HMNZS TARANAKI THE THIRD COMMISSION

by Russell Priest

Photo's, maps and editing by John Currin

HMNZS Taranaki was only just into her third commission when I joined her as an Ordinary Seaman in 1965 straight out of Navigation/ Direction School as a Radar Plot Basic.

Built by J. Samuel Wright & Co.'s yard at Cowes on the Isle of Wight in 1962, Taranaki was a "Rothesay" class (improved Whitby), Type 12 frigate, all Formica and stainless steel, air-conditioning, cafeteria messing and an enclosed bridge.

HMNZS Taranaki

She was a far cry from the half-warm meals, hammocks and cold, open, bridges of her forebears like the war-built Loch class frigate HMNZS Rotoiti in which I had completed my sea training.

HMNZS Rotoiti Anti Submarine exercises then off t0o Hawaii and the USN Fleet Training Group Weeks in the Hauraki Gulf with HMS Tabard from the RN submarine squadron based at HMAS Penguin in Sydney

HMS Tabard

Then on 18 August it was off for training with the USN Fleet Training Group in Pearl Harbour. A brief stop at Pago Pago.

Pago Pago for bunkers and then onto Hawaii but on 23 August, Kingman Reef almost brought the commission to a premature end. Steaming along on a beautiful North Pacific morning; not a cloud in the sky and a glassy sea, an immense school of dolphins approached the ship as a young sailor looking over the side remarked to a nearby Petty Officer on the beauty of the coral formations below. The P.O. was on the bridge before the naive young man had realised he was gone. It took half an hour to gingerly back out of the reef and after a long, slow, careful, run astern out of and then around the danger, we continued on our voyage. Kingman Reef

Kingman Reef
Background:

The US annexed the reef in 1922. Its sheltered lagoon served as a way station for flying boats on Hawaii-to-American Samoa flights during the late 1930s. There are no terrestrial plants on the reef, which is frequently awash, but it does support abundant and diverse marine fauna and flora. In 2001, the waters surrounding the reef out to 12 nm were designated a US National Wildlife Refuge.

A navigational error perhaps? Lucky it was high water. The Log records it was the Captain's birthday, it may well have been his last in command. In fact it was a combination of circumstances. From leaving Pago until that morning we had not been able to obtain a sight and had been dead reckoning (no GPS in those days). A perfectly clear nautical twilight that morning had provided sights which had us some miles to the east of where we should have been, due to a set not mentioned in the North Pacific Pilot. Corrections were made and we proceeded more to the west to make our landfall off Oahu. This part of the Pacific is seldom frequented and Kingman reef, which breaks in places at low water but cannot be seen at highwater, had not been been surveyed since the 1870s. We took several sights to determine its position before departing and found it to be several miles west of its charted position. A combination of the set to the east and the reef being more to the west than indicated, had brought the two of us together and only the good fortune of our meeting occurring at high water had prevented the wreck of Taranaki being there to this day. Needless to say, a Notice to Mariners was duly generated and today Kingman Reef is where it should be, on the chart that is!

Arriving at Pearl Harbour: Arrival at Pearl Harbour was on the morning of 31 August and after de-ammunitioning at the USN armaments depot in Middle Loch, we proceeded to the base in East Loch and tied up opposite the Submarine Base. For a 17 year old, Honolulu and Waikiki were an exciting introduction to the world outside of 1960s New Zealand. Week days were generally spent at sea exercising with the USN Fleet Training Group but all work and no play makes "Jack" a dull boy, and time was found to sample Budweiser, Schlitz, the grunge of Hotel Street in Honolulu, the delights of Waikiki and the shopping at the Base Post Exchange (USN tax free department store). Naval ratings, especially junior ones, had little money to spend in those days and I suspect that nothing has changed.

Invariably, a week after payday, one would be on ones uppers. One Sunday evening myself and an oppo (opposite number, mate) with no coin to behold and holding no folding, decided to walk along Nimitz Highway towards Honolulu just to get off the ship, our intention being to walk back to Pearl Harbour when we felt we had walked far enough. In those days it was compulsory to wear uniform ashore except in ones homeport. With New Zealand on the shoulder flashes of our white fronts, it was easy to identify us and we hadnt allowed for the stream of taxis stopping to pick us up. We had become sick of explaining that we preferred walking and had no money in any event. One cab driver would not take no for an answer and insisted we get in. He stopped at a diner along the highway and wanted to buy us dinner. We had eaten and declined. We were trying to sum this guy up, was he one of them with a penchant for young sailors? He ate while we watched and he asked us questions. He then took us to Honolulu and dropped us at the WMCA, a pretty good venue with much to do and lots of young girls there for the Sunday evening dance. He insisted we take $10.00 each to spend and get us back to Pearl Harbour but only on condition we promised not to leave the WMCA. We finally asked why he was doing this and he explained he had been a US Marine stationed for a time in Wellington during the war and this was the first opportunity he had had to return some of the hospitality he had been shown. As a young boy in the navy I experienced this type of human kindness many times when overseas, balanced of course by the opposite at times. It developed in most of us an ability to judge character, an acceptance of our fellows and a healthy tinge of cynicism when dealing with cant and hypocrisy. Interestingly enough, my companion that day also ended up years later in the Australian Merchant Navy.

