel.  Whilst in Morecambe, we would journey to Heysham where many large merchant ships were berthed, and this made me more determined than ever to spend my life at sea.  

Throughout 1952, the new Queen and her husband The Duke of Edinburgh and their children were front page news around the world.  It was a lovely feeling of belonging to a Nation full of love and devotion to this Lady and I was taken along with the tide of  the unfurling events leading towards a magnificent Coronation in the following June. By this time I can truly claim to have given up my desire to pursue early teenage daily wants, and I had my mind set on what I wanted, even though the thought of leaving my mother and father  was unbearable and I would regularly cry when in private space. The winter of 1952/3 had barely gone, when, whilst only 14½ and still at school, I travelled to Leeds unaccompanied: this was considered adventurous in those days. Whilst in Leeds shopping with my mother, I had regularly seen the Royal Navy and Royal Marine Recruiting Office and that was my target on this day of lone adventure.  I remember being treated with respect and some measure of maturity despite my obvious age, but was told to come back in three months time when 14¾ for tests:  the earliest age I could actually join was when I was 15¼.   On my way home I tried to imagine my parents reaction particularly that of my mothers.  What would I say and how would I approach the subject.  Days passed and I could not pluck up the courage to tell my parents.  Opportunities were rare and having so many brothers and sisters didn't always give  enough one -to- one time with mother, and she had to be told first - she would be the go-between me and father.  Moreover, I figured that she would take it badly and resort to tears and emotion and therefore my timing had to be geared towards there being no other member of the family around, and when  mothers cleaner,  Mrs Tomlinson, wasn't there cleaning.  I had also continued with my private crying and more than once, realised that I wasn't a man after all but still very much a boy.  I reasoned that they [the Navy] would take no action against a boy if he were to change his mind about joining, and at one point decided that I would put my ambitions behind me because staying  in the family was really what I wanted more than anything else.  At Easter time [and others for that matter] my father would take my mother and some of my siblings to Morecambe to stay with grandma, grandpa and Auntie Mabel and he would return home to continue earning his living as a painter and decorator.  He returned to collect mother and some of the kids but some, particularly Peter and Brenda would stay for a longer period.  The day after my mother arrived home from  Morecambe was a normal school day, and the usual pre-school rising/breakfasting took place without event except that I had feigned a stomach ache and waited until all had left for school before declaring my hand.  I told my mother all, and predictably she was very upset and hurt that I had done such a thing. I left for school  very upset which was noted immediately by the Headmaster, because I, as a prefect and house captain had a supporting roll in the morning assembly and therefore had close contact with the staff. I was almost duty bound to tell him about my intentions so that he got to know before my father.

I always went home for lunch and the journey  took approximately 30 minutes on foot: my father rarely was at home during this period. Mum served lunch to those attending with the minimum of fuss or talk, and on completion, bade us farewell until tea time.  It took her quite some time to regain her normal approach to life, and the stand-off between us grew less and less obvious.  It was now many weeks since my visit to Leeds and mother perhaps hoped or wished that the Navy had forgotten.  For her own reasons she kept the knowledge from my father.  Despite my own misgivings and self pity, I watched the calendar ticking around to late April 1953 when I would be 14¾, and almost on cue, the documents dropped through the front letter box when I was at school.  My lunch time visit was uneventful and this time mother had a secret.  At my tea time home coming the kitchen had been cleared of all and sundry except for me and my parents.  Dad, bless him, could say nothing more than he would not sign the forms, not now or ever so forget about it.  Mum, was in tears, asking me why I wanted to leave home.  Poor mum!  She must have known with her maturity that I was all mixed up and the very last thing I wanted was to leave her and my home.  I was the first of the brood to flex my wings and my premature flight from the nest at so at such a tender young age, was a shock for my dear mother.   Before supper everybody in the family knew and mother was very distressed for which I got the blame by all comers except father, who, true to form sat in his chair in the front room and snored his head off before being ordered to bed by mother. 

