Bits n Peter's

It's Nice To Be Remembered

2022-09-24T21:39:00.000+01:00

I recently returned to Dean's Place Hotel in Alfriston, as it had not been available over the summer - market forces and all that. On the first night I arrived late, wearing 'civvies' and spectacles, and left to go offshore to the Rampion WInd Farm at 0530, so never really saw anyone other than the receptionist that first night.

When I returned about 1830, I was wearing my yellow hi-vis, work clothes and contact lenses. The receptionist was the same lady but didn't recognise me. She asked me if I was checking in, but her colleague said,"This s Mr Chilcott, back from the wind farm", and gave me a lovely smile. So that made me feel good. Later on, when I was having my dinner, that same lady went past to go home but as she did so, she said, "Goodnight, Peter, enjoy your dinner." Reinforced warm feeling.

Next morning, I walked into breakfast, and the first person I saw and who I recognised, (James) said, "Good morning, Mr Chilcott." I was surprised but quite chuffed. And just as he had taken my breakfast order, another of the staff, hurried over saying it was lovely seeing me again and called me by name. This was Lydia and we started chatting. I found out that she was once a professional clarinetist and as we chatted, the love for her instrument and its music became quite apparent.

This is all a bit of a ramble (are most of my infrequent blogs) but what I'm trying to say is that I'm not used to being so warmly greeted by folks after such an interval, and I reallly did have that warm feeling inside, and it didn't come from Ready Brek.

Thank you, Michelle, James, Lydia and Alex. See you in a couple of weeks

My Memory of Auschwitz

2020-01-27T21:21:00.000+00:00

Like others, I've visited Auschwitz. I took pictures and felt guilty for doing so, for intruding, for being a gawper. They aren't touristy or selfies, just reflective of another time and life. I did so that I could look back in time to reinforce a fading memory. In time, when the last survivors have gone the resurgent deniers, the antisemites, the racists and haters, I will have proof to myself that it happened, that it existed, and that it was done by human beings.

Submariner Funerals

2019-02-26T21:48:00.002+00:00

Submariner funerals are interesting. Standards will be paraded. Old men will line up awaiting the coffin. Alarmingly, when given the command, "Submariners - submariners HO!", these old men will come to attention so smartly, it was as if they'd been practising on Whale Island for the past two weeks. The chapel at the crematorium is always packed.

After the move to the Royal Naval Association for the wake, or more correctly 'drinks at the RNA', there is always an assault on the bar. Then there will be food. Salads usually get a good stiff ignoring, but otherwise, the Scotch eggs disappear almost immediately, and the sandwiches and chicken wings follow soon after.

And then there will be rum. There is always rum. And it is always Pussers. There is a toast, the glasses are upended and that warm sensation in the depths of one's innards slowly radiates.

These are occasions for everyone to catch up and to discuss matters submarine, but usually, those from previous decades for these are men from those decades. It's interesting times as stories from one generation are shared with another - it's a two-way flow; one group did 'mystery tours', the later did 'sneaky patrols'. Both did the same but the name changed somewhere through the years.

Badges are everywhere. Dolphins. Of course. And not just British ones for some of these old gentlemen will wear Australian or Canadian dolphins for they served in the submarine squadrons in those countries. There are medals galore. Some wear nothing but a lapel pin. There are one or two who have parachutist wings on the shoulders of their civilian jacket. There is any number of non-service badges or pins. Some wear theirs just on their lapels so they resemble an aged 3rd Former from my grammar school days. Others have one or two, whilst there are those who wear many and some of these are so big it looks as if the wearer was attacked by a vicious paintball assassination squad outside on the car park.

They are always cheerful events but when looking at the comrades assembled, one has to wonder when the next one's life will be celebrated and a tot drunk.

You....

2018-08-21T22:39:00.001+01:00

You read something
You think something
You say something
You regret something

You wait
You think
You worry
You care

You.

Lost Reflections

2017-06-20T22:56:00.003+01:00

It used to be that we could mark Remembrance Day at the Submarine Museum in the simplest of ways; we would fall in, the 'Still' would be piped, there would be the 2-minute silence, the 'Carry On', fall out and then a tot. It was simple, pure, and our thoughts were our own. And all the time the main parade was taking place elsewhere in the town. 

