Our passage south had been uneventful, even the notorious Bay of Biscay had appeared flat as a millpond. The high points of life at sea so far had been the arrival of 845 Naval Air Squadron who had embarked as Bulwark made her way past the tip of Cornwall, flying their Wessex V helicopters onto the flight-deck and giving me my first view of our paraffin parrots going through their deck landing routines. The other point of note had been my first duty at sea: I'd stood a middle watch, midnight to 04:00, and actually enjoyed it!

Bulwark still held plenty of mysteries for me, but I knew my way around the various radio shacks so was able to go about my daily routine without too many problems. I'd learnt to be either early or late for meals, to avoid having to queue for ages with the other junior rates and not to try getting near the NAAFI when the boot-necks finished their day.

We were a floating community of a couple of thousand men; a population bigger than many a village. There were around 1000 of us sailor types, who looked after the ship and made sure it went in the right direction without hitting anything or sinking. The fly boys and their support crews of 845 Squadron comprised another 400 or so souls and we had 42 Commando resident among us, a further 600 bodies. So we were a floating tin can stuffed to the gills with 2000 young men all looking forward to spending some time ashore in the Mediterranean.

The ship turned left as it exited the Bay and pretty soon we could see the outline of the North African coast to starboard and the rock of Gibraltar to port. We'd already moved to 'tropical routine' so normal working dress was shorts, but we'd have to change into the good gear to enter harbour. Naval Tropical Dress, the 'ice-cream' suit, is really quite stunning when it's properly worn. Bulwark's first landfall would be Gibraltar and of course the crew would 'dress ship' as a mark of respect to the Admiral ashore.

As Bulwark steamed in Special Sea Dutymen were piped and those of us dressing ship scuttled away to change into our finest. We mustered in the hanger deck, split into fore and aft parties; a couple of hundred men in each. The aircraft lifts were lowered and we were marched onto them by division; my lot were on the forward lift. My heart was in my mouth as the lift chains started clanking and the lift bed began to rise. Clunk, clunk, clunk and we rose into the bright light of day. As my head passed the actual deck I got my first clear look at Gibraltar.

The lift reached the deck level and we marched off forrard to the end of the flight-deck, each division knew where it had to go and turned either port or starboard, peeling to single file and marching to their location. Each man stopped a metre away from the guy in front, facing aft; those who had been in the after party were a mirror image of us. On the command, the we turned outboard as one and stood rigidly to attention. We were stood at ease, and braced ourselves with legs apart.

The Royal Marine band rose from the bowels of the ship by the aft lift, marched smartly forward and came to a stop just forrard of the island. The band played us in: Heart's of Oak, A Life on the Ocean Wave, Spanish Ladies and many other Naval classics. The stuff to bring a lump to your throat and a tear to your eye. I was so proud.

As Bulwark entered Gibraltar harbour salutes were received and given as we passed other naval vessels. The ship's company called to attention to port or starboard as required. My first experience of this routine and one I wouldn't have swapped for the world.

The harbour at Gibraltar is both big and deep, meaning it's one of the few places where a ship the size of Bulwark can tie up alongside. Once the shorelines were rigged so we had telephone communication, etc. the ship's routine moved toward pleasure. We were going to be at Gib for three days, so there were opportunities for everyone who wanted to get ashore to go: I could hardly wait to set foot on foreign soil and was champing at the bit to get going.

My first run ashore was quite an experience. I was in company with a bunch of other guys from the mess and we headed into town to do a round of the boozers. In my heart of hearts I'd hoped to do a little sightseeing, but that didn't appear to be on anyone else's agenda and not wanting to stand out I simply mucked in with the crowd.

I have no idea how many pubs we visited, but I do remember one particular bar by the name of the Wolverine. What a dump! The building was obviously old and given how dirty everything was I'm inclined to believe it had never been cleaned. The bar itself was just an open room with a few ancient wooden tables and a counter. The toilet was a bucket in the corner of the bar and in full view of all. I don't recall why we went in, but it was on someone's insistence and I can say without doubt I've never ever been back; I've been in some real dives in my life, but this one took the biscuit!

So my first footsteps ashore took me on a tour of some of Gibraltar's seediest watering holes. Our merry crew was far from unusual of course and wherever we went we saw other bunches of matelots also getting smashed. By the end of the evening, there were some seriously pissed bodies staggering, falling or laying in the streets. I have no memory of returning on board and little memory of the following morning if I'm honest. I do remember thinking I was never going to drink again and chucking when at 07:00 one of my messmates decided on a hair of the dog, produced a can of very warm beer and necked the contents in one; eugh!

I spent a quiet morning, drinking copious amounts of water and feeling decidedly green. The working day finished at 14:00 and I stood in a cold shower until I at last began to feel human. I got myself together went ashore on my own to look around. Making my way along the main street I bumped into a colleague doing much the same. We teamed up and just did a little window shopping, ending up at Catlan Bay on the far side of the rock. Love at first sight. A beautiful spot. Mick and I spent a while sat on the small beach, then went into a bar for some food. A couple of hours later we headed back to the ship, neither of us wanting to hit the beer.

Around 22:00 I was walking on the flight-deck taking the air and thinking how much I'd enjoyed my day. I could hear activity above me and looked up to the island; a 20” signal light flashed on and the beam pointed out into the harbour. This first light was followed by another and these were joined by fingers of light from other ships along the harbour. The beams of light were searching the water and two ship's boats had been launched; some madly drunk sailor had decided it was too far to walk back to the ship and tried to swim across the harbour instead. He didn't make it and his body was eventually recovered from the water during the night. Poor sod.