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The whole of 25 recruitment marched over to the main camp, through the impressive gates, past the huge mast that stood with great menace looking down on the surrounding countryside (rumours continued to sweep through the Annex messes that we would be required to climb it - but I knew this couldn't be true because it was just so damned high). We marched across the parade ground that I would become all to familiar with in the coming months, past the Chief and Petty Officers quarters, past Benbow Division, to the swimming pool, there we were allowed to break off and enter. I immediately went to the changing rooms and along with some other swimmers changed into my swimwear, except mine were jet black and fitted like a glove, if a glove could fit the lower reaches of a body. I felt good, I hadn't been near water for almost three weeks and it was calling me, I couldn't wait to get in it. We were herded out of the changing rooms on to the poolside, about ten of us, the boys on the balcony were cheering. I looked up and saw Fergy who was waving like a lunatic, with a huge smile on his face. Now was the moment of reckoning. The P.T.I. announced that we would be doing a series of swims, one length, two and the full hundred and we would be doing front crawl and backstroke because that's what the boys taking part had said they could swim. Front crawl wasn't my best stroke, but I could do it. P.T.I's stood all around the pool, some of them with stopwatches and the first six were line up, ready, steady, go and off they went. I watched with some amusement. None of them would make it into the swimming club back home. They struggled along one length, then it was the turn of the remaining four, including me and the boy who had stood up and told everyone that he could beat the times on the board. I walked to the side of the pool, down, ready, go, and I was off like a shot, my dive low and hard and a bit show-offy. I hit the water like a bullet and raced down the single length. When I got there and turned to look, the rest of them weren't even half way down. I looked up at Fergy who had his arms above his head and was cheering like mad. And front crawl wasn't even my stroke. The other distances for front crawl were cancelled and we moved straight on to the one length backstroke. I didn't often do just one length, so when it was time to go I went full pelt. By the time I finished and looked, all I saw were distant splashes and some pretty feeble attempts at the stroke. All around P.T.I.'s were staring at me and looking at stopwatches. All the rest of the races were cancelled. The kid who thought he was good, wasn't, and the little fat kid who had to be dragged to his feet, was. The senior P.T.I. announced that although there were to be no races, they were going to put me through a one hundred backstroke on the clock, just to see. The other boys were cheering, I had five minutes rest and got in the water, took up my position for a backstroke start, go, and boy did I go. I swam the fastest I had ever swum, I gave it Hell, I kicked and pulled as if there was no tomorrow, banging the turns with perfection, which was a bit of miracle, but I held my stroke and beat the time for the hundred backstroke that was on the board. (Every time I swam in a race throughout all my time at GANGES, I would set a new record, until I set one that wouldn't be broken for years!). I was better than I thought. I was no good at breaststroke or butterfly (though a boy, Wally, would eventually turn up who would be brilliant at them), so it was time to get dressed and return to the Annex. I was unbelievably proud of myself and I got loads of pats on the back from other boys. It wasn't something I was used to. Mam nor Dad came to see me swim in races and when I returned to say I had won, Mam would just say, "Very good, get your supper, time for bed," and Dad would smile. They did sneak into Llandudno when I won there, with Auntie Ada, who was staying with us, but they left straight after the race and didn't say a thing about it when I eventually arrived home with a huge cup. It was only years later I learned that they had been present. So hero worship was a bit strange to me. It was soon done with, of course, when I went back the Annex and yet another appointment with the dentist.

This was the week, too, when the Royal Navy should have realised that I was not a suitable candidate for a Sailor. I provided them with all the proof they required on the day of the cross-country run. It was to be three miles along the foreshore and back again and the whole recruitment had to go. We lined up in our shorts, shirts, plimsoles, socks and off we were sent. I jogged a bit at first, until I was out of sight of any P.T.I.'s or Petty Officers, none of whom were running with us, then when I got down the hill on the foreshore, it was such a beautiful day, the river in front of me, Felixstowe opposite me (H.M.S. GANGES was in Shotley, in Suffolk, with water all around - a fantastic place for boys) that I just stopped and took it all in. The rest of the recruitment disappeared ahead of me while I walked and gazed and felt wonderful. I continued the whole three miles in a similar vein, even picking some wild flowers on the way round. By the time I got back to the Annex they were about to launch a search party for me, half a dozen boys all fully uniformed up, gators and boots, the lot. I tried to explain that I didn't like running, that I was a swimmer, but no-one felt inclined to listen. I just got shouted at a lot, told I was an idiot a lot and was then made to jog around the parade ground for an hour.

How much of a clue did the Royal Navy want? I'd been struggling with all the discipline since I'd arrived, couldn't see the sense behind a lot of orders, even questioned some, which got some severe head knucklings. I loved everything about the Royal Navy except all those annoying orders. I didn't think I was ever going to get any better and the Navy should have chucked me out, sent me on my way, on that day of the cross-country race, or non-race as it was for me. Instead they kept me on so they are at least half to blame for everything that happened.