And then someone decided it would be a good idea to invite a padre with all the associated palaver - hymns, prayers, his bad jokes, and a reference to his limited time on boats, The purity, and the time for reflection had gone, replaced by the discipline and routine of religion.

What it would be to have the chance to be able to observe those few minutes of reflection in a personal way without having to read an A5 pamphlet to remind one of what follows after the Submariner's Prayer. I doubt that opportunity will ever arise again.

Added later:

And then in 2019, the last time we got together, the 1100 bugle sounded, whilst the padre was talking. He stopped but only long enough to allow the tubes to die away. He was determined to finish his sermon.

Guilt Trip

2017-06-16T20:30:00.002+01:00

We were up in London a couple of days ago, having a fun day and splashing a little money around (a rare treat). We'd had a nice lunch in a patisserie, bought some Chanel perfume, had a good mooch round and then went to Wardour Street for a pleasant dinner.

And then we headed for home.

As we walked through Picadilly Circus Underground, there was a guy with a blanket, reading the Metro, and a cardboard sign that said 'Ex British Army, Homeless'. I was all set to walk past him until I saw his sign, so I stopped to talk. He'd done 7 years and was late of the Royal Green Jackets. He'd been to Northern Ireland and Kosovo, and that wasn't what he joined up for, he said; I'm sure those who have done those tours will empathise. He got out but things just 'didn't go right'. I didn't press him. In September he will get a place to stay through the charity Homes 4 Heroes, and he wears one of their hoodies.

I asked him if he had anywhere to stay and he replied that he was hoping to get the £18 he needed for the night shelter. When asked if a tenner would help him, he looked at the change in his pocket and replied that would probably just about get him there.In the end, we made sure he had a bed for the night and left him.

What has gnawed at me ever since is the fact that we had blown some money on nothing really, and that we didn't think twice about making sure he had a bed. And yet, this guy was having to spend his day begging for that small sum which, I suppose, doesn't come easily. It's the inequity that upsets me.

http://www.ukh4h.org.uk/

Armistice Thoughts

2016-11-10T21:56:00.000+00:00

I find that I have come to find some peace in the quiet introspection that comes with marking the Armistice at the 11th hour. There is no build up (other than keeping an eye on the clock or radio in preparation). There is no religion nor any need for it. No pomp. It is a pure act of remembrance, a solitary commemoration. And for 2 minutes it's possible to think of anything - ice cream, cars, blisters - but thoughts go back to the hundreds of thousands who died a century ago, the years in between, and those who die today even though their physical war ended 20, 30 years ago.

In my mind I see the rows of white stone, the rows of crosses, the rows of dark squares I've recently come to learn about, I see a face of a gone too soon friend. And I wonder how I would feel in

the noise, (there's always noise whether it's in the air, on the land, or in and under the sea) in the depths of any war. and how the fear would feel. All the time, aware of a stillness even though I may hear traffic and everyday noises.

Then when the cannon sounds, I 'surface', perhaps a little selfconsciously, and go back to my normal life.

And I Miss You

2016-10-23T16:59:00.000+01:00

And I miss you
Your eyes

Your smile
The feel of your skin

Your hand in my hair.

At the end
You held me close
Said that of all
I was the one
You worried for most
You fell back asleep
Never to wake

And I miss you

2015-06-03T21:42:00.001+01:00

I went to the funeral of a colleague today who was a fellow guide at the Royal Navy Submarine Museum. Dave Sullivan was a submariner who had been a guide and steward at the museum since its opening in 1980. He was someone who was always popular with his fellow guides, with the visitors and with the younger front of house staff. Latterly, he only worked on Sundays, and he was always there with a smile, a welcome and, often, a joke. He was full of stories from his time in the Royal Navy, and later as a technical civil servant. Being a man of his time, he would often use language that would be considered unacceptable by today's standards. He would refer to people as 'darkies' or as 'queers' but never in malice and he would always correct himself, aware of modern sensitivities.
Dave often complained of a bad back and when he finally consulted a doctor, he was diagnosed with cancer. From that point he gave up guiding, temporarily he hoped but he never did return to his 'second wife' as Margie, his wife, referred to the Submarine Museum. Somehow, Sunday mornings always seemed to be missing something after his enforced absence. I would find myself looking for him half way through the day.

