Fairthorne Family

HAVING joined the Royal Navy as a cadet as long ago as 1911, I suppose one still cannot quite claim to have belonged to the era of the wooden ships and the iron men. Nevertheless, part of our seamanship training was on board the sailing three-decker Britannia, moored permanently in
the river Dart near the College. Ominously a raised net was spread below the rigging so as to break the fall of any unfortunate cadet who missed his footing - a grim reminder of days when this refinement was lacking. Older shipmates remembered punishments really fitting the crime, such as a sailor caught spitting being compelled to wear a spitkid slung from his neck until such time as he found another offender, to whom he then transferred the receptacle. Another example was the man charged with drunkenness, whereupon he complained that someone had added alcohol to the fresh water tank. In commiserating with him the Executive Officer ordered the ship's police to arm him for sentry duty during leisure hours to prevent such a lamentable recurrence.
Tradition dies hard
The Navy is inherently conservative and tradition dies hard. When I retired under the Geddes axe of 1923, the Boatswain's stores still included a cat-o-nine-tails, although no longer used. Likewise the paying-off pennant has persisted; it once meant literally paying off, as no payment was made to anyone until the end of the ship's commission. When eventually payment was made at regular intervals, the pennant continued to be flown from the masthead to mark the end of the commission, its length being that of the ship, plus an extra length for each additional month over two years. Traditionally it represented the combined length of all the cleaning rags stitched together. This narrow pennant terminates in a pigs bladder to keep the end afloat, and is a picturesque sight - but can be a nuisance if entangled with nearby shipping.
Another example of lasting tradition is in the drinking of the royal toast. After bumping his head on an overhead beam, King William IV is said to have decreed that henceforward the toast could be drunk seated both ashore and afloat. This concession, although exercised to this day, seems however unnecessary in the painted hall at Greenwich where headroom is hardly so limited! One custom sometimes suspended in submarine-infested areas was that of ringing sixteen bells, instead of eight, by the youngest officer at the New Year. The ceremony of crossing the line, and the Saturday-night-at-sea toast of 'Sweethearts and wives' were both honoured in my day, even in wartime, and doubtless persist.
Contrariwise, the Navy is not slow to adopt technical improvements, as witness the epoch-making HMS Dreadnought (1906) which rendered obsolete overnight all other capital ships afloat and under construction. Nor can it be thought lacking in resource with the example of the composite destroyer Zubian, blend of the sister ships Zulu (Hawthorn built) and Nubian (Thorneycroft built) after one had lost her stern and the other her bow (dubbed 'Hawthornycroft'), reducing the loss of two ships to one. Except in procedure, I doubt whether courts-martial have altered much. The navigator on trial for having 'negligently or by default hazarded H.M. vessel' still occasionally pleads that the black buoy had become reddish due to rusting, forgetting (which the court does not) that buoys have distinctive shapes as well as colours. Submariners will remember making the difficult dash across Portsmouth harbour, aiming to berth alongside Fort Blockhouse, but finding their craft swept on to the mudbank opposite instead. Somehow this offence escaped the heading and hazarding the grounding - is the Haslar approach still known as 'reasons in writing creek?'. One somewhat unnecessary charge has disappeared; during the first war all surviving officers and men were automatically court-martialled and it behoved them to prove that in abandoning their ship they had acted in accordance with the best service traditions; a bit hard perhaps on the six survivors who, suffering from shock and immersion, were the only ones left alive of 1275 after the instantaneous explosion which rent HMS Queen Mary for example at Jutland (1916). One of the most serious wartime offences is sleeping on one's watch. A certain submarine at the Dardanelles (1 91 5) had only one wireless operator allowed by complement. To meet such limited conditions the operational signals concerning enemy movement etc. were broadcast at certain times only. During one such period the submarine Captain found his operator slumped across the tiny wireless cabinet, an easy lapse in the stale air. Brought on deck under guard, he was informed that the sole factor saving him from being summarily shot was that there was no other operator.
