Mount Crushmore is back. Regular readers will recognise that this soubriquet was first attributed to the enormous pile of rubble left over from the demolition of the old Philips shipyard buildings at Noss Marina in Kingswear, where my boat is moored. Despite the pile being subjected, for over a year, to the attentions of an army of Lego men in coloured hard hats, assisted by a fleet of Tonka toys, the mountain seemed never to diminish, but rather to be transferred from one part of the site to another, then back again. It was so much a part of the landscape that, at one point, I contemplated planting a White Ensign on the top – to make a feature of it, as it were, and to claim it on behalf of the Royal Navy. When we visited the marina in August, it seemed that the mountain had – at last – disappeared and that the area that had once been the main shipyard buildings and our carpark was one large, cleared, concreted area, ready to receive the construction of a 69-room ‘boutique’ hotel and an apartment block for 41 luxury 2-bedroomed flats. However, when we returned this autumn I noticed that the pile was back again. Not the same pile, you understand, but a new one comprising, this time, not rubble but soil, this being the outpourings of the building foundations. You would think that, as the builders dug out the foundations, they would immediately deposit the dirt in lorries to take it away progressively and keep the area clear. Alas, instead, they simply piled it up, creating Mount Crushmore II. Once more, the pile is being stirred around by JCBs, while removing it piecemeal with the aid of only one lorry – apparently the only such vehicle left in the United Kingdom that is not being used for the construction of the HS2 rail project (of which more later). The forthcoming hotel and apartment building at Noss are way behind schedule, not least because of the ravages of Covid and its accompanying lockdowns. It was predicted that foundations would be laid in March this year and, indeed, some pile-driving did take place in early summer; but further progress was delayed – allegedly to minimise the effect of noise and dirt on the 232 berth-holders during the summer boating season. The hotel will be welcome as it will provide much-needed hospitality services and comforts to we berth-holders (at present, there is nowhere that you can even get a cup of coffee unless you count Jane’s Mobile Burger Bar, which is excellent but draughty). The apartment block will be less welcome as the proposed building is architecturally appalling and totally out of character with Devonshire in general and the old Noss site in particular. I am amazed that the design overcame all the hurdles of planning permission. I am also doubtful that there will be enough parking spaces for everyone, despite the new multi-story carpark. Rumour has it that all the apartments (note:’apartments’ not ‘flats’) have already been bought ‘off-plan’ at £1M each, so heaven knows how much the later houses and waterside-chalets will go for. Still, I cannot deny the sense of anticipation of seeing the first bricks being laid after waiting for four years. The latest rumour is that all work on the hotel and flats will be completed by December 2024. Yeh, right.
The old Philip & Son shipyard at Noss, situated about a mile up-river from Dartmouth on the opposite side of the Dart, has quite a history, being formed in 1858. The yard built many ships over the years, including minesweepers, corvettes, lightships and pleasure vessels before finally ceasing construction in 1999 – only 24 years ago. During World War II the yard was active in building minor war vessels as well as working with the US Navy on construction and maintenance of landing craft; indeed the whole River Dart on its eastern bank was a hive of maintenance activity for these vessels before D-Day. The remnants of the broadside slips and grids for beaching landing craft can still be seen at low tide on the foreshore of the Dart as far upstream as Maypool, about 2½ miles upstream from the harbour mouth. Slips are visible opposite my boat’s berth on the marina and the remnants of a USN shore maintenance base, now overgrown, are hidden in the trees (https://www.wessexarch.co.uk/our-work/noss-dart-d-day-remains-3d). An element of the US Coast Guard (USCG), which assisted in the manning of landing craft, was based at Greenway House, Agatha Christie’s summer home, about three miles up-river from the harbour bar, and murals depicting the USCG arrival, occupation and final departure are still visible in the house (which is now run by the National Trust). The BRITANNIA Royal Naval College was also occupied as a headquarters for the US forces and the College, Philips Yard, shipping and Dartmouth itself were attacked by the Luftwaffe in 1942, killing several people at the shipyard and in the town (Blog 106).
