At lunchtime today, I read the obituary of Dame Marion Kettlewell in The Telegraph.
Dame Marion was a Wren and died on 11 April, aged 102. She joined the Women’s Royal Naval Service in 1942 and in the years following 1947, she spent three years on the staff of the Commander-in-Chief, Plymouth and time as a Chief Officer in the Admiralty. In 1961 she was promoted to Superintendent, WRNS and later to Commandant, becoming the Director of the WRNS from 1967 to 1970.
What made me almost spit a mouthful of coffee onto my keyboard was this:
“By 1942 Marion Kettlewell … was selected to be commissioned and, after three weeks’ preparation at Greenwich, she was appointed as quarters officer in charge of the catering and accommodation at HMS Twatt….”
“HMS Twatt”? Sounds like something from the never-made RN caper “Carry on up Spithead”! The Navy Lark, eh?
My highly-crafted tags got mangled! Choose any combination of the words you want … and you’ll have to use a couple of them twice.
I’m almost ashamed to write this. Almost.
A pedant writes. I’ve not read that obit, but there might be a problem.
Twatt is of course an utterly splendid name for a place (even better than Marston Bigot, Whitchurch Canonicorum, Rawridge or Nempnett Thrubwell), and an airfield was built there in the Second World War, operated by the Royal Navy’s Fleet Air Arm. In common with all the RN’s shore bases, it was an honorary ship (a ‘stone frigate’), and so had an ‘HMS’ name.
Sadly, this was HMS Tern.
Grey Area is actively considering the benefits of acquiring a life. . .
According to the obit, HMS Twatt was a naval air station at Hatston in Orkney.
I just looked it up and it seems also to be referred to as Airfield Twatt, RNAS Twatt and, as you say, HMS Tern.
Having lived, for a time, around Portsmouth and Fareham, I know that the onshore navy bases have the “HMS” title: it was just “twatt” that brought me up sharp when I was reading the obit of a 102-year old lady.
Childish of me perhaps, but it was a bit of a “Viz” moment!
Childish? You rang?
We live in a world which might very soon be run by two blokes called Trump and Putin. All we need is a Chinese premier called Guff Ho Ho to complete the set.
I was kind of waiting for you to add a “Fnarr”.
Perhaps you’d oblige?
Always a warm berth on that vessel.
And, furthermore,
Hurfnarhurfff.
They were always dragging themselves up on deck.
There was a HMS Beaver fairly recently in service. Can imagine the signals and commands that went back and forth relating to that ship and the seamen.