When my posting came out to join HMAS Yarra on the 21^st August ‘67, I was particularly pleased as not only was it my brother’s old ship, but she was a real warship to boot. She was the third Australian warship to carry the name and in the late ‘60’s was one of the most advanced anti-submarine vessels in the Western world. Displacing 2,500 tons with a top speed in excess of 30 knots, she carried twin 4.5 inch guns, an anti submarine mortar, Seacat sea to air missile and the latest Ikara A/S missile. I knew that it would be an interesting posting as I was certain that in Mike’s two years aboard, he would have made many friends and just as likely a few enemies. I was somewhat taken aback when the first person I met on climbing the gangway was one of the latter category. To make matters worse, he was the Executive Officer, Lieutenant Commander ‘Dicky’ Bird. As I stepped onto the area known as one deck aft, saluted and reported "Able Seamen Ey sir, drafting onboard". Dicky replied, "No relation to ABRP Michael Ey I hope". I replied proudly "Yes sir, we’re brothers". I could see a faint twitch developing in the corner of his mouth as he shared his little joke with me, "We didn’t see eye to eye" he said with a very heavy emphasis on the "We", and then he laughed in a strange sort of way and abruptly departed, leaving me wondering what I should do next. ‘Bloody wonderful’ I thought, my home for the next two years and the XO is a loony who has it in for me already.

I reported to the Coxswain’s office and fortunately completed my draft in procedures without any more negative reactions. Actually a lot of people were quite friendly when they discovered that I was "Mick Ey’s brother". At least the skipper was also new so I could start on a clean sheet with him. After all, I was to be the ship’s front line of defence against swimmer attack and sabotage. I was allocated a bunk in the after seamen’s mess of ‘3 Papa’, located at the very stern of the ship and directly underneath the quarter-deck. This was the messdeck of the real sailors, the UC’s, UW’s and a few overflow gunnery rates from the forward seamen’s mess. Billy Creedon, a good mate who had been one of the unfortunate ones to have been told by POCD Badger Dall early in our CD course that his future lay in being a TAS rate, was already part of Yarra’s ship’s company and living in 3 Papa.

Finally I was at the sharp end of the Navy. I was a ‘sea going sailor’ with a right arm rate and aboard a real warship. My timing was perfect as Yarra was preparing for a five month deployment to the Far East in company with her sister ship HMAS Stuart, also an Anti-Submarine Frigate. Yarra’s captain was ‘Fox One’, which meant that we were the senior ship of the First Frigate Squadron. This meant certain perks like first into harbour and getting the plum berth when alongside. The down side was that everything aboard Fox One was a little more formal and Captain A. J. Robertson proved to be an absolute stickler for formality, much to the disgust of his crew. Whilst at sea he would often wander the upper deck with a large brass telescope tucked under his arm. I not sure whether he lacked faith in the ship’s radar or perhaps he thought he was a descendant of Drake or Nelson.

During our short work-up period off the coast of NSW, I became familiar with my Action and Defence stations. Whilst the ship was closed up at Action Stations, my job was to man the ship’s antisubmarine mortar, a rather large three barreled weapon which fired 300 odd pound explosive projectiles at any submarines silly enough to allow us to get within range. More often than not we fired dummy mortar rounds which had to be recovered for re-use. They were painted yellow and floated, so with a little fancy maneuvering by the officer of the watch, they were generally easy to recover using grappling hooks. Only occasionally did I have to jump over the side to pass a line for retrieval. It was a lot of fun watching a 3,000 ton warship being maneuvered about like a speedboat. With incredible power being delivered from Yarra’s steam turbines to her large twin screws, it was pretty to watch a competent driver in control on the bridge. Every seaman officer was regularly given the opportunity to sharpen his handling skills however some were naturally better drivers than others.

My defence station was tucked away in the loading bay of the IKARA anti-submarine missile system. All I had to do was fit the stabilizing fins to the missile prior to it being loaded into the launcher. My job was the only manual part of the entire load and launch procedure.

