Guernsey
The Bembridge was a bit of an old rust bucket really. It wasn’t used to long journeys having been used by Trinity House (the pilot’s organisation) to sit out in the channel running pilots out to incoming shipping.
Whilst we were all excited when we were told we were going to cruise over to Guernsey from Portsmouth Harbour, I guess a few of us wondered if she would ever get there. She did though. It took 24 hours instead of 16 though. We tied up at the quayside at St Peter Port and in the evening the officers held a reception for the town mayor and cronies. I was duty officer on the bridge and whilst on one of my patrols of the decks I popped down to the lounge where the reception was being held, only to check everything was ok you understand. When I got back to the bridge to write up my log entry for that patrol I found a bottle whisky hiding inside my juacket. It must have slipped there from the lounge.
As the evening progressed the reception was going well. I was also having my own little party on the bridge. I didn’t bother with any more patrols of the decks, I just tucked into this bottle of whisky.
I think it was about 2230hrs (10.30pm) when I remembered I was supposed to be doing security and safety rounds of the decks. I lifted myself out of the chair I had been slumped in and lurched across the bridge. The door to the starboard side of the ship swung open as I grasped the handle, almost causing me to fall over. The fresh night air hit me hard. As I stood erect and straightened my uniform my head began to swim. I grasped the rail that ran round the top of the stairs outside the bridge and steadied myself.
I remember half slipping down the stairs and banging my legs and knees. I was too drunk to realise how painful the knocks were. Once again I straightened my uniform and started strolling down the deck, checking no one had stolen lifeboats or left garbage on the decks. As I drew level with the engine room I noticed smoke pouring out of the engine room skylights. Fear and panic took hold of me. I flung the door open that led down to the engine and smoke poured through. I couldn’t see my hand before my face.
I tried to concentrate my thoughts. Turning on my heel I ran back up to the bridge. Whilst we were at sea, and normally when we were moored in Gosport Reach we had a fire crew allocated. For the 24 hour period that we were going to be in St Peter Port as far as I knew no fire crew had been allocated.
The drink once more took control as I swigged at the now near empty bottle of scotch trying to think what I should do. I remembered the fire drill and alarm procedure. The alarm was to be a rapid succession of blast on the ships horn. I grasped the cord and pulled and pulled and pulled. I must have let off around 25 or 30 blasts and collapsed on the bridge deck laughing hysterically. Oh no!! That was the abandon ship signal; the fire alarm was, was, was, I couldn’t remember!!
I recalled what was happening and got to my feet. This time I exited the bridge on the port side. I don’t know why. Maybe it was for a change of scenery. The sight that met me has confounded me ever since.
Looking down from my position two decks above everyone else I could see There we were, tied up in harbour and people, visitors as well as crew, were jumping into the water. What on earth was that all about? I know the emergency routine was to abandon ship from the nearest available position but this was ridiculous. We were tied up in harbour!!
The island fire brigade turned out as well as local police and an ambulance and it seemed half the town came down to the harbour to see what all the fuss about. Whilst everyone was on the quayside and milling about, I made my way down to the lounge area to sample the culinary delights on offer. This was where I was found a short while later, slumped in a chair and incapable of anything other than feeling ill.