Although, to outward appearance, a quaint and picturesque small Devonshire town, Dartmouth is, in fact, a deep-water port with Chart Datum (Lowest Astronomical Tide) in the river typically as deep as 12 metres (39 feet) – even as far upstream as Greenway. However, there are no commercial docks or wharfs on the River Dart so, although cruise ships do visit Dartmouth, they have to moor in the middle of the river. During a bad spell of heavy snow several years ago, the town was cut off from the rest of the county and supplies began to run low: an ironic situation for a port that could, in theory, have been supplied by sea.
I pondered all these things as I stood on the quarterdeck of my boat the other day, viewing the river scene with my telescope while sipping my usual cup of black coffee as is my wonted custom just before breakfast. I was well wrapped up against the brisk south-easterly wind in my submariner’s sweater, seaboots and windproof coat, the ensemble topped by my Breton cap bearing the RNSA cap badge. I did have to endure some witty remarks from our ‘chummy’ boat in the next berth, reference to Jack Hawkins and The Cruel Sea coming thick and fast, but I was warm and caffeinated, and rose above the sartorial ribaldry. As I watched, with a critical eye, the Cadets from the naval college undergoing their boat work instruction my mind wandered, nostalgically, to my time at the college some 54 years ago. We worked a busy routine, as you might expect, with the day starting in the first term with Early Morning Activities (EMAs) at 0600 comprising PT, a run, parade training or Morse flashing practice. Breakfast followed, then there were After Breakfast Activities (ABAs) such as more parade training or Morse practice. A full lecture programme started at 0830 and we were required to “double up” (ie run) when outside between classrooms, which were distributed all over the college grounds, including down on the riverside at Sandquay. Many is the time that we reduced to a walking pace when we thought we were out of sight of any building or civilisation, only to have to start up again after hearing a faint, “Double up Cadets!” shouted apparently from nowhere. Interestingly, the lecture programme was split after lunch, depending on the season. In summer, the programme continued in the afternoon up to tea as normal, but the period after tea (1600) and up to supper (1900), was spent on an “activity”. This “activity” could be sport, river work, sailing, beagling, shooting or anything that was deemed to contribute to officer-like qualities. Just to make sure that we were not spending the time ashore (ie illegally out of the college) or counting the rivets in the deckhead of our cabins, we were required to keep a written log, which was scrutinised weekly. Being lousy at, and hating, sport I always spent my “activity” time on the river and sailing, though I also indulged in 0.22 shooting as the opportunity arose. In winter, however, the “activity” took place in the afternoon (to take advantage of daylight) and the classroom lecture programme resumed after tea and up to supper. I found this winter routine a little odd at first, because it meant we received lectures and instruction when it was dark, well into the evening. Evening Rounds would be at 1930 and we were then free to amuse ourselves before Pipe Down at 2230. After the first half-term we were allowed ashore (out of college) on Wednesday evenings, Saturday afternoons and Sunday after church, but we could also obtain a drink in college (cider only, not beer or spirits) at the sports pavilion every evening. In practice, we were absolutely shattered by that time. As far as boat work was concerned, curiously, there was little formal training in the activity, the skills being passed on by Sub Lieutenants – senior students if you like – who had returned to the college to complete their training after a year at sea in the Fleet as Midshipmen. The informality of that part of training was reflected in what we wore: we did not wear uniform for river work, only an RN-issue football shirt, a white cricket sweater, Action Working Dress trousers and white gym shoes (foul weather gear was included in inclement weather). Before we could Pass Out, we all had to qualify in at least six classes of boat, both under sail and under power, and those who had not acquired their “tickets” were put on a “backward boat-work” programme of instruction, their leave being stopped until they qualified – pour encourager les autres (a similar procedure was followed for those who did not pass the Naval Swimming Test – they were classed as a “backward swimmers” until they passed). It was in this area that the irony of the informal boat work training struck home, for those Cadets who had spent their “activity” playing sport instead of on the river – perhaps even playing, say, rugby for the Navy – were effectively penalised because they were deficient in boat work. Of course, realistically, anyone who represented the college or the Navy at sport was examined sympathetically by the boat instructors when it came to qualifying; this might explain the number of British warships that have hit the jetty when coming alongside, or have run over a buoy when trying to moor. Returning to the present day and me on my quarterdeck with my telescope on that day in October, I noted that most mornings and forenoons the college boats were out and practising industriously, the crew now wear naval uniform with berets, the boats fly the White Ensign, and the instructors appear to be mature seamen supervising a proper training régime. It was, however, heartening to see that some coxswains still cocked up their man overboard drills, bodged their “coming alongsides” and occasionally left out their boat fenders in error, just like we did. They are just as human and green as we were in 1969.
