There was an enameled container for the bread, a large teapot, and a shipside locker for tea, sugar, and cocoa. There were also a number of oval or round mess tins known as “fannies” used for collecting and serving the food. These had to be shined and burnished to equal the bright work of the ship itself.

The sailor had little space for his own bdongings. In a ship like the Hood he had a locker and a small, scrubbed whitewood box known as a “ditty box,” in which he kept letters, photographs, writing equipment, and other private possessions. The box bore a polished brass label with the sailor's name on the lid, and inside almost invariably were pinned pictures of his wife and children.

Tattooing was still popular, and some of the old hands could boast of tattoos from almost every port in the world—an eagle on the chest from Hong Kong, a girl's name from Sydney, a foul anchor on the right wrist from Portsmouth, a tombstone even, with the recorded dates of some loved one, on the forearm. Elab-

orate tattoos were an object of pride to many old-timers. I remember one long-service leading seaman who bore across his back the scene of a fox hunt, stretching from the top of his right shoulder blade, the fox going to earth lower down.

Within a few weeks of the ship commissioning, small communities of specialist tradesmen soon established themselves. Firms who undertook tailoring jobs and made new suits were common, so too were “snobs” or cobblers. Sailors took great pride in their uniform, still the most dashing of any of the services, and would spend several pounds on “shore-going” suits, smarter and better cut than the standard issue from the “pussers” (paymaster’s) store.

The sailors best suit was known as his Number One’s, and the really “tiddley” sailor was never content with the Admiralty regulation cut. Technically the bell-bottom trousers were supposed to be 28 inches round the trouser bottoms, but the smart “Jack Ashore” preferred 32 inches or even 34 inches which gave his trousers more of a swing and roll when promenading. Sometimes zealous officers, inspecting the men before shore leave, would try to insure that only regulation trousers were being worn. With the regulation 28-inch bell bottom, the toecap of the shoe was still visible, but the 32-inch bottom covered it completely. Standing at attention then, the “tiddley” sailor, to escape detection, would pull back the overflow of his trousers between his knees and keep it held there until the inspection was over. He would hope that the inspecting officer, seeing enough regulation toecap, would not notice that the trousers were oversize. A refinement practiced only by the most dandified was to sew small pieces of lead or halfpennies at the edges of the trouser bottoms. This increased their swagger when walking out.

The regulation blue jumper was also considered by the smart to have too high a neckline and not show a deep enough breadth of chest. This could be remedied by making the V of the jumper a good deal deeper. Again, an inspection could be passed by the simple expedient of fitting “poppers,” or a hook and eye, a little higher up, so that the V appeared to be no deeper than normal. Once off the ship, and the jumper was adjusted.

The sailor’s black “silk” had to be immaculately ironed, the white lanyard pristine, and there was an art to the tying of the butterfly cap bow. A perfectly shaped bow may have taken as long as an hour to cut and tie. Under his jumper the sailor wore the regulation white flannel with its dark blue piping round the neck. Although it was illegal, some of the “tiddleys” would wear dickey fronts (rather like a waiter’s) which were secured by tapes round the chest, and were cooler in hot weather. The cap had to be worn straight on between the eyes and slightly down- tilted toward the nose, but once ashore those with panache would quickly give it an edge to one side or the other, or set it back on the head with a quiff of hair protruding in front. On the best suits all badges and good-conduct stripes were in gold braid; red-tape badges were for the ordinary working suit.

Such a world was a narrow one, but it produced men of fine character and loyalties. Loyalty to the ship was a driving force above all others, and a happy ship was every sailor’s dream. In her long life Hood had her ups and downs, but in the main she always seems to have been remembered by those who served aboard her as a happy ship. The officers in charge of each division, and the chief and petty officers who worked under them, were largely responsible for such a state of affairs. The executive ratings or upperdeck sailors were assigned on arrival to one of three divisions— fo'c's'le, top, and quarterdeck—which took their names from the old parts of ship in the days of sail.

The backbone of the ship were undoubtedly the long-service ratings and especially the chief and petty officers. In those days a large percentage of the men had joined as boys, and knew more on leaving their boys’ training than many an able seaman today. From the age of eighteen, men signed on for twelve years’ service;

hence “Roll on my twelve” became the expression which greeted all disagreeable chores.