Our departure from Hawaii and the long hall across the Pacific to Singapore commenced 23 October 1965.

HMNZS Taranaki leaving Hawaii after dropping a lei into the sea Diamond head and Waikiki in the background We bunkered at Midway Island, a USN air base and the western most island of the Hawaiian chain, famous for the "Goony" bird, the bird that defeated the US Navy.

One can walk around Midway in an hour and the Laysan albatross had been there

long before the USN decided it had some strategic importance. In they came every year to breed, oblivious to flame throwers, poison, shotguns and every attempt to discourage them from century's of habit.

A gun used during the defence of Midway during the Battle of Midway, surrounded by Gooney Bird chicks

In the end the USN surrendered and closed the base each breeding season. They acquired the title "Goony" from their comical antics when landing in a very ungainly manner after a year of being aloft and passed on the name to the equally ungainly, but just as efficient, DC3.

The Laysan albatross or Gooney Bird and in the background one of the first buildings hit during the Pearl Harbour attack

Guam:

Guam was reached on 1 November and we stayed a day and overnight to bunker. It was hot, humid and overcast.

After Oahu I was unimpressed with Guam, the one enduring memory being the flights of B57s returning from their bombing raids over North Vietnam. Also of interest were the Polaris submarines alongside the submarine depot ship USS Proteus at the submarine base in Apra Harbour; she had previously been in the news in the late 1950s when she had been the subject of ban the bomb demonstrators while stationed in Holy Loch, Scotland. This was prior to the R.N. obtaining their own Polaris deterrent.

USS Proteus tending two submarines

USS Proteus at sea Singapore and the Far East Fleet After Guam the next land sighted was the southern Philippines as we sailed into and through the Sulu Sea and then a short stop in Labuan again for bunkers.

On to Singapore and into Johore Strait for a morning arrival at the famous Royal Navy base at Sembawang on 25 November.

The Malyasian Federation had only recently been declared, with Singapore as a founding member and Indonesia was not at all happy with this development. The R.N. presence East of Suez was immense and far greater than anything they had been able to spare during the Second World War, at least until after VE Day. Anchored in Johore Stait, just off the naval base, was HMS Triumph, a light fleet carrier converted into a floating repair shop and alongside her was the closest we got to the base for some weeks but her liberty boats ran us back and forward for shore leave plus her shops and barber shop were most welcome.

Having been under the influence of the USN for weeks it was good to be in the company of the navy we had descended from and whos traditions we understood and felt part of.

Not only was the Far East Fleet busy with Indonesian Confrontation, but they were also maintaining the Beira patrols, the blockade of Rhodesia's Ian Smith regime, and consequently the base was a hive of activity. Major RN units seen to come and go over the period included:

HMS Ark Royal,

HMS Eagle,

HMS Bulwark,

HMS Albion

and HMS Centaur.

Mull of Kintyre was there in support of the "Ton" class minesweepers, being used for patrol work, plus a host of destroyers, frigates and fleet auxiliaries.

Ton Class sweepers

The old and the new; WWII vintage destroyers HMS Aisne,

HMS Cavalier

and HMS Barossa

were dwarfed by the new HMS Devonshire

and Kent and the Tribal class Persian Gulf patrol frigates also made an appearance from time to time.

Also seen was HMS Manxman, a real WWII veteran, the lone survivor of a class of three, fast, three-funnelled minelayers now converted to a minesweeper support ship and no longer capable of the 40 plus knots she once could produce.

The RAN was also prominent and many rugby matches were played against them under lights by the Armada Club at HMS Terror, the RN barracks in Sembawang.

The fleet competed for two rugby trophies: the Big Ship Shield, for vessels such as cruisers, aircraft carriers etc, and the Small Ship Shield, for destroyers, frigates and below. On arrival Taranaki, with a crew of only 240, but with three rugby teams, challenged an Australian frigate for the Small Ship Shield and won by a significant margin. Subsequent challenges from RN and RAN frigates and destroyers also resulted in "cricket" scores in favour of the new holders. An edict came down from above that for the remainder of Taranaki's commission "up top" they were to play for the Big Ship Shield and so we challenged the holder, HMS Ark Royal. We won but by a much closer margin. The Australian aircraft carrier, HMAS Melbourne,

arrived on station and over the next months whenever we were in port together, they would challenge but we never lost that shield.

