The Nelson Block, Plas Newydd

A key reason for moving from Bangor was to obtain more space for accommodation and sports. One significant gain was the use of the one end of Plas Newydd as dormitories for New Chums and junior cadets who spent at least their first term  ashore. The accommodation was officially called the Nelson Block but was generally referred to as The House. "Our" end of the House was accessed by a sloping lane down from the Kelvin Block which accessed a small yard and entrance.

Ground Floor: The entrance hall had a small room for the duty cadet captain and duty messenger fitted with an announcement system that broadcast to all rooms. The small "Chinese" gun was in the entrance and Nestor's bell was outside the entrance door. To the left, up a short flight of stairs, was the mess deck and galley with a number of small rooms, one adopted as a hobbies room. There was also access to a rear yard where a small wooden hut was erected containing a full sized billiard table. To the right, and on the right, was a small room with the Ship's telephone system. To the right and on the left were two rooms. One used as the Cadet Captain's Gun Room, Between them a narrow flight of stone stairs led to the two upper floors.

These floors were organised very much the same way. There was a long central corridor with brown polished lino, ending (on the left) with a cross door into the `marquis's private quarters. This was a fire door and so unlocked but cadets were not supposed to venture through.  To the left were two dormitories on the front of the House with splendid views over the Strait. These were separated by a narrow room with washbasins on each side. On the first floor there was a very large library on the back of the House and further dormitories looking out over the back of the House and grounds. The second floor had the same number of rooms but all used as dormitories.

The dormitories were of various shapes and sizes but all were equipped with a number of two tier bunks with two large clothes drawer below. There were also tall wooden cupboards for each cadet. The upper half hanging space the lower half extra drawers. Bunks were all numbered but there was no bunk 13. The furnishings were all designed by Captain Gouda and specially built to order.

The dormitories were named for noteworthy ships:

Fxl (2nd floor on front of house): Andes & Nestor

Hold (2nd floor on back of house): Mauritania

Fore (1st floor [front?]): Ohio & Rangitiki

Main (1st floor): Rawalpindi

Mizzen (1st floor): Jervis Bay & Orontes

Each had a large framed picture of the appropriate vessel. There was also some memorabilia e.g. Ohio’s brass after steering wheel and Nestor's bell

"I was in the first term to occupy Plas Newydd shore establishment where we stayed for one term before joining the hammock brigade on board. I remember NO huts at all only the Kelvin Block and later a canteen in the grounds (now the national Trust cafe Ed). The cadets who preceded us thought we were being given soft treatment but I well remember ALL the ships company making good use of the new fangled showers ashore as there were only a few baths aboard and one had to sign the bath book each time it was your tops turn to use them. As I remember both taps initially were so bloody hot that even water from the cold tap had to have cold water added from a churn, cant remember where that came from now though. As you would imagine after half the top had bathed both taps were bloody cold!!! The trick was to try and get the happy medium in the pecking order. Baths were only allowed one per week incidentally whether one needed one or not as also was a change of underclothes.  As we were charged for laundry some types economised and I remember my friend Moggie Williams wearing his blue working shirt all term and being proud of the fact that the red stitching which was part of the makeup of the shirt, was almost invisible at term end.  I expect he would be horrified now if one of his kids tried that trick!!"

The school year began with each new entry. There were three entries per year, Spring, Summer and Autumn. Each entry had about 50 - 60 cadets in it and you only spent 2 years or six terms at the ship. "Our entry was I believe the second to spend two terms ashore, then the last four on board. In the fourth term if you were in the upper half after the third term you went to the Outward bound at Aberdovey. You had to complete the 6 terms to get the one year reduction in qualifying sea time for second mates."

Abusing the Water Boat

"We accidentally grounded the Juice Barge on a Thursday morning practical at Port Dinorwic slip. Strangely... just a few yards from the cafe! (see 1971 Messing Around With Boats Ed) Two unusually unpleasant petty officers, and the rather unhappy boats crew refloated the vessel at, (if my memory serves correctly), something like 11 pm the same evening at the top of high tide."

"I was also present on another occasion when the same imposing vessel had to be hauled over some yards of shingle with the aid of bulks of timber, white lead, tallow and about fifty cadets. The water boat had grounded broadside on, above the shingle bank near the Port Dinorwic slipway at the top of a spring tide. Captain Hewitt was heard to be remarkably forthright with the boats crew that he judged had done their best to deprive the ship of water for a month."

Heaving The Lead

"The Seamanship Officer was the ex-RN heavyweight boxing champ and was so formidable that on the dreaded occasion that I had to heave the lead for examination purposes from a platform over the reeds. I knew I couldn't get it over the top and sure enough I felt the line go slack when it was vertically over my head. With the class watching and him glowering below my only thought was not to damage his 14lbs lump of lead. I looked up and the missile was descending and I caught it like a cricket ball and it drove me right across and into the chains. The lead was clutched to my chest and I dare not move until ordered to do so, and I could hear the wind in the reeds and the pewits calling. After a while I stood up festooned with rope, and a subdued titter of laughter ran through the class. Another 5 mins passed and we were all frozen in time, until the oracle spoke, "Well at least he tried, get down off there you bloody fool" and gratefully I descended the ladder which shook with my trembling. I was very relieved when I went to sea to find believe it or not they had electronic depth sounders and my erstwhile skill of heaving the lead was obsolete."