As June approached, the Coronation fever grew to encompass all our wakening moments, and my mother and I made plans to go to Leeds where I would undergo my first medical and sit a written exam. I wasn't in the recruiting office for long, and mother and I enjoyed a fish and chip treat at Youngman's - famous in Leeds as a good place to eat. Things changed after that time, and my mother and I grew close, she well knowing that she was about to lose one of her offspring's.

The Coronation of HM Queen Elizabeth II on the 2nd June 1953 

was indeed the event all had predicted.  In those days, I earned my pocket money by working as a grocer-boy taking food orders out from our local shop by bicycle to distant clients .  My boss Arthur Clapham had promised my mother a seat in his home to watch the Coronation on TV -the first ever Royal event broadcast in real time - and I was lucky to be invited into a clients house, a Miss Neal who was wheelchair bound, to watch it.  My parents got their first television after I had joined the Navy.  Once again I was full of it!  The Navy or nothing.

In July I left school.  Between then and leaving home, I pottered around working at my fathers business premises, going for long walks with my mother and sometimes Auntie Gertie [my mothers aunt by adoption but a lovely lady to all us children], and generally helping out here and there. I went to tidy up a garden down East Bus Lane for a few shillings, but it got to my mother who considered it too large a job and therefore, slave labour. I left without completing the task.  In early August I received notification that I had been accepted into the Navy and that I had to report to the Manchester recruiting office by 3pm on the 12th October 1953.

Apart from comments about the weather, "doesn't time fly" must come a close second!  It did, and before I could realise fully the folly of my ways, summer had gone and autumn was beginning.  My parents took me to Manchester by car.  There mum and I  said a very difficult  goodbye amid floods of tears, as my father stood by impassively as the proverbial Victorian/Edwardian father, not even offering his hand for a shake. Dad was brought up by undemonstrative parents and never showed outward emotions, so this was par for the course for me. With many other north country boys we slept the night in Manchester at a youth hostel, and the next day travelled by train to Ipswich via Doncaster to join the Navy arriving in time for a horrible supper on the 13th of October 1953. The train left Manchester with two dozen or so tear stained faces and by the time we arrived in Ipswich that number had expanded into what must have been 200 boys - whether they were all sad at leaving home, I knoweth not. However, I do recall that many were Bernardo boys.  When I joined, I was 5 foot 6½" tall, had a 36½" chest but my records do not show my weight. I grew to be 5 foot 10"tall.

HMS Ganges looking from the tidal river Stour    

  HMS Ganges was built in 1905 for boys training and before that time all training was done afloat  on rotting hulks of 19th century warships long since de-commissioned from the Fleet.  It was built at Shotley Gate near Ipswich Suffolk on the tip of an isthmus, with the river Orwell running to the open North Sea on the northerly side  and the river Stour on the southerly side also tidal.  Across the Stour was Harwich, Parkeston Quay and the Royal Hospital School at Holbrook each of which had something to do with our training or sporting activities. Across the Orwell was Felixstowe to  which  we were occasionally allowed a visit for Sunday afternoon recreation.  Harwich and Dovercoat were other venues for the Sunday break. The East Coast is well known for being cold and dry, and during the period of the late 40's early 50's Britain suffered some severe winter conditions.  With a couple of exceptions [the gymnasium for example] all training rooms had some form of central heating.   The messes in which we lived had two coal burning stoves but they were for polishing and blanko'ing [ a whitener used on gym shoes] and not for lighting:  thus our accommodation was unheated.. Ganges was a hard environment and a shock to my understanding of life up until that point. It was a massive and impersonal place, home to  2000 boys and every month 200 would leave and go to sea and 200 new boys [nozzers] would join up.   Virtually all the officers and rating instructors [Chief and Petty Officer's] had been through the war and each had many medal ribbons.  It was obvious from day one, and inevitable, that these men were not too pleased to have been placed in charge of  new boy recruits.  They were men who had been hardened by historic events, and who much preferred their own peer group company, sailing around the  Mediterranean, the West Indies or the delightful Far East.  Their attitude to us boys was that we had a lot to learn, and were any one of us to fall behind on this learning curve, they would show no mercy.  Moreover, our training was to be necessarily hard because life at sea was excessively hard.  This much repeated foretelling of our ultimate fate fuelled my desire to admit to my folly and to return home with 'my tail between my legs'.   Whilst a few boys 'worked their tickets' and got out of there, I had a dilemma in that my father had said "you have made your bed and now you can lay on it", and after all the heartache I had caused to my mother, he meant it.  There was no going back, and from hereon in I had to 'bite the bullet'.   