HMS Eagle, Bulwark, Albion, Centaur and HMS Fearless

HMS Fearless were also disposed of in similar fashion and the Taranaki Firsts never conceded a game. Association football of course, was a different story and I can't recall our team ever winning a match. The Far East Fleet Boxing Competition was a keenly awaited event and our confidant pugilists trained hard, fully expecting to take out the title in every weight division; after all they had no trouble knocking over Poms and the occasional Aussie in the Sembawang bars. Unfortunately nobody had told them of the subtle difference between brawling in bars and going several three-minute rounds with a super-fit Royal Marine.

Tawau and the First Borneo Patrol

But the purpose of our commission was not brawling, drinking and sports, some of it was spent doing patrols on the east coast of Borneo, primarily to intercept arms and insurgents being smuggled by sea from Indonesian Borneo but also to look for cigarette smugglers from the southern Philippines. To this end, we did two threeweek patrols, working out of Tawau. We arrived for the first patrol on 1 December and relieved HMS Lincoln as the Tawau guard ship.

We would anchor by day at Tawau and then patrol all night up and down the coast. Boring work in extremely hot conditions, Tawau being only just north of the equator. Each night we would stop every boat we intercepted, normally kumpits, the wooden prows typical of the area. We would summon them alongside under the watchful eye

of the gunnery ratings manning the Bofors 40/60 in the waist and require them to clear their boat via the scrambling nets we had rigged over the side. Once on deck they, normally including women and children, would be lined up facing the bulkhead with their legs apart and their hands on their heads, covered by armed ratings. Of course, nutty and goffers (Jack speak for sweets and soft drinks) were normally brought up for the children who were allowed to relax. Here they stayed while the boarding party went down to the boat and searched it from stem to stern after which our reluctant guests were allowed to return to their craft and continue on their way.

About to search a Kumpit

This was our nightly routine for three weeks but our days anchored at Tawau were occupied by maintenance which for a young sprog like myself usually meant over the side on a stage with a paint brush or a roller in my hand. Temporary relief was obtained by accidentally falling off the stage and enjoying a cool dip in the ocean before climbing back up the stage lanyard and resuming ones labour. No shirts, hats, or sun block in those days when the phrase occupational health and safety had yet to be coined.

Some mornings before returning to Tawau we would sail up the river to Oost Nunukan, the Indonesian town right on the border, just south of Tawau, and fire half a dozen 4.5 inch projectiles from our main armament into the surrounds of the town. To this day I am not aware of why that was necessary but it was a decidedly different variation on showing the flag. As it occurred at the same time of the morning on

each occasion, I presume it didn't come as a surprise to the inhabitants who had no doubt developed a routine of heading for the jungle when they got up each morning, just in case. Tawau was home to various army regiments who did patrols along the border with Indonesia. Over the time of our Borneo patrols we encountered, amongst others, the Grenadier Guards, the Gurkhas, the Green Howards and the Queens Own Buffs. I was to find our later in life that they were known as the Buffs because of the colour of their shoulder flashes, but at the time a wag onboard declared that it stood for Buck up for fk sake. A highlight of the patrols was an exchange program between ourselves and the Pongoes (where a soldier goes, the pong goes). Twenty or so army types would live with us for a week while we sent the same number to do border patrols with the army. They loved it as they got hot meals, hot showers and a warm bunk every night, although some of them did have trouble finding their sea legs. Our boys loved it as they got leeches, little sleep, and the chance of being shot, but the major incentive was the army jungle boots which became a badge of honour. So no doubt some Kiwi matelots are still boasting in the RSLs and RSAs, of their time in the Grenadier Guards, albeit not on guard duty outside Buckingham Palace in a bearskin. The indigenous people in North Borneo are tribesmen known as Ibans. They were fearsome to behold, being super fit, no fat, only muscle, with shaven heads, long earlobes and blue tattoos up their chest, and throat, only stoppingat the chin. They were employed by the army as guides and translators. They had not long given up their cultural practice of collecting the heads of their enemy and one story that arrived onboard concerned an army patrol which had left two Indonesian insurgents tied to a tree guarded by an Iban. When they returned, the Indonesians were no longer tied to the tree but several yards away in different directions sans heads. It is said the Iban claimed they had tried to escape. Other diversions from the constant boredom included hands to bathe. On a good day with a glass-like sea, the ship would stop, scrambling nets would be rigged over the side, a boat lowered with a gunnery rating holding a semi- automatic rifle in case of sharks, and all off-duty men who chose to, would jump into the ocean. I have done this in the middle of the Pacific Ocean and can say that it is an eyrie feeling knowing the nearest solid ground is some considerable distance beneath ones feet. An occasional treat was the Banyon, navy speak for a beach barbecue. A deserted island with a deserted beach and a safe anchorage would be found, a boat lowered and several off-duty men would proceed ashore armed with steak, onions, sausages and a plentiful supply of bear. I was later to serve several years in the Merchant Service, and whilst the pay and conditions were so much better than in The Andrew commercial considerations never allowed for such experiences.

