Tony Ey - A Seagoing dit page 2.............

Part way through our deployment we were ordered to steam south to rendezvous with the Australian troop carrier HMAS Sydney, inbound to Vietnam fully loaded with Diggers and their equipment. Stuart and Yarra were to escort her on her remaining leg into the port of Vung Tau. We decided to give the Aussie soldiers something to tell their grandchildren about, so while the ‘Vung Tau Ferry’ was still approaching us on a reciprocal course from over the horizon, we loaded the triple barrels of the A/S mortars with food and vegetable scraps and whatever other colourful concoctions we could lay our hands on. As we came abeam of Sydney, our skipper increased revolutions, accelerating and turning in towards the carrier. All the diggers were on the flight deck waving and cheering as Yarra quickly closed the gap from astern on a parallel course which would take us to within 25 or 30 metres of Sydney. What we hadn’t suspected was that they were prepared for us. As Yarra’s bow drew amidships, the diggers let fly with eggs and a number of various toiletry items. We added more revolutions and as we began a gentle turn away we let loose with all 3 barrels. For those several hundred soldiers laughing and waving on Sydney’s flight deck, their day quickly changed from brilliant sunshine to an, albeit short, heavily overcast day.

Things settled down to a more serious note as we neared the coast of South Vietnam. Due to the threat of swimmer attack, the time spent at anchor in the port of Vung Tau was kept to an absolute minimum. Even though CDT3 was now operating there permanently, all ship’s Captains were very nervous about the safety of their multi million dollar charges. It was the only time I remember the ship closed up at maximum readiness while still at anchor. Both propellers were kept turning slowly as a deterrent to underwater attack, armed sailors patrolled the upper deck and of course the ship’s diving team were on full standby. I spent my time in the ship’s seaboat making large sweeps around Yarra. Trailing astern of the boat was a weighted beam which maintained a depth of 20 odd feet below the surface. This was connected by lengths of barbed wire to a towing beam secured just behind the stern, and hanging from the submerged beam on wire traces were a number of extra large shark hooks. My job was to toss one pound explosives charges with short fuses overboard at regular intervals to deter any would be sapper-swimmers. All in all, Vung Tau anchorage was probably not the best place to take a relaxing afternoon swim. My responsibilities to Yarra’s swimmer defence kept me from any opportunity to say hello to my fellow CDs in Team 3 who were assisting with the defence of Sydney. As I watched the last of the Aussie soldiers disembark from the Troop Carrier, I was saddened by the thought that not all of them would be coming home. Little did I know then that I would be returning to South Vietnam as part of CDT3 in less than two and a half years time.

The minute the unloading and loading was completed, all ships weighed anchor and were speeding seaward. Once clear of the coast, Sydney turned south towards home and we headed north for another welcome visit to Hong Kong. As we steamed north along the coast of Vietnam the crew was kept fully closed up at Defence stations. Sitting in my Ikara loading station, I couldn’t help but wonder; if we came under attack by the North Vietnamese, what good was my torpedo carrying missile going to do.

Entering Hong Kong was becoming a little like coming home. In those days it was a great place although US servicemen on R&R from Vietnam were starting to drive the prices of everything skywards. They would arrive with a few thousand dollars in their pockets and only seven days to spend it prior to heading back to the war zone. They were desperate for female company and in most cases dope as well. It was best to stay well shy of them as most of them were pretty screwed up in the head.

From either the ‘Peak’ or the harbour at night, ‘Honkers’ was probably the most beautiful harbour in the world and we never tired of the place. Both sides of the harbour were alive with bars, tailor shops and restaurants, although Kowloon was still a little quiet then, unlike today. All the tailor shops were desperate to get anyone to order their handmade suits and they would entice potential customers in with the offer of a free beer. We took advantage of the situation and often went on tailor shop "runs". Several of us would be reluctantly dragged off the street and into the shop where the owner would eagerly show us photos of his workmanship and samples of his cloth. They could all rattle off the names of several sailors from various ships who had purchased suits at their shop. We would show sufficient interest over the course of several free beers until we had worn out our welcome having not placed any firm orders. It was possible to fill in a very pleasant and cheap afternoon in this manner. Eventually most of us did buy a suit complete with bright red or blue or green silk lining, as back home it was the badge which showed you had been to Honkers. Some sailors went as far as having Chinese dragons embroided on the lining of their suits. These gaudy outfits were generally made of quite good quality material however the cotton stitching was always rubbish and the suits would fall apart within 12 months of arriving home. This was not a major concern because even though they seemed a great idea at the time, back in Australia you tended to be a little reluctant to wear them in public.