At anchor in Jervis Bay, I learnt what it was like to be on the receiving end of an attack by my fellow CDs. I was responsible for working up the ship’s diving team to where they could quickly and efficiently search for and find any mines placed on the ship’s hull by potential saboteurs, day or night. The ship’s divers would enter the water from the bow of the ship and move aft in a ‘half necklace’ search pattern. Number 1 diver would control the pace of the sweep while following the keel, which as the team moved aft from the bow, was normally only distinguishable by a white painted line. The rest of the team were individually linked to a swim line which connected the keel swimmer to a surface float. Strung out at set intervals, there was sufficient overlap between the divers so that in theory the hull from keel to waterline was searched. On the surface, a swimmer would follow the float searching above and below the water line and conveying hand signals from the divers back to the diving supervisor.

As the ship’s CD, my job was RMS diver. Should a diver find a mine, he would signal up and down the line to his buddies to halt the sweep at which point I would enter the water and swim down and behind the necklace until I came to the diver who had found the object. I would then send the team on their way while I inspected and marked the device with a small magnet tied to a marked line and float that I carried. When the small float broke the surface the surface swimmer would read off the depth from the waterline and pass the information topside where damage control parties would swing into action and isolate the compartment adjacent to the charge and shore the area with sandbags. This procedure would continue until both sides of the hull had been searched. It was then up to me to decide how I would attempt to either remove the devices or attempt to render them safe. Invariably the attack team managed to place several charges on the hull and escape undetected.

This was more a reflection of the CD team’s stealth and diving skills than the ship’s lack of defence. The ship was somewhat restricted during exercises, as in a genuine threat situation such as at anchor in Vung Tau, the ship would be operating a number of defense measures including active sonar; which no diver can tolerate at close range, and one pound explosive charges would be thrown into the water at regular intervals from the ship’s circling boat to help deter any would be aggressors.

Back alongside Garden Island it was time to store ship ready for our long awaited deployment to the Far East. It was ‘clear lower deck of all hands’ to form a daisy chain from the wharf up over the gangway and down the passageways into the ship’s freezers and storage spaces. When the pipe was made ‘in beer’, a couple of my ship’s divers arranged to be on the gangway while the cases of 26oz cans of beer were passed inboard. Unfortunately two or three cases were inadvertently dropped over the side and naturally the ship’s CD was called upon to recover these lost items. We had it all planned well in advance. With all attention focused on the inboard side of the ship, a couple of spare divers lowered a rope sling over the outboard side. I quickly secured this to the beer and signaled to hoist away. After they had sufficient time to haul our catch inboard I surfaced to report that the mud and visibility were so bad that it was impossible to find any trace of them. As it was only a couple of cases no one was too upset, after all I had done my best. However as I came back onboard I noticed our ancient Chief Coxswain eyeing me rather suspiciously. He obviously didn’t trust divers. We hid our little cache in the tiller flat ready to supplement our beer issue for the first few nights at sea.

