Bernie Howard - Rum Bum and Baccy

Just down from Unicorn Dockyard gates there were two very cheap eating establishments which also had reasonably priced rooms to rent. They were both run for the Navy. Aggie Weston’s was one and the Trafalgar Club was the other. Although the prices were as cheap as you’d get, me and a mate Nicky Whelan devised a plan where we ate for free and no queuing, as after the pubs had shut these were very popular establishments. What we’d do was go straight to the front of the queue and grab a clean plate and cutlery, and then we’d head for the tables that had been vacated but not yet cleared away. We would then pile our plates with leftovers – half a sausage from here, a leftover yolk from another; chips and beans were in abundance and bread was always available. Whelan even got fussy and started to go for just what was still warm. Sometimes we’d really go to town and grab leftover half-eaten sweets as well. This really was fine dining.

Every now and again I’d have a night out at the dog track. Portsmouth Dog Track only had five dogs in each race and I always bet traps two and five in a forecast. This meant you had to get first and second to win. One night I won on quite a few occasions and bagged a total of £36, which was the equivalent of more than a month’s pay. At the track here was also a casino, so with my new wealth I thought I’d wager some of it on blackjack and become richer. In the casino I sat down at the blackjack table and ordered a fine cigar and a double scotch. The dealer was a young girl who was very well gifted in the bosom department. For the moment I felt like a king. Unfortunately, half an hour later I had to walk back to my ship in the rain with not a penny left. Easy come, easy go.

On Navy Days, Portsmouth would be packed with sightseers, sailors, parents, girlfriends and anyone with a following of the Navy. Ships and shore establishments were packed with visitors – pubs and restaurants were extremely busy. I went ashore with a good mate of mine from East Dereham at dinner time; our first call was the very first pub straight over the road from the Main Dockyard gate. For whatever reason I can’t remember I got into a fight at the bar, which escalated into a three-pub free for all. There must have been a hundred involved. Police and Naval Patrol arrived but instead of arresting people, it seemed they wanted some fun or had had a bad day, because they joined in as well. When reinforcements arrived, in the words of John Wayne, “We got the hell out of there,” and were saved from being arrested.

Portsmouth was also a great place for live entertainment. I went to see the Rolling Stones in the Guildhall. I was waiting outside when they arrived and Mick Jagger minced past with a white poodle and the crowd went wild. The Savoy Dance Hall in Southsea used to book Manfred Mann and I saw them on a few occasions. Also at the Mecca I went to see Eric Burdon and the Animals, who were brilliant.

As ratings, from the age of twenty you became entitled to the tot, or if you didn’t want it, you became T and received threepence a day. Our rum was mixed as to one part rum to two parts water and this made up a tumbler full. Chief and petty officers had theirs neat and the reason ours had to be drunk as mixed with water was so you couldn’t bottle and keep.

The strength of the rum was this: one tot and you would become gibberish and have the ability to eat any crap put before you; two tots you were pissed, three legless, four or five could kill you.

There was also a lot of strict protocol. Rum was collected in a fanny which was a metal urn and dished out by one rating with another rating ticking off as you collected. When you got your rum you gave each of these a wet, which was about a teaspoonful. The next amount given for a favour was a sip which was about a tablespoonful followed by a gulp which was about two tablespoonfuls. God help anyone who took a sip instead of a wet or a gulp. Half tots were sometimes given which was half a glass. These were only given for really big favours.

Rum came up at around twelve o’clock dinner time. A rum station was set up where a large open-topped barrel would be placed to top up with a wooden keg of rum and the appropriate water. There would be an officer in charge of this delicate procedure.

In HMS Zulu this station was set up by a water cooler at the top of our messdeck ladder. Now when all the messdecks had collected their rum the remainder was disposed of down the water cooler, the pipe of which ran down into our messdeck. We soon found a join which we could undo and worked at it until it could be opened and closed easily. All we had to do now was get someone to hang about at the top of the ladder and give us the nod when the excess rum was being disposed of, then open the join, jug under and Hey Presto! This gave us roughly an extra third of a tot each and, on rare occasions, an extra tot. There was a snag, though, as the water cooler was a favourite place to throw up in after a night ashore, so we had to put up with bits of half-digested curries etc. but overall it was worth it.

The only time I was issued with neat rum (neaters) was when I was in field gun. As you had to keep one hundred per cent fit and so you didn’t drink it, a blind eye was turned to bottling. On a weekend leave I took a bottle home to Swaffham for my mates to sample. In the lounge bar of the Kings Arms I shared out my ill-gotten gains. The next day my good friend Phil McCarthy, who could really drink, said to me, “I can’t believe it. I came in at twenty past eight and was pissed by half past.” That was the strength of the tot.

Water cooler with rum station

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