His popularity was demonstrated today by the fact that the crematorium at Havant was full with many friends and family sat in the pews and a large number of ex-submariner colleagues from the Association and the museum stood around the sides. The hardest thing to see today was the grief and tears on the faces of his grandchildren.

I, as were many others, was genuinely saddened to hear of the death of Dave, and much more so than another who had died last year. This man was a bully and a braggart, the antithesis of Dave, but because one should not speak ill of the dead, no-one did but I know he wasn't missed by many.

Dave must have, at some point, been greatly struck by the piece 'Desiderata'. He always carried copies of it in his bag and would offer them to friends and colleagues, particularly those younger members around them.

Go placidly amid the noise and haste, and remember what peace there may be in silence.
As far as possible, without surrender, be on good terms with all persons.
Speak your truth quietly and clearly; and listen to others, even to the dull and the ignorant, they too have their story.
Avoid loud and aggressive persons, they are vexations to the spirit.
If you compare yourself with others, you may become vain and bitter; for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.
Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.
Keep interested in your own career, however humble; it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time. Exercise caution in your business affairs, for the world is full of trickery. But let this not blind you to what virtue there is; many persons strive for high ideals, and everywhere life is full of heroism.
Be yourself. Especially, do not feign affection.
Neither be cynical about love, for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment it is perennial as the grass. Take kindly to the counsel of the years, gracefully surrendering the things of youth.
Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune. But do not distress yourself with imaginings. Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.
Beyond a wholesome discipline, be gentle with yourself.
You are a child of the universe, no less than the trees and the stars; you have a right to be here. And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.
Therefore be at peace with God, whatever you conceive Him to be, and whatever your labors and aspirations, in the noisy confusion of life, keep peace in your soul. With all its sham, drudgery and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world.
Be cheerful.
Strive to be happy

Chilcott's Immutable Law of Booking Hotel Rooms

2015-05-26T21:08:00.001+01:00

When booking a room through a site such as LateRooms or Hotels.com, one will always be booked in a room that is furthest from any human contact eg reception, bars and restaurants.

The Blood Swept Lands and Seas of Red

2014-11-16T11:40:00.001+00:00

Tower Poppy buyers - when yours arrives, it seems that you will receive the petals only with no stem or centerpiece. These can easily be added and adapted to suit ones own needs. There are already people saying this is 'ridiculous' or 'bad drills'. Am I so terribly out of step with the rest of the world that I don't see it as an issue and that we take should take comfort in the fact that a lot of money has been raised for charity and that, for a short time, people were involved in a unique event either by actively installing or uninstalling, or donating.

I Think Of That Grey Wall

2014-11-04T18:30:00.005+00:00

I don’t care about religion

The Sin Bosun's just white noise

He drones a while, and then a pause

And soon we hear the boom.

Pipe the Still.

And I start to think….

I look around those there

There are one or two from then

They slowly age, and their numbers thin

And we will thin, will age like them

I think of him down South

With the Guards, the heat, the noise

His wounds were deep, no marks were seen

30 years and blackness took him

I think of the sandbox

The screen, Op Minimise

A half-built airport that would quieten

For a Lockheed and its passenger

I think of podviniki

Of their treacherous end

Some unnamed thugs, a syringe on screen

A widow’s fading cry

I think of that grey wall

I think of that long grey wall

So many written there, husbands, brothers, sons

Thousands more on walls elsewhere

I think of…..

Carry on.

And so that's it

Off we troop inside

And line up for our glass

All smiles and cheer for one more year

And memories.

I Think Of That Grey Wall

2014-11-04T10:23:00.000+00:00

I don’t care for religion

The padre is just white noise

He drones a while, and then a pause

And soon we hear the boom.

Pipe the Still.

And I start to think….

I look around those there

There are one or two from then

They slowly age, and their numbers thin

And we will thin, will age like them

I think of him down South

With the Guards in the heat and noise

His wounds were deep, unmarking, not seen

30 years on, blackness took him

I think of the sandbox

Of the screen and Op Minimise

A half-built airport becoming still,

Of a Lockheed and it’s only passenger

I think of podviniki

Of their treacherous end

Some thugs, a nurse a syringe on screen

And a widow’s fading cry

I think of that grey wall

I think of that long grey wall

So many written there, husbands, brothers, sons

Thousands more on walls elsewhere

I think of…..