We continued to cruise the length and breadth of the Far East taking part in numerous exercises which were punctuated by port visits. Apart from Singapore, where we often spent a week or two at a time, most of our visits were limited to three or four days. Just enough time to get to know a few girls and like the place, and away we would go, back to sea to suffer the rantings and ravings of our XO. Somebody had said that Dicky was originally a navigator in the Fleet Air Arm and had once been responsible for an entire squadron of aircraft losing their way. It was probably an exaggeration however where there’s smoke, there’s fire. Knowing Dicky Bird, anything was possible. How the man became the Executive officer of an Australian warship was something that most of the crew pondered daily. At regular intervals of about 3 months, all seamen were rotated through the various parts of ship. Probably at Dicky’s suggestion, I was given the demeaning job of PO’s Messman. The wardroom, or officer’s mess, had trained stewards who had chosen as their career to wait on and serve other men. The senior sailor’s messes had normal seamen delegated to keep their living spaces and mess areas clean. Messman duties also included serving meals, clearing up afterwards and washing the dishes. Some sailors thought this was a great job as they only really worked around meal hours and had a lot of time off. In those days the Navy recruited newly qualified tradesmen who underwent 3 months basic instruction at HMAS Nirimba and then they were pushed out into the fleet as Petty Officers, much to the dismay of regular sailors. They were known in the Navy as ‘90 day wonders’. A regular sailor could look forward to a wait of 6 - 10 years before reaching Petty Officer rank so obviously there was some resentment towards these instant POs. In most cases they were reasonable types however many were not. In my case, I had been in the Navy for two and a half years at that stage and I most certainly resented serving food to, and cleaning up after, someone who had been in the Navy for only a ‘dog watch’. That aside, I also felt it was beneath the dignity and responsibilities of a Clearance Diver. The Navy had spent a lot of money training me and to my mind it wasn’t all to be a waiter. As a consequence, I informed the President of the PO’s Mess that I would work in the scullery washing dishes but I was not serving food to arrogant 90 day wonders. He was an old gunnery Petty officer and didn’t take very kindly to Able seamen telling him what they would and wouldn’t do. Actually he almost came apart at the seams and after a heated argument he marched me up to see my Divisional officer, JD Foster. Fortunately for me, JD could see my point of view. It was obvious to everyone that I was not suited to being a waiter, so common sense prevailed. I was transferred to another part of ship and discretion being the better part of valor, I stayed well out of the way of the President of the PO’s mess.

Finally we started south on our way home. Our last ports of call were to be Jakarta and Surabaya in Indonesia. We were in fact to be the first Aussie warship to visit that country since the Indonesian confrontation had ended several years earlier. Jakarta was a very basic city in those days and about the only place you could get a cold beer was at the Australian Embassy, and we were only invited there once. There was one international standard hotel and of course that was too expensive, and not exactly the style of young sailors anyway. We had no regrets at leaving Jakarta and we pushed on to the port city of Surabaya, which also happened to be home port to the Indonesian Navy. For the last few miles of our run into our berth we were escorted by what had once been two Soviet made missile carrying patrol boats. Both were un-seaworthy rust buckets that belched black diesel exhaust all over our clean white uniforms. While President Sukarno was in power, the Soviet Union had provided equipment and aid to the pro-Communist Sukarno forces. I think the size of the Indonesian Navy surprised us all, however it was all junk and very few ships were capable of putting to sea. Our berth was right astern of their flagship the ‘IRIAN’, a former Soviet cruiser. At first glance it was a very impressive looking ship with its scrubbed wooden decks, fresh paint and flags flying. She even had smoke drifting from her funnel giving the impression that she was ready for sea. Obviously all for our benefit as our Engineering officer noted after a closer inspection that the smoke smelt suspiciously of oily rags.

It turned out that we had quite a good time in Surabaya even though it was impossible to get a cold beer, unless you were prepared to use ice which was full of flies, bees, sticks, grass and most probably loads of hepatitis. The main attraction in town was a very long street that consisted of houses which doubled as bars and places of ill repute. It was rather obvious as every house always had several girls sitting outside trying everything possible to entice every sailor who happened to walk past to go inside their house. In the local’s broken English it was hard to decipher whether the area was actually called the ‘Jungle bar’, which it certainly sounded like, or ‘Young Girl bar’, which made a lot more sense. Whatever its real name, it was certainly popular with the sailors.

One of the most popular pastimes in any port of call was the inevitable ‘Brewery Run’, on this occasion to the Dutch brewer, ‘Heineken’. After a short but compulsory tour of the brewery floor, it was down to some serious sampling, which proceeded well into the afternoon. During the trip back to the ship, Lance Foxon asked the local bus driver to open the door as he needed to answer the call of nature. Fortunately for ‘Fox’, the driver slowed down considerably as he drove along the grass verge of the road. I can remember the stupid grin on his face as he stood on the lower step relieving himself out the door, and as if it were a perfectly natural thing to do, he gradually tilted forward and disappeared out the door. If he had been sober, he probably would have broken his neck.