For better or worse, the rum ration, never available to commissioned officers, has disappeared - but only recently. I have known a watch-keeping lookout do an extra four hours watch in a North Sea blizzard in exchange for another's tot, consisting of half a gill before compulsory watering down in the case of junior ratings. Eccentricity is not confined to senior officers, or a particular era. A contemporary, on reporting to his youngish Commanding Officer was asked to go below and write out his resignation. In vain did my friend protest that he had barely joined, only to be told that it was required but left undated, in case of future need. There must be many who on arrival in Malta have been proudly invited by bumboatmen to inspect their testimonials containing the double entendre such as '. . . excellent custodian of other people's property', and concluding '. . . can therefore confidently recommend the bearer for a berth - the wider the better'.
A Flag Lieutenant, R.M.
Fallacies abound in the layman's concept of naval life, e.g. seamen do not inhabit the lower deck, their quarters being two decks higher on the main deck, above the waterline; an Admiral does not command a ship (exception, the Royal Yacht) but a squadron. Equally vague is the frequent question as to the function of the Royal Marines. It is not really a matter of what they do, but is there any duty they cannot perform? Located between the officers' quarters and the rest of the ship's company, the marines, traditionally loyal, occupy this missing space. They constitute about one fifth of the complement and form their own guns' crews in friendly competition with the seamen. With their badge, the globe and laurel, they are first in a landing party and by reputation they can outsmart the guards. One admiral who regarded Marines highly, decided not so long ago to nominate one as his flag lieutenant, but was told there was no precedent. Yet nothing could be found in the regulations confining this appointment to a naval officer, and it duly went through. Most people think they know the regulations, then comes the awful moment when they find the reverse!
A friend was riding his motorcycle in uniform along the narrow sea wall near Fort Blockhouse when he saw approaching him the Flag Officer Submarines. There was no escape down a side street, and panicking on being unable to remember the appropriate salute, he stopped short and jacked up his machine, standing at the salute. Unfortunately the Admiral himself was a keen motorcyclist and tongue-in-cheek put the most searching questions to my friend as to why the machine had failed.
Naval regulations and rules are both numerous and complicated, rendered more so by their antiquity, frequent ambiguity, comprehensive scope and exacting nature - an amalgam indeed. Basic guidelines for behaviour include the Kings Regulations & Admiralty Instructions, the Naval Discipline Act, the Articles of War (read once a quarter before the assembled ships' company in wartime). Periodic instructions were promulgated in Admiralty Fleet Orders and local port orders, but these do not exhaust the list. Chart corrections seemed to come in too frequently for officers doing navigation and pilotage as an extra duty in ships too small to carry a specialist.
Some KR and AI were disregarded, for instance the Commanding Officer is required to visit the engine room once every twenty-four hours. By so doing he would have astonished the department and seriously embarrassed the Engineer Officer. One thing is certain concerning the regulations - they invite and receive much ingenuity. On finding it laid down that the crew must be exercised by night at action stations once a quarter, one astute captain ordered this to take place at 23.50 on New Year's Eve when everyone was still awake due to the festivities, and the evolution to be completed at 00.10, thus reducing the requirement for four per year to two. Once I experienced firsthand a wartime wangle which, although amusing, could have had dire consequences if detected. When the Captain's wife, a Malta-based VAD, expressed a wish to go to sea in the ship, she was told it was out of the question. Undeterred, she insisted, and a way out was duly found (it had to be). After refit we did a short trip on the measured mile to satisfy the dockyard.
The lady was smuggled below deck, and when clear of the harbour she emerged clad in oilskins and souwester, surveying the scene from the upper bridge. I have sometimes wondered what would have resulted if a signalman at the Castille had chanced to level his telescope on the group clad in oilskins, for the weather was perfect! And now for a personal confession - adorning my home is a fine brass gong formed from an inverted shell case originally logged as 'lost overboard by accident during heavy weather'.
When a man during inspection steps forward with the seemingly Lilliputian request 'Permission to grow, Sir', he is merely asking to be allowed to grow a beard. (If this permission were not required, he would only need to plead, when unshaven, being in the process of growing one). In the Sailors' Guide of 1843, taking fourth place under 'Miscellaneous', I find rather surprisingly '. . . .the sailor may change his religious denomination with the consent of the Captain'. Equally strange is the continuing requirement of pure European descent, whatever that meant, for the cadet entrant.
There seems little basis for the popular idea of seasickness - on the first day out being afraid you are going to die, the next day that you are not. Seasick-prone, I have never found the victim who did not recover, and quickly. Yet there is the testimony of Nelson himself that here was an exception. The captain of my first seagoing ship (born 1867), a not unkindly man, was wont to declare that there is only one cure, the doubtful recipe of plenty of hard work.