Mountaineering & The Conway Snowdon Scout Group

One of the delights of the Menai Strait was that it was on the edge of Snowdonia. Very quickly groups of cadets started expeditions into the mountains at weekends. There was no adult supervision, cadets were completely on their own.   Each outing had to write up a report of their expedition. Another daily event that would be impossible today!

Numbers grew to 270. New Chums were now accommodated in part of Plas Newydd called the Nelson Block, a practice that continued to the end. A stone barn was used as tuck shop. It is now the National Trust Ticket Office, Shop and Cafeteria.

"My term was the first to spend a first term in the house, and we went round the Marquis' part several times, I well remember those columns, they were so real. The part I loved was the library where we were allowed to read, but not take away the old books, some printed back in the seventeenth century. I was privileged to be able to read the first chapter of a first edition of Gulliver’s travels while one of the Marquis' footmen stood close watch over us to make sure we treated them with the respect they deserved. Whenever I smell the odour of a really old book nowadays, it takes me back to that library."

The top system was revised at this time. In the Nelson Block Fo'c's'le were berthed in Nestor and Andes dorms, Foretop in Ohio and Rangitiki, Maintop in Rawalpindi, Mizzentop in Jervis Bay and Orontes and The Hold in Mauritania (by my time in 1964 The Hold had disappeared as a top although the Mauritania dorm continued). Cadets then stayed in their tops throughout their time at Conway. The previous scheme had been for New Chums to join as Fo'c's'lemen and then move to Maintop (the biggest boys), the smallest in Mizzentop and the rest to Foretop.

Boys now joined between the ages of 13 years 6 months and 14 years 9 months. They remained for three years. They could also join aged 14 years 9 months and 16 years 6 months and remain for two years.

Cupid

"Cupid Williams one day was sat at his desk early one morning recovering from the previous nights boozing when a Cadet whose name I seem to remember as Cretch crawled unseen on his hands and knees up to right under the front of his desk and then suddenly jumped up and frightened poor old Cupid nearly to death. Despite being a man of the cloth, albeit not with a parish or anything such as that, probably due to his addiction to the bottle, recovered himself very quickly and floored Cretch with one swipe! Whereupon he sat down and Cretch returned to his seat and no one said a word!"

Padre

"I remember the Padre because he spoke in a high falsetto and was considered to be "queer" but harmless. He spoke in a high falsetto , was a talented cross country runner and was a great friend of the Vicar in Llanberis. Cadets went to stay at this rectory over the weekend for some hill walking where it was purported certain overtures were made. As far as I remember everyone seemed to know but was not unduly bothered about it just pleased to get away from the ship for a weekend and kept them both at arms length"

"The Padre when committing the ashes of an Old Conway to the deep from one of the two "pulpits" on the quarterdeck forgot or had not noticed that during the service the ship had swung on her moorings and the wind was blowing in such a way that the ashes when spooned over the side descended down and through the porthole of the cabin underneath, which just happened to be his. As we were going down the hatch after being fallen out from the parade we were treated to the sight of the Padre sweeping up ash from the floor of his cabin sayin "Dear oh dear oh dear" The second committal was via the dustpan and brush! Happy days."

The first cross strait swim was held.

In about 1950 the anchors were checked and the chains were renewed by the Liverpool Salvage Company's vessel 'Ranger'. "She lay alongside Conway for about ten days and I well remember a few of us spending a lot of time in her engine room. It was a great place for a quiet smoke and a mug of hot sweet tea. The crew were very kind to us youngsters and told us a lot of Rangers history. She was originally a gunboat built about 1880 and had served in the Med and the Far East stations. The engine room gleamed with polished steel and brass and a small steam generator ran so quietly that the only way we could tell it was running was the blur of the connecting rods and the occasional puff of steam. At supper time they gave us giant jam sandwiches that must have been a couple of inches thick and contained half a pound of lovely strawberry jam. And this was still in the days of rationing and food coupons."

Film Nights in the Hold

"Aft of the Nursery on the orlop deck was the hatchway to the hold, leading down from aft to forward into the tunnel (the old shaft tunnel) along which new chums had to run the gauntlet of older hands as they staggered with their hammocks into or out of the hold. On cinema nights the front row of the stalls was composed of a pile of hammocks, on which senior hands sprawled to look up at the screen at the fwd end of the hold. The hammocks they pulled out of the racks nearly always belonged to focslemen, and they were not likely to be stowed back in the same rack, which resulted in further   worries for new chums, anxious to get their hammocks slung in the short time allowed. As Masefield says, what is a new chum for if not to entertain his seniors?"

