Smelling stronger than bad cheese - THE PATROL BOATS IN CYPRUS

By
COLIN PARKIN

I CANNOT remember if I volunteered or I was drafted for what I did to earn my 'special assignment'. I do remember I was sent to Chatham Barracks, where I met 44 other ratings - Petty Officers, seamen, stokers, wireless operators and four officers. We were then drafted to somewhere near Sheerness for a six-week crash course of commando training. Not until we completed it did any of us know where we were being sent.

In October 1955, we flew from Stanstead Airport and arrived at Nicosia Airport, 24 hours later, including a stop in Rome. From the airport we were driven immediately to Famagusta in army trucks and given lodgings at the small George Hotel. This became our home when we were not at sea.

Colin Parker's patrol boat in Cyprus. Sixty feet-long, with space for a 12-man crew, she was an ex-torpedo recovery vessel from WW2. These patrol boats were the smallest commissioned vessels in the Royal Navy.

The next day we were divided into four crews of 11 each and assigned a patrol boat. After a week of sprucing up the craft and conducting sea trials, we were sent on our first patrol. There were four boats at Famagusta docks, but two were always at sea. We were supplied with what we needed by 65 Company RASC, which was stationed nearby.

Our job was to intercept fishing boats and search them for bombs and weapons, which could be used by the EOKA terrorists. We also anchored up in-shore occasionally and were ordered to search small monasteries and tiny villages. We now understood why we had been given commando training.

Because our patrols were kept secret and our boats did not carry any markings, we were spotted sometimes by larger Royal Navy ships and mistaken for potentially hostile vessels. In these circumstances, we had to use our radio call sign 'Yankee Papa' for identification.

Living conditions on board the patrol boats were very cramped and we took turns at cooking meals. After four weeks at sea, we were in need of a good bath. Occasionally we met up with a frigate or destroyer and used her shower facilities.

The crew of these ships looked at us as if we were some strange beings, because not only did we appear scruffy, we did not wear conventional RN uniforms. Worse still, our body odor was stronger than bad cheese.

After each three-week patrol, we returned to Famagusta for a week's leave, which we spent at the George Hotel. Here proper Royal Marines guarded us. When it was time to return to our patrol boats, we would be taken back to the docks in an open truck. On the way, the local Greek Cypriot kids had their fun by bombarding us with stones.

Although we did not see much action at sea, there were some scary moments. I remember we were at anchor just offshore one night, when I heard a bullet whine past me followed by the crack of a rifle. I grabbed our Bren gun and swung it in the direction from which the shot had come, but couldn't see a thing in the darkness.

Our skipper told me not to fire, unless we were fired upon again. The boat's engines roared into life and we got out of firing distance in a hurry.

Although we did not see a lot of action, after 10 months of having been on our guard at all times, I was glad to return home. I think we did a worthwhile job.

EDITOR'S NOTE: Colin Parkin joined the Royal Navy in May 1954 as an E M 2 and trained at HMS Collingwood. From there he was posted to HMS Jupiter, Reserve Fleet, Scotland, before going to Cyprus. Bernard Ratcliffe of HM PB4, RN, tells BSW: 'On completion of a patrol, we were on shore for three weeks, two of which were used to carry out repairs and small refits at the Famagusta Naval dockyard. After two years, we sailed the boats to Malta, losing one on the way, during a very bad sea storm. The rest were auctioned off.'

All PB crews were awarded the Royal Navy's General Service Medal.

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