Following a two-and-a-half-year stint on my first ship, HMS Puma, I was sent to Victory Barracks in Portsmouth to await my next draft posting with instructions to ensure that I check the Daily Orders notice board at least twice a day. By now, I’m an “Old Salt” at just 19 years old. Almost a month went by until it appeared... 

D. Taunt M(E) report to the Regulating Office. 

“Ah” says the RPO. “I hope you like the sunshine, come back in two weeks' time for your flight tickets!” Flight tickets? I’m in the Navy, not the b****y Air Force! “Where to?” I asked. With a smirk on his face, he proceeded to inform that I was going for a 12-month holiday in paradise called Christmas Island. 

Not wanting to appear ignorant, I didn’t ask where the heck that was – I'll check the atlas! Sounds a bit cold with a name like that. Two weeks later at the tail end of September 1961, myself and an Able Seaman boarded a BOAC Boeing 707 at Heathrow for New York, Chicago, San Francisco and finally Honolulu. One night in Hickam Airbase followed home by the RAF bone shacking Hastings aircraft to Christmas Island. 

Meanwhile, I’d heard about everyone sleeping in tents out there but, thanks to the army guys, they’d built some wooden huts by the time I arrived. 

The guy to whom I was relieving took me by the hand to introduce me to my allocated job which turned out to be looking after, maintaining and ‘driving’ three LCM’s (landing craft) and an MFV. He left for the UK a few days later looking very bronzed and needless to say, very happy. 

This was a tough and highly skilled duty, starting all engines each morning for an hour to keep the batteries charged, then find something else to do – time mainly taken up by studying the razor-sharp teeth attached to a 4-5ft long body swimming around underneath the jetty. I used to know a guy called Murray, but he certainly didn’t have the teeth like those eels. 

This job, to say the least, was a little tedious except for the times we put to sea for the collection of stores from the Royal Fleet Auxiliary supply ship occasionally, and the odd trip out into the lagoon for a spot of scuba diving, shark fishing and chasing manta rays. 

After a few weeks at that cushy number, I knew that the guy in the MT (Motor Transport) workshop was due to go home or so, and having an interest in cars I slapped in a Request Chitty to move jobs. This was granted and old buddy Pete Lambourne took my place on the boats as I started to service and maintain four Land Rovers, about 8 pushbikes and a Go Kart along with building a new Land Rover which had arrived in about 8 crates and had to be put together. Amazingly, with a few nuts and bolts left over, it worked! 

I stand corrected, but I believe we were informed in February or March 1962 that a few gentlemen from the US of A were coming to the island to let off a few fireworks. Apparently, our government had loaned them the island for a period of 6 months along with the British servicemen to help out where necessary. Thankfully, Royal Navy personnel were not involved and we just carried on with our own daily routine

and duties. 

OPERATION DOMINIC (aka BRIGADOON) 

In early April someone came around to the living quarters issuing a pair of (very) high density dark glasses, of which I was grateful for as I had broken my sunglasses (these turned out to be useless for normal use as looking through them all was totally black) and a box of dangly things with a green blob on it. Verbal instructions were to report to the sick bay if the green blob turned red. No registration was made appertaining to any individuals, as far as I recall. What happened to them after the tests I know not. 

A general instruction was made for all personnel to muster on the playing field to practice formalities in preparation for the testing of a series of nuclear bombs. Umm - sounds exciting. 

“Sit on the ground, head between your knees, dark goggles on, hands over your eyes and with your back to the detonation. After the blast, stand and turn to watch the rising of a new sun! Be prepared for the shock wave.” Now we’re all getting a little nervous... 

Later – An American gentleman had found the microphone that operated the tannoy system... This is Mahatma. One minute until release.... 5 4 3 2 1 Release. Bomb’s away.... One minute to detonation..... Fear sets in.... FLASH – BANG – WALLOP! We all know the rest, the horrendous heat, the thunderous, almighty bang followed by the shock wave that almost felt you had been run over by a train. 

