# HMS Hermes, off Trinidad.



## Cpt Dick Brooks (May 13, 2013)

We'd just left St. George's Harbour, in Grenada, and were on our way south for Trinidad to attend the carnival. It was in January, 1980, and I'd celebrated my thirty forth birthday while in the port. The sun was shining, and there was almost a flat calm... the only breeze was caused by the ship's passage through the sea at ten knots.
We'd called in at St. George's Harbour to load fresh drinking water, as it would have been far too expensive in Port-of-Spain, so thought I'd better top up the tanks while I had the chance. As Debut had a draft of eighteen feet aft, she wouldn't have been able to use the coastal berth, but would have to tie up on the main wharf... forcing the need to use a pilot and tugs.
We also called in at St. George's Harbour to drop off Siggy, who we'd picked up earlier while he was on-the-beach at St. Barthelemy, after he'd been kicked off the American motor yacht that he'd been crewing on. The elderly captain had treated him like a slave, and had put him ashore penniless with only a dirty T-shirt and a pare of raggy shorts to his name. He'd spent two weeks scrounging food off the locals in St. Barthelemy, or liberating it from their pet animal's feed bowls.
My crew met up with him ashore and brought him on board with them. He volunteered to work his passage home as the galley-boy, after Thomas had taken him under his wing. Thomas had just spent two years at the Sorbonne, in Paris, studying French cuisine, and wanted to take six months out travelling before returning home to Angelholm, in Sweden, to take over running his father's restaurant.
All twenty six members of my new crew were in a good mood, as we were travelling to Port-of-Spain to be involved in the carnival for that year. Most of them were taking a gap-year from university, or taking a year out from a good job to travel before settling down to marriage, mortgage and maternity... especially the girls... all fifteen of them being in the deck crew. Music was playing over the ship's P.A. system, and the crew were sunbathing or just running about the deck completely naked.
We were about half way between the south-western tip of Grenada and the Dragon's Mouth... the entrance into the Gulf-de-Paria... the inland sea before reaching the anchorage off Port-of-Spain. A shout went up from the crew sunbathing on the boat-deck aft, and there was the pitta-patter of running feet as the rest of the crew ran aft to see what was up.
A black submarine had surfaced in our wake, only a few hundred yards astern. She was heading west from the Atlantic Ocean, with a small but clear hammer and sickle painted in red on the top aft corner of her conning-tower. We all stood around, gorping in amazement, on the stern of the boat-deck of Debut. "What was that all about?" was the general murmur travelling around the crew.
Things settled down once more, and the sun-worshippers took up their positions again. Beethoven's Ninth Symphony was blasting from all the deck speakers, as I particularly enjoyed his classical overtures. I was waving my arms, as if conducting The London Symphony Orchestra in my wheelhouse.
Andy, my chief engineer, pointed out a large shape on the seventy two mile Furuna radar scanner dead ahead of us. By the look of its transit, it was on a reciprocal course to us... heading north. We could still see the Russian submarine to our north on the twenty four mile screen setting.
Nearer and nearer the shadow came towards us, until we could recognise not just one but two ships side by side on the sweep of the revolving radar arm. Many of the sunbathing crew had got wind of this and were crowding into the wheelhouse to see what was up. Several of them had climbed the ladder onto the top of the wheelhouse to get a better view with binoculars.
Out of the mist appeared an aircraft carrier, receiving a R.A.S. from a supply ship. Those with binoculars scanned them continuously to see who and from what country they were from. And the forth movement of Beethoven's Ninth Symphony blasted out all over the ship from the deck-speakers.
The ship's V.H.F. radio crackled into life :- "British ship on my port bow, this is the British warship, H.M.S. Hermes. What is your name. Over." This was said in a very clipped posh voice, and invoked cries of laughter from the crew.
I picked up my mike from its clamp and jumped up and down shouting 'shush' to my crew so that I could reply, turning down the volume on my record-player as I did so. "British warship, H.M.S. Hermes. This is the British motor yacht, Debut. Over."
There was a burst of laughter from my crew regarding my reply to them. This was a fare description of Debut, as she wasn't registered as a Class 10 fishing vessel anymore, but as a Class 12 private yacht... even though she was just as rusty as any Hull trawler could have been.
It was after several minutes of silence on the radio before the return message came back. "British motor yacht, Debut. Where have you come from, and what is your destination? Over."
I waved both of my arms up and down to shush my crew. "British warship, H.M.S Hermes. We've just left St. George's Harbour, in Grenada, after taking on fresh drinking water. The place is under the control of solders, following a military coup sponsored by Cuba. Our destination is Port-of Spain, in Trinidad, to experience the carnival this year. Over."
By now, both our ships were only a few hundred yards apart, but most of the lower part of H.M.S. Hermes was masked by the R.F.A. tanker alongside her port side. We could still see many of her crew milling about the flight deck, and many of the R.A.F. tanker's crew were lining her rails, looking in our direction. There was the glint of several pairs of binoculars from the port bridge-wing.
"Bon-voyage. Debut," came out of the radio speaker. "May you have a pleasant trip."
"Bon-voyage, to you, too. By the way, there is a Russian submarine some ten miles astern of us. She surfaced a few hundred yards astern of us in our wake."
Once more, there was silence. I could imagine the excitement on their bridge as they ran about looking for previous messages. "Thank you for your information, Debut. She is a French submarine that we are about to engage in manoeuvres with. Over."
"She had a red hammer and sickle painted on the top aft corner of her conning-tower on her port side," I informed them. "We'll give your regards to 'The Flying Angel Club' in Port-of-Spain. All the best, from Debut. Over and out."
There was general whooping and laughter from my crew in the wheelhouse, and I cranked up Beethoven's Ninth Symphony again for all the speakers around the ship. All the best, Cpt Dick Brooks.


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## Thunder Down Under (Feb 29, 2016)

Just love these tales Captain. Thank you.

TDU


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## tsell (Apr 29, 2008)

G'day, Dick, yeah they can be a bit of a puzzle these wayward subs, as I mentioned in Chapter 94... I believe it was known as HMS Herpes??

Cheers,

Taff


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