ABOARD A N.Z. CORVETTE

Bay of Plenty Times, Volume LXXVI, Issue 14618, 11 March 1948, Page 5

ABOARD A N.Z. CORVETTE

IMPRESSIONS OF A JOURNALIST

Sense Of Comradeship

And 'Goodwill

Cheerfulness In Face Of Discomfort

Someone (probably a disgruntled journalist) once tagged the Navy as the “silent service.” Doubtless he had good reason for so doing, but the passing of the years seems to have had a mellowing effect. That, at least, was the experience of an Evening Post reporter when he climbed aboard his Majesty’s corvette Arabis, determined to find out what made it go—and why. It was soon apparent that one of the most important factors in the efficient running of the vessel is the sense of comradeship and mutual good will which pervades the entire ship’s ccmpany. Without this spirit the existence of some 80 human beings in so small a vessel would be unendurable. Of all the young fellows with whom the reporter chatted—from the lieutenant down—none had any complaints to make, or would have preferred another ship. On “Shake-Down” Cruise The Arabis is newly recommissioned and, along with her sistership H.M.S. Arbutus, is at present engaged in a “shake-down” cruise in New Zealand waters. Judging from the' appearance of the vessel, her erratic behaviour in a beam swell is not surprising. (“She rolls like a barrel!” said one of her company). Small and squat with broad, rounded stern and bulbous, tug-like bow, combined with a pile of superstructure forward of the solitary funnel, it looks efficient and business-like, but scarcely well adapted to pleasure cruising. The type was hastily designed and rushed into service at the height of the U-boat menace, and while it proved quite suitable for anti-sub-marine duties, it early gained for its representatives a reputation for their unsettling motion, even amorig hardened sailors.

The crew’s quarters, too, are hardly designed for comfort. One “mess-desk” is about 20ft square, and serves as a combined lounge and dining-room by day and bedroom by night, for close on 20 sailors. Other mess-decks appear, in proportion to the numbers housed, to be even smaller. None appealed to the representative of the Press, by any stretch of the imagination, as any sort of place to be even in a slight swell—let alone a gale—but maybe that’s just because he has no confidence in the capacity of his internal workings to absorb punishment. In Temperature of 120

Next came the galley. This was small and compact. The reporter envisaged the cooks endeavouring to avoid pots of hot food for 80 hungry men, as they came shooting off the stove in heavy weather. “Oh, it’s not so bad.” said the chief cook with a grim smile. “We usually manage to keep the food anchored on the stove.” And the heat? “It gets up to about 120.” But the piece de resistance was to come. This was the boiler-room, a gloomy cubby-hole buried in the very bowels of the ship, and entered per medium of two massive steel doors, only one of which was allowed to be opened at a time. T'he reporter soon found out why. It is in order not to confuse the meteorological office by causing a sudden heat wave. He staggered down a ladder, shedding surplus moisture in sheets. Illumination was provided by the light from the furnaces, whose flaming jets of oil were clearly visible. “How hot does it get down here?” was all he could find the energy to ask. “Up to 140 in New Zealand waters,” was the reply. “Ever been to the tropics?” “No.” It is to be hoped they never do go to the tropics. They were nicelooking fellows.