Entering Leander Mess
The clothing issue had given us the equipment of sailors. It had not, however, made us feel like sailors.
That required somewhere to put the equipment, and somewhere to live.
Leaving the clothing store, I was carrying everything that had just been issued to me. It was an impressive collection: boots, caps, kitbag, grip, brown leather attaché case, service underwear, socks, sports kit, No.2s, No.8s, a housewife, boot polish and everything else that a new entry suddenly discovered he was responsible for.
There was only one problem.
I had to carry it all.
I was falling over myself, dropping things, struggling along and feeling thoroughly inadequate while being encouraged—in the usual naval manner—by someone in a dark blue suit who appeared to believe that shouting was the most efficient method of communication.
I later discovered that he was the Petty Officer responsible for Leander Mess.
At that moment, however, he was simply another obstacle between me and wherever I was supposed to be going.
Eventually, along with around thirty other new entries, I reached Leander Mess.
It was another world.
The messdeck was nothing like anything I had known before. Double bunks lined both sides of the space, with lockers positioned beside them. There was no sense of having your own room or your own corner. The Navy had already arranged where everyone belonged.
My paperwork gave me my bunk position. It was on the top, which was not ideal, but it was mine. Beside the bunk was my locker, a small space that seemed almost impossibly inadequate compared with what I had just been issued.
There was a locker for me and another for the person below.
I placed my pile of kit on top of mine.
The pile immediately slid off and landed on the deck.
This produced another demonstration of naval encouragement.
At that stage, I had not yet learned the first rule of messdeck life: everything had a place, and the available space was never going to be as large as you wanted it to be.
For a boy arriving straight from home, the change was considerable. At home, personal possessions were simply personal possessions. At HMS Ganges, every item had to fit into a limited space, be identified, maintained and produced when required.
The messdeck itself was the beginning of communal naval life. Around thirty boys who had arrived from different parts of the country were now sharing the same space, following the same routines and learning the same expectations.
There was no gradual introduction.
Within a few hours of arriving at Shotley Gate, we had signed our engagements, received our kit, lost our civilian appearance and been placed into a messdeck where everything from sleeping arrangements to storage space had already been decided.
It was an efficient system, but for a fifteen-year-old it was also a complete change of scale.
Leander Mess was not simply a place to sleep. It was the first place where the Navy began to feel real. The buildings on the parade ground had been unfamiliar. The uniform had been new. The instructions had been confusing.
Now the reality was unavoidable.
This was where we lived.
Entering Leander Mess Part 2 - The Junior Mess Leader
Annexe 113 - Primary source: RN-010
RN-E-145-01
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