Below are a few Dits from Tony.

In 1958, as a 16 year old, I went over the wall at Ganges.
It was easy down by the foreshore at night. I eventually worked my way around to the main road into Ipswich and in the morning thumbed a lift on a lorry to London, and thence to my parent's home in Watford.
I tried to tell them I was on leave, but as I was dressed in No 8s, they knew differently!
They gave me a day at home, then my old man bought me a rail ticket back to Ipswitch.
I walked in through the gate and declared myself under arrest! As I had returned voluntarily, they didn't put me in the cells, but I was up on Captain's Defaulters the following day.
"Off caps!"
"Why did you do it?" he wanted to know.
"I was just a bit fed up with Ganges food!" I told him. "And there was a dead bird in our teapot!"
I was sentenced to six cuts of the cane. This is administed by the Jaunty, with you wearing PT shorts, no pants, and held over the back of a chair by two burley RPOs.
I never uttered a sound for the first five, so he laid it on for the sixth one! It was said that if he drew blood or crossed the welts they paid you sixpence each time.
He didn't though.
But, you got the rest of the day off to recover, and I made a fair bit of dosh selling my mates a butchers at the welts for thruppence a time!
And I gained a lot of respect on the mess-deck.
And there was a review of hygene in the galley.
Tone (ex AA1)

A Few More Alterative Ganges Memories
Who recalls the scratchy old turn-table in the Annex guardroom? A few of us had brought 45rpm records with us. We had to scratch our ship’s book number on the labels if we wanted them played over the tannoy in the evening. 1796 was mine. Still can’t forget it!
Elvis’s Heartbreak Hotel, Buddy Holly and the Crickets, ‘Oh Boy’, Unchained Melody, and a rare version of Endless Sleep come to mind.
We also had a phantom boot slasher. Somebody would piss into a pair of boots at night. We never found out who it was!
Outside WCs with no doors or toilet seats in case we were suicidal!
I nearly passed out on an Annex parade, and was whisked off to sickbay, where they declared I had pneumonia and pleurisy. I was sent to the sick bay hospital on the main site for the last couple of week’s of basic training. I had to sleep in a bed that sloped up at the feet to try to clear my lungs. At 15 years old I was much impressed by the gorgeous nurses (female) that ran the place!
At one point I thought I’d miss Christmas at home. Everyone else had gone on leave leaving me and a couple of nurses behind to look after me. But they decided that they wanted to go home for Christmas too, so I was issued a train pass and transported to the station and dumped on a train to London.
After Christmas, on return to Ganges, I was fearful that I would have to do basic training in the Annex again, having missed a couple of weeks, but not so. I caught up with the others in my entry at Keppel division, Mess 3 at the top of the Covered Way.
Being 6ft 4ins, but very thin, I got picked on by a couple of the class bullies. ‘Beat up the big guy and you look good’, was their philosophy of life! One of them kept pushing in front of me in queues for meals. I got fed up with it, and next time he did I panned him. He want out like a light. We dumped him on his bed, unconscious.
Everyone else went for breakfast but I was worried about him, and sat by his bed, making sure he was breathing. When he came round he saw me and shouted, “You?!”. He lept off the bed. One hell of a fight erupted between us. The others returned to find us hard at it! There was much cheering and I think some betting going on.
Then our CPO turned up, and broke it up. After that I was the best of mates with that bloke, especially after getting six cuts for going ‘over the wall’. He was most impressed by that!
Talking about fighting we had to do compulsory boxing. The only other guy in my weight was my best buddy, Willie Wilmott. I suggested we just make it look good and pull our punches. I think I won on points. Afterwards Willie said, “I thought you were going to pull your punches!” “I did!” I told him!
On one occasion during dhobi break we filled one of the polished gash bins with hot water and Pusser’s hard soap flakes, dumped all our whites in it and stirred it round and round with a squeegee for about half an hour. We pulled it all out and rinsed it and hung it all in the drying room. All our whites came out an ‘orrible grey colour! It was just then that our CPO came in! We had to rewash by hand and scrub every item!
Anyone ever get involved in cutter rowing races between divisions? I soon found out that a sharp tug on an oar could break it, and I could then sit and enjoy the ride! Problem is I did it once too many times? Our PO caught on, and would tell somebody else to give me their oar. “Do it again, and it’ll come out of your wages!” he warned.
So I became a sailing coxswain instead, and got out of rowing that way!
What about the cross country short cut? I can’t recall the exact route but it was out of the main gate, down towards Shotley Point, turn right along the foreshore. Turn right again, up a lane. Another couple of rights through woods and back in through the main gate. Willie Wilmott and I found we could cut across a couple of fields and miss out half of it. We did that, but got too enthusiastic and came in with the first ten. We were then selected to run for the ship in some local athletics competition, so that all back-fired!
A submarine visited Harwich. We were taken out to it in a motor cutter to have a look around. I climbed down the conning tower ladder turned around, smacked my head aganst a valve and woke up in the sick bay back at Ganges. I decided subs were not for me, not at my height! Still have that scar!
And what about the Pusser’s dirk they issued? When I passed for the Tiffy Apprenticeship I was supposed to have handed mine back in, but I didn’t. I had found one in the bottom of a boat, and kept it, so I had two. At Fisgard, the Apprenti weren’t issued with them. Mine was much admired and came in handy too, as I was also sailing whalers on the Tamar whenever I could.
And lastly your name on a wooden stamp and the Housewife or Hussif. First thing was to stamp all your kit then sew your name into it, in red cotton, chain stitch. I do wonder about when they stopped issuing them. I do recall being pretty good at darning socks, and earning a few pence by sewing up holes in my mates’ socks too. Couldn’t do it now! Can’t even write with a pen. Arthritis in my thumbs!