We were relieved as Tawau guard ship on 20 December by HMS Loch Fada.

How I felt for those poor sods. Having been on a Loch class frigate I knew the conditions, broadside messing (no cafeteria, meals taken to individual mess decks) and hammocks plus no air conditioning. I thought the poor sods on her would have been melting in the 21 days they spent in that heat, not even able to sling their hammocks on deck in the cool of the night as the decks would have been cleared for action. Only years later did I read that Loch Fada, the last of her class in the RN, had been fitted with air conditioning for Persian Gulf patrols so my concern for the welfare of our RN mates hadnt been completely necessary. Back to Singapore for Christmas. We arrived on 23 December and went into a period of alongside maintenance. Christmas day was unmemorable apart from the excessive amounts of alcohol consumed, commencing with a large silver foil ball of Pussers rum brought down to our mess by the Navigation Direction Officer, us being his boys (how the culture has changed). Having said that, one event did occur which in years to come was to prove of interest. Our Chief Petty Officer Radar Plot Instructor was flown home due to his wife being taken suddenly very ill and he was replaced by a Petty Officer Radar Plot 1, flown out at short notice to complete the commission. Many years later in 2002, I was sitting at home in Melbourne when the phone rang and on answering it I heard an English accent I knew so well, my old PO RP1 who, on establishing he was indeed talking to me, said You were a cheeky young bastard when I joined that ship on Christmas 1965, and I bet you still are. Gerry and I remain mates and he is now well

into his late 70s. Living in terror; not many can say they spent weeks living in terror but many in the RN can. HMS Terror was the RN barracks in Sembawang and on my birthday, 3 January 1966, the ships company of HMNZS Taranaki moved into HMS Terror while our ship moved into Floating Dock No.10.

Terror was a wonderful experience. A left over from the Empire it was colonial in every sense. The barrack blocks were two storied and spacious. All of them overlooked a large parade ground. The 30 or so rooms slept about 20 with 10 beds down each side and all opened up onto a wide, open balcony. There was no glass in the windows which opened onto the balcony, only shutters to keep out any rain which might make it across the width of the balcony. On the ceilings were fans and, without air conditioning, the temperature was always comfortable, those empire builders knew something about tropical architecture.

Humour is to be found everywhere and one sight implanted in my mind occurred one day just after midday in Terror. I had just returned to my barrack having had my midday meal and was leaning over the balcony balustrade, smoking and watching the passing parade of matelots coming and going from the dining hall. Loud laughter filled the air and two dogs were seen indulging in sexual congress in the middle of the parade ground. A Chinese cook suddenly appeared from the galley armed with a large pot of water which he duly emptied over the courting couple. The bitch took off and was last seen with the dog being dragged along by its member. The Royal Navy barrack menu was also a delight for a young man, chips with every meal, even breakfast. Being overweight was years away and cholesterol had not been heard of. It was there I discovered haute de cruisine in the shape of a chip butty and first experienced Pussers rum. Being such a large establishment, the daily midday rum issue was difficult to police and slipping a tot to a young bloke in exchange for doing a duty watch, could go undetected. Much time was spent in the base pool and for a change we could spend a night at Aggie Westons (RN sailors home) for little money where we could swim in the pool, have a room to oneself (a luxury) and eat banjoes the local omelette. Nights down at the strip in Sembawang Village, drinking in the myriad of bars there just for our custom, saying no to the continuos chorus of you buy me drink from the bar girls and learning to laugh at the retorts of you cheap cheap in response to our rejection of the offer.

Singapore today is not at all like that and Sembawan Village now has about three bars and no sailors, although the monsoon ditch is still there, the same monsoon ditch into which I saw not a few inebriated matelots fall accompanied by guffaws of uproarious laughter. Oh happy days!

On pay weeks we would get one of the ubiquitous Mercedes diesel taxis along Thompson Road, across the island to Singapore itself. Although on Sunday nights we would only go halfway, to Nee Soon to the Travelling Market where one could soak up the atmosphere, eat hawker food and drink Tiger beer even if not tempted by the bargains on sale. Singapore stops included the Britannia Club which was for British servicemen only. British colonialism was still the norm and the only locals seen in the Britannia Club were the employees. Even if one wanted to invite a local Singaporean in, they would not get past the Sihk guards on the doors, the irony escaped me at the time. I did however meet the exception, Ghurkas were most definitely admitted and I cant recall anybody ever picking a quarrel with them. My memory of the Ghurkas is their quite voices and gentle natures.

