So back to our Fusilier, from what we learned later, Paddy Carroll being onboard was the Skipper's idea.Being a big ship enthusiast, four-ring Captain and all that, thought it would be a tremendously good idea to have a Bugler to salute other ships and to play at sunset. A fine idea, but the notion to bugle the Hands from their slumbers at 0610 of a morningwas not a good one and not well received below deck. Under normal wakeup routine this was done via the Bosun's call, a kind of whistle with a distinct sound that had been successfully in use to send orders around the ship for hundreds of years.
The Euryalus is by this time heading up the Channel andaiming for the North Sea, to meet with the rest of the Squadron. All is tickety-boo."Steady steaming", as we say.Yours truly,is on the middle watch, which runs from 2355 to 0400. Not Ideal, but part of the job. It's the same at the end of each watch; bath and "dohbi" (washing your smalls) and into my pit.Ah, bliss!
But what's this? Oh god, I hear it still! Above my head, maybe a foot away from my earhole is a speaker. Suddenly, without warning a call to the Hands blurts out over the ship's Tannoy via the medium of bugle.It's a Tom and Jerry moment, as I'm hovering 6 inches off my mattress, wide-eyed and heart racing.Literally, the whole ship's company is awake and running around in a panic. Most of the old Hands are convinced that it meansaction stations and we are under attack from the 'Russkies'.
Fusilier Carroll did not call the Hands again with his bloody bugle. In fact, it went AWOL.This beautiful silver instrument disappeared, feared to be lying at the bottom of the English Channel. Magically, however, it reappeared again whenever its duty was needed during daylight hours.Practice, very sensibly, took place alone and down in the tiller flat. Despite these mysterious goings-on, Fusilier Carroll had a great trip and I believe enjoyed it immensely, and from all accounts, when he wasn't bugling he made a half decent Dabtoe (seaman).
Around June time 1967, or thereabouts, the Euryalus found herself along with the ship's company and Fusilier Carroll in Halifax, Nova Scotia for the Canadian Centennial celebrations, after being in Montreal for the World's Fair and a week in Quebec. This is where my second introduction to the Lancs. happens.
Unknown to the lads onboard, we were about to be boarded by an element of unruly ruffians in the form of about 100 squaddies.Perhaps in more polite terms: a visitation of young, in-transit Fusiliers heading back to the UK from an exercise in the Caribbean. I think it was Jamaica (Dennis will put me right, I'm sure). I am still at a loss how they finished up in Halifax with at least a 24-hour stopover (again maybe Dennis can fill in the missing bits).

Geoff Pycroft was there and says What happened was this. Our return from Jamaica after Calypso Hop was delayed due to a problem with one of the engines on the Brittannia Aircraft (civvy airline) that had arrived to bring us home. We were all packed up and ready to leave but were instead sent on local leave for a few days whilst spares to repair the aircraft were flown out from the UK. We finally departed and our return trip involved a stop in Halifax to refuel. (on our way out we had stopped at Gander to refuel). We refueled in Halifax as planned and then taxied out for take off but had to return to the terminal because the so called ' repaired ' engine was playing up. We were then taken off the aircraft and spent a few hours in the terminal buildings whilst the aircraft engine was to be fixed. It turned out however that the engine was fucked and would take longer to repair than first thought. We were therefore taken by coach to the Nova Scotia Hotel in central Halifax where we had an overnight stay.....or was it two? ..can't remember now. We learnt that the Euryalus was docked in the local Naval Dock Yard and they invited the LF's to visit them on board. If memory serves me right Paddy Carol played a bugler call as we boarded. As Ken says we drank the ship dry and ate all their food! ???...a great visit