For the first few weeks we were sent to a small camp some half a mile away from the Main Establishment, called the Annexe. Now, if you think this place looks like a prison somewhere in the outback, you are close to understanding that the Annexe was designed to break a boys [civilian] spirit!

  On our very first evening there we were given a small piece of plywood before being led to a desk on which were wooden pegs each with a letter of the alphabet on the top. We would collect the letters [and the full stops] necessary to separate our initials from our surname] and slide them onto the piece of plywood so that [in my case]  'S' would be first on and 'G' the last peg on. This finished article was a device to stamp your claim of ownership to each and every piece of kit to be issued to you both then and [technically at least] throughout ones career - I still have mine.   I always felt sorry for J.W.W.Butterworth whose bed was next to mine, for having such a long name. We were then issued with the uniform we would wear the next morning on the first proper day, and two sets of pyjamas. Under supervision we dipped our wooden name plate into a shallow tray of black paint and then stamped G.DYKES  on the shirt [above the left pocket and across the tail]: behind the collar  of one pyjama top and on the right hand buttock  of one pyjama bottom.  The wooden stamp was then cleaned, dipped into white paint to mark the uniform trousers to be worn the next morning. We were then told to hang up our marked articles of kit which would dry overnight, and to wear our unmarked pyjamas to sleep in for the first night.

For some inexplicable reason, I hung up my unmarked pyjamas, and had no sooner donned my marked pyjama bottoms than a thunderous roar brought the first fears of harsh discipline to every boy in Beatty Two Mess. "You ...yes you boy.  Stand on that table". I had a feeling that something was badly wrong and already not far from tears and distraught with home-sickness, I feared that I would lose my composure!  Petty Officer Carpenter was his name [and we all grew to fear and hate him for his bullying ways]. 

Me, seated front rank far right with my classmates of Beatty Two Mess, The Annexe , HMS Ganges, with our instructor Petty Officer  Carpenter seated middle front rank.  Taken in October 1953.

" What's your name lad"?  Godfrey, I said very near to a nervous breakdown.  "Ah!  And what is your Christian name? - we were all Christians in those days!  Again but at a much lower level I uttered Godfrey. "Oh clever bastard eh! 'Er we have Godfrey Godfrey" he announced to the unamused audience.  "Did you hear what I said about black wet paint not being suited to clean crisp white sheets, or was your mind on mummy and daddy"?  There was a deep and prolonged silence broken by PO Carpenter asking the rest of the boys if they had heard. The boys nodded but  the PO encouraged a shout, a repeat shout and a shout for good luck to the affirmative.  "Godfrey didn't hear did you"?  No Sir!.  Getting closer to my position to read my surname the PO continued......"well DYKES let this be a lesson.  Take your trousers off and be careful not to smudge the paint."  This done, he made me stand there in the nude in front of my mates as a cruel punishment and it seemed a lifetime before he contemptuously threw my unmarked trousers up to me from my bed.  "Now Godfrey Godfrey, get turned in and don't let me hear one muff from this mess or you will spend your first night on the parade ground". 

