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>>>The First Time I Saw AKBAR >>for Andy Gibbs >>By Bill Meilen. February 2006 >> >>1. Arrival at Akbar >> >>I >> was born in Cardiff, Wales, September 16th 1932, >>within a pebble’s toss of the salt sea called Tiger >>Bay. My father Bill Mudd was in the Merchant Navy, >>and shipboard visits and trips abroad kept a nice tang >>of Stockholm Tar and ozone on the air of the home >>kitchen. His personal gifts were always exotic and >>plentiful, brought from distant places by a loving >>Dad. Things like a miniature New York City cop’s >>uniform, and real leather boxing gloves and a heavy >>bag, roller and ice skates (we seldom saw any ice in >>winter); western rigs; a complete set of silk Arab >>robes for a small Emir; a beautifully yellow canary >>that died of psitticosis after some months; a foot >>scooter; and a grand electrical Rolls Royce model toy >>car for running around the garden, et cetera. By the >>age of thirteen I knew all the bends and hitches, >>could box the compass fluently, splice rope, and rig a >>painter’s stage at least. Being sent to The Akbar as >>‘beyond parental control’ as a result of a virulent >>seafaring wanderlust that led me to take a Pier Head >>Jump on a fishing trawler at the age of fourteen, >>dressed in cricket flannels and blazer, was intended >>for punishment. It was to turn out to be a great >>blessing to me, as it was to teach me early about some >>useful realities of nautical life. >> Arriving at the southern hill-top edge of the Wirral, >>at Heswall, above the old Akbar establishment, looking >>due south, standing beside the building I was to come >>to know as Sick Berth, my attention was first drawn to >>the broad mud-banked expanse of the river Dee estuary, >>with the purple mountains of my country Wales on the >>far shore. Chester lay upstream to our east, and >>vague coasters were moving slowly along the Welsh >>coast, coming as my escort said ‘probably from Port >>Sunlight’. The ship HNTS, Heswall Naval Training >>Ship, the shore establishment of HMS Akbar, lay below, >>a huge two-story Victorian stone oblong of >>military-style buildings built around a broad, long >>deck. I am minded of a later description of the >>buildings later by an English master writing in the >>school broadsheet ‘reminiscent of the buildings of >>Torre Annunciata or His Majesty’s Prison at Brixton, >>South-West One…’ >> At the western (forward) end lay the Drill Hall and >>Gymnasium buildings, known as ‘the pointy end’. To >>the south lay Division Two and Division Four, above an >>instruction room called The Games Room, which >>contained no hint of any game whatever, and the Boot >>Room the Port Watch, containing showers, basins, and >>heating areas. It was also the site of all caning >>punishments. North side, nearest to our viewpoint, >>lay Division One and Division Three, the Starboard >>Watch with the solitary Confinement Block and its bare >>cells attached. At the eastern end (the Poop), were >>the Quarterdeck and Halfdeck with the administration >>offices, Deputy Commander’s house and office, >>Captain’s Office, and the Officers’ Mess. At Akbar, >>if you thought you knew what was going on in >>administrator’s minds, inscrutable as mandarins, you >>‘knew what was coming down the chute’ or ‘had the full >>Poop’ on everything. You were a Wise Guy and >>possibly, if you could run a black market in smokes, a >>Baron and a Hard Man. >> >>Akbar Report 1 2. >> >> >> To the east of the school’s front façade, standing >>alone, was the full-rigged, lovingly cared-for mast of >>a seventy-six gunner man’o’war with strong shrouds, >>and rising on the air, the clattering sound of >>hundreds of metal-shod boots, bosun’s whistles and >>barking drill voices hung on the air, and here and >>there boys in naval rig and shorts doubled to and fro >>in charge of senior boy petty officers. On a playing >>field east of the mast, boys played various sports, >>while a group below worked on the rig of a life-boat >>at the side of a small pond, operating davits. My >>overall impression at the time was one of awe at the >>general atmosphere of order and sheer organization, >>made evident by what I could hear and see. It excited >>me, because I had a very boot-in-the-butt disciplined >>up-bringing, and wanted to learn everything about >>being a seaman in order to get out on the bosom of the >>waves as soon as possible. When I walked downhill, >>there was no fear in my step. I could not wait for >>the adventure that clearly awaited me, this new >>experience: not knowing yet that Akbar had the >>reputation of being the toughest school ever existing >>in the British Empire, but I was to find out about >>that. Akbar was about to undertake a >>series of developmental changes, and I was there to >>witness that they were mainly due to the unceasing >>civilizing efforts of one person – Lt.Commander Martin >>Johnson, R.N.V.R., whose wartime specialty was the >>defusing of German sea-mines, whose >>life’s vocation was the development of human >>character. His motto? >> >>c + t = CT >>‘A little care and a little trust equals Character >>Training’ >> >>Completed Sunday February 5 2006. >> >>Next: Into the Inferno: It soon became clear to >>anyone committed to Akbar that there was no lying >>around, lounging, sitting, standing still nor walking >>in that world. There was only running, shouting, >>polishing, shining, fighting, training, training, >>training, with crashing boots, to an aural cacophony >>of boys trying to keep up with the demands of their >>Petty Officers and Leading Hands. It was the way the >>Navy’s Hearts of Oak were seasoned, and it worked.

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