Frighteningly I was one of the very few British military to witness all 24 visible US nuclear tests in the proximity of Christmas Island between the 25th April and 11th July 1962. 

Most of the tests took place in the early hours of the morning which most of our Brits thought this a little inconsiderate. Things became a little more complacent after the first few Big Bangs and many of us just stayed in bed with goggles on and a pillow over our heads, until someone took the microphone away from Mahatma, then it was time to get up anyway. The huge mushroom cloud almost became commonplace along with the downpour of rain that often followed. Being honest – it was petrifying but we survived, totally unaware of the consequences and health issues that were to evolve over the years that followed. 

Entertainment? The NAAFI – swimming – diving – sailing – water skiing, kart racing, cinema. Being a little bit of a pop music freak, an additional pastime for me was two one hour slots a week presenting a pop music programme on Christmas Island Broadcasting Service (CIBS), to which I know I had at least one listener, an RAF guy called Kevin Wallin who was awaiting me to finish my slot and take over the broadcasting studio to present his programme. 

Not all times were happy times in this paradise. Sadly, one of my mess-deck buddies, Brum Hailey, was

found dead in his bed one morning. Not a happy sight as I had never seen a dead body before. We buried him at sea a few days later and I was front pall bearer for the funeral, alongside our Commanding Officer. Unfortunately, I was next to go home and was “detailed” to take a photo album of his funeral to his parents on my return to the UK. That was not nice! 

Did you know that you can squeeze four American interior sprung bed mattresses in a Land Rover? Four poor American soldiers left theirs unattended whilst they were at Chow (it wasn’t easy prizing them from under their tent). Well, we only had those awful MoD horsehair type mattresses, didn’t we? Four good night's sleep was had before being exposed by an envious senior rating... Off caps in front of our Commanding Officer who harshly awarded three days stoppage for stealing US military property. The grin on his face said it all – we weren’t going anywhere anyway... Back to the MoD horsehair type! 

The trip home via civil airline in early October ‘62 was quite eventful. I travelled, in uniform of course, with an Able Seaman (who will remain nameless) who managed to consume most of the stock of champagne on the aircraft (bought by fellow passengers, I hasten to add – poor British sailors), collapse on the floor in the toilet and was out cold. Two flight attendants and I took half an hour to crush him enough to get the door open and drag him out. “He’s not with me Captain, honest!” 

A couple of small beers in the NAAFI along with friendly banter (bordering on outright war) between the three services, somehow escalated into planning two weeks leave in Honolulu and Hawaii with John Lax (RAF) and two other guys. Dreams of Waikiki beach, surfing, scantily clad ladies to evaluate and mark out of 10. That perceived to be quite challenging after not setting eyes on that species for months on end. A short discussion and it was agreed to mark out of 5 to make such difficult assessments simpler. 

Who says accommodation is expensive in ‘Lulu? Not when you fake (badly) an American accent when boldly walking past the huge US military police guarding Hickam Air Base and finding an empty bed each night for a week – and bluffing your way in for a gigantic American-type breakfast every morning. 

Week two of our leave was spent in a US servicemen’s (and their families) holiday camp in Hawaii. Someone will recall the name of the place as that escapes me. A great time was had to say the least and I still can’t recall how we managed to sponge a free flight from Honolulu to Hawaii and back to the US Airforce. All I can remember is that it was in an ancient Dakota, in which we had to sit around the cargo that it was carrying. 

That’s my higgledy piggledy (as they come to mind) memories of the paradise island. Unfortunately, I never did come across the RPO that gave me the draft ticket received in the post to join HMS Miner 111, a diver training ship operating out of Portsmouth and Falmouth for an 18-month stint. 

Happy Days! 

David Taunt, Royal Navy (12 years) 

My thoughts are with those who didn’t make it this far and with families who also have had to suffer the consequences of our service to our country. R I P Brothers.