Excuse me a minute, I must have a word with the coxswain of Motor Whaler 3:
“Fender!”
I see that even the Royal Navy has gone woke now. Personnel are expected to announce their personal pronouns, and interactions between personnel are to respect them. My first reaction to the news was puzzlement: I am “Sir”; she is “Ma’am”, he or she is “Chief” or “Petty Officer”; and you are “Smith” (or whoever) – where is the big deal? Alas, life is more complicated than that, and the Service now celebrates LGBTXYZ events and inclusivity as part of its many activities. This last is a bad and very unwise development, not necessarily because I disapprove of different sexes, genders or orientations in the Navy, but because the policy is divisive and invidious. The Royal Navy has always prided itself on the concept of “all of one company”, with a ship’s company being, quite literally, all in the same boat together, whatever their rank, sex or inclination. In a well-run ship everyone respects and helps each other without being told, hence the term “shipmate”. No one section of the shipboard community should be singled out for special treatment, celebration or being put on a pedestal. They should all work together as one. I was serving in the early 1990s when the first British warships accepted women at sea and I noticed how, in some ships, mishandling the integration and initially giving preference to a narrow part of the ship’s company caused resentment, poor morale, inefficiency and unhappy ships. These problems have since been overcome for women at sea, and our warships now are manned by “sailors” of whatever sex; but it would be a pity if the lessons had to be learnt all over again in the light of the 74 genders which, we are told, comprise the human race.
While I am on the topic, what are these “naval ships” that I keep reading about in our newspapers – even in the Daily Telegraph, which used to be a newspaper well-informed on defence matters? Look: the term is “warship”. I am sorry if the word “war” offends you journalists, but that is what the vessel does. And while they are about it, would the media and the Royal Navy please stop referring to officers, particularly Commanding Officers, informally by their nicknames: it is not “Commander Bill ‘Sharkey’ WARD” , it is “Commander W R WARD DSC Royal Navy”. Have a bit of dignity and decorum. Hrmmph.
One of the latest pieces of news is that the number of Accident and Emergency (A&E) cases has increased by 80% owing to patients attending with sore throats and minor ailments such as earache or hiccups, they not being able to get an appointment with their GP. The situation regarding primary health care has undoubtedly never recovered since Covid, so – to some extent – I can understand the trigger that has led to this state of affairs. Before Covid, Jane and I could fairly easily get an appointment to see the GP of our choice by booking online for an appointment in a few weeks, or or by telephoning for an emergency appointment with the duty doctor on that day. Now, all appointments have to be made by telephone and this involves a very long wait from 0800 (when the switchboard opens), followed by a triage by the unqualified receptionist, leading to a decision that may result in a consultation with a nurse, a telephone appointment with a doctor or, the Holy Grail, an actual face-to-face consultation with a GP (note “a” GP, not necessarily our preference). As an alternative to the telephone, we can book an appointment in person by queuing at reception. Jane and I are better off than most: a friend of ours says that, for his surgery, he is not even allowed into building unless he has an appointment (the receptionist releases the door lock after interrogation); another friend told us how he was refused an appointment at the reception desk of his surgery and was told to telephone (he did so, using his mobile phone, while standing in front of the receptionist). Apparently, Britain’s GPs are overwhelmed and there are not enough of them. I am not in a position to dispute that excuse; what baffles me is, what has changed since Covid? Are we suddenly more sick than before 2020? Even more baffling is, why on earth would anyone try to see a GP because they have a sore throat or minor ailment, and who in their right mind attends A&E unless they are seriously ill? Have some people lost the ability to treat themselves, to clean and bandage a wound, to deal with hiccups or earache, to take soluble aspirin for a sore throat, or to go to bed and isolate if they have influenza? As to a visit to A&E, are they mad? Eight hours in a waiting room with other sick people, drunks, drug addicts and the insane, only to be given two paracetamol and advice they could get off the internet or from a pharmacist. The Department of Health has stated that everyone is entitled to a face-to-face consultation with a GP if there is a medical need, to which the obvious reply is, “…and who will determine if there is a medical need?” We have a Catch 22 situation here. I tell you, we live in a funny world.