Defect list strategy
If there was a job for the dockyard one had to be careful that it was described in the defect list in acceptable form - a repair rather than an addition or alteration. A captain of mine was constantly disturbed by traffic along a small but important passageway outside his cabin. Sending for the Engineer Officer as the time for refit approached, he told him to enter in the list '. . . to install partition. . .'. The Chief advised him that this would be turned down flat, and first to let him get the shipwright to rig up a makeshift consisting of something, if only millboard, and to rephrase the application '. . . to repair existing bulkhead and render seaworthy . . .', whereupon there were no problems.
Gunroom initiation of midshipmen going afloat was only the beginning of their troubles. By 1914 they were tending to ease, but every newcomer was initiated, i.e. 'christened' by the breaking of a soup plate over his head. A colleague of mine considered himself lucky - the plate was already cracked. If there was one law for a section of the community and another for the rest, it was surely in the rights of the lower deck compared with those of subordinate officers, though hardly in the direction suggested by the old saw. The lowest rating could lodge a formal complaint and insist that it received attention, if necessary up to appeal. By contrast, woe betide the midshipman who tried to air his rights, assuming that he had any (did any midshipman dare even to enquire?). Before long he was reminded that a midshipman has been defined as the convenient medium of abuse between two officers of unequal seniority. Leaving the Forth on a pitch dark evening, the Captain bade me 'Tell the wireless officer to make a coded signal to Inflexible, which is entering harbour on an almost opposite course, that we are timed to pass Inch Keith at midnight.' On reporting this to the W/T officer he said 'I don't accept signals verbally.' Quite correct, but how to act! Had I returned to the bridge as the bearer of this remark, even soft-pedalled, the balloon would have gone up, but the eventual sufferer would have been myself. Rustling up a signal pad, disappearing behind the cabinet, and cunningly allowing a suitable interval to make the W/T officer think I had gone to the bridge and back, I scrawled the message and some initials which proved sufficient. My two and a half years as a midshipman taught me the double attitude towards the subordinate rank. As an extreme case, one could take charge of a picket boat landing troops under fire in the afternoon (and later be awarded the DSC), and that same evening receive childish chastisement at the hands of one's gunroom seniors; all this and a good deal more for one shilling per day if I remember rightly.
There was an optical illusion which never failed to fascinate. On approaching the Forth Bridge it seemed right up to the last moment that the topmast must foul the underside. Hardened seafarers would dive below decks, and some behave so irrationally as to duck or even turn up their coatcollars. Then almost as the impact seemed imminent, the mast appeared to take a dive. Looking back, one again wonders how it cleared. At high water spring tides our actual clearance at midspan was some twelve feet.
Pitfalls abound
The Service is riddled with procedure pitfalls, but some could be foreseen from a common-sense viewpoint, such as the formal approval for the officer to proceed on short leave. This must be done whilst still in uniform it being considered presumptuous otherwise. Similarly, junior officers descend the gangway into the boat first, thereby not keeping seniors waiting. There is the story of Winston Churchill around 1911 finding his way unobserved into a naval dockyard at dead of night, giving a battleship's quartermaster the slip, and after ringing a wardroom bell, demanding how the First Lord could get so far unchallenged! The enormity of this gaffe can only be appreciated when it is realised that the wardroom is sacrosanct to its inmates; even the most autocratic Captain removes his cap on the rare occasions of entering. A more clumsily ignorant layman's choice it would be difficult to conceive. There is, I suppose, nothing strange in the fact that the one unbroken rule is unwritten - never to instruct or even ask another to undertake something dangerous or unpleasant which one is not fully prepared to do oneself. Is there a link with the Christian ethic here?
Ships were manned from either Portsmouth, Chatham or Devonport depots, but commissioned officers may serve anywhere and this gives them an opportunity of seeing the characteristics of each. Personally, give me a Chatham (Nore Command) crew with its cockney element. There is no seven-and-a-half-hour day afloat, and after emergency cancellation of leave, a dismal affair, the second-in-command gets the bugler to sound off 'Clear lower deck, everybody aft', steps up on to the roof of the aft turret, and tells them in plain language why it has been necessary, what is required of the ship and her company, and they get to work with a will. This is not to say that the other two depots are lacking in fine qualities also.