Carry on.

And so thats it

Off we troop inside

All line up for our glass

And all smiles and cheer for one more year

And memories.

A Letter From America*

2014-10-22T14:56:00.000+01:00

An American friend proposed the following:

I think that this Britain First movement in the UK is the tip of the ice berg in Western Europe. Just to crystal ball gaze. I believe that the combination of leftist government and the explosion of Mideast immigrants could spark a rather nasty European First neo nationalist movement. Like you, I am a Submarine Docent. I have talked to many young European visitors and many of them talk just like American Tea Partyers, with a continental twist. What do you think!"

In response, I wrote:

I'm not sure the leaning of the government is particularly relevant. The nasty people have been around for a long time and BF is just a new manifestation having evolved through the Black shirts, the National Front, and the British National Party. Similarly. the US has it's neo-Nazis, the KKK, white supremacists and others although given the right conditions anything can happen

It's all the more terrifying when one is sat in the middle seeing the extremes of both sides; knowing that one side is causing alienation of a lot of good people by its horrific actions and words, and for those actions and words to be portrayed as representative. The other extreme are hoodwinking a lot of good people with lies, by being disingenuous and by capitalising on the the deeds of the other extreme. And we are almost powerless to do anything about that other than to try and show the fallaciousness of both sides words.

But then,

"He that complies against his will is of his own opinion still."¹

¹ http://www.bartleby.com/100/168.html

*Please, read his biography and listen to some of Alistair Cooke's broadcasts that spanned the decades.

Letter From America on the BBC iPlayer

Letter from America on Wikipedia

Robin Williams

2014-08-12T09:07:00.003+01:00

It's astonishing to see the response to Robin Williams' death; much greater than that of anybody else's I've seen on social media. And yet there will be hardly anyone I know who will have met him. It just goes to show the huge effect that humour can have on us as individuals. Not only was he a really fun but he could mask a political comment with his humour and make it cut like a knife. I'm grateful for the huge raft of material he's left for us.

Remembrance Without Religion

2014-07-13T17:55:00.002+01:00

Up until last year, there was a rather simple Remembrance Parade held at the Royal Navy Submarine Museum in November. People would gather; old submariners would fall in, Laurence Binyon's words would be spoken; the Still would be piped; silence observed; wreaths laid and then a Tot taken. Last year a vicar came in and led the service. For me, the simplicity and elegance disappeared with the imposition of the religious ritual and the, for me, meaningless biblical words and prayers, and this became just another remembrance service.

I suspect many will be used to the religious service and be happy to continue with the familiar format. I wonder, though, if others would appreciate a secular gathering, one where people can have their own thoughts and remember those 5300 and others without religious overtones.

If there are, please get in touch.

Only A Person Who Risks Is Free

2014-05-28T12:53:00.000+01:00

To laugh is to risk appearing the fool.
To weep is to risk appearing sentimental.
To reach for another is to risk involvement.
To expose your ideas, your dreams,
before a crowd is to risk their loss.
To love is to risk not being loved in return.
To live is to risk dying.
To believe is to risk despair.
To try is to risk failure.
But risks must be taken, because the
greatest hazard in life is to risk nothing.
The people who risk nothing, do nothing,
have nothing, are nothing.
They may avoid suffering and sorrow,
but they cannot learn, feel, change,
grow, love, live.
Chained by their attitudes they are slaves;
they have forfeited their freedom.
Only a person who risks is free.

- Unknown

I Never Made The Falklands

2014-04-02T23:50:00.001+01:00

or Some Not so Exciting Stories From 32 Years Ago

Paul Atkinson (Medical Assistant)

I sailed on MV Astronomer and got into the exclusion zone a day after the ceasefire!! Spent the next 4 months floating around the Falklands and spent my 21st birthday throwing up (due to seasickness) somewhere off South Georgia.

Ken Dunn and I fitted out a sick bay on Atlantic conveyor and when it came to sail they only wanted one medic. Me n ken tossed a coin and he won the toss and sailed on her!!