Whilst I have no doubts that many in the mess felt profound sorrow for me and my vulgar experience, none expressed their feelings.  When the lights went out  I got underneath  my sheet, used part of it to plug my mouth and cried myself to sleep. I cried many times but always kept it secret and thus my composure was in tact.  Later on, I learned from my friends that they too had cried themselves to sleep.  Whilst desperately homesick for many months and certainly after every leave for years and years afterwards, the burden was eased by talking to other boys who felt the same - there were many of them I can assure you.  It was at this time whilst still in the Annex that I decided that Godfrey had to go and a new name had to be found which would have to begin with the letter G.  My mother always used to say that she named me Godfrey as a jerk-reaction because when confronted by the Minister in the front room of 5 Park Terrace and asked.......and what do you name this child........,she, in the absence of a well thought out plan thought of Godfrey Winn a famous war correspondent and at that time a popular writer, and responded by saying Godfrey. Evidently, my mother had been under pressure from my paternal grandma, Florence [nee Cartwright] to include grandpas Christian name as the second name of my two elder brothers Brian and Gordon.  His name was Bennett [!]  and he took it from his father, Arthur Bennett Dykes, so we  have a Gordon Bennett in the family. By the time I arrived, mother was having none of it and, according to her stood her ground by choosing just the one Christian name, repeated for my two younger brothers Vernon and Peter.  However, had my mother been truly courageous she would have chosen second names for her three youngest sons as indeed she did do for my two younger sisters Susan and Brenda where even grandma wouldn't insist on Bennett as a girls Christian name. Notwithstanding that my action might hurt my mother, I decided that Geoff [or Jeff] was a more fitting name given my circumstances, and I knew that on leaving the Annexe to go to the Main Establishment [Ganges proper] I would be with boys who had not been in Beatty Two Mess and I would start with a 'clean slate' as it were.  Whatever, the new name became the norm and Godfrey was used for official purposes only.  It wasn't until 1985,  over thirty years later, and now back as a civilian, that I started using Godfrey again.  I don't think mother liked the idea, but it was never an issue between us.

The next day after what seemed a middle of the night early morning call, a foul breakfast and some instructions on how to wear our No8's [working shirt and trousers], we mustered to receive the rest of our kit  [minus tropical kit].  Every single piece of kit had to marked with ones own name using the wooden name stamp from the night before. We were formed into three columns and at the head of each column was a trestle table on which stood a tray of black paint.  At the order 'take up.........proceed',  we would each pick up the named article, say a No8 working shirt, and as we got to the front of the column we would dip our wooden name plate into the paint and then stamp the shirt where told, always across the top of the left shirt pocket and in the centre of the tail.  We would then return to our beds and lay the newly marked articles in such a position so as not to smudge the paint.  There it would soon dry.  We continued doing this until every piece of our kit which wasn't a dark colour was marked with our name, which included the pyjamas we had slept in the night before. Then we marked our dark coloured kit using white paint.  Over the remaining weeks in the Annexe we had to stitch around our paint names using red thread following every outline of every letter - poor old Butterworth!.  The reason for this was that after many washes the paint would fade and then be lost, whereas the red thread would always remain    I have still got at least one article of kit marked and sewn in this manner.  After lunch [ha!.] we parceled up our civilian joining up clothes, wrote a letter to our parents to tell them that we were safe and sound and marched with the parcel under our arms to the Naval Post Office.    For the rest of our stay in the Annexe we were taught how to march; how to wash our clothes and keep our bodies clean; how to iron, fold and present our kit for inspection, polish, Blanco and  bull our boots ; how to clean-ship [dusting, sweeping, cleaning windows] and perhaps the most important Naval thing possible, if it moves salute it, if it doesn't paint it.  We were taught saluting and who to salute; who to call Sir which included many senior boys who effectively were our peers; what the Captain looked like and his name medals and titles [the latter important because he was The Earl of Cairns - a kindly man as I recall].  Physical exercise was the top of the list and we were told that most of the boys left Ganges for sea in good shape physically and fine specimens of young men.  It certainly was true for me and when I consider before and after photographs I was a different person to look at and certainly different inside. On the left is me in November 1953 after 1 month in the Navy and before brain washing.  On the right is me in late September 1954 after nearly a year in the Navy and now aged 16 years and 2 months.  The right hand side picture takes into account hundreds of hours of everything physical.   Don't forget I am also now brain washed in the picture to the right!