The Matelot
A word about the characteristics of the matelot of yesteryear. He was not overburdened with knowledge and a trifle naive. For example, when volunteers were called for Scott's expedition, some applied thinking that because the Arctic was cold the Antarctic must be warm. He could be clumsy to a degree - remember Murphy's Law - if someone can try to connect up two half components the wrong way round, and bust one or both in the process, he will do just that. Hence equipment for the Services is robust in the extreme. One of the more tiresome maladies which can afflict him is 'last-ship-itis'; the previous commission in retrospect is always a paradise. True, the rollicking Jack Tar may have had the occasional urge to despatch the ship's police to the bottom of the nearest dry dock on a dark night, but on the whole he was not lacking in generosity. When a messmate died, his kit was auctioned and as the proceeds went to the dependants, high prices resulted. Not so, however, when a deserter's kit was similarly auctioned, for the State benefited. He was kind to animals to the point of overfeeding them, was the soul of honesty and could leave his pay on top of his ditty box in the certain knowledge that it would remain intact - can the same be said today? He was also quick-witted, for when I was serving on a battleship involved in night collision with another, after firing exercise in Scapa Flow, a voice alongside me, before the tremor had subsided, piped up 'There's a week's leave'. To say that his gags never became outworn, especially if topical, would be to put it mildly; 'If from Plymouth Hoe you can see the Eddystone, it's going to rain, if you can't it's raining already'.
He had a profound contempt for politicians, written down as a crafty breed, as likely as not to couple a pay award on the one hand with a reduction in allowances on the other. When it came to a complaint, he had to be careful to make it individually, as any suggestion of joint action could be construed as mutinous. It is safe to say that
drunkenness has declined. It was the unenviable task of the Officer-of-the-watch, unaided by the medical officer (unless drugs were involved) to decide, then and there, whether a rating was drunk or sober. No grading was permissible, the only criterion being whether he was capable of performing his duties; but how could the Officer-of-the-watch be sure, if no practical test, such as walking a deck seam, was allowed? I have seen two libertymen ascending the gangway, each with difficulty, holding the other up, successfully brace themselves for separate inspection on the quarterdeck, then go forward to create a disturbance on the mess decks. The unfortunate Officer-of-the-watch, having given them the benefit of doubt, was then himself for it.
One of the worst things which can befall the Service, casting gloom overall, is to let down unwittingly one of the other services, the example immediately springing to mind being the loss of Lord Kitchener when HMS Hampshire was mined in heavy weather off Orkney in 1916. Fortunately such events can be offset by instances of the Navy coming to the timely help of her two sister services.
The sea has a magnifying effect on the individual. If, for example, he is mean ashore, he becomes twice as mean afloat. If he is brave on land he becomes braver at sea. It has other strange effects; a contemporary of mine, although due for the luxury of a night-in (no night duty watch) used to put down for the sentry to shake him up at 03.45, for the pleasure of resuming sleep. The type who is legendary throughout the Service is not your VC, but more likely someone renowned for his capacity to sink a dozen pints before breakfast, or who ran three ships ashore in succession. There is a common lay belief that your VC is invariably a dashing extrovert. Having served with five (not, I may say, during their exploits) I found that this is far from reality; all have been retiring, modest and if anything introvert. One peculiarity about the naval officer of my generation - he was an extraordinary mixture of extreme caution, coupled with utter recklessness, the former born of pilotage risks, e.g. commanding a ship entering port, particularly a foreign one, he would go in stern first so as to obtain more power and steerage way if a speedy departure became necessary.
The exchange of signals has always played an important part in naval life. When the flag-captain of Lord Charles Beresford, Sir John Fisher's second-in-command, had made a mess of mooring the second flagship in Malta, thereby delaying the rest of the squadron which was unhappily entering in reverse order, the C-in-C signalled in full view of the fleet, 'You are to proceed to sea again and reenter Valetta in a seamanlike manner.' Many believe that this episode sparked off the long and unedifying feud between the two Admirals. Similar dynamite resulted from the undoubtedly insubordinate signal from Sir Percy Scott, gunnery enthusiast, to a ship of his squadron, to the effect that paintwork being more important than gunnery, she was to break off exercises and as ordained by the C-in-C make herself look pretty for a forthcoming inspection.