Finally on the 5^th September ‘67 we slipped the berthing lines and the tug eased us away from the wharf. There was an air of excitement around the ship as the entire crew was anxiously looking forward to heading north. This was what the Navy was all about; adventure and travel to the four corners of the globe. Two brief stopovers in Cairns and Darwin for both ships allowed a brief respite from the day to day drudgery of sea watches and exercises. While in Cairns a drunken ‘Stuart’ sailor decided that he would slip the lines of his ship for a bit of a laugh. Unfortunately for him he was caught while still struggling with the bow line. In Darwin it was my turn to play up a little and a couple of us struggled back on board just as leave expired at about 0630. We had enough time for a quick shower and change and then it was time to fall in for leaving harbour. I thought, no worries, I would be okay as I could grad a nap at lunch time. When I checked the watchbill I found that it was not to be. I had the Afternoon watch which meant that I was watch on deck from 1200 - 1600. Watch on deck is pretty boring at the best of times and especially in the middle of the day when the ship is under normal steaming conditions on a flat calm sea. Those who weren’t keeping Lookout or Helmsman duties just sat around the Starboard boat space. Having just completed lunch and feeling a little weary, I asked the PO of the watch on deck if I could spend an hour or two in the Diving store, located less than 20 paces away on the opposite side of the one deck superstructure. He agreed and said he would call me if I was needed. Several minutes later I was sound asleep on the workbench in the store, and so it came to pass that Dicky Bird and I were to fall out for all time. Less than 30 minutes into my much needed rest the door swung open and I heard Dicky screaming at me to report to the Chief Coxswain’s office. I was charged with sleeping on watch and thus made my first appearance before the Captain. I was given 21 days stoppage of leave with 14 days of extra work to be completed during what would normally be my off time. This form of punishment was referred to as ‘chooks’. What bothered me most about the stoppage was that we were due in Singapore in a few days for 2 weeks alongside. It didn’t take long for me to work out that I would be next eligible for leave about 4 or 5 days into a 2½ weeks stint at sea, having not been ashore in Singapore. For the first few days I watched my mates coming and going and listened with envy to their stories. When they returned on board in the early hours of the morning they would often wake me up to proudly show me the cold greasy egg, onion and tomato sandwich (‘egg sanga’) which they had carried back just for me. They would then proceed to tell me what a great run ashore it had been, and that I should have been there. Just what I needed at 2 or 3 o’clock in the morning when I had to get up at 6 AM to start chooks. One night two good albeit drunken mates decided that I would appreciate a beer or two. Billy ‘Bunk’ Baird and Lance ‘Fox’ Foxon stuffed several bottles into their socks thinking their bell bottom trousers would hide them from the view of the Duty Petty Officer on the gangway. As Billy rattled up the ship’s brow it didn’t take an Einstein to figure out what he had tucked away under his bells. Fox being the more sober and cunning of the two managed to slip past while all the attention of the gangway staff was focused on poor old Bill. So I had a couple of ‘Anchor’ beers and Billy joined me on chooks. After several frustrating days of listening to my mates’ wild stories, I thought there had to be a way to get ashore. I approached the TAS officer who was also the ship’s diving officer, LCDR J. D. Foster, with a request. I told him that my physical condition was suffering because of the lack of opportunity to do any exercise whilst confined to the ship. It was not an unreasonable request as he was certainly aware of my responsibility to stay fit, plus he was a reasonable sort of officer. He said he would put in a word to the Coxswain and between the two of them they agreed that I could go for a run and a swim every 2^nd or 3^rd evening after rounds. Of course I emphasized that I was a keen runner and would need at least a 2 hour workout. So each night I would race up to the dockyard junior sailor’s club where my mates would have my uniform waiting for me, and then we would jump into a cab and tear out into the bars of Sembawang for an hour and a half of drinking and partying. On my return to the club I would have a quick swim and then race flat out back to the ship so that I arrived puffing and sweating. Somehow I managed to get away with this routine for the remainder of our stay. All in all I did quite well. As I was a member of the ship’s first Rugby 15, I was also allowed ashore to play in all football matches.

The following 2 weeks at sea were particularly uneventful and routine, apart from the fact that I became eligible for shore leave again and the nearest land was probably 100 miles away. On our return to Singapore the ship was put into ‘tropical routine’. This was normal when the ship was due to spend some time alongside, and Yarra had some unexpected maintenance problems that had to be completed. The positive side to this routine was that leave began at about 3 o’clock in the afternoon. The negative side was that leave expired at about 6 in the morning with work starting at 0700. On the first night back alongside in Singapore my mates decided that they should help me celebrate my first night of legal liberty in about 5 weeks. We hit the high spots downtown including Bugis street and enough bars that we lost count. Somehow we split up and I woke up the following morning at about 0800, still in downtown Singapore, with a 45 minute cab ride ahead of me back to the Naval dockyard. I told the driver to hurry but it didn’t really matter. What were a few minutes either way when I was already 1½ hours adrift. As I walked past the ship towards the gangway at about 9 o’clock on that bright sunny morning, everyone on the upper deck stopped work to cheer me on. They all knew it was my first night ashore and would probably be my last again for a while. Even the Chief coxswain waiting for me on One Deck Aft had a slight grin on his face. I knew that Dicky would not be smiling. When I fronted the Captain’s table later that morning, he said to me "Not you again Able Seaman Ey?". I must admit JD Foster did a great job of defending me. He told the skipper that because of my long stint onboard without any alcohol, I had obviously succumbed to the evils of booze and that the extenuating circumstances deserved some leniency as I was normally a very sober and sensible individual. I believe even the Captain felt some sympathy for me as he let me off with only 2 or 3 days stoppage. As I departed his table I could see Dicky giving me his evil eye. I knew he was not going to forgive or forget so easily. We stayed in Singapore for a few weeks and a great time was had by all. My entire Mess was moved ashore into RN barracks for a week or so while work was carried out in our messdeck. It was great to be living in large roomy open air accommodation with purring overhead fans. We even enjoyed the change of diet - English food cooked by Chinese Malays. The only problem with the Pommie barracks was that many of the showers were rusted up and blocked through lack of use. We used to watch in absolute wonder as Pommie sailors, after a day’s work in the humid Singapore climate, would only have a bird bath, dress in clean clothes, and then step ashore. Most Aussie sailors showered at least twice a day. The ‘fresh water tanky’ aboard an Australian warship was considered one of the most important sailors in the crew.