 Note on the left,  the blue woolen jersey front and black hat.  This was a sailor's winter dress between the months of October and March.  Between April and September, a sailor wore a white cotton front edged at the top with blue cotton,  and a white hat [picture on right - hat's behind me!]. This was the norm no matter where stationed although the actual time period differed depending upon what part of the world one was in.  In Gibraltar; the West Indies; the Middle East; the Mediterranean and Hong Kong,  black caps and sea jersey's [as they were called] were worn in the Winter months.  Only in places like Singapore, just 60 miles north of the Equator were whites [tropical uniform] worn all year round.  The cap tally you see at the bottom of the left picture is still wrapped around this photograph.

       They were many things I hated, as did many of my class mates.  Communal washing was the worst.  Whilst in our mess some 50 yards from the wash house we would strip, collect all our dirty clothes including towels, pillow cases, bottom sheet only which was used to wrap around the dirty washing pile [top sheet became bottom and so on], handkerchiefs etc, and wearing our clean towel around our waist and brown canvas shoes on our feet we would march to the wash house.  Once there we put our pile on the deck in front of us, hang up our clean towel on the exit side of the shower room and placed our shoes underneath it.  The wash house was a square room and in the middle were two large square tubs separated by a walkway so that we boys could get to all sides of each tub. One tub had hot/tepid water for washing and the other cold water for rinsing. Around the walls of the room there were  shelves below which were individual butler type sinks.  On the order GO, the pile would be revealed by pulling on the surrounding sheet.  The orders were barked out "socks and soap on the ledge, handkerchiefs, vest, underpants, in the sink, sheets, pillow cases, white sports shirts, towels in the washing tub". The Instructor Nobby Clarke a civilian and ex Royal Marine who was fully dressed, then picked a boy at a sink and demonstrated how to soap and hand wash a piece of kit.  We would follow his instructions at our own sinks and he would walk around observing. Woe betide anyone who didn't do it properly because they would get a gentle tap [!] on their buttocks with a thin piece  of wet wood .  The sink articles would then be rinsed in the cold water central tub, wrung out and put aside.  Into the sink then went whites which would run, typical of which  was the white-front [the proverbial sailors white vest with a blue surround on the top]. After them, came the blue sports shirt and the socks.  Then the boys would turn about to face the washing tub and do the large white objects, two boys working together to act as wringers for  the sheets.  Every now and again, Nobby Clarke would fish out an article supposedly washed to inspect it and if not clean to his standard, the defaulter would end up wearing it as a sarong. The washing and rinsing took place until all the articles were shook out, folded and neatly piled for transportation to the drying room.  Once hung up for drying, the boys then went through the showers.  These were nearly always cold and with an inadequate flow.  Upon leaving the shower, each boy would be inspected by a Petty Officer Instructor.  The inspection involved looking up the anus, checking the foreskin, checking for crabs in the genitals and under the arms, checking for spuds in the ears,  for dirty necks and for athletes  foot, or, as it is colloquially known in the Navy as 'choagy [or chinky, slang for Chinese] foot rot.  It wouldn't be allowed today in the 21st century but in those days it was the norm and we accepted it without complaint.  We were going to spend the rest of our Naval career showering in public and washing our clothes in communal areas so it was deemed to be good and necessary training.

During this time in the Annexe we had full and detailed medical examination and dental inspections which for me resulted in a few fillings. The Navy is not known for affording privacy to anyone let alone mere boys and the medical involved a long line of nude boys queuing to see one of three doctors and a couple of Sick Berth Attendants [SBA's] who would administer a jab [inoculation] whilst passing their position. These group medicals took place every now and again and nearly always to that most famous of all orders "standby your beds".  Occasionally we would have an outbreak of nits or crabs, and I remember that some skin diseases were quite common such as dermatitis and impetigo.  One boy in our class was isolated in sickbay with impetigo contagiosa which spreads like wildfire. Other common complaints were soap-rash where boys had not rinsed their bodies properly, blisters on feet from ill fitting boots, warts, in-growing toe nails, boils and sties, not often seen today.

