The HMS Conway, 1945-1948HMS Conway was home to Patrick Purser during the time the ship was moored off Bangor.
Below are the final excerpts from his autobiography (continued from previous editions of the Anglesey Informer) covering his time serving as a cadet on HMS Conway from 1945 to 1948.
I remember the hard winter of ‘47 - ice floes in the straits -impossible to keep oneself warm.
Most of Britain’s railway network at a standstill - frozen up, and unable to deliver the much-needed supplies of coal and raw-material to power stations and factories struggling to recover from the deprivations of a World War.
At this time, of course, I was blissfully unaware of these national problems. My only thought being, “if only I could keep warm!”
I remember, as Coxswain of the number-one motor boat, during the summer term of 1948, motoring down through the Swellies Channel, on Saturday afternoons to Plas Newydd with Tom Goddard the Captain, and one of the schoolmasters, to assist in surveying what was to be the future mooring of the ship, abreast the Marquess of Anglesey’s mansion, Plas Newydd.
In a way, we were the pioneers of the final chapter in the history of that great ship, which five years later, at the start of a long tow to Liverpool for a much needed refit, was to end up as an ignominious wreck on the notorious Pladder rock of the Swellies Channel.
I was on Sub Lieutenant’s courses around Portsmouth in 1953 when I read the horrific news of the HMS Conway stranding. As soon as I could get leave I raced north to see things for myself. “Spookie” was welcoming and invited me to accompany a small team in the Number One motorboat to attempt some more salvage work before the ‘breakers and wreckers’ arrived.
The tide was out, and as we drew near this sad sight of a once mighty vessel now with back broken, lying over on her port side high and dry on the rocky shore, not only was her bulk apparent but also the fine lines of her under waterline contours.
No wonder she could log over 14 knots in her heyday! We must have stepped onto the beach as I cannot now remember how we clambered aboard with the starboard gangway way above our heads.
But I do remember standing on the lower deck trying to hold my footing against the alarming list. What a scene of desolation! By now, many tides had swept through the ship leaving their inevitable trail of slime and weed.
All was dark and gloomy, the twisted stanchions and splintered deck beams bore silent witness to her final struggle to stay ‘alive’. The Orlop deck below was in pitch blackness and to venture down there would been foolhardy. I turned away with a sad heart. I wanted to see no more.
When I joined the ship in 1945 I was 5 feet 2 inches tall and weighed 6 stone. By Christmas 1948 I had shot up to 5 feet 8 inches with a weight increase to 8½ stone. So the food couldn’t have been all that meagre!!
Finally, the day dawned for me to leave my ‘Alma Mater’. I cannot remember this as a momentous occasion, nor can I recollect any of the events of that day, be it stepping off the ship, or the long train journey home to Whitstable in Kent where my mother had been living since the death of my father in 1946.
I find it strange to say these words considering those "HMS Conway” years were amongst the most formative in my entire life! It was like living in the best traditions of the “Boys’ Own Paper”; we were treated like men and expected to behave like men.
There was discipline which in turn engendered self-discipline, for without it your own or others lives could be endangered. We were allowed freedom on the water and in the mountains without constant adult supervision.
No doubt we made mistakes, but we quickly learned them without the enfeebling prop of “Health and Safety” regulations. We unconsciously lived up to the ship’s motto, “Quit Ye Like Men, Be Strong”.
Sometimes I feel very sorry for the youngsters of today constrained by “political correctness” from being allowed to take risks and learn the meaning of “Failure” which will surely beset them in their years ahead. I almost forgot to mention the HMS Conway Roar! Today, no doubt it would be ‘politically’ unacceptable; but in those far off days of complete freedom of expression we ‘men’ standing on the touchline to cheer on the rugby team in a crucial inter-school match would roar out at the top of our voices, the following ‘ditty’ designed to put fear and trembling into our opponents!
“Pieces of Eight - Pieces of Eight - Pieces of Nine and Ten.
We’ll cut the throats of every man and sew them up again!
DEAD - MEN - TELL - NO - TA-A-A-A-A-A-LES!!”
Indefatigable Years, 1977-1991, Return to Anglesey Informer from HMS Conway Return to Anglesey Today from HMS Conway
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