The Jam Locker

Daily Life Aboard

"My strongest memory is of having to spend Saturday morning scrubbing the Orlop and then getting moaned at for damping all the other tops sea chests. At the after end of the Orlop was the hammock storage and I had the job of storing the rolled up hammocks in them. We used to leave a space in the middle where a couple of us skived off to get away from boat hoisting and evening divisions. (It also meant we got our own hammocks out and slung first.

Another memory was of the snooker table down in the starboard hold. On a windy night the old ship would roll slowly and that played havoc with my game. (Well, that was my excuse). Opposite the snooker table was the library, a lovely quiet room paneled in dark wood and with comfortable banquettes where one could curl up with a good book. Coaling ship, it was hard and dirty work and raised clouds of coal dust which I am sure did more harm to our young lungs than the odd illicit cigarette."

The boats were shared between the tops, changing each term, and my fourth term we (Focal) had the water boat which meant an early breakfast, then a trip down to Port Dinorwic followed by a second breakfast in the cafe while the tanks were filled. "We often missed the first lesson of the morning with our late return, and it was usually shipbuilding & engineering with Charlie Nicholls, I think that is why, to this day, engines and motors are a mystery to me. The only name I can remember from that crew was George Fardell, the engineer who was the only one who could keep the big monstrosity running smoothly."

"After reading about dances and young ladies in the later years, and comparing it with our celibate life, I begin to feel that we did lead a Spartan life in those days. But despite all that, I still think that my days on board were the happiest and most carefree of my life (until I retired, that is)."

"The healthy fresh air that swept along the orlop deck where we spent a large part of our time did not come in through gun ports but through holes that had been cut in the hull apparently to provide more ventilation." Paintings of the ship in her service days show that she drew quite a bit more than after she was converted for use as a scholl ship. The lower deck and main deck gun ports are the ones that show up so well on the later photos. The Orlop deck 'holes' did have wooden plugs but they tended to blow out on the colder windier days of winter.

"I remember as a New Chum refusing to carry a senior cadets bag and then suffering the retribution the following Sunday aboard the Conway. I also remember a certain cadet captain who had a spoon handle spliced into a rope end for punishment purposes. It was a bad mistake to be the last person to lash up your hammock in the mornings.

I also remember the cold water dropping on to my hands when tossing the oar when rowing in the duty cutter. The views from the Conway were spectacular and interesting in particular one morning on the Duff estate when the famous herd of white cattle was being culled. I often wonder if they are still there."

"One winter with a group of cadets we climbed up the side of the Devils Chimney in the mountains got lost in a snowstorm and came down on the wrong side of the mountain and had to walk 14 miles back to Capel Curig."

Putting the water boat aground at Port Dinorwic remained a way of spending extra time away from the ship in the little cafe on the front until higher authority caught up with this dodge.

The "tough" Outward Bound course at Aberdovey was fun and a light relief from the stricter and tougher regime on the Conway.

"I can remember the senior cadets eating the lion's share of any meal and the junior cadets at the bottom of the table getting very little."

In January L Holt presented the bell of the Nestor for the Nelson Block. It stood outside the entrance hall. One of Fo'c's'le's dorms in the House was also called Nestor.

"We had a tune for Charlie Nick's (Nicholson) opening sentence to everyone's first Engineering lecture "Up to thirty years ago, ships' machinery mainly consisted of...." And 'Taffy' Oliver 'flickkking and flassshing away' , Ernie Moore looking for Twells and Gale (if he couldn't see them he knew they were up to no good), 'Jackie' Maine being very Mr. Mackay (of 'Porridge' ) and poor 'Spbogsh' Carter (Maths) banging his earpiece on his desk because he kept hearing Taffy Oliver's morse emanating from the Hold, by courtesy of Clive Meadowcroft sitting in the back row of the class. And very convincing it was too! And when I got to sling on the stays supporting the hammock bars (less disturbance from the rhythmic vibrations through the bars) I was able to stretch the falls of No 1 boat, let them go at the appropriate time and drop a passing rat traversing the falls into someone's hammock. Well, it had happened to me, so why not?"

The normal pattern was two terms on shore and four in the Ship. However, a few were elevated to the Ship after only one term. Food was horrendous. Parcels from home full of canned delights such as baked beans, steak puddings etc. plus "beans on toast and a cup of cawfee" (for which I remember we paid fourpence) in the canteen after rugby practices were the essence of survival.

The Food   Strike

In the early fifties the food on board was pretty gruesome.

