Keith Butler would welcome any feedback from those who may recognise themselves, as time has overtaken Keith's memory, (hasn't it for all of us? Ed. ) and he cannot recall many of those in the photographs.
Feedback to Keith at the e-mail address below, thanks.
Fireworks over the Forth
I don't know how many six-inch shells the average ammunition lighter can hold. But I imagine, at full capacity, enough to put on quite a firework display if they all happened to explode at the same time. That being the case, the citizens of Rosyth narrowly missed a grand treat when the Gambia de-ammunitioned just upstream from the Forth Bridge back in March 1955.
Serving as a Boy Seaman on the Gambia, I was detailed as lighter party for 'B' turret when the ship was de-ammunitioning in prior to entering the dockyard for refit at the end of the 1954-55 commission. As most you ex-matelots will know, during de-ammunition, the shells were brought up to the upper deck by the turret's hoist mechanism, then lowered into the lighter by derrick.
So there we were, frantically stacking the shells into neat rows, four or five deep, as they rapidly lowered into the lighter by cradle. As the work progressed, the available deck space grew less and less until, to get to the only deck space available, we had to drag the cradle a considerable distance sideways before it could be lowered.
By the end of the day, I think everyone involved was getting pretty chokka with it all the heavy work. Maybe the thought of pints of the McEwans Heavy Bitter on offer ashore was occupying everyone's minds. That, or Pink Gins. Especially the mind of the Sub-Lieutenant in charge of the derrick's operation. "Hoist away," he commanded, as we lifted the last shells from the cradle. But he wasn't concentrating was he? Because the cradle swung in a great arc, and one of the hooks of the cradle's caught on the rope that ran around the rubbing strake of the lighter's dinghy, that stood in front of the wheelhouse. Up came the dinghy, swaying backwards and forwards above us, as we gazed upwards in dismay. Crack! The rope broke and we dived for cover as the dinghy crashed down, scattering six-inch shells in all directions.
Just how much ill-treatment a six-inch shell can take, I do not know. But we thought the end had come. Strangely enough, apart from being ordered to re-stack the shells, nothing else was ever said, no apologizes were made (as far as I know), and no enquiry was ever undertaken. Just how close we came to total obliteration that day, I do not know. Perhaps only the shells themselves could have told us.
The above kindly submitted by Bob Buckley, thanks Bob.
AB Ernest Shirley, whose daughter, Carol, sent in this picture recently via Keith Butler, which was attached to the picture below of Gambia entering Grand Harbour in April 1955.