On our last night in town, a few of us were going back to the dockyard in pedal powered trishaws and the same ‘Fox’ had conned his driver into allowing him to pedal the contraption while the Indon sat nervously in the passenger compartment. These civilian drivers and their vehicles were not allowed inside the confines of the dockyard, however ‘Fox’ decided that as it was still a long walk from the gate to the ship, he was going to ride all the way in style. He sailed through the main gate laughing to himself and totally oblivious to the guard who was madly waving for him to stop. He had probably gone some 20 or 30 yards past the gate when we decided we should bring it to Fox’s attention that the guard had drawn his .45 calibre handgun and was sighting in on the centre of Fox’s back. Fortunately he realised the error of his ways and the trishaw came to a rapid and screeching halt.

From Surabaya it was a relatively straight run south to Fremantle, our first port of call on Australian soil. As we eased up the river towards our berth I was pleased to see that the Fleet tanker HMAS Supply was also in port, and our berth was going to be directly astern of her. I knew my brother was now part of her crew so as soon as we were secured alongside, I requested permission to go aboard to see Mike. It was great to see his grinning face wandering up to the gangway with his outstretched hand. He took me below and introduced me to the characters who shared his cabin. It just happened to be ‘stand easy’, or morning tea time and I was surprised at the relative comfort they enjoyed. While part of the British Navy, Supply had been manned by a civilian crew and they demanded comforts that the Navy did not allow its regular sailors. This included four man cabins, whereas aboard a warship like Yarra, I shared my messdeck with thirty or forty other sailors. Mike had a few other surprises in store for me; first and foremost he had become engaged since I had left, and secondly our younger brother David had enlisted in the Navy as a Junior Recruit, and at that time was actually undergoing training in Fremantle at HMAS Leeuwin. During our stay we attempted to see David however as a new JR he was not allowed visitors. Fremantle was a very friendly town and we were pleased to be back on Australian soil. One night Lance ‘Fox’ Foxon suggested we stop in and say hello to his Uncle who was a Sergeant at the West Perth Police station. He turned out to be a great bloke and sent out for several cases of beer, so we made ourselves at home and spent an hour or two sitting in the cells of the Police Station drinking beer and telling tall stories to all the local constabulary about the mystical Far East.

Fox’s parents had invited half the mess to their house for a welcome home party and he told me on the side that his mother was absolutely petrified of the potential consequences of having over a dozen sailors, recently returned from the flesh-pots of Asia, running amok in her house. We all arrived in our flash Hong Kong tailor made suits, looking and behaving like a million dollars. Lance had invited his favourite cousin and a number of her friends to the party, and likewise, they were unsure of what they were letting themselves into. By the end of the evening, Mrs. Foxon thought we were the most charming young gentlemen she had ever met and most of the girls had lost their hearts to a sailor. In fact, for many years after, Lance used to tell me that his Mother never stopped talking about "those fine young men from the Yarra in their flash suits". She did say however that she had never met anybody who could talk as much as Billy ‘the Bunk’ Baird. Some of the girls from the party, including Lance’s cousin, later traveled all the way to Sydney to see us again. In those days before the advent of cheap international travel, there was something that most girls found irresistible about a young sailor in bell bottom trousers who had seen half the world before he had turned twenty one. I must admit there was something special about the Navy. The discipline was tough and our living conditions left a lot to be desired, but it was like a big family. Your home was always on the move and your mates stood by you through thick and thin, unlike many of the lost and flighty civilian generation of our day who just wanted to break away from, and protest against, every convention that our parents stood for and believed in.