We had an interesting tour of a sewage treatment works the other day. Now there’s a phrase you don’t come across very often in the pub or on the cocktail party circuit. I happened to read in the last newsletter of Wessex Water that they do free educational visits, known as “Round the Bend” tours for the public, and I thought it would be interesting. Never being one to miss an opportunity to give Jane a treat, I took her along too. Unfortunately, the nearest works with vacancies was quite some distance away, in Westbury in Wiltshire, but I gave that a positive spin by telling Jane that I was taking her for a Grand Day Out in another county. I have a passing interest in lavatorial matters because, in a previous life, I served in the navy design section for Sewage Treatment Plants (STPs) for warships (Blog 92) and I was curious to see how ship-board technology compared to shore plants. The tour started on a bright, sunny afternoon with our group viewing the open end of an 18” pipe, from which emerged (apparently) the sewage output from the entire population of Westbury (pop c13,500). Interestingly, it did not smell much and there were no visible signs of – you know – horrible stuff; in practice, the outpourings are heavily diluted. The liquid poured into a long trough then on to a moving strainer on a conveyer belt, which would remove rags, condoms, nappies, sanitary towels and other extraneous items that the good burghers of Westbury flush down their lavatories. As the strainer became blocked, the level in the trough rose, triggering a sensor that moved the strainer along to a clean bit of the sieve, the rubbish being scraped off and fed into a skip for disposal as general waste. After that, the effluent went into a settling tank, where all the solid matter (=poo) fell to the bottom, to be scraped out, compacted, and transferred by bowser for treatment elsewhere before being sold to farmers as fertiliser and compost. The liquid element went on to a series of ponds that you may have seen pictures of: round open reservoirs with rotating arms spraying out the liquid over porous rocks in which natural biological action takes place over time. The arms are not powered, but are driven around by the force of the liquid leaving the arms, the pressure being provided simply by gravity. Over several of these stages, the effluent breaks down through biological action, becoming visibly clearer and more pure, until it reaches the quality laid down by the Environment Agency as being of an acceptable standard to be discharged into watercourses and rivers. The standard is not up to the quality of drinking water, but it is safe for discharge. Thames Water [the company] is the only water authority in the UK to take the process even further by totally recycling the effluent to potable standard. Having drunk the tap water in London, I think this explains a great deal. The beauty of the process that we were shown was that it hardly used any energy at all: all the flow was by gravity and the action, natural. Elsewhere in the plant, we were shown a more active process, used for the waste from the industrial estates of Westbury, which basically involved blasting large quantities of air through the effluent in several stages. This process was quicker, but more energy intensive. I did ask about the problem, prominent in the press, of raw sewage contaminating our waterways at certain times. Apparently, in houses and buildings built after about 1920, our sewerage is split into two distinct pipe systems: one system for rain run-off from roads, gutters etc; and another system for “black water” from lavatories and “grey water” from washing. Before the early 20th century, the liquid all went into one pipe system, which, naturally, has to go to the sewage treatment plant. At times of heavy rain, the sheer volume of liquid from this older system overwhelms the storage capacity of the plant and so the excess has to be discharged into watercourses to avoid sewage blow-back in drains and domestic lavatories. The answer is to invest in greater emergency storage for the liquid in order to cope with storm surges – or to alter the entire legacy sewerage system that serves old houses, which may be a touch expensive. Modern housing does not create any problem. The tour took about two hours in total, and was hosted by quite senior staff who clearly were knowledgeable, very enthusiastic and highly motivated with their work. It was well worthwhile, and we were given a “goody” bag at the end, which contained an explanatory booklet to support the tour and, bizarrely, a series of useful recipes. By the way, “sewerage” is the pipe system and network; “sewage” is the brown stuff. Not many people know that.