The thing I liked best was school which we visited every day between 2pm and 4pm after which we played organised sport designed to develop us and not to encourage super stars. I liked school because I could do most of the things covered whilst many of the other boys struggled and complained that they had left school and didn't expect this.  Little did they know that a great deal of the training to come in the Main Establishment involved academic subjects necessary to understand how the Navy ticked; navigation, maths and physics etc.   In school learning navigation. Note the sea chart, the parallel rule and the compasses.

 That aside, the Annexe was also a sorting-house, although that process was not explicit.  Suitability, adaptability, behavioral patterns, emotional stamina and physical stamina were continually monitored and the vast majority met the average result of these criteria.  As a job lot, we were ready to be trained for what became known as the Operations Branch, the men who actually FIGHT the ship to kill the enemy.  The few who failed this assessment were either UFFT'ed [Unfit For Further Training] to civilian life or transferred to the Army boys training programmes: at 15 or 16 they were too young to be transferred to other non-combatant branches like chef, sickbay attendant, clerk [Writer] etc.  Of much greater importance was the academic assessment.  Those who scored well in written, oral and practical work became AC boys [Advanced Class] and wore a star on the right sleeve of their uniform just like the Jews did a few years earlier! Those who did less well became GC boys [General Class].  The AC boys were trained for the Communications Branch and spent 15 months in all at Ganges and the GC boys were trained for the Seaman Branch and [lucky devils] spent only 12 months at Ganges - the 3 months difference was used for academic training.

On completion of our induction training and 'baptism of fire' we left the Annexe for The Main - the dreaded HMS Ganges.  I remember well upon vacating my bed space in Beatty Two Mess thinking about the poor boy who was about to leave his family for the first time to take over my bed, and thought of the thousands of boys who had gone before me over many long years since the Annexe was built [it was long after 1905 when the Main Establishment was first commissioned].  If all the tears shed had been collected, there would be enough water to float our biggest battleship HMS Vanguard.  Those caring thoughts were soon forgotten and the trauma of joining Ganges proper was now foremost in all our minds.  

To set the scene!  Can you imagine a short narrow road connecting the Shotley Gate village post office to the fearsome main gates of HMS Ganges around which are positioned a phalanx of eagle-eyed, war affected, over critical officers and senior ratings all waiting for the slightest imperfection in Naval drill and ceremony to pounce on, hell bent on creating such a situation were one not to be forthcoming.  Now along this road comes a group of 15 year olds with an 6 week understanding of the Royal Navy, with predictable results.  I can't recall the actual number of times that we were turned about for a re-approach, but our treatment was such that had it been meted out to them in a prisoner of war camp, the red cross would have intervened. You have to remember that we ran [doubled] everywhere, in step, in line abreast correctly and in line astern correctly with the instructor calling out "left ,left ,left right left, left, left, left right left" etc.  I reckon that we ran for 20 minutes solid just trying to get through the bloody gates, and  when you take into account that we didn't want to go there anyway, it gives you some idea about our to be pitied overall situation.  This introduction did not auger well for the rest of our stay which in the main, was to be as petty, harsh and often  incomprehensible.  Even an automaton has self movement, but we were denied that.  Under the guise that a sailor with a brain is a dangerous creature, they took it upon themselves to completely de-programme us and then to re-programme our every thought, function, response and utterance to create a wire-guided robot which could and would respond to their every whim no matter what the cost to our discarded human feelings: succinctly, the proverbial Field Marshall's baton, should that be our intention, could be sought after we had left Ganges!. Incidentally, this is me standing at the old Ganges main gates in 1979, my only return visit [took my kids to see where I suffered].  

At this point I digress to focus the reader's mind on an important comparison with modern life.  Give or take things like diets, there would be little difference between the physical development of a 15 year old boy of 1950 to that of a 15 year old boy in 2002 other than fitness where the 1950 boy would have been fitter by comparison.  However the difference between perceptions, knowledge and experiences between these same two boys is strikingly different, so much so, that today's 15 year old is the equivalent to an 10 year old of 1950, or put another way,  a 15 year old of my time would be a man [in thinking terms] of 20 by today's standards!

