As Easter approached so our time at the Radio School, HMS Collingwood was drawing to a close and we were looking forward to getting our first proper drafts. No passing out parade from this ship. We’d been tested continually through our training so there were no final examinations or anything else either if it comes to that. It was just a case of completing the last module, packing our goods and chattels and moving on.

In true Pusser style, we had to collect our drafting slips from the Regulator’s Office. Remembering my last visit sent shivers down my spine, but of course I wasn’t a defaulter on this occasion so all should be well. We queued, gave our name and number and signed for the folded slip that was passed to us.

I heard chuckles from friends as they opened their slips and sighs from others. Obviously not everyone can have the draft selection of their choice and some people were disappointed. I opened my slip, read it. Folded it again and turned to Eddie Gray.

“What’d you get Ed?”

“I’ve got Coventry, what about you?”

A city class guided missile destroyer; very nice. I passed him my draft slip.

“That can’t be right Taff, it says HMS Collingwood!”

I went back into the Regulator’s Office and there in front of me was the Master at Arms. He looked at me and my blood ran cold; I was sure he’d recognised me.

“What’s your problem laddie?” he snapped.

I showed him my draft slip and said somewhat hesitatingly, “I think there’s a mistake Master. I can’t be drafted to Collingwood, I’m already here.”

No mistake, I’d got my draft and my draft was the Radio School, HMS Collingwood, where for the foreseeable future my duties would be School Runner.

Almost everyone headed ashore that evening to celebrate the imminent end of our training and their respective drafts. I was the butt of many a joke, being the only of the class not getting a sea-going ship. I was obviously crap as a REM and couldn’t be trusted. Mortified? Well not quite, but seriously pissed off. One other thing, the rest of the class would get drafting leave before shipping out, which of course I wouldn’t.

I already knew Lieutenant Commander Coe, who was the Radio School boss, but had never spoken to him previously. As his was the office I’d be reporting to, I went to see the man to ask if there was any way I could get my draft changed. He was really very nice about it all and explained that the school needed a body to take care of all the odd jobs and promised me I wouldn’t be ‘beached’ for any longer than necessary. Nothing more for me to do except make the most of it, which I did.

There were a few side benefits to being on the staff at Collingwood: I moved out of trainee accommodation and into a much more spacious two bedded room with its own bathroom facilities. I had access to the staff galley, which meant I no longer had to queue for food. Lastly, I wasn’t included in the duty watch so there were no restrictions on my going ashore and I had every weekend free. The most welcome benefit came when my girlfriend, Lesley, got herself a job in the area and we were able to spend lots of time together: very nice indeed.

I turned up for duty at the school office on the allotted hour of the day. Introductions to all and sundry and a brief run down of what they expected me to do. There was a certain amount of coffee making involved, but in essence I was supposed to run messages all over the camp. Now when I say ‘run’ messages, that’s not quite accurate. I was given use of a bike and with my ‘access all areas’ type pass I soon found I could go more or less where I pleased, when I pleased. Not too arduous at all.

The summer months were spent in this pseudo idyll with me disappearing off to see Lesley most evenings and of course every weekend. By August I really didn’t want the job to come to an end; lazy days soaking up the sun, evenings and weekends spent with the love of my life, a nice little sideline running sausage sarnies and bacon butties to various instructors who couldn’t otherwise grab a ‘stand easy’ and a new piece of eye-candy in the office in the shape of WREN Carroll who was very easy on the eye. All too good to be true really.

Advancement in the Navy is achieved via trade tests. Having passed through Radio School, I was a Radio Electrical Mechanic second class (REM2) and the next rung on the ladder for me would be the equivalent of the Able Seaman rate, or REM1. Lt Cdr Coe sprang this on me one morning, saying in his opinion I should sit the test. Bear in mind I’d never had to do anything in earnest with any radio equipment and hadn’t had the opportunity to practice any of my recently learned skills and you may realise I was tad apprehensive. Refusal was not an option however, so I just agreed.

A trade test was organised for me and I took it. The theory wasn’t too bad and I knew I’d remembered most of what was required, but the practical was something else. I had two tasks to complete, one of which was easy. The second was on a piece of kit I’d never even seen before and when I looked at the circuit diagram I quickly found myself lost. My best was not good enough and I made a right pig’s ear of the second part of the practical test. Overall though I’d achieved enough marks to get my star and so became a Radio Electrical Mechanic first class and the associated pay rise.

A few days later I received a ‘phone call instructing me to report to the Regulator’s Office and knowing I’d done nothing wrong assumed I was finally being drafted. All good things must eventually come to an end so I had no grounds for complaint. After all, I’d unexpectedly got to spend a lot of time with Lesley and had been promoted just four months after completing my basic training. It wasn’t all bad this Navy lark.