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Water transport trng.Co.R.A.S.C. I.O.W. in 1959
written by David
 Easter 1959. That year the summer started early and went on and on, each day seeming hotter and finer than the one before. During the day we laboured at fort Victoria in workshop and classroom gradually unravelling the mysteries of engineering, bench fitting, welding and smithying but best of all, small boat handling. Hear for one day a week we swapped uniform for bathing costumes and merrily skulled and rowed up and down the Yar. Thankfully my father had taught me to swim for I lost count of the number of times I “fell” overboard and happily swam around waiting to be picked up. The only drawback to that halcyon time was guard duty. Being an ex boy keeping my kit neat and tidy was second nature but here I met “Bull” carried to it’s ultimate idiotic conclusion “Stick Man”. Every evenings guard mount would see five men on parade, only four being required, the best turned out man in the eyes of the duty officer being granted the accolade “Stick Man”, fallen out, and duly dismissed. The billet with the most stick men in a month being granted an extra thirty six hour pass. A mans hut mates would help dress the individual as he stood on a chair, the most fanatical would even accompany him to the guard mount to apply any last minuet adjustments before the parade. I only achieved it once but my luck running true to form dictated that that the man selected for fire picket had gone sick. Far from being dismissed I changed into overalls and began the weary rounds of stocking the various boilers around the camp. Needless to say I never put quite the same effort into attaining stick man again.
That was the night I heard the ghost. Golden hill had been built as part of Palmestons Solent defences and represented the peak of military engineering at the time. It was six sided around a central courtyard, the balcony of the upper floor forming a covered walkway on five of them and incidentally forming a very good echo chamber, just how good I was to find out that night. Walking towards the Sergeants Mess boiler at around two in the morning, wearing my steel shod boots, I heard footsteps behind me. Turning to see who else was around at that ungodly hour I saw - no one, yet the footsteps continued a few paces more. Thinking my imagination was playing tricks on me I turned and continued on my way. I hadn’t taken half a dozen paces when the footsteps started again. That was enough for me, dropping my bucket I ran across the courtyard to the guardroom door. The Corporal of the guard came out and taking one look at me burst out laughing. “Heard a ghost have we?” he finally got out, then, banging his foot on the floor counted “One, Two, Three” and there loud and clear came the echo of his stamp. “You’re not the first and you won’t be the last, make sure I’ve got hot water in the morning”. And so he laid the ghost of Golden hill.
Most of our free time was spent on the beach at Tottland Bay, money being in short supply we soon discovered that the cheapest place to meet girls was on the beach. For their part word soon got about the local holiday camp that an inexhaustible supply of young men, willing to supply hours of harmless fun, were only half a mile away. Many the nights a driftwood fire was light and burned until well after midnight as impromptu parties got under way. It was at one such party I thought my time had come.
Janet was a pretty dark haired girl to whom I felt attracted, we found we had much in common as she came from a part of Sheffield I had lived in as a boy. We spent some time talking and finally hand in hand we left the group and walked towards the sea. She suggested a swim and swam with a leisurely breast stroke to which I could easily match my own. Neither of us realised how dark it had become and still talking and playfully touching each other we swam on for some time. Finally turning to go back I realised I could no longer see the fire on the beach, nor, having turned around a few times did I know which direction I was facing. Janet soon realised our predicament and grabbed hold of me, we sank like a stone. Desperately I pushed her away from me and surfaced at some distance only to see Janet frantically splashing the water and screaming she couldn’t swim. Getting behind her I pulled her onto my body and began to swim on my back. Gradually she calmed down, I talking to her all the time. I don’t remember just what I said except to remind her that we had been swimming strongly before we got lost so why not now? She finally broke away from me which was a pity for despite our predicament I had begun to enjoy the warmth and contact of her body.
Trying to make light of the situation we began to take a calmer view. In front of me I could see the lights of a ship passing through the Solent, it looked frighteningly close. Turning our backs on it we began to swim. Talking and laughing on the way out time had flown but now the way back seemed to take forever. We finally landed on the rocks below Fort Albert, a mile or more down the coast from where we had started. We were exhausted, any thoughts I may have had of a more intimate relationship with this girl had disappeared somewhere out there on that long cold swim.
We finally made it back to where we had started only to find our clothes missing, taken as I found later by our friends who had no idea of our predicament and had put our absence down to other reasons entirely. I escorted Janet back to Brambles Holiday Camp and kissed her for good luck.
I sometimes wonder if she remembers that night as clearly as I do.
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