"We were still in the post-war period of rationing and this probably had some effect. In order to survive we relied on parcels from home and snacks in the canteen after games. Shouts of 'Beans on toast and a cup of cawfee' is a sound I still remember well. We were only allowed one parcel a month from home so, the usual practice was for four cadets to get together and arrange with their respective parents to send the parcels at weekly intervals so that one parcel, which was shared by the group, arrived each week. The contents were, by request, very basic. Tins of beans, steak and kidney puds, etc. Not gourmet, but solid enough to stave off the hunger pains of young, active, growing teenagers. The quality of the food, or lack of, eventually led to the food strike. I can't remember exactly which term it was, either late 51 or early 52. How it was that the all the shipboard complement of cadets learned about it without it coming to the attention of the administration is a mystery. Especially as we prepared for it for a couple of days ahead. In order to stave off starvation on the appointed day, everyone on board stashed quantities of sodduck and grease and other types of   no cooking foodstuffs in their chests. When the day arrived we went to the mess deck and when the breakfast food arrived at the messes, we poured all the condiments we could find into it and returned it uneaten, and spoiled, to the galley. Lunch and supper were treated the same way. We heard that the administration was furious, and the story was that Captain Hewitt accused all hands of attempting mutiny.   However, it did obviously raise the problem of bad food and, for at least a few weeks after, there was a distinct improvement in the quality of the food. It didn't last though."

"Every evening in the Ship, we would hoist the heavy cutters so that they were slowly lifted out of the water to hang on stout wooden davits. Lines of cadets, on the Lower Deck, took the strain on thick ropes, which had passed through blocks and tackles outboard, and plodded back along the deck, a few feet at a time, to a Cadet Captain's shouts of, "Two, six: Heave!"

"This reminds me that at the end of term, some cadets, who were leaving the ship for the last time, were rowed ashore in a cutter, and were given three cheers by cadets lining the upper deck"

The Conway motorised fleet comprised three launches: No. 1, No. 2 (both with a tiny cabin, for'd and engines amidships), and the pinnace.Oher vessels included the juice-barge (the water boat that was also used for coaling ship), the cutters, the racing gigs, the Menai Straits class sail boats - and the skiff. "If I remember correctly, there was a special bugle call for summoning the skiff crew, unless it was simply called in a 'still'. Anyway, the need for a skiff crew was rare, and a great cheer went if on these occasions. Is it necessary to explain what a 'still' was? If so, a bugler would sound a particular melody, and on hearing this, all conversation was required to cease so that an announcement could be shouted down the main hatch. This done, carry-on notes were sounded by the bugler."

"I have a vague idea that there was a telephone line, under the water, to the captain's quarters astern. Otherwise communication was affected by semaphore signaling between the poop and the dock."

No one on board had a radio. (These were pre-transistor days, and even the smallest bulb or valve-operated radio sets were relatively large.) News was gleaned through copies of The Times, in the Reading Room. The Ship's newspaper was displayed in a slanting glass-covered desk on the Lower Deck, and occasionally illustrated in my time by second officer G.A.B.King, from Shell Tankers, who produced water-colours of life on board. The Liverpool Echo was also displayed in this case.

Start of Three Year Course

The First three year course started in January 1952.   For that reason the conventional Two Year Course starters in Jan 52 were a relatively small group. The reason promulgated for the three year Course (straight forward MN entry, as against RN courses etc) was the revised education qualifications envisaged over the next few years (GCE's etc). Cadets would be able to leave with a national leaving certificate in addition to the 'Conway Certificate' which was only acknowledged in the shipping industry.

The Chest Search

For cadets who liven on board their sea-chest was extremely important. The large black chests were provided from the outfitters in The Sailor's Home, Liverpool.

"It was your home from home, it stored all your possessions and it was the only area of the ship where you were afforded privacy. If you wanted a quiet read, or a few minutes for private thoughts, you sat on your chest and all the other cadets understood that you wanted to alone and respected that right." 

"You never owned them but, when it was time for you to go on board, at that time for most cadets in their third term, it had mysteriously appeared on the orlop deck. Some old name had been scraped off and in its place your name had been painted on in large white block letters. When you opened the lid there were three shallow trays, about 2 to 3 inches deep, two small and one large. Underneath was the main part of the chest. This is where you stored nearly all of your clothes, shoes and even books. The top trays were used for smaller items and often had mouldy sodduck and other festering items of food. ( I recently visited the Conway Chapel in Birkenhead and was amazed to see how small the chest actually was. I think they must have shrunk over the past fifty years)."

"Incidentally the paint could be scraped off easily and many an OC received a nickname through having his name altered by his shipmates"

"Chests were usually unlocked as were the book storage areas on the outboard side of the orlop deck. Occasionally, you might find that someone had 'borrowed' one of your text-books, but theft was extremely rare. You learned very quickly that you do not steal from shipmates."

However, in 1952, a theft was reported to the administration. This led to the chest search.

