That’s Entertainment…. 

Life in Fisgard during the forties and fifties was austere to say the least. With a tough training regime, food rationing, Spartan living accommodation and very little spending money it is almost impossible these days to imagine how we managed to survive.    Ready made entertainment was a luxury, not that there was a great deal of time during the working week to be entertained, but it would have been nice to have had the opportunity a little more frequently.   Once a week there was a chance for off-duty apprentices to visit “Bucko”, the cinema at HMS Raleigh across the road.  The name “Bucko” was derived from the fact that HMS Raleigh ship’s badge incorporated a deer which, in turn, reflected the name of Sir Walter Raleigh’s ship, the Golden Hind.   When the Tannoy announced “cinema party fall in on the quarterdeck” it signalled a favourite call to temporary escapism and, after handing in their station cards, the party of up to a hundred apprentices would be marched smartly across the road and into Raleigh’s cinema to join any stokers and WRENS who had also managed to get some time off.   Once in the darkened cinema, of course, the inhibitions of  Naval discipline could be relaxed for an hour or two.   The main feature film was invariably prefaced by a Tom and Jerry cartoon.  These cartoons were immensely popular and I suspect that many apprentices would visit “Bucko” for the chance to see the cartoon alone.  In those days the producer of Tom and Jerry was a chap called Fred Quimby.  As his name flashed on to the screen several hundred voices would roar out “Good old Fred” followed by other ribald comments which modesty forbids repeating here.  This became a sort of traditional cartoon slogan and I suspect that many ex apprentices seeing a Tom and Jerry today will recall those uncomfortable “Bucko” chairs and the lusty roars of approbation.   Comment was not reserved just for the cartoons however.   There were stock phrases for many common filmic situations.  Any romantic incident, for example, would be accompanied by a corporate bellow of “gerremoff”, and any unarmed combat incident by “kikkisarsthen”.   What was amazing about these comments was the timing and the audience would seem to sense the appropriate moment to give tongue together.  Another feature of “Bucko” performances that did not go down too well with the authorities was the release, by apprentices, of paper aeroplanes or darts during the film show.  There was always an attempt to catch the culprits that was invariably unsuccessful even for the never-to-be-forgotten occasion when a number of apprentices released a paper dart that must have been all of two metres in length.  How they smuggled it in and how it was constructed remains a mystery.  But it flew majestically over the audience, completely blocking out the projector beam for a few seconds, to a cheer of approval and a spontaneous round of applause.   I recall that it carried the legend “Brabazon” emblazoned on its fuselage, possibly to mark the maiden flight of the Bristol Brabazon on September 5^th 1949.  

There was no TV, of course, so the in-house entertainment in Fisgard was the Reddifusion which was strictly controlled from the regulating office. There were invariably complaints if it was turned off, as it frequently was, during an interesting program.   Small, personal radios, so common nowadays, were yet to be invented but we had one chap who smuggled in a Bush valve radio with which we used to listen to Radio Luxembourg after lights out.   When not in use this would be secured in a cradle under a lower bunk to avoid the prying eyes of the officers and petty officers who carried out “rounds” of the living quarters at regular intervals. 

There was little other “out of hours”, legitimate entertainment provided except perhaps for the billiard room annexed to the NAAFI canteen.   Historically this had been commandeered by the senior apprentices and it was not a place that a “sprog” or two class apprentice wanted to be.  Consequently visits to the NAAFI for one and two class apprentices tended to be very brief indeed, to buy a cigarette or imbibe a quick “goffa” , and get out again before a raiding party of senior apprentices would round them up to provide a performance.  The performance tended to be a human depiction of a four cylinder, four stroke, internal combustion engine with four juniors lined up in a row each one representing a cylinder.  In turn they had to bend their knees into a crouch and then return to an upright stance whilst uttering his cylinder war cry.  The full round resulted in repeated cries of “Rum, Bum, Beer, Baccy” from the unfortunate juniors and, if the seniors raiding party had been particularly successful, there would be two “engines” competing against each other.  It was very hard on one’s thighs! The winners, those who had managed most complete cycles in a given time, would be discharged.  The losers would have to do “fag” duty in the billiard room until the canteen was closed.  Sometimes the raiding party would have been particularly successful and there would be enough juniors to provide one, or two, six cylinder engines.  However, the least said about that the better!   

In addition to the billiard tables the “Senior’s” room contained a gramophone which provided drive to loudspeakers both in the billiard room and the main canteen.   During 1949 and 1950 I only ever heard two records played.  One was “Goodbye” sung by John McCormack I believe, and the other was “I’d like to get you on a slow boat to China”.  They were played incessantly.  It was rare occasion indeed to visit the canteen and not hear one or another of them blaring out at full volume.  It says a lot for the resilience of the resin used in constructing the records.  We got to know every word and nuance of the artist’s performance but if I never hear either of those records again it will be too soon.

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