Each Mess had its favourite bar in Sembawang, and there were many to choose from. One of the most popular was the Melbourne bar, however my mates and I preferred the smaller and quieter bars. The girls were friendlier and a little more genuine. At least they remembered our names when we went back. Normally we would drink outside the dockyard gate until after dark and then head into town. After a meal somewhere and a few more bars it was standard practice to finish the night in Bugis street, which came alive after midnight.

Underway once again the ship headed up the west coast of Malaya with stops in Penang, Langkawi and Port Jessleton; the port of Kuala Lumpur. They were great places in those days, unspoiled by the invasion of Western tourists and American soldiers on R &R leave out of Vietnam. One afternoon my mates and I were just settling into a cozy little bar in Penang when the shore patrol came through the door to announce that there was a general recall for the crew of Yarra. We were to return to the ship immediately and just to make sure we did, they took our names. Much to our disgust, Stuart’s sailors were told they could stay put. When we arrived back on board we were informed that a Royal Airforce Shackleton bomber had crashed into the sea somewhere off the NW coast of Sumatra, and being the closest warship we were going to the rescue. The crew understood the seriousness of the situation however we could not help wondering why Fox One had to go and not the junior Stuart. Probably the best part of 5 percent of the crew had gotten wind of the recall before the patrolmen found them and they had gone into hiding knowing that the Stuart was not a part of the recall. If they hadn’t been told, they couldn’t get into strife. Had they known it was a rescue mission, they would certainly have returned to a man. It was thought by all to be just some harebrained recall exercise thought up by Dicky. Those left behind returned to the wharf that evening with looks of shock/horror on their faces asking what had happened to Yarra. The lucky devils spent another couple of days in Penang before sailing with Stuart to rejoin us in Singapore.

Sport has always had a high priority in the Navy so we managed a few hard games of Rugby against the Brits along the way. The New Zealand Navy also had their A/S frigate HMNZS Waikato deployed to SEATO at the same time and whenever we met in port there would always be a fierce game of football followed by several fights in the bars afterwards. The Kiwis could play Rugby but they hated to lose, particularly to Australians. It was rumoured that when they deployed to the Far East, the ship’s crew was picked on the basis of football ability alone. They treated their Rugby very seriously and every game became a matter of national honour. In every port there were always several games organized, especially in Singapore and Hong Kong as the British presence was still very large in that part of the world. Interest ran high on Yarra with at least two and sometimes three teams being fielded. Even the skipper would come along to cheer us on, particularly when we were playing the Kiwis.