Britannia Club across the road from Raffles Hotel On leaving the Britannia Club one was overwhelmed by the cacophony of noise and the calls of elderly trishaw drivers clambering for our business. It was not uncommon for a group of us to take three or four and pay them to race for long distances until they were exhausted, urging them along all the time with cries of Come on John, (all Chinese were referred to as John). The arrogance and ignorance of youth; these men had not an ounce of fat on them and no doubt struggled to make a living. They were all survivors of the Japanese occupation and yet here we were, 17-18 year old idiots, treating them like they didnt matter. When I go to Singapore now and see the economic miracle, I think of these mens children who are more likely than not well educated and living much better lives than their parents generation and I know their parents hard work was not wasted. On reflection their stoicism had no doubt been honed by their experience of the Japanese. All good things come to an end and on 1 February 1966, it was back to sea and patrols in the Malacca Straits. The same routine but this time not in Borneo. On 4 February Taranaki arrested the occupants of an Indonesian boat which was then sunk by gunfire. The occupants, as was the accepted procedure, were handed over to the Malaysian Police. On 25 February, after a few days back in Singapore, we again sailed for Tawau and the Borneo patrols. We arrived on 1 March and settled back into the routine. One

incident did relieve the monotony when one Sunday morning, as we eased into Tawua, amongst the ships loading logs, was Jardines Ho Sang with a full cargo of logs hard up on a reef.

While her deck cargo was being jettisoned with her own gear, we on Taranaki were busy manhandling our towing hawser from its stowage in the forepeak down aft to the quarterdeck. I should add that we were not happy as we had been looking forward to a a make and mend (afternoon off) and now we were sweating our guts out. Merchant seamen often ask why the need for so many deck seamen on warships as there always appears to be a cast of hundreds for and aft when tying up or letting go? The answer is of course that seamen on warships are also qualified gunners, sonar men and radar men with their numbers determined by the ships fighting requirements. When not closed up for action there are therefore a lot of gash hands with little to do, but they were all most welcome getting that towing hawser to where it was needed on that Sunday. Another point often missed by merchant seamen is the lack of labour saving devices on the decks of warships. With only twin capstans on the focsle for anchor handling, the rest is done by Norwegian steam (by hand). I suspect that by rigging snatch blocks and leading a line to the capstan, a great deal of hauley hauley could have been avoided, but why bother when there are plenty of hands to do it. The motor boat was lowered and a messenger line taken to the stern of Ho Sang. With her after windlass she heaved inboard the end of the towing wire and made it fast to her after bits. We then waited for high water at which time we took up the slack and with our super-heated steam turbines straining, we slowly pulled her after bits out of her deck. We had however nudged her enough to allow her to extract herself from her predicament by the use of her own engines a couple of days later when she had further lightened herself by jettisoning all of her deck cargo. Our visions of Lloyds salvage money disappeared out the scuttle and our Sunday make and mend had been wasted to no good effect. Some years later I was the 8-12 lookout on James Cook, a new combined ro/ro and cellular container ship on the Eastern Searoad Service between Melbourne and Japan. She was a joint venture between H.C. Sleigh and Jardines. The officers were Jardine men and the captain, a Scot, was in the habit of spending half an hour on the bridge wing every evening at sea chatting with me. I related the story of Ho Sang and he knew it well, he had been mate on her at the time. He confirmed she would never have got off without Taranakis pull and that Jardines was quite pleased with the outcome, mainly the fact it hadnt cost them anything, after all they were a Scottish company.

Another diversion was our standing by the grounded RN Ton class minesweeper HMS Lanton on 15 March.

I can no longer recall the event with any clarity but it couldnt have been serious as Lanton was tied up alongside of us at Tawau shortly after. I do recall she had a dog onboard as did the RNZN Ton class, HMNZS Hickleton then stationed as Singapore. I recall this, as the dogs name was Hicklebury Hound.

A Well-Earned Break in Hong Kong

Traditionally ships of the Far East Fleet had done show-the-flag cruises to various exotic ports in the East, Penang, Bangkok and nearly always, one or two ports in Japan. Not for us however, apart from a week in Hong Kong where we arrived on 25 March.

Entering Hong Kong is akin to Sydney; it never fails to impress. It was autumn and we changed into Number 1s, blue serge uniforms which we had not worn since leaving New Zealand. Hong Kong was a sailors paradise. We tied up alongside the basin at HMS Tamar which is no longer there, in fact the sea is no longer there. Tamar was on Victoria Island, next to Wan Chai, generally recognised as the sleazy district, but apart from bars and brothels there were a myriad of tailor shops and this is what interested us young fellows. Gabardine uniforms with zips in the front of both jacket and bells and embroidered dragons on the inside cuffs, were the mark of an old China hand, and we of course saw ourselves now as old China hands. A weeks pay was spent on tiddley uniforms. Slim in leg and bell bottoming out from the knee; tight on the trunk with U shaped fronts, very Jack me tickler tin. Also in demand were civilian suits and tailor-made shirts with ones name embroidered in Chinese characters on the pocket. At least that is what we were told; it could have meant Silly Bugger for all we knew. Ships on the Far East Station always had Chinese tailors, boot makers and laundry men living onboard from time of arrival until departure. These men moved from ship to ship, joining a new arrival as one departed and on one occasion I recall them staying with HMNZS Blackpool when she returned to New Zealand for a very short period before going back to the Far East. Tailor-made suits and shirts could be ordered from the onboard tailors and paid for on terms.