HMS Ganges had many Divisions and each Division had many messes into which they packed two numbered classes each class having approximately 20 boys.  I went to Rodney Division [named after the great Admiral Lord Rodney - just like my mess in the Annexe had been named after Admiral Beatty], into 12 mess which was the home to 352 class [my class and the senior of the two in terms of joining date] and 362 class.  352 class were training to be telegraphists and 362, signalmen. Our instructors were respectively Petty Officer Telegraphist Stan Sydes and Chief Yeoman Pattison - the former a decent and sympathetic man in his late 20's early 30's, and the latter, older and by his medals more exposed to the war years who was bitter and regularly smelled of alcohol.  He, I think, was totally unsuited to being a boys instructor, and I was pleased that my only contact with him was  in the mess, he taking it in turns with Stan Sydes to supervise cleaning etc., but not instructional periods.  BELOW is a photograph of RODNEY DIVISION. Our Divisional Officer Captain Roberts, the one with a cane and his dog, is a Royal Marine. Stan Sydes is the 6th man from the left on the front seated row [he was my instructor]. CPO Pattison is not in the photograph. I am arrowed in blue. Because our divisional officer was a Royal Marine, we were called "the Royal Rodneys".  

This is 352 class, my long suffering peers. It was taken in November 1953 and we are dressed in standard recreational rig/gymnasium kit [uniform].  We regularly changed into different uniforms for different training sessions many times per day.  We were together for nearly 14 months.  I am standing at the back on the right hand side.  Remember to use your scrollbars!

The training year was split into three parts, Easter, Summer and Winter, names given to the break-up event rather than to the seasons of the year. Easter for  example covered  from post Christmas leave until Easter leave {very much winter!}; Summer from post Easter leave until summer leave and Winter, up to Christmas leave.  Each leave period was for three weeks, and I remember that the first and second weeks  were  idyllic,  but the third for the most part subdued and sad because as each precious moment ticked by  heralding the return to 'Belsen' I became more and more depressed. As if to balance my emotions, as each term passed and my leaving date approached, I grew ever more confident than normal life would resume - eventually! This finishing and leaving date was so important, that fearing back-classing [which would lead to extra time in Ganges]  because of illness, accident, under achievement, compassionate leave [what the hell does compassionate mean - is there such a thing?] was enough to spur me on  to achieving at all costs, to stay well clear of the sick-bay and to hope and pray that despite me wanting desperately to be with my family, I wasn't called home because there had been a life threatening illness or a death.  During a Divisional cross country run I had climbed a locked gate topped with barbed wire, and slipped cutting the back of my knee quite badly - still have the scar.  I was given first aid - a knotted handkerchief - and taken to sick-bay in a Naval Land Rover, in the vicinity for emergency purposes.  You have no idea how great my anxiety was during the period detained in sick-bay. Fortunately, the wound which had to be treated daily, did not justify a back-classing, and for some days I rather enjoyed missing gym classes and other strenuous events sitting on the sidelines watching my class mates suffer. 