The guys came onboard, drank our few cans of beer, shared our tots of rum and ate us out of house and home - as squaddies always do.To be fair, everybody had a great time.
The Lancashire's left for their plane and the UK, and we then left Halifax for Saint John's, Newfoundland to await Her Majesty's Yacht Britannia, so we could escort her safely across the Atlantic Ocean, which we duly did. Britannia carried on to her home port of Pompey and we snuck up the River Tamar to our home-base of Guzz (a.k.a Oggieland).
After leave for both watches (naval term for everybody) onboard, we had a few visits to make. We were in Gibraltar for their very raucous referendum, then ontoAmsterdam. In London, I fell foul of the Skipper when hecaught me out of rig on the Upper Deck, picked me up for a haircut and made to report to the Coxswain within the hour. The haircut was performed by the ship's demon barber and to say you had seen better hair on bacon would have been a fine compliment. They say there's only two weeks between a bad and a good haircut, but I beg to differ - I'm not sure it ever truly recovered. To add insult to follicle injury, it cost me two-bob for the pleasure.
Soon afterwards, on returning to 'Oggieland', my third encounter with the Lancashire Fusiliers was to take place.The Friday as we got back, spirits had been piped: tot time -if you were old enough. Sadly, no tot for me being a 16-year-old, just a warning to keep off the Mess Deck unless invited round for a wet of rum.

Sadly, no invitations were forthcoming, but the Coxswain appeared and thrust a travel warrant to Blackpoolinto my hand for a long weekend. I wasn't complaining, my Mam and Dad lived there at this time, so happy days! Three others of my gang have travel warrants too; we have no idea why the Navy is being so generous (travel warrants being rarer than rocking horse manure) but the Vegas of the North is calling.We are then informed we have to be on the 2pm train North.To top it off, we were to be guests of honour at the Minden Day celebrations at Weeton Camp. We were none-the-wiser, but Minden Day as you undoubtedly know, is an anniversary celebrated to commemorate the participation of certain regiments in the Battle of Minden during the Seven Years' War in 1759.

So, the four of us are straight into Guzz to get the beer in and some grub for the train North.We duly arrive Friday evening and onto my Mam and Dad's. A good couple of days being had, it was Sunday morning taxi to the Camp in civvies at the gate we are informed we need to be in such and such block. Instructions were given by the Sergeant on how to get to the designated room to change into our uniforms.However, in his detailed directions, the swine never mentioned we were likely to traverse the hallowed tarmac of the parade square that belonged to a slight built fellow, with John Lennon glasses, some of you may know the name: it was Mr Jack Nash.

As the oblivious four, we were innocently making our way along, when what is best described as a rottweiler,barked some unintelligible words at us. It would seem when translated from a scream it meant,"Now chaps, please do remove yourself from this area without hesitation, for this area isn't the place for you."Being of thick dispositions the four of us just stood very stiff and very still not knowing what the hell to do next.

At this point the rottweiler joined us with froth falling from its mouth. In a kindly, warm gesture of appeasement,one of our gang put a consoling arm around our erstwhile slobbering hound, and gently said these immortal words "Calmdown, Sarge!" To say it was like pouring petrol onto a raging fire, does not do justice to the scene.Never before have four Matelots moved so bloody fast, out of sight of this erupting, screaming volcano.

But, for that little incident, the Minden Day Parade was a great experience.A lovely day with a good lunch and a few free wets to wash it down. All too soon we were on the train South, back to Guzz and ultimately back to sea.

On December 4th, 1967 at 1000, we sailed from Guzz for the Far East part of our deployment and our next date with the Lancashire Fusiliers. I won't bore you with the finer details, but visits to Gibraltar, Simonstown (Cape Town, S. Africa), Beira Patrol (that was as much fun as it sounds)Mauritius, Oz, NZ, then into Hong Kong.All the old Hands were saying what a great view when entering the fragrant waters of Hong Kong. Typically, it was truly a grim morning. Totally fogged-up,not unlike the weather we'd left behind at home. We literally couldn't see the proverbial hand in front of our faces, but we could hear the sound of music coming from shoreside.It was our good friends from 1915, the Guard and Band of the Lancashire Fusiliers waiting to welcome us into HK.