The Hong Kong tailors therefore had some stiff competition and they enticed customers with free beer. On off-pay weeks us young blokes with no money soon learnt that when broke, one could walk to Wan Chai from Tamar and get measured up for 12 suits in 12 different tailor shops. That equated to a dozen beers after which one could amble back onboard feeling quite nicely thank you. This was called, not unexpectedly, going on a tailor shop run.

A further Hong Kong tradition and legend was Ah Moy (Jenny) and the gang of girls in her side party.

Ah Moy was contracted by the RNZN to chip and paint the sides of all RNZN ships in Hong Kong. The girls were not allowed in the messes but Jenny was the exception and she was known to enjoy a tot from time to time in the Chiefs Mess. It was said she had been born on a sampan in Causeway Bay in 1917. She died in 2009 at 92 years of age. Her two daughters were educated by the ships fund of the cruiser HMNZS Royalist and she was the recipient of the British Empire Medal in 1980. She had a mountain of memorabilia from her association with the RN, RAN and RNZN including letters of praise from all and sundry including the Duke of Edinburgh. She was photographed with all including men who later became Admirals. She was illiterate but her knowledge of ship husbandry was exceptional; while half a dozen A.Bs painted the wharf side of the ship, Jennys girls would do the seaward side from their sampans in half the time. Many USN ships were calling at that time on rest and recreation from Vietnam. Their ships were dry and their junior ratings had midnight leave, referred to by us as Cinderella leave. By now, unlike in Pearl Harbour, we were no longer naive and, unlike our American counterparts, were attuned to alcohol, plus we had overnight leave. The trick was to go ashore late, wait until midnight when the Yanks suddenly disappeared and the price of everything dropped dramatically

The China Fleet Club was another Hong Kong icon.

On the waterfront in Wan Chai, it was the Royal Navy ratings club. It was large and very busy. The China Fleet Club was famous for its Tombola games. Tombola is the navy version of Bingo or Housey Housey. The navy version is fast and furious, only an expert would consider playing more then one card. If one missed a number, too bad and in the China Fleet Club there could be hundreds playing Tombola. Large amounts were invested and the Snowball could reach a desirable sum. It was not unknown for the winner of the Snowball to be escorted back to his ship by the Naval Patrol with his winnings then handed to the Officer of the Day to be put in the ships safe. The next time I was in Hong Kong on a warship, the British had withdrawn from the Far East and the China Fleet Club was a shadow of its former self. The only RN men frequenting the club were based there with their families at Tamar and manning the Bird class patrol boats, together with the crews of occasional visiting RN warships. The Tombola games were no more. I met some of the patrol boat boys, together with their wives, and was invited back to their homes where we spent the evening playing charades; a sign of maturity perhaps. My last time in Hong Kong was on a BHP ship with a cargo of steel and I couldnt even find the China Fleet Club. The corner where it had been was by then half a mile from the sea. Although a digression from Taranaki and her third commission, that second visit to Hong Kong on HMNZS Waikato saw us tied up in the basin at Tamar beneath the second floor windows of the Chiefs and Petty Officers Mess. The rum issue had just been discontinued in the Royal Navy but not, thank God, in the RNZN. It was amusing to see all those RN men wistfully looking out the windows of their mess down onto our flight deck at tot time and it wasnt long before many were visiting our ship at about midday each day. The Crusher (Master at Arms) must have felt