We continued our cruise with regular exercises punctuated by ports of call to wonderful out of the way places such as Cebu and Tacloban in the Philippines. Some of these places had not seen an Australian warship since WWII and we were treated like royalty. Unfortunately I only saw Cebu from the wharf as Dicky Bird had taken his revenge. The day before we arrived in Cebu, he managed to have me charged again. Every working day, all seamen not on watch fell in on One Deck aft at both 0800 and 1300 for ‘Both watches of seamen’. This little ceremony was presided over by the Buffer (Chief Bosun’s Mate) and the XO, during which time everyone was accounted for and given their particular work responsibilities. On the dot the Buffer would call both watches to attention and anyone not fallen in at that point of time was considered adrift. It was normal for most sailors to emerge from their messdecks with only seconds to spare. On this particular day I was casually climbing the quarter-deck ladder and probably within only five paces of my allocated spot when Dicky Bird spotted me. I knew I had about 30 or 40 seconds to spare and there were still several sailors coming up the ladder behind me. The minute he saw me he screamed for me to stay where I was and then ordered the Buffer to call "Both watches". The poor old Buffer looked at his watch and stammered "But sir, it’s not 1300 yet". The XO raised his voice and repeated the order. With little choice, his order was obeyed. The second that formality was out of the way, he told the Buffer to ‘run in’ all the stragglers. It was at that moment that it dawned on me, and half the crew, that Dicky was totally insane. To get at me he was prepared to charge a half a dozen other sailors as well. The Buffer was the senior seaman aboard and not a particularly friendly character, but he actually apologized to us for the injustice that had been done. Nevertheless, none of us stepped ashore in Cebu. According to the rest of the crew, we were missing the best run in the Far East. One of the other fellows under punishment, ‘Occa’ O’Connell, decided that he was not going to miss out. After the last muster for the evening was over, he put some clothes in a waterproof plastic bag, and as I kept watch he quietly slipped over the stern into the water and disappeared out of sight under the wharf. The next morning at 0600 he looked very tired but was sporting a grin that stretched from ear to ear. I thought the man deserved to be made an honorary diver for his outstanding display of initiative.

The more serious side of life at sea continued with our participation in regular exercises alongside all the member Navies of SEATO. We always finished particularly well overall, however we maintained a lot of respect for the professionalism of Brit and Kiwi sailors. The US Navy was quite a different story. We often wondered how they even managed to put to sea without major mishap.

During some joint Navy exercises, it was not uncommon to exchange technical observers with ships of our allies. In one such exercise Yarra was to conduct a live firing of an Ikara missile against a British submarine, and my old mate Billy Creedon being a ‘sonarman’ was to go aboard the target Sub for the firing. The object of the exercise was to firstly find the sub within the designated exercise area, and then launch a fully operational Ikara missile at it, minus the warhead of course. The purpose of the exercise was to prove the capabilities of the system to the Royal Navy prior to them making a commitment to purchase Ikara for their A/S surface ships. We also had a swaggle of Brits aboard to observe the acquisition and launch procedures. Ikara was unique in the world of A/S weapons in that it was the only delivery system that was guided post-launch. The guided missile itself had a Mark 44 homing torpedo strapped to its belly and it was controlled in flight up until the point of release, whereupon the torpedo descended to the ocean surface beneath a parachute. On contact with the water, the torpedo immediately began its deadly spiraling search pattern seeking out its unsuspecting target with its own onboard active sonar. The real beauty of the Ikara system was that the launch vessel’s computer could be linked to other ship’s and even helicopter sonar. This meant that any sonar equipped vessel which acquired a submarine target could instantly downlink the data to the launch vessel which could be many miles away and completely out of sonar range. After launch, the control of the missile would be transferred across to the sonar control center of the target tracking vessel. Meanwhile the missile would receive constant updates of the exact position and track of the target, so that at point of release, the torpedo was directly above the ill-fated submarine. This capability gave convoys of ships a huge radius of protection as A/S helicopters could dip their sonars at random over a very wide area and with great flexibility and speed. The test firing was a great success and when Bill returned to Yarra he told me of the stunned reaction of the Brit crew. Prior to the launch they had all been very skeptical about this new weapon developed in the ‘colonies’. They had a lot of faith in their skipper and his ability to remain undetected and they knew they were many miles away from Yarra. Bill said the sub was running with a very low noise signature and was attempting to hide under thermal layers when their passive sonar identified a splash directly overhead. Immediately thereafter followed by the sound of high speed torpedo propellers. Bill said there was a deathly quiet throughout the boat as the sound of the propellers grew louder and louder until finally the inert torpedo impacted the hull of the submarine.

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