Having got alongside, one of my first jobs was to help get power, steam and water onboard having done a quick change out of my blue suit and into 'ovvies'. On running down the gangway, I saw a diminutive fellow in khaki drill shorts, not fitting too well, coming up the way. Oh hell! My stomach lurched.I knew this fellow from the drill square at Weeton Camp.
There was no hope of retreat, so I proceed looking in any direction but straight ahead.My disguise appears to be weak but strangely effective. Feeling sweet relief as I pass by him, and he hasn't copped me, but then a roar from behind suggests otherwise.Oh lord I'm done! With a scream that echoes across to Kowloon, "I know you!", finger pointing, "My parade square,Weeton!"
At this point I'm a wreck. I'm trying to give an excuse, stammering and looking for help from above. I'm seriously considering throwing myself into the drink, then I refocus on what he's saying. Am I hearing this right? I'm not getting the full blast for my indiscretions in Blackpool, but the offer of a pint that evening.The new territory barracks of the Fusiliers have sent the ship's company an open invite for a few wets. As my poor heart steadies in my chest, I decline the kind gesture of reconciliation and the chance to upset the rottweiler again. Besides, the wonders of Hong Kong await this very green Baby Stoker.
Four or five weeks later, it's time for the Euryalus to be on her way. As we are changing into rig for leaving harbour, we are all presented with a primrose hackle to be worn in our caps above the bow of our cap tallies for our departure. The date of this historical event 23rd of April 1967.
As we fall-in on the Upper Deck and look shoreside, also fell-in are the Ex-Band and Ex-Lancashire Fusiliers.Instead of the primrose hackles of our comrades, the men of the Royal Regiment of Fusiliers stand now, wearing the red and white hackle, due to the amalgamation of the Fusiliers' Regiments. On leaving it is tradition for ships to salute the Port Admiral, this duly done, we receive a signal from the Admiral stating he likes what he sees, regarding our colourful headdress, but does not want to see it again. Understood.
On leaving Hong Kong, we have three visits: Japan, Philippines and Singapore for maintenance and a little rest period, before setting off for the UK via Wellington, Auckland, Suva, Fiji, Pearl Harbour, Hawaii and San Diageo, California. There was a place in Mexico too, but the name escapes me. Next through the Panama Canal and we are now on our side of the Globe. Anchored in Montego Bay for the Skipper to organize local barbers onboard for haircuts for all the ship'scompany but sadly no time for any shore leave.
Soon we are off to the Azores, but no stopping, we have a date to keep.It is also getting decidedly colder, the rig of the day changed to number 8s from 8a's. Our 8's are light blue shirts and navy-blue drill trousers.Whereas 8a's are shorts and relaxed shirts. As I said, we have a date to keep 1000, 3rd December alongside Davenport naval base.We are nearing the end of our 12-month deployment, having left Guzz on the 4th December the year previous.We will have been away from the UK for a year failing being away for the full 365 days because '68 was a leapyear. We are now in the western approaches, where in WWI and WWII the battles with German submarines wereat their highest.
Finally, we round Land's End, past Falmouth, Looe etc, and mid-afternoon on the 2nd December we anchor in Plymouth Sound.Most of the ship's company's families are waiting ashore to greet their loved ones.We can see the Hoe and the lights beyond, but no leave, no visitors until we have all cleared customs.We can only look and wish we were on land just 300 yards away. Next morning, very early with dawn still not appearing in the east, I accompanythe Engineer Officer on the Upper Deck to check the stern is clear so that the engines could be safely turned and the props wouldn't be fouled with rope or other such debris.
On completing the task, he asked me to accompany him to the forecastle, or front-end to you land lubbers.When we approached the very pointed bit, he turned to this 17-year-old kid and asked me what I saw.What was I looking at? To which I replied "Plymouth.""No." he said."The Hoe?" "No. You still haven't got it.One more guess ME Swift.""Devon?" says me."No, no, no! You are looking at the best view in the world.You have been away from these shores 12 months.Nothing you will see, wherever you are, will be better than this view here this morning." As he looked off into the distance with watery eyes. I thought, "Aye OK, you soppy sod, let's get below its bloody freezing!"But, do you know what?He wasn't far wrong; I was looking at home.