In topical news, the government Covid enquiry rolls majestically along, with juicy revelations of foul language, contempt of ministers, alleged misogyny and much in-fighting from those in power at the time, but not moving towards anything that will actually be useful, ie “ what did we get right, what did we get wrong and – most importantly – what lessons can we learn?” Instead, the enquiry – run by lawyers for lawyers – seems intent on conducting a witch hunt by way of court procedures and the aggressive use of KCs in cross examinations. The fawning obsequiousness shown to the government experts who had advocated lockdowns, face masks and vaccine passports was in sharp contrast to the character assassinations and terse interrogations meted out to other experts who advocated a more balanced yet equally scientific approach. The enquiry will doubtless cost millions and be a complete whitewash. What an opportunity wasted.
HS2 – the new high-speed railway line intended to link London with “The North” (ie Manchester and Leeds) will now be terminated in Birmingham because of the escalating cost of the project. This 225 mph line seemed a good idea at its concept because it promised increased passenger capacity, a freeing up of the existing rail network for freight, and 54 minutes off the existing 2 hour 5 minute journey time from Manchester to London. However, it has caused mammoth disruption to the Home Counties and considerable distress and loss, by way of compulsory purchase, for anyone living on the planned route. As of 2020, the predicted cost was estimated at over £106 billion, 184% over budget from the original estimate of £37.5 billion. With the cost spiralling out of control, the decision has now been made to curtail the project and to take the rail link from London only as far as Birmingham, about 190 miles away, saving 36 minutes on an existing 1 hour 26 minute journey. To add insult to injury, the route will not, initially, run from central London (Euston Station) to central Birmingham (Birmingham New Street), but from Old Oak Common in outer London to Birmingham Curzon Street. A rail link from nowhere to nowhere. Later connections are promised. Of course they are.
It is easy to pick holes in government decisions, both the original one to go ahead and the latest one to wind the project down, but the matter is still worthy of comment. My thought is that this was an exciting project that had the potential to bring Britain into the 21st century with a high-speed rail link equal to (or better than) those in Japan and China, but that it was not ambitious enough at concept. I think I may be alone in that view. The project would have benefitted more of the country by running the line from Inverness to London, thus providing a fast link for Scots and the true north of England to London, and a link to mainland Europe via Eurostar. Note the reversed starting point, which might have generated more support from northern Britons. I will not repeat my rant of Blog 123 regarding “The North” other than to reiterate that Manchester is not in “The North”, it is in the Midlands. As to cancelling (or rather seriously trimming) the scope of the project, I can understand the decision of not wishing to throw good money after bad, given the escalating costs, but it has left us with a lot of very upset people and a high tech white elephant: a 225 mph fast rail link going from nowhere to nowhere. Perhaps we need a government enquiry as to why the costs have increased. I know where we will be able to find a lot of lawyers.
As I write, Storm Ciarán (who started this business of naming a storm?) has passed through southern England and has left a trail of damage and flooding along the Channel coast. Hampshire has declared a “major incident”, whatever that means, and we are advised not to go to work or school. No change there then. To be sure, we have had a good drop of rain, not only in Shacklepin Towers but also, last week, onboard the good ship APPLETON RUM. South West Water has even lifted its hosepipe ban, so I can wash the boat again. Oh to be in England, now that autumn’s here.
It is Thursday, start of the weekend. I’m off for an apéritif before dinner – the sight of all all that rain makes you thirsty.
2 November 2023
"A Very Vintage Chap..." 