Stories of life on board HMAS MILDURA Story List: by Eric AblettWireless transmission was never made at sea in wartime except in an emergency, because the signal could give your position away to the enemy. However, a 24 hour watch was always maintained on the receiving sets which was our only link with base. Eric Ablett was a MILDURA sparkey during the days of East Coast convoys. He spins an interesting story from those times about aerial maintenance. "Because the mysteries of Radio theory were not my cup of tea, I made it my business to volunteer for aerial maintenance on both of the corvettes in which I sailed. Generally speaking it was a great life in harbour, with dusting rag in hand to clean the insulators, and binoculars stuffed down the shirt. It was a great view and come morning tea it was down and back up again until all works ceased. The view of the start of the 1945 Sydney-Hobart yacht race from the mast of HMAS Warrnambool will for ever live in my memory. However one experience in the MILDURA made me question my judgment about whether aerial maintenance was such a good job. Returning from Melbourne on one of those East coast convoys we were off Wilson's Promontory in an unfriendly storm when one of the receiving aerials carried away leaving the insulator still attached to the yardarm. Our Leading Tel, the late Lennie Melrose, well known to many of us, then detailed me off to lower the insulator, repair the aerial and replace it. Despite my many protestations that it wasn't the right day for it and why couldn't we operate on the remaining aerial, he informed me that it was my job and what if the other aerial failed, so all my options were given no quarter. Unfortunately at the time it was not only hailing, but the ship was at its corkscrewing best. Anyhow I unshackled the insulator from the end of the yard arm and hooked my shoulder under the guy wire, saving me from an unpleasant swim. When I ceased shaking and climbed down the mast, I passed the seaman in the crow's nest who I believed was more pasty faced than me and passed the comment that he considered me a "goner". After six cigarettes, sundry cups of coffee and Lennie still unyielding, it was up again to shackle up the repaired aerial. On this occasion the skipper, our worthy patron now, appeared on the bridge and was obviously not pleased with one of his crew hanging from the top of the mast. He hoved the ship to and gave me a much easier ride. I must admit that the only satisfaction I felt about this episode was the roasting Lennie received from Lieutenant Guille, more than likely for not keeping him informed rather than the fact that it had to be done. However it was no time for ill will and on reflection he was right. It was his call. I hope I told him so." 
It was not always possible to get ashore for a haircut, and various "barbers" plied their craft over the years. Ray Foster had a thriving business. Johnny "Shorty" Jewell who sailed in the post-war minesweeping days had assumed the mantle of ship's barber which met a pressing need on the ship at that time. "I had requested that the Captain (Captain Savage) allow me to operate the ship's barber business and he asked what experience I had. When I replied that as a Boy Scout before enlisting, I went to the Adelaide Children's Hospital and cut the little patients hair, he said, "the poor little buggers couldn't get away from you, but I need a haircut, so do a good job and you're the ship's barber. Do a bad job and lookout." So that afternoon with the helpful comments of our own officers and crew and the officers and crew of two Fairmile launches at our stern, I cut the Captain's hair trying to do the best job ever. When I finished he walked off and I sung out for my ninepence. But he never replied. A few moments later he called out, "Carry on ship's barber, the first customer is always free. Ha Ha!!" Later he relented and instructed Steward Ray Shillingford to deliver a bottle of cold beer to the barber." In 1943, Western Australian authorities banned the sale of bottled alcohol to any Australian serviceman in uniform. Regulations required that uniforms had to be worn even while on leave. This created a lot of indignation, especially as it did not apply to US servicemen. MILDURA crewmember Alf “Speed” Thiele became a victim of this discrimination. "I was quietly walking along a Perth street after a few beers and carrying two bottles of beer. Quite suddenly I was seized by two Naval Patrolmen and had both arms forcibly twisted up my back, causing considerable pain. Instinctively I lashed out with my feet. The Patrol Officer then arrived and also roughly manhandled me, causing me to call him a “shore
based bastard.” I was then arrested, taken to Leeuwin and charged, then taken back to the ship with the charges read out to the ship’s company, and sentenced to 60 days detention in the Fremantle gaol. Activities during detention were various forms of demoralizing bastardry. When marking time, our heels had to touch our buttocks otherwise three sharp cuts with a cane were delivered to the Achilles tendons. We spent much time applying spit and sand to army webbing gear. Cells were inspected regularly and the slightest trace of dust on the windowsill resulted in bread and water for twenty-four hours. Cells were unlocked each morning at 6.00am. When the whistle blew you ran to the warder in charge of the razors for shaving. These were as sharp as the top edge of a shovel. You were given 15 seconds to shave, so you lathered on the run. The blunt razors frequently drew blood, causing the comment, “You did not shave too well this morning.” I served only 45 days of my sentence and was returned to the MILDURA. Captain Little summoned me to his cabin and we had a long conversation. He told me he was glad to have me back, he could not accept I was guilty of all the charges and said “Carry on with the great work.” It was great to be back with my shipmates." by Ken "Doc" Green (1945-6) "The SBA was often confronted with a range of minor calamities. I was confronted occasionally by blokes with fish hooks embedded in parts of their anatomy which entailed a painful extraction – cut off the eye, push until the barb emerged, then pull the shank through. My most worrying time was when “Bluey” Smyrell contracted pneumonia, a very serious disease of that time. The only treatment available that many years ago was almost identical with that for a common cold – not much good. “Bluey” was confined to a stretcher which a few of his mates and I carried daily to a shady and protected spot on the upper deck to receive the benefit of fresh air and breeze, then brought him back to the mess deck in the late afternoon. He was hospitalised when we eventually made port, (can’t for the life of me remember where) but by this time the crisis that went with pneumonia had passed, much to the relief of a certain SBA. Recovery was largely due to “Bluey” himself, a fighter, and it was good to see him when he rejoined the ship sometime later. Another nerve wracking (to me) incident was during the trials after the refit at Fremantle – a call from the bridge to get down to the engine room to attend a casualty. “Bloody hell, how to get the poor bugger up top”, went through my mind. A flash of inspiration, the Neil Robertson stretcher (a sort of straight jacket), which my partner, Leading Steward “Mac” Maclean and I raced down the engine room steps to discover there was no casualty – it was a training exercise to check our alertness and ensure we knew what to do. Mac’s and my sighs of relief increased ship’s speed by two knots. An SBA’s life could be pretty easy. I learnt some of the radar basics from “Snowy” Moore and Jeff McFarlane gave me a couple of steering lessons which prompted a remark from the fo’cs’le, “Who’s on the wheel – a bloody officers cook?!” Deeply offended, I didn’t try that again. I also numbered up in the whaleboat crew. A vivid memory is that of the mine caught in the sweep and winched into the ship’s side. I visualized half the ship’s company killed or wounded by flying shrapnel, but George “Count” Wood saved us when he looked over the side, saw what had happened and in a calm state of panic, gesticulated frantically to the winch driver to let out the wire. I seem to remember the mine did explode."  | 
HMAS MILDURA Association.