"At the end of lunch one day we were told that we would all remain at our messes on the main deck. No explanation was given and we had no idea why. What happened next was an exercise in masterly organisation by the administration. Using every staff member available, every chest on board was searched. In small groups we were escorted to our own individual chests and each one was searched by a staff member as its owner watched. I don't know for sure, but I believe that the missing object that initiated the search was never found. That is not to say, however, that the search didn't reveal anything. I don't know how much contraband was unearthed that day but I can guess there was more than the few laboratory rubber-bungs that were found in my chest. (Used for plugging the bath plughole on foretop bath night).   A few strokes from the teaser and all was forgotten. Three cadets, however, were suspended because the contraband they had were packets of contraceptives. Fortunately the Board of Governors, led at that time by Mr. L. Holt, reinstated them."

Sleeping In Hammocks

Many shipboard memory concerns sleeping in a hammock.

"Some New Chums, myself included, had difficulty in lashing-up and stowing properly in the mornings. The ideal was to fold bedding and pyjamas into the canvas such a way the hammock could be tightly lashed in a series of looped rope, and end up by being relatively firm. It could then be hoisted onto one's shoulder and carried down to the hold where hammocks were stowed in the daytime. As you can imagine, a floppy hammock was not only difficult to wield, but could easily become undone to the acute embarrassment of the cadet concerned. On my first night aboard, I wondered whether it would be possible to sleep on my right side, as I habitually did. It was!

Some apparently helpful seniors would "assist" New Chums to attach their hammocks, but use a slip-knot, so that the hapless cadet would crash to the deck when he got into his hammock. Of course, this was potentially very dangerous, as serious injury could have resulted had a New Chum landed sharply on his head.

Once hammocks we were safely slung, and we were comfortably settled for the night, a bugler would sound the Last Post. If this was expertly played, it could be a very moving moment. Sleep, like death, should ideally involve a trusting surrender, and there was something strangely humbling and comforting in this knowledge, underlined as it was by the evocative notes of bugler.

In sharp contrast, reveille was often something of an unpleasant jar! Reveille was sometimes played by a tall and likeable cadet by the name of Jim Crowe. He used to help out in the boiler-house, and wished to go to sea as an engineer - but he was a terrible bugler! I remember how, one morning, a cadet, who slung his hammock near mine, said that he would refuse to turn out, on the credible grounds that the marvelously inexpert notes from Jim's bugle could not possibly be recognised as reveille! (Jim, if you see this reminiscence, know that we loved you in spite of - or perhaps because of your comically unsuccessful bugling!)"

Coaling Ship

Coaling ship and the Coal Hole were separate activities.

-   Coaling ship dealt with the annual coal supply. This was dumped onto the dock in large heaps together with sacks. The whole ship and shore base were involved, organised into parties for various activities. All motorboats, cutters but not gigs were towed ashore. Sacks were filled by one party conveyed to the slip by another, loaded into the boats by another. The boats were towed to the port gangway; sacks hoisted to the main deck by one group, dragged to the bunker entrance hatch (main deck) by another party and emptied by another. The empty sacks were returned to the boats and they left for another load. The Rig of the Day was 'Jockstraps and sea boots' so all Hands were decked out in what ever they wanted - rugger shirts, shorts, boiler suits, bandanas, head covering, anything in fact. The operation was over by noon. The ship and the dock were returned to their normal pristine condition, the showers in the school block were overloaded with filthy bodies.

Coal used to arrive at the dock, and was there put aboard the water boat, known to all in the Ship as the juice barge. On the trip out to the Conway, we cadets would sometimes try to make the juice barge roll, in a high-spirited attempt to alarm Commander Brooke-Smith into thinking that the cargo would be tipped into the Menai Straits! Suitably brought to order, and once alongside, we would pass the coal, with some difficulty, through a port into the Starboard After Magazine, where it was temporarily stored. After several trips, the second phase of the operation could begin. This involved dragging bags of coal along the Orlop Deck to an area below the level of this deck, and called, simply, the Coal Hole. From here, the coal bags were winched, up a relatively narrow shaft, to the boiler house on the Upper Deck.

"It was while engaged in this one day that a dramatic accident happened. A cadet was lifting the handles of a heavy coal bag onto the metal hook on the end of the winching cable, when his hand became caught fast between the handles and the hook. Panicked shouting by his shipmates was mistaken by the winch operator, topside, for "Heave away!", which he promptly did, and the unfortunate cadet rose from our midst and swiftly disappeared into the shaft. Matters were made worse when shouts of "Vast heaving!" were heeded, and the cadet became suspended, motionless half way up the shaft. The winch operator peered down to see what was awry, and once he realised what had happened, he evidently decided that it was better to continue winching his human cargo upwards, rather than lowering the cadet back into the Coal Hole. Finally topside, and released, the victim was quite understandably in a state of shock, but not, as far as I remember, seriously injured. Of course we wore old clothes to coal ship, and became very dirty in the process, and this reminds me that hot baths were available on board only once a week. The wash basins, for'd on the starboard side of the Lower Deck, near the open hawse pipes, were piped with cold water, and it was only in the House that showers were available.If one could say that life was a bit primitive on board, it was certainly better than that known by the Jack Tars who manned her when she was in commission as a fighting ship. I don't think we gave them much thought, but it is an intriguing comparison."

