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The same week as the swimming contest we were all gathered in the galley to take some kind of test (I honestly thought that when I left school I would never have to take another exam or test in my life - instead I am still taking them now). We were sat at tables where there lay a large sheet of paper with hundreds of letters upon it, and next to it one of those kids games where you have to put a square peg in an appropriate hole. I looked at them in bemusement. What were they all about, I wondered? I soon found out. A Petty Officer stepped to the front of the room and gave a short talk. From the large speaker above us, from where rock and roll normally came, certain sounds would emit and when we heard a bell ring we had to find the letter 'e' on the paper in front of us and circle it. When we heard a whistle we had to put a peg in a hole. Off we went, ring-ring, find an 'e', tootle-tootle, find a hole. The whole exercise lasted about half-an-hour and then it was over and we went back to polishing shoes or some such rubbish. In the meantime I had discovered a good game which was turning quite a profit. We had a tuck shop between the laundry room and the galley where you could buy anything, including cigarettes (it wouldn't be allowed today, of course), and with the two-shillings-and-sixpence we received each week I bought a whole load of cigarettes and, as I didn't smoke, sold them for thruppence each. I doubled and sometimes trebled my two-shillings-and-six-pence, which meant there was much more money for sweets and chocolate. I hadn't done any more swimming, but we were doing a lot of marching which meant I didn't get much fatter than I already was. Things, in general, were getting better, though. On the next mess inspection my kit was neither stepped on nor kicked all over the place, but that was mainly because I asked Fergy for help in laying it all out. He was some kind of Naval genius that Fergy.

A couple of days after the test we all had to attend an interview with an Officer and he told me, during my interview, that my test results had been so good that I could choose any branch of the Navy I wanted to go into. I had to tell him that I didn't know any branches of the Navy to choose from. He laughed aloud and asked me why I had joined. I told him about Selwyn and he laughed some more. Eventually he told me some of the choices I had. Gunner? I didn't think so. Loud bangs made me nervous, I'd lived a very quiet life so far. Ordinary Seaman? What did they do? I asked. They cleaned and painted the ship, sometimes aided Gunners, involved themselves with ropes and stuff, in general kept a ship running. I didn't think I would like that, I had never painted anything and certainly had never cleaned. Radar? Nope. Stoker? I didn't like the sound of that at all. Communications? What was that all about? I asked. Well, the Officer said, you learn all about morse code, fleetwork (? - meant nothing), typing, all about flags and semaphore and codes. Now this sounded more like it. Yes, I said, I rather like the sound of that. Do you like fresh air? the Officer asked. I do, I answered. He scribbled on a piece of paper in front of him. "You will be perfect as a Tactical Signalman," he announced, with a grin. And that's how I got to become a Bunting Tosser.

The fourth week began, the last of our basic training and I could march, dress right, salute, iron, launder, sell cigarettes and all kinds of things that I couldn't do before I left home. I was so proud of myself and couldn't wait to start my course as a Tactical Signalman, as compared to a Radio Signalman (presumably because they didn't like fresh air). My teeth were done, I had boxed with honour and had made a name for myself as a swimmer (I didn't know that there had been a bit of a bidding war behind my back as to what Division I would go to - I was eventually told that I would be going to Grenville Division). In fact the whole recruitment were told which Divisions they were going to and we began to realise that we would all be broken up. Amazingly, though, Fergy was also going to Grenville Division, as was Nash from Chester, who I hadn't seen much of since we'd arrived, and it turned out that we would all be in the same class. Already I knew people! Things were going so well that I thought they could only get better, but something happened that put a stop to all that.

Our Petty Officer told us that tomorrow we would be up especially early...because it was our turn to climb the mast. Climb The Mast!!! I couldn't believe it. I got giddy crossing a bridge over water, and I didn't mind water. We had seen The Mast on our trips to the main camp, you couldn't miss it. In fact, you couldn't miss it if you were twenty miles away. It was huge. Someone asked how far up it we would have to climb. To the half-moon he was told. That was all right then. It was only about a hundred-and-thirty feet in the air!! The Petty Officer told us that it was compulsory, that we had to do it, there would be no exceptions, we climbed it or failed our basic training. All that we had done so far would count for nothing. This was it. Climb the bloody mast or be kicked out.

I never ate a thing after being told this, and I wasn't the only one. The night before I couldn't sleep, tossing and turning in my bed, and early morning whispered conversations began with others who couldn't sleep. Fergy, the rat, slept the sleep of the dead.

Eventually, grey light indicated the start of another day. The Petty Officer appeared and roused us all from our beds. A quick wash, a clean of the teeth, dress in Number 8's, boots and gators, and out in the chilly mist of late September to march over to the main camp and stand with our hearts in our mouths in front of the monstrosity that loomed in front of us. We were lined up, two deep, the Petty Officer gave whispered instructions. We were to go round the Crow's Nest, not through it, and be careful, boys, he added, when your feet are hanging in space. Keep a good grip. He needed to tell us that?!! Then up the rigging to the half moon, he pointed grey skywards and somewhere up there was a white half-moon. Over it and down the other side. Easy. No need to worry there is a great big safety net. And yes, there was, but the squares between each four sides of rope were big enough for a fully grown adult to fall through, never mind little fat boys like me. He finished talking, stepped back and said, "In your own time, boys. In your own time, and don't let me down."

There was a collective sound of hearts sinking, of stomachs flipping, of minds flying and another feeling of being glued to the ground. I took a deep breath and stepped forward one long stride. It broke the line, everyone rushed for the mast, including me, we grabbed rigging and began to climb, feet to head, side by side, up we went. The first part, up to the Crow's Nest was pretty easy, as long as you didn't look down, which I didn't, but then there was the heart stopping moment of going round the elbow, reaching up as far as possible before feet dangled in the air. We pulled ourselves up and round, breathless, panting, mumbling amongst ourselves, swearing (and I didn't swear much in those days, oh, how things have changed!), and still we climbed, fear digging in, the chill mist reaching into us, hand over hand, foot over foot. The ones in front reached the half-moon, slithered over it and began their descent. Others reached it, then me. I was absolutely petrified, almost rigid with fear, but others drove me on, the ones coming behind wanted it over and done with as much as I did. I scrambled over the half-moon, reached out, grabbed rigging and I was on my way down. Before I could catch my breath I had negotiated the elbow on the down side and was on the ground, a trembling heap of fifteen-year old boy, hugging those who had already made it. And so they came, one after the other, hand shakes, hugs, no tears, none that I saw, anyway. Lots of trembling and an overwhelming sense of relief.

We had done it. We had climbed the GANGES mast.

It would be the only time I would go as high as the half-moon.

I would never forget that day.