This gave rise to a signal by the C-in-C (Lord Charles Beresford) ordering that the offending signal be 'expunged from the log' - of doubtful feasibility anyway; it merely perpetuated both signals.
The flagship in which I served abroad had a habit of spending too long in harbour while the rest of the squadron did more than their share of wartime patrolling. After a particularly long spell, the flagship put to sea to the accompaniment of jeers from the adjoining cruiser. When our admiral signalled 'Indicate the cause of the disturbance on your upper deck', everyone wondered what possible reply there could be, but not for long! Back came the immediate signal 'Submit the cause was a fight between ship's pets.' In lighter vein, signals can go down to posterity. At Scapa Flow was a floating theatre which used to come alongside the battleships in turn if they wanted to put on a show. After one such entertainment, in which a 'cobra' rose from its box, worked by invisible wires, a flag officer visitor signalled next morning 'What a marvellous show! Please say how the snake act was done.' Our reply, 'There was no snake' took some living down.
In my day it was only necessary for a Post-Captain to serve some twelve years without blotting his copy book and putting in the qualifying sea-time, to attain flag rank automatically on heading the seniority list. If not given a Rear-Admiral's appointment he then flew his flag in HMS President on Blackfriars Embankment for one day before retiring. The ten most senior captains automatically became ADCs to the sovereign. The courtesy title of Captain for Commander seems to have died out, while that of Commander for Lieutenant Commander has emerged and automatic promotion, which in some cases extended to the retired list, seems to have disappeared altogether.
Technical change
The chief changes during my first spell (1911-23) were the replacement of coal by oil fuel, the advent of the gyro compass which pointed to the true north uninfluenced by the magnetism of the earth and the ship itself, and lastly the conferring of military rank on the non-executive branches.
Later there was an innovation so obvious that it seems amazing not to have been thought of before. Hitherto the procedure was to send half the ships' company from each ship on leave at Christmas and the other half for the New Year, thereby incapacitating all the ships because at a pinch a warship can be steamed on sixty per cent complement, but not on half. The brainwave consisted of sending on leave forty per cent of all ships' company together with sixty per cent of another ships' company at Christmas. At the New Year the reverse took place, thereby maintaining half of the fleet operational throughout. Less bright was the review-time notion of assembling a contingent from each ship aboard the Fleet Flagship in order to save the King visiting each in turn. What the Executive Officer had not foreseen was that the large assembly on the far side of the upper deck would cause a slight list, but enough to raise the gangway platform well clear of the water, thus causing the royal party needless dexterity in clambering aboard.
More recent changes
On recall in 1939 I found a welcome change in attitude towards the RNR and RNVR. The old saying that the former were sailors but not gentlemen, and the latter gentlemen but not sailors, had gone out. Another improvement was the tendency to encourage juniors to submit practical suggestions. For example, a simple effective way of warding off frogmen carrying limpet mines is attributed to a young engineer. He merely prescribed keeping the propellers just turning in the astern direction when at anchor, thus drawing sufficient water past the ship to thwart their operations which rely on still water. On the other hand, expert debaters could still find room for criticism of the wardroom or messdeck argument which invariably follows three stages - flat assertion, equally flat denial, followed by abuse of a highly personal nature.
The use of the christian name after only brief acquaintance, unduly familiar to older hearers, seems to have sprung up after World War 11. Previously one addressed messmates either by surname or when off duty by nickname, if any. In 1951 I heard a senior officer lecturer, after 'Any questions?', addressed unbelievably as 'George'. Carried but one stage further in the path of current degeneracy, shall we have to endure 'Aye Aye, Jeremy'?
An apt definition of the Senior Service is 'The finest bachelors' club in the world'; but another thought is 'Never to have served afloat in the RN, is only to have half lived.' It is necessary to include afloat, because in this bureaucratic and technological age it has been recently said of the naval trend, with more than an element of truth, that a situation is approaching when the Admiralty (now MOD Navy) is becoming a hundred per cent efficient, but there will be no corresponding ships!

The Fairthorne Family

Berkley William Fairthorne

Kathleen Elizabeth Fairthorne

Margaret Vere Fairthorne

Norah (Fairthorne) Jones

Richard Berkley Fairthorne

Robert Arthur Fairthorne