BELOW, our mess - 12 mess.  No words can adequately describe this scene. It was our home; our heartbreak; a place with an insatiable appetite for polish, brasso, dusters, buckets of water,  and polishing wax by the ton; a place to keep my mothers food parcels secret, to write letters home and to read and re-read mums letters from  home over and over again desperately wanting to reach into the letters to touch the things she wrote about. It was a refuge from the strict discipline of everyday life, but, for some boys, it was also a place to be cornered by bullies who added to the loneliness and sadness which hung above like low black angry clouds.  I was never singled out for bullying and I have a theory for that.  As part of Annexe training, we had a boxing tournament - one can't be in the Forces and not have a senseless knock-about. It is never personal, but it can be cruel, as it was for me, not because I took a beating for the 1 minute duration, but because inch by inch I shuffled ever nearer to the point where gloves are donned, sat opposite and a few feet from  my executioner, who clearly was a bare knuckle street fighter!  The Annexe was more subtle than I give it credit for.  Its whole purpose was to prepare us for survival in the Main Establishment, and I promised myself that the next time such a tournament took place [and there were many of them in the next 14 months] I would belt the living shit out of my opponent. Surprisingly, I did just that, and I came out fighting like a Catherine-wheel which had lost it centre holding pin with my arms flaying like a high speed windmill. It wasn't personal, indeed we became as  good a friend to each other as Ganges would allow, but it did send some kind of a signal to would be bullies. This is page 44 from the Shotley Magazine term ending Easter 1954.  Everything in the mess was IMMACULATE and even the shoes laces in the shoes placed on the floor at the end ones locker were cleaned and neatly tied as though one were wearing them.  My bed was towards the bottom on the right hand side.  The tables in the middle are where we wrote our letters. Note a black circular object attached to the roof rafters on the left hand side.  This bloody awful device was a loudspeaker. At all times except for 1 hour in the evening, it blurted out bugle calls for waking up, going to bed, food times, sick bay times, parade times, you name it, there was a bloody bugler who could blow it.  When we were not being tortured by this, we were tortured by having to listening to Ganges's one and only gramophone record , Oh mine papa by Eddy Calvert [another cretin trumpet player - buglers, trumpeters they are all the same].  It was known that some boys did a runner away from Ganges not because of its harsh environment but to escape the nightly rendition of this 'water-drip' torture. One record!  I ask you - what might we have had had we lost the war?

The food was not good and there wasn't enough of it - if that is an accepted paradox!. We ate a lot of bread which we smuggled out of the central dining hall, where, back in our mess, we would use the iron and ironing board to make toast.  In the winter months, they placed braziers in the outside toilets to keep the pipes warm so that they would not freeze up and subsequently burst whilst thawing.  These  were used when the mess iron was in great demand.  Food parcels from home were one way to supplement the food ration.  Before telling you about them, you have to remember that many food items were still rationed because of the shortages caused by the war which had been over for 8 years. I joined the Navy with my ration book but my mother had carefully removed the coupons most important to her and the family table. I believe that all rationing ceased in late 1954/early 1955.  When a parcel arrived we were notified by  being given a slip of paper tucked in with the mess's letter mail.  A parcel was important simply because it had goodies and a letter inside.  The way one handled the collection of the parcel from the mail office was an art in itself.  The mail office was only open outside instructional time at lunch and at tea, and knowing that there would be food in the parcel one would not join the lunch queue like all the other boys, but the relatively short queue outside the mail office.  The parcel would be hastily carried to one of many brick outside toilets known to have an inside locking device - the majority didn't have such a luxury - which were also used by boys who needed privacy to do what boys need to do when there are no girls around!  There, after ensuring that no one had followed, the parcel was ripped open and the contents revealed - the letter was read later.  After eating a selection of the heaven sent sustenance the next stage was to get back to the mess and ones locker to hide the rest of the goodies before the hordes returned from their daily feast on scraps.  That was usually easy, but what was not easy was the subsequent action of eating out of ones underpants drawer without the starving masses observing your greed. At any stage one could be torn to shreds and the parcel devoured by scores of vandals, who five minutes earlier had been your good buddies.  Getting that slip of paper to say that a parcel awaited could also mean that the queue outside the mail office was as long as the lunch queue outside the dining hall because you would be frog-marched there by your so called mates, all of whom would benefit from my mothers generosity and excellent parkin squares - yum yum!  Food, or rather the lack of it, caused problems daily.  One daily routine was for the class leader to dispatch two boys to a central pick-up place to collect a tray of buns, sometimes iced buns, and a fanny of tea spiked with the usual bromide.  The remainder of the class hung about with great expectation often unfulfilled because the boy with the tray would be intercepted and robbed of his buns by other classes- the most one could hope for was a large crumb and a cup of tepid stewed tea.  We became leaner and fitter by default, deprivation and a non-stop routine of physical exercise. Below are a few venue's in which we trained or relaxed!