some sympathy for them as many a tot changed hands without his beady eye ever catching sight of it and we all made good friends amongst those lads. That visit was also memorable for another reason. From the window of the Tamar Chiefs and POs Mess the ex Queen Elizabeth was pointed out to me as she lay at anchor off Stonecutters Island. I decided to hire a boat and take a closer look at her on our return to Hong Kong following two weeks in Japan. When we got back, she was a burnt-out hulk. Back to Singapore and then Home Taranakis sojourn at Hong Kong lasted until 12 April 1966 when we sailed for Singapore and rendezvoused with HMAS Melbourne, HMAS Yarra and HMAS Supply for the voyage south. We entered the naval base line ahead on 15 April and tied up outboard of Yarra. I remember this as Yarra had a large brass cockatoo (referred to by us as the budgie) fixed to the top of her gun turret. The next morning an Aussie voice was heard to call Oy you Kiwi bastards, have you seen our parrot? Vehement denials were followed by official negotiations at Wardroom level after which the said parrot was returned to its proper home. Only two days in Singapore, during which our Chinese men paid off, all debts to them hopefully settled, and we eagerly awaited our much-anticipated voyage home. No email or mobile phones in those days, the only communication with loved ones was by letter, more often than not of the Dear John variety. A last run ashore up The Village and then on 17 April we sailed for Auckland but not by the most direct route, no that would be through Indonesia. We had to sail over the top and down through New Guinea to Manus Island where we arrived for bunkers on 23 April 1966. Manus had been a significant naval base during WWII but now it was reduced to a bunker station with a small crew of RAN personal. On passage we learnt that the Indonesian president, Sukano, had been subjected to some kind of military coup and Confrontation was over. The truth was somewhat more complicated, but Sukanos desires in Borneo and his objections to a greater Malaysia were now the least of his worries and in 1967 he was forced from power. After topping up at Manus we headed to Townsville for our final bunker stop before crossing the Ditch to home. We arrived Townsville 27 April and departed on the 29th. We were warned the vessel could be subjected to anti Vietnam War demonstrators and the duty watch consequently rigged fire hoses on the seaward side to repel boarders. Sure enough at 2230 two dinghies and a raft were spotted approaching the vessel. Their occupants were very quickly engulfed in high-pressure water and their intention of painting slogans on the ships side was thwarted. The next day a large crowd of demonstrators arrived on the wharf to protest the harsh treatment their colleagues had been dealt the night before. The attending police were openly pleased with what had transpired. The Captain came to the top of the brow

and when they fell silent, he addressed them by saying that if they had pulled such a stunt where we had just come from they would have been met with more that highpressure water. Prior to leaving New Zealand the previous year we had taken onboard currency of each nation we were visiting and now we were paid in brand-new, crisp, mintcondition Australian one pound notes. In the interim Australia had converted to decimal currency and our one pound notes were consequently in great demand by the locals. We parted with them at a price somewhat more than their face value. It was my first visit to Australia and little did I know then that I was destined to live the majority of my life there, albeit at the other end of the continent. Kaitawa and 60 South We arrived at Aucklands Devonport Naval Base on a bright sunny morning on 5 May 1966, and I was met on the wharf by my girlfriends mother who advised me that her daughter was now my ex girlfriend. I was not surprised as her once twice-weekly letters had faded to nothing. Disappointed in love, I elected to not proceed on leave with the majority of the crew, but to work by, otherwise referred to as the Retard Party. I thought at the time retard was a good description as one probably needed to be retarded to volunteer for it but as it turned out it was a sound decision as on 28 May, men on leave were recalled. Those in the South Island could not get back so ratings from HMNZS Philomel barracks were rushed onboard, the old pier-head jump, and we sailed for North Cape the following morning to search for the Union Steam Ship Cos collier Kaitawa which had disappeared off North Cape in atrocious weather. We rounded North Cape at midnight and were on site at 0600 where we joined the ex-Australian corvette/ minesweeper HMNZS Kiama. We searched all day along a line from Cape Maria Van Dieman to Cape Reinga and mid afternoon our sonar detected Kaitawa on the ocean floor. She was lost with all hands including a first-trip Deckboy and an ex RNZN rating, Frank Underwood who had served in Taranaki. It was a sad time for all of us and there was little conversation that day, the mood was sombre. That evening we received a signal to proceed with haste to Dunedin, almost at the bottom of the South Island. It transpired that an American scientist, wintering over at Scott Base, had developed appendicitis and needed to be airlifted to Christchurch. In those days the American Antarctic program, Operation Deep Freeze, used Globemaster aircraft which only had the range to get to Scott Base from Christchurch, once there they had to land despite what the weather might be doing. In summer, USN or RNZN ships were stationed at 60 south to weather report. This was the half-way point for the Globemasters and if the report was not good, they turned back to Christchurch, but this was winter and in winter there were no flights to Scott base and no ships stationed at 60 south. The RNZN vessels used for this duty were the Loch Class Pukaki and Rotoiti. If I had been concerned for the comfort of the men in Loch Fada all those months ago in Tawau, their discomfort was nothing