We departed Fremantle in company with Supply for the final run home. If my memory serves me correctly, we had a brief stay in Williamstown in Melbourne before we headed north to Sydney where most of the crew enjoyed some leave. I went back to Adelaide to see my parents, and after a short spell at home I discovered that I had grown apart from my civvy mates. We no longer had very much in common. I had traveled from Cebu to Ceylon and from Melbourne to Macao and had seen things that most people don’t experience in a lifetime, and my old mates still had the same girlfriends, still went to the same pubs and still hadn’t left the confines of suburban Glenelg. They were good blokes but we had nothing much to talk about. I realised that I had become completely ‘Navy’ and I found from that point on that it was very difficult to relate to anyone who had not shared the same worldly experiences that I had already been exposed to at the tender age of twenty. When I returned to the ship from leave, a lot of the older crew had posted off to begin their two year cycle ashore and fortunately that included my old adversary Dicky Bird. He was replaced by a younger more professional officer by the name of LCDR Paul Berger. With the replacement crew members aboard we conducted a short work-up period before heading off for a visit to the ‘Land of the long white cloud’. New Zealand was a country high on my list of places to visit as I had grown up with the ANZAC legend and I had heard it was a beautiful country with lots of friendly girls. My first impression however, as we steamed into Auckland harbour, was a little disappointing. After Sydney harbour, Auckland on a dull overcast day was a little lack-lustre to say the least. The natives quickly made up for the bleak weather and we settled down for an enjoyable visit. Our warm welcome almost came to a sudden end when on our first day ashore, Billy Creedon and I both wandered into a pub in the main street of Auckland. We ordered two beers from the friendly young maiden behind the bar and then watched in complete amazement as she poured two 8 ounce glasses from a beer gun that looked awfully like a draft horse having a leak. The beer looked extremely flat and lifeless and to some extent very much like the by product of the aforementioned horse. Even the price of 8 cents per glass didn’t make up for the appearance of the beer. I knew we might be in trouble with the patrons of the pub when Bill took his first mouthful. Like a man who suspects someone is trying to poison him, Bill immediately spat it out and said "What’s this piss?" The whole pub took on a very hostile atmosphere as everyone stared daggers at the two Australian sailors in uniform. I quickly asked Bill in a very loud voice, "Are you okay Bill? I know you’ve been a bit crook lately". The pub slowly returned to normal as I said to Bill "Another beer will fix you up Mate". He realised the delicate situation we were in so he said aloud "Thanks mate, I’m okay now. Something must have been stuck in my throat". After a few weeks in Kiwi land, we almost adjusted to the beer which we discovered to our horror, was delivered to pubs in what looked like milk tankers. While in the nation’s capital, Bill and I met a couple of lovely young ladies from quite well to do families who had access to their ‘Daddy’s’ car and showed us a great time. Within 12 months of our NZ visit, Bill was to meet and marry a Kiwi lass and I followed suite two years later.

From Auckland we headed south down the East coast to the country town of Napier, in Hawkes Bay. This turned out to be another great sailor’s run and we had a ball. We were almost asked to leave by the Mayor when one of our Leading Seaman, a wild and woolly character known as ‘Shiner’ Wright decided to show the old folks at the local RSL the infamous ritual known within Navy circles as "the dance of the flaming arseholes". They didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, call the police or just pretend it didn’t happen. Suprisingly Shiner became something of a popular celebrity for the rest of our stay in Napier. Invitations flooded into the ship on a daily basis for sailors to attend everything from flowers shows to debutante balls. If no-one volunteered, a number of the poor old duty watch were ordered to represent the Aussie flag. Fox and I accepted an invite to a function put on by the local Deer-hunters club. It was a family affair and the two Aussie sailors in uniform were definitely the centre of attention. A few fathers were keeping a very close eye on their daughters however. These fellows were mad keen hunters of the superbly antlered Wapiti deer and they invited us on a deer hunting expedition into the high country. As the ship was due to leave the following day, we had to get a snappy approval from the Captain. To our surprise he agreed, and we were told to rejoin the ship several days later in New Plymouth on the West coast. My vague memories of this experience consist of a few days of wandering the scrubby hills in extremely cold and wet weather in return for the brief sighting of one deer which escaped unharmed. We did however enjoy a couple of good home cooked meals of venison.

From New Zealand we returned to Sydney briefly before deploying again to the Far East for a short visit. On our return to Aussie, the ship went into dry-dock at Williamstown and I was made a Quartermaster, which meant I was responsible for the gangway security during my watch. I had to ensure that everyone who left and rejoined the ship were legal to do so. Routine pipes over the ship’s broadcast system were also my responsibility. I was assisted by an ordinary seaman who made the tea and hot cocoa and ran errands for me. Being the quartermaster of a warship high and dry in Williamstown dry-dock in the depth of a Melbourne winter is not the most exciting job on earth. As we were so far from downtown Melbourne, we tended to frequent a couple of favourite pubs located just outside the dockyard. One such establishment was owned by a very pleasant spinster who took our motley bunch under her wing, and we spent many a cold wintry night in the warmth of her pub playing darts and shooting the breeze. She was an ardent St. Kilda supporter and woe betide anyone who spoke badly of her team. At closing time she would toss out everybody who wasn’t from the Yarra’s After Seamen’s mess and we could kick on for as long as we liked.

A warship in dry-dock is a little like a sedated lion. At sea or even alongside, a warship feels like it has a heart and a soul, and is ready to pounce at a moment’s notice. It lives and breathes 24 hours a day and it is a life support system for its entire crew. So after several months of watching Yarra being subjected to oxy torches, sandblasting, welding and a host of other indignities, it was heart-warming to finally see her afloat again looking like a new pin. The ship returned to Sydney to continue her never ending work-ups and exercises and after several months I was posted to CDT2 at HMAS Penguin on the 5^th May 1969.

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