Roman Catholics

There was a time when Catholics were not eligible to be Conway cadets, and even when Catholics were eventually welcomed into the shipboard family, they were not entitled to be Cadet Captains, until this ban too fell away. There was, however, a Catholic tradition that had long been observed in the ship, and in all ships of the Royal Navy. For immediately on coming aboard, cadets knew that they had to face aft, and salute. How many knew what, exactly, was being saluted? When all England was Catholic, not so very long ago, there was a crucifix, or a statue of the Virgin and Child on the quarterdeck, and it was these Christian symbols that were being honoured.

"I would love to have sung the Conway song with my shipmates, but the fact that I was never able to do so is due to the fact that it was sung at Divine Service, which Catholics did not attend. Today I feel it fitting, even necessary to apologise for not being able to be at shipboard church services. In today's ecumenical climate, Catholic Conway cadets would have been encouraged by their bishops to join their Protestant friends in giving honour to God, although facilities for hearing Mass would still, of course, be a priority for Catholics anywhere. But in the ecclesiastically careful 'Fifties, while waiting on the Upper Deck for the boat that would take us Catholic cadets to Port Dinorwic, the strains of that lovely hymn, Eternal Father, Strong to Save (far better known for the line, for those in peril on the sea) would waft up from below, and I wished that I too were below in fraternal solidarity, and joining in.

Anyway, one of the launches would soon be ready, and once ashore at Port Dinorwic, we would walk up the slip to the main road to wait for a bus. I was always struck by the fact that Welsh villages seem to be uninhabited on Sundays, and Port Dinorwic certainly gave me that impression on the Sabbath! Anyway, the bus would trundle on to Caernarfon, where we would climb a surprisingly steep hill to a tiny church to hear Mass, in Latin in those days.

On the way back to the ship, the bus timetable sometimes permitted us to walk around the ramparts of Caernarfon Castle, and there was often time to spare too at Port Dinorwic, when we would sit in the small cafe, and listen, over tea, to either Forces Favourites or Housewives Choice - I forget which, while waiting for the launch to take us back to the ship. Once on the waters of the Straits again, we would approach the Conway, of course, from the south west, a prospect not often seen by the majority of cadets, who knew only the brief crossing to the dock at Plas Newydd. Back aboard, we would sit down to a late lunch, before melting back into shipboard life, generally pleased, I think, to be able to do so."

The King Is Dead, Long Live The Queen!

Several cadet have vivid memories of the announcement and subsequent events.

"In my first term in the House, before going out to the Ship, I was among a group of cadets attending a mathematics class in the Nelson Block when the history master, Mr Kingsford entered and spoke quietly to the mathematics master, Mr Miller, who was facing the blackboard. Mr Kingsford left, but Mr Miller did not turn to face us until at least a minute had passed, and we were keenly aware that something dramatic had happened. What could it have been? Eventually Mr Miller turned say quietly, "I am sorry to have to tell you that His Majesty the King had died." We could not believe it. Why? Almost certainly because the King had been such a quietly inspiring and affectionate presence throughout the war, when we had been children. In my preparatory school a picture of the King, in the uniform of Admiral of the Fleet, had pride of place in the common room, and an awareness of His Majesty was somehow inseparable from any thoughts of the national pride which so frequently needed expression in that war. For this reason he seemed to be an essential and permanent presence, much as our parents were an essential and apparently permanent presence."

"I was in Signals class with Jackie Oliver. One of our party asked to go to the 'heads'. Whilst there he was tuned into the BBC on his crystal set and heard the news and mournful music. He rushed back to class and told Oliver who asked him how he knew. He then delivered a 'bollocking' for listening to a radio in the bog and not concentrating on bodily functions. At the end of the class, Oliver dragged the poor guy to see 'Brookie' who delivered another bollocking for listening to the radio. Brookie then dragged the poor guy to see Hewitt who gave him another bollocking. Hewitt told Brookie to get the Upper Deck watch to signal to the Dock Watch to phone the House and tell the Duty Telephone Operator to phone the BBC in Bangor to confirm the news. 'Yes, true'. said BBC. 'Yes, true' operator told Dock watch. Frantic semaphore conveyed the news to the Upper Deck watch who after many repeats passed it to Brookie. All hands were mustered on the Upper Deck. General Salute and the ensign was lowered to half mast. If that character had not listened to his crystal set in the bog, when would the news have reached the ship?"

That morning, an hour or two before we heard the shattering news, a cadet had accidentally hoisted the Conway ensign, on the flagstaff ashore, upside down , and he was later tortured by the belief that this very public and acutely embarrassing mistake had somehow caused the death of the King! It was soon announced that, as Cadets in the Royal Naval Reserve, we would be required to wear black armbands for a period of mourning. I think it true to say that we were aware of being part of a solemn and prolonged historic occasion.