Dave Tipple (Leading Seaman)

As was I on Revenge in refit with you, but we did get to paint a Hull trawler that had been TUFT*. Everybody was ready to go. When SP Anderson told Elvis Costello that he could not go, he was going to stow away on the trawler.

Andy Mullins (Medical Assistant)

We had a Clear Lower Deck for single men, they wanted volunteers to go down south, I volunteered and bugger all came of it, They "said" they wanted 5 fairly senior MA's to stay and train RNR MA's..........I ended up in Mercury Sickbay!

Dathan 'Spike' Hughes (Weapons Electrical Mechanic)

I joined the Invincible with a survivor of HMS Sheffield, at Ascension Islands by helo, on the way back. I stood procedure Alpha (Gosport side of course) into Pompey. Does that make it into the 'I never made it' dit book? I went there 10 years later with Derek Golding. Not sure which was the most dangerous time...

Pete Chilcott (Leading Medical Assistant)

32 years ago, just after South Georgia and the Falklands had been taken, it was clear that ships were coming out of reserve or TUFT* and that there would be need for medics. Paul Stock and I were stood by HMS REVENGE in refit. Feeling that this is what we had trained for, we would volunteer to go South and play our part. We walked over to the Jimmy and explained our wishes. 'The deterrent comes first' was his response. Back we walked and that was the end of our Falklands.

*Taken Up From Trade

Veteran? Veteran of what?

2014-03-10T11:51:00.000+00:00

I asked some of my British colleagues whether or not others were comfortable with the term 'Veteran' or being referred to as one. I'm not. This is a comment I got in reply from a colleague ex British Army medic, and all round good guy (where's my bloody book?!).
________________________________________

It's because when you were growing up all that while ago, a veteran was a crusty who had served near 5-years through Normandy to Japan and back to Berlin while slaughtering the enemy on a daily basis from beneath their half-deployed parachute canopy throwing the daggers of shot-in-the-air comrades; or had shot and killed their first of many at a range of 3 feet in an enemy ambush in densest Borneo; or had faced off the bad guys in Suez in a lone tank with a track blown off by a 1.4lb'er and an issue of just 4 rounds; or swam through burning oil after a 100ft escape via a torpedo tube; or was on the Hood during its finest hour...etc.

Perhaps you feel you do not measure to up to that childhood awe of the term, "Veteran"; the men who served to protect your freedom and jump the queue in Woolworths as grumpy old gits to whom we 'owed a debt' and an oz of tobacco, and who looked nothing like the glamorous actors in your favourite movies because they were REAL soldiers, sailors, and airmen.

Face it, you ARE that grumpy, crusty old git; you gave your time to Serve in some overly-hyped leaky, sweat-stained old 'boat'; you worked to improve the care of the wounded; you did your best to throw daggers; and you faced DMETA without loosing more than a handful - or two of marbles, and you sat watch while others slept just knowing you were there while peers dozed through life in a glaze of ignorant 'normality'. Top it all, you even volunteer to preserve the memory and memories of Veteran kin safe on Her Venerable Ladyship, The Alliance. YOU are a Veteran. Get over it. Wear it with dignity and wear it with pride. Just saying. God Bless You, and all who HAD to f'ing Suffer to Sail With You x

And another thing!

2014-03-08T09:25:00.002+00:00

My particular brand of middle aged grumpiness comes from a couple of things. People, particularly some ex servicemen, who see things posted on the SuperInterwebhighway, and take them as gospel. The second comes from people who see an item on news, rarely more than a minute or two long, and react in a ranty, extra grumpy way without having all the information. Particularly if it reinforces their own prejudices. Research, people, research and not just the Daily Mail.

So yes, that's me being grumpy about grumpy people. Ironic really. Still, in half an hour, I shall say Zvadreite to poorly educated Bulgarians, they will smile as they say Zvadreite back, our faces will beam and all will be good with the world.

Be happy people

Another Sunday Morning

2014-01-26T15:26:00.000+00:00

Sunday morning, lying in bed, a cup of tea, some grown up people talking on Broadcasting House, on BBC Radio 4 and that same programme closing with Richard Burton reading the opening words to Under Milk Wood. An hour long Sunday oasis.