compared to what Pukaki and Rotoiti went through down there and in turn their discomfort was nothing compared to what we were about to experience. We raced for Dunedin, almost the length of New Zealand. Before we left we transferred our divers to Kiama and as soon as our boat was back inboard, at about 1800, we worked up to 26 knots and headed south. We slowed to 16 knots at midday the next day due to cross traffic in Cook Strait as we crossed from the North Islands west coast to the east coast of the South. We took on the Pilot at 0200 the next morning and berthed at the Dunedin oil jetty at 0340 and it was brass monkeys. We had sailed 790 nautical miles from Cape Reinga to Dunedin in 34 hours at an average speed of 23 knots. Now we had to store ship. In Auckland our freezers had been emptied to comply with quarantine regulations and the only food onboard was that which had been brought on to provide for the expected few days looking for Kaitawa. The Dunedin early morning cold violently reminded us of our complete lack of coldweather clothing, only a few weeks before we had been in tropics. The people who make decisions, being aware of this had, the day before, dispatched a RNZAF C130 from Auckland with Antarctic clothing for us. Very quickly the oil wharf was crowded with butchers, bakers, milkman and a Chinese vegie man. In the freezing cold we kept warm by carrying all this lot onboard while we bunkered. At 0917 we let go and passed Taiaroa Heads at 1040. We altered to 200 and headed for 60 south. The weather slowly worsened with a south-west gale, sleet and snow. Access to the upper deck was banned. I recall walking forward in the main drag just as, for some reason, the hatch behind the gun turret next to 3F Mess was opened for a minute and a draught of frozen air rushed past me. It was the coldest I had felt in my life. In all my years at sea, including four on a rig tender in Bass Strait, I never witnessed seas like it. My overall impression was grey, the sky, the sea, the ship, just grey. It felt like we were going to the end of the earth. All hands not on duty, were advised to stay in their bunks and all work was suspended. Long serving men, even those who had served in WWII, remarked that in all of their years in The Andrew, they had never experienced such a thing. The tables and benches in the cafeteria were lashed away and anybody desirous of eating was obliged to wedge himself into some place on thr cafeteria deck. The means of getting oneself with ones meal from the galley slide across the main drag and into the cafeteria, developed into an art form. The trick was to wait until the ship rolled to starboard and the cafeteria swing doors flew open and to then run downhill into the cafeteria, side stepping previously dropped meals, and hope you made it before she rolled back to port and the doors swung shut in your face. Once in and wedged, much amusement was to be had by watching others attempting the same, not all successfully. My abiding memory of this was the milk churn which broke free from its lashings and hurtled downhill through the doors, across the cafeteria and into the bulkhead whereupon its contents were ejected upwards onto the deckhead and then down onto the heads of the startled matelots. Even in adversity

there is humour and this extraordinary event had us laughing until we cried. By noon on 6 June we were almost at 60 south, steering 190 and doing 4.5knots. I was on the bridge watching the bow dig into the sea as the water rushed up to turret and then slowly lifted. On some occasions the props would come out of the sea aft and the whole ship would vibrate. On one such occasion we were overtaken by a sea just as the bow dipped and the props gripped and started driving us down. The sea came up past the turret and onto the bridge face. Slowly we recovered and the bow came back up. I was shaken by the experience and I turned to look at the Captain, he was ashen. The aircraft had overflown us during the night and now the USAF pilot on the return flight thanked us for our efforts and said he was glad he was up there and not down where we were. Ice was forming on deck; the barometer reading was 979.1. At 1430 we turned for home and now our seemingly permanent list to port became a list to starboard. We proceeded at a careful seven knots and arrived in Dunedin 1530 on 8 June. As we proceeded up the Dunedin Channel in bright sunshine, school children at a school came out and cheered as we passed. We had gone from Singapore to 60 south in six weeks. I felt a spot of leave would be justly deserved, but we were scheduled for the annual Auxec beginning 18 June. We arrived back in Auckland on 10 June and eight days later embarked training classes and went out for gunnery training and Auxex for the next two weeks. The ensuing weeks were spent in the Auckland area until 1 October when we sailed for Sydney and the Operations Room crew spent the next week training at HMAS Watson. On 10 October we sailed for New Ireland in company with HMAS Melbourne, Sydney, Supply, Vampire, Duchess, Hobart and Derwent. It was Exercise Sword Hilt and our force was to intercept and destroy Orange Force consisting of HMS Victorious, Kent, Arethusa, Leander, Cleopatra, Tidespring, Tidepool, Resurgent and Reliant which had sailed from Singapore. Our plan was to hide in secluded bays in New Ireland and pounce on them when they came past. In any event a day or two of very pleasant time was had anchored in a bay trading with the locals who came out to us in their outrigger canoes. After the exercise we all proceeded to Sydney where we entered harbour on 28 October in line astern headed by HMS Victorious and watched by huge crowds on every vantage point. It was the largest fleet entry into Sydney since the end of WWII, at least that was what I was told and from my Special Sea Duty Men station on the starboard bridge wing, I took in every second of it. As the big ships berthed at Garden Island, the destroyers and frigates went up the harbour, under the Coat hanger and around Cockatoo Island and back.

After Sydney we went to Jervis Bay for noise ranging and then back to Auckland where we arrived 4 November and de-ammunitioned ready for drydocking. The third commission was over. I was nearly 19 by now. My boys time was behind me and I had nearly completed the first year of my eight. I was a Radar Plot 3, an Able Seaman, had the General Service Medal (Borneo) and only a year away from being old enough to draw my tot legally. I was drafted ashore and that was the end of my time in Taranaki. I would not say it was a happy commission. I have talked to others who shared that commission with me and they agree although it was memorable commission for many different reasons, she was an unhappy ship and we agree the reason for it (whats that old adage about the rot starting at the top?) but it was without doubt the most eventful and it is etched in my memory.