Eventually, preparations were made for the coronation of the young Princess Elizabeth, and we cadets were excited to hear that we would have a part to play in this change of era. Some would attend the coronation ceremony at Westminster Abbey, and others, among them myself, would be aboard a Royal Navy ship for the new Queen's review of the fleet at Spithead.

The ship turned out to be the cruiser Dido, which, as her engines were in mothballs, had to suffer the indignity of being towed out to her position in the review lines!

In the line of warships beyond us were the Italian training-ship Amerigo Vespucci (a steel replica of a 19th Century frigate) and the battleship HMS Vanguard, in which the Royal Family had sailed for an official visit to South Africa in 1947. On the Sunday morning of our stay with the fleet I was among a group of Catholic cadets being taken in a launch to hear Mass in the Vanguard when we received a signal to put about and head instead for a Mass aboard the submarine mother-ship, Maidstone

As an added introduction to the Royal Navy, cadets from the Dido were taken in a trip round the Isle of Wight in the destroyer Trafalgar, giving us the opportunity to sense the atmosphere aboard a modern warship.

The Royal yacht Britannia, having only recently been laid down, the Queen inspected the fleet from the Admiralty despatch vessel Surprise. A 21-gun salute was fired as the Surprise sailed down the lines of ships, dressed overall, and a picture of cadets, lining the deck of the Dido, one of them clearly wincing from a deafening gun report, appeared later in the magazine Everybody's.

In the afternoon of the review day, we were invited to the quarterdeck of the Dido to drink the health of the new Queen, before being given shore leave in Portsmouth.

I wonder whether this overall experience inspired any of the cadets to join the Grey Funnel Line, as we call the Royal Navy, rather than the Merchant Navy. At any rate, it certainly underlined our honorary RNR status."

"During the 1953 Coronation Review at Spithead, I was privileged to be among the Conway cadets in HMS Dido. The engines of this elderly cruiser were in mothballs, and she had to suffer the indignity of being towed out to the line of ships to be inspected by the Queen. On this occasion too, Catholic cadets were able to leave the ship to hear Mass. This was to be celebrated in the battleship, Vanguard, but we were not far from this giant ship, in a launch, when we received a signal ordering us to alter course and make for the submarine mother-ship Maidstone, where Mass was also to be celebrated. So spiritual preference apart, there were certain advantages in being a Catholic cadet!"

The Chart Room (Upper Deck)

"The Chart Room or Chart House was in regular use - from very early in our first term we had instruction in the use of sextants with Captain Hewitt and we were checked off on his personal list as having been up, out and over the main mast - we had several sessions with him. Apart from the sextants there - I suppose that was why it was locked   (but so was the spud locker) - some charts, of course, Decca, a Kelvin Hughes sounder, Browns gyro,   (the binnacle was on the poop I think) - there was a deviascope - barograph,   not Loran,   D/F and a telegraph - we had a deep sea sounder was that in the chart room? There is a picture in the "Red Liar". I did upper deck watch on practical   (must have got the barometer reading from somewhere or was that down on the Lower deck?)"

"I remember an incident in the old science room. I forget who the instructor was but while sitting at the teacher's desk he swung his legs and knocked over a large chemical foam fire extinguisher. Anxious as always to, help, the cadets all rallied round and were eventually successful in getting the extinguisher through the door onto the upper deck. Not, however before almost all the foam was discharged. The classroom, the instructor and most of the cadets looked like something from Scott of the Antarctic."

Going Aloft

"During our first term we were taken on board the ship and introduced to the idea of going aloft. Most of us, I believe, were a little apprehensive. The safety-net under the main mast rigging did not look too secure and did not really help in quelling any nervousness. I can't honestly say I remember my first climb, although I am sure I used the lubber's hole rather than the futtock shrouds. However, as time went on I enjoyed going aloft. In the summer term when the weather was warm and sunny the main top was an ideal place to lie and soak up the rays. It was also an ideal place for the smokers as, when they were lying flat on the top, they were invisible from the ship. There was also no chance of any authority figure coming upon you without warning."

Many cadets became very adroit on the rigging and out along the yards. "Running up the rigging, shinning up the last 10 or 12 feet from the crosstrees to the truck, and coming down the rigging hand over hand on the stays was performed by many, including me. The occasional cadet performed   feats which could only be described as hair-raising. One cadet during my time would go out to the end of the yard on the footropes, climb on top of the yard and then saunter nonchalantly back to the rigging along the yard. It was rumoured that he could stand on the main truck but I never actually saw that feat performed."

In 1952, the BBC were making a TV show about North Wales and included in it were a few shots of the Conway. "In order to impress the viewers with our daring and skills the main mast was dressed with Cadets. A number of us ran up the rigging and then spread out on the crosstrees and the yards, using the footropes. I'm sure it looked very impressive to the viewers but the thing that impressed most of us was that the BBC camerman, whom nobody saw, was also running up and down the rigging while carrying and using a large TV camera."