And to go with that oasis......this -

Standing Room Only

2014-01-24T21:15:00.000+00:00

Today for the first time in my life I, and quite a few others, had to stand during a funeral as all the available seating had been taken. Now, that's quite a testimony to the popularity and to the character of the person who had died. I had only met Linda once but had worked with her husband, Al, and wanted to show some support, whatever that means. He, too, is one of the 'good guys'. He spoke warmly of his wife, of how she treated others, and of how others helped her with her own issues. It's always tough listening to a man eulogising his wife when they are still only middle aged with a family. It was even tougher listening to her son talking before Al. He openly admitted he was a young man with flaws and who had made errors. But he was equally candid about how his mum had always provided support and encouragement and had not dismissed him when he strayed. She offered him advice on how to correct his faltering path and how best to continue with his life. I'm sure Linda was proud of her son in life and I hope he believes that pride will always be around him in later life.

I can't help thinking that just about every adult male in the world would like to think their own mum treated them the same way and in their imagination, they are still a child cuddling up to her. I can still remember that softness and that fresh, 'clean' aroma of my mum when I was in my 40s getting my last cuddles.

No Princes In The Line

2013-12-05T19:09:00.000+00:00

I came across this the other day. It seems a fair observation...

Princes in the Line

The heir to England's throne stood proud, before a wall in France,
“Once more unto the breach, dear friends!”; he bid the troops advance,
His armour, and his honour, bright; all men could see them shine,
So they followed to the battle for their prince was in the line.

When Charles's cavaliers were called to muster for the king,
The monarch's only nephew heard the call to duty ring,
Foremost in the fighting rode Rupert Of The Rhine,
There was honour in the battle when a prince was in the line.

Chorus:
(But/For) the children of our rulers will not join the fight today,
(and) Kings of Commerce never send their sons into the fray,
The children of the poor will fight the wars that they design,
But what honour's in the battle with no princes in the line?

The South Pacific blazed, and rang with Freedom's fire-alarm,
The name of 'old Joe' Kennedy could keep his sons from harm,
But the Navy needed brave young men; this was the place and time,
So a Once-And-Future President stepped up into the line.

Chorus

A bitter South Atlantic wind blew over icy sea,
The Queen of England's son flew out to face the enemy,
As target for the missiles, to protect the fleet so fine.
This argument's not: 'Right or wrong?' - but: 'Princes in the line?'

Chorus

Prime Ministers and Presidents take us to war with lies,
In parliament and congress they wear flags for their disguise,
Their kids wear trendy camouflage while sipping vintage wine,
But they will not wear the uniform, and step into the line.

Chorus:
For the children of our rulers will not join the fight today,
(and) Kings of Commerce never send their sons into the fray,
The children of the poor will fight the wars that they design,
But what honour's in the battle with no princes in the line?
But what honour's in the battle with no princes in the line?
If there was honour in the battle... there'd be princes in the line.

Return to Tom Lewis: Index to Song Lyrics

Thoughts From Remembrance Day 2013

2013-11-10T21:47:00.001+00:00

Just as we finished Piping the Still this morning and after the salute from from Fort Blockhouse, we could hear the Last Post being sounded on a bugle in the distance. The contrast of the simple shrillness of the Bosun's Call with the the faint but tuneful bugle was striking and poignant.

-----------------------------------------------------

I am watching my HD recording of the Remembrance Parade from this morning. The various dress uniforms of the various units look so vivid. Now, I'm obviously biased but there is something simply but supremely elegant and timeless in the way the Royal Navy platoons look in their simple black greatcoats, white caps, belts and gaiters.

-----------------------------------------------------

At RNSM today, I paused for a moment to think of a distinguished gentleman and father of an old friend who had been with us in the same place last year but is no longer with us.

No Need For Religion

2013-11-09T22:32:00.001+00:00

Sunday 10th November 2013 will see the assembly of a small number of ex servicemen remembering their dead . In previous years, this has been an informal, brief but poignant act of remembrance held in the shadow of the complete list of those several thousand lost, many of which have no known grave.

This is now been formalised and is to have a vicar participating. Why such a simple and perfect ceremony needs the mumbo jumbo of religion inflicted upon it, I don't understand.