That draws to a close my dealings with the Fusiliers.We were alongside the wall in Guzz dockyard at precisely 1000 with the Band of the Royal Marines playing, families on the jetty, lots went on leave, many left on draft to other ships, then leave.For me it was leave, then back onboard while Euryalus went into dry dock for a well-earned bottom scrape, repaint and all-round fettle. Then I was away too to HMS Cochrane in Rosyth, more ships; HMS Manxman, HMS Sultan, HMS Abdiel and then Cochrane again but this time to leave the Andrew/Navy and a new challenge.
So, I found myself on Civvy Street and having to adjust to a completely different way of life. At this time of my life I had been married very nearly 4 years, so it really was time to grow up and take on the real responsibility of life. I am very fortunate in having a great lady in my life, Lynda who has always been my rock and at my shoulder in everything I have done. She is the mother to my daughter Amy and Granny to my grandson Arthur, we are a very close unit and very loving and dependent on one and other.
I went to work in the clothing industry, working in factories in South Yorkshire, then in Nottinghamshire then as the industry moved from these shores, I found myself working in Portugal, Morocco, Sri Lanka and back to Hong Kong and to the Philippines forty years after I first visited. I finally finished with a stint in India. Maybe there is something that gets into your blood when you "Join the Navy and see the World."Anyway, now I'm done, retired - sod working for a living!
We have moved forward at a pace, for now it is 2014 and we are nearing the end of my journey. I am in sight of Bury, in the metropolis of Manchester, Lancashire - the home of the Lancashire Fusiliers. I receive a message from an old Euryalus shipmate who has recently started a Facebook page called "HMS Euryalus Old Oppos". The bloke's name, Dave Dye.The sea journey I have told, David also lived and sailed it, the rough and the smooth.
Back to the email, and I quote "Fancy going to Bury for the Gallipoli 100 Commemoration and kind of make a bit of a reunion as well?" Well, why not. I've never been to see the bright lights of Bury, let's do it! So, we put out a clarion call to try to get a good turn out to attend and about thirty of us turned up. As it happened it was a lot like arriving in HK in '67, but less foggy. We paraded through the town with a little bit of a swagger, not bad for the first time in nigh on 50 years that we had all been on parade.
That weekend was a defining time for yours truly. I had never, ever been interested in being involved in anything ex-navy, military, reunions or anything of the sort. That weekend just clicked though.The whole event, meeting the lads of the Association, the banter we had, the welcome from everyone, the parade through the town centre. I don't have the words to explain, other than it just seemed right.The prodigal sons couldn't have been more warmly welcomed.
We are now full-blown members of the Royal Regiment of Fusiliers Association (Lancashire). As old Euryalus sailors, we are honoured to be a part of such a great organisation.We have found our home and we aren't adrift anymore.The museum holds the ship's bell and other Euryalus memorabilia, all part o four shared history as past ship's company.The historic events of 25th April 1915 in the Dardanelles campaign, brought us all together, and long may we remain united in our quest to keep the memory of those days alive.
On November 9th this year, along with David Dye and Peter Hague, I had the honour and privilege to parade at the Cenotaph on Whitehall, at the invitation of the Fusiliers Association. This was the ultimate, nothing will ever better that paradeand to be in the company of Fusilier Veterans, the number one frontline infantry regiment,was the icing on the cake. What a day!
Next year, we're looking forward to our next meet up in…
Before this ramble closes, I have to thank certain people, who are great friends to the Euryalus OldOppos group. Steven Fitt words can't explain all he does for our group - thanks Steve. Dennis Laverick for having the answers when needed. John Jones - while John was chair of the Association, we asked if it was possible to be associate members but John give us the opportunity to be full members and to integrate fully, for that ruling we will be ever grateful. Joe Eastwood for his historical knowledge and belief in the Association. Big Lea (as tall as a tree)McGowan for always making us welcome and being at all our get-togethers.Finally, the little and large brothers for the hip flask on parade mornings, and like Lea for always being in attendance.
That's it I think, thank you for reading and have a tot on me if you managed to get to the end.
Warm regards,
Ken (Wally) Swift.