"The fore and mizzen masts were rarely climbed as there were no safety nets for those masts. However, when for special occasions we were flying ensigns at all three mast heads, somebody had to go to the fore and mizzen crosstrees as the halyards for those masts were secured at that level.   Because of this,I was fortunate enough to climb all three masts during my time on board."

Cutter Work ( a light-hearted review from The Cadet - January, 1953 - Page 91)

Following the Executive order given on an erratic bugle, the Top concerned falls in on the lower deck in some form of disorder. . . (Please note: caps are not worn) . . . and in a variety of unfashionable garments, and in very disagreeable tempers. A couple of very senior hands engage the Lower Deck Watch in impolite language, discussing the spicier aspects of his birth and parentage, and also his ultimate fate at sea. The Lower Deck Watch executes a strategic retreat to the gangway steps, to be consoled with the pleasanter sight of two sailing dinghies going aground. 

Precisely five minutes later, the Cadet Captain in charge arrives upon the scene, with lather on his face, a razor in one hand, and a bleeding ear in the other. He had been, it was understood, shaving! Quickly 'and quietly receiving his orders from the messenger, he exercises his power of command-PANDEMONIUM! Several hands disappear below for their caps; others hurl laundry baskets and milk churns over the side, into the raging sea; a very junior hand releases the inhaul to let the cutter drift some fifty yards astern.

Quarter of an hour later, the crew (usually ten men), assemble in the cutter, and begin fighting for oars and rowing positions. Three white cushions are thrown, before the forth lands in the cutter, to commandeered by the strokes.   The cadet captain falls into the sea between the cutter and the gangway, and although suffering multiple fractures, climbs into the stern sheets.

At the end of half an hour, a lady appears at the gangway, and is offered a tar-stained and grubby paw. Disdaining this, she jumps into the stern sheets. With a sudden roar, the bows lift out of the water, and the bilge-water rushes aft. The plug, unable to bear the strain, leaps out of the boat with a loud report, followed by a gout of water. Bow oars are cut out, as they cannot touch the water. The lady seats herself upon a thwart, which collapses with the weight. The hungry waves forever lick the gunwales of the stern-sheets.In an hour's time the cutter is drifting in the general direction of the dock, aided by the steady (?) stroke of rowing enthusiasts (colours 1952). The cutter picks up speed as it nears the dock, as all hands wish to get ashore with the maximum speed. The craft finally strikes the swimming-pool wall, which collapses with a crash and cloud of dust, much to the delight of the crew who scramble ashore like the much-filmed American Marines. Their objective is one target-the blockhouse at the top of the slip. There they will wait until the tide turns, enabling them to drift back to the Ship-should the cutter float that long!!

Hoisting the Swivel

"Every once in a while we would be faced with the dreaded operation of 'hoisting the swivel'. You probably all remember the four enormous anchors which held our old wooden mother captive in the middle of the straits . These were all connected by huge chain anchor cables to a giant swivel more or less under the forefoot of the ship. From there two more cables led up to the hawse pipes. Now, in a perfect world this would allow the old lady to swing lazily to and fro with every change of the tide. First with her head towards Menai Bridge then towards PD but every once in a while the world would decide to be a blinking bastard and someone would realise that she'd got her knickers in a twist. At the next slack water, every cadet and the ship's cat would man all the boats with the hope of hauling the ship's stern round and getting the twist out of the anchor cable. Some hope! You can bet that as soon as the tide started setting the stern would gradually swing the wrong way and Eric would be running backwards and forwards along his stern gallery yelling orders for the cutters to pull harder and to hold down the governor on the pinnace engine. No use. Operation Swivel would be put into gear.

'Jacky' Mayne, 'Ernie' Moore and 'Taffy' Oliver would start organizing the laying out of the lifting tackles. Double Spanish Burtons, Triple Spanish Burtons - anything to get a better mechanical advantage which would help us lift the equivalent of a Cromwell Tank off the bottom of the straits. Finally, when all was set up, Brookie, his circular glasses glinting with concentration, would calculate the exact moment when the curtain should go up.

Hoisting boats was nothing like this. Even the 'juice barge'   would have been child's play in comparison. Taffy red in the face. Jacky shouting "Make an evolution of it!!" while Ernie just clapped on to the rope and put his back into it.

Little by little the filthy black monster would appear above the surface until the order; "Vast heaving!!", would allow us to catch our breath.

Then stages would be rigged and Slack Party would be sent down to chip off all the barnacles and grunge and pump fish oil into the bearing. Iron pipes to act as tommy bars would then be stuck in   to the upper and lower halves and the stronger cadets would sweatily heave back and forth till all was loosened up.

After that, Eric, the rest of the officers and probably a surveyor from Liverpool would climb into the Pinnace for the 'great inspection'. There was more gold braid down there than you could shake a stick at! The Heads under the fo'c'sle were out of bounds for the day. You can imagine if some chump pulled the chain at the wrong moment!!

When the OK was given, the whole operation would go into reverse and the monster would slide back into his lair for another year or two"