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It was a bitter night at sea, cold enough to freeze the balls off a brass monkey!1 All day we had been doing helicopter operations so that the ship (HMCS Assiniboine) could do operational drills and the helicopter crew could practice landing and taking off from a platform at sea. An American pilot, who was not known by the ship’s company, was part of the helicopter crew.
The day was an uneventful one; the upper decks aft of the house were out of bounds due to flying stations which made the Bosuns happy because of the biting cold. The firefighters and those of the ship’s crew assigned for flying stations still had to tough it out though.
My day followed the usual routine. I was a Petty Officer Second Class Sonar Tech at the time and it was a constant fight to keep the old equipment up and running. The equipment used tubes instead of today’s printed circuit boards and CPUs. It was challenging but rewarding work, as any tech back in those days would admit. It could get dangerous though, if you were working on a transmitter with high voltage while the ship was tossing around like a cork. Many an old tech can tell stories of getting a shock (some severe) from that old equipment.
The day passed without any incidents; I didn’t watch the movie that night in the Chiefs & PO’s cafeteria because I had the middle watch (12 AM to 04 AM). At 11:30 that night I had a small meal prepared by the night cook and I reported to the Coxn’s flats at 11:45 to get a brief from the PO2 whom I was relieving. As stated before, it was bitterly cold out and the waves were making sleep difficult for those in their bunks. The Officer of the Watch (OOW) had made a decision that the upper decks were out of bounds. That meant that the Life Bouy Sentry was closed up in the HTs Flats and the lookouts were inside the bridge. I still had to go outside to make sure that nothing was rattling around and that the two boats (the whaler and motor work boat) were secure. The decks were icy but there were safety lines attached which made the job less troublesome and dangerous.
The watch was quiet for the first three and half hours. I was having a bowl of soup in the cafeteria after conducting my rounds of the ship at 03:00. My relief came into the cafeteria at approximately 03:30 and I started to give him a brief. Quite unexpectedly the phone rang. I picked it up and it was the senior engineer (PO1 ER) in the engine room saying that they smelled smoke coming down the intakes (cold air fans); he said it smelled like burning paint! I took off out of the cafeteria as fast as I could, heading aft. I told the other PO2 where I was going and he phoned HQ1 and told them to send the roundsman back there also.
As stated before, the Life Bouy Sentry was in the HTs Flats which is back aft of the ship and there is a door leading to the upper deck from there. I yelled up to him if he smelled any smoke and he said that he didn’t. I went further aft and made sure that none of the crew’s quarters (messes) were the source of the fire. After ensuring that everything was secure aft, the HQ1 roundsman and I proceeded to the HTs flats.
There were three rooms off the HT flats: the pilots’ ready room where there are four bunks for pilots to sleep; the Hull Techs’ (HT) workshop; and the Weapons workshop. We opened the door to the pilots’ ready room and did not smell anything, then proceeded to the HT workshop but could not open it because it was locked. Still there was no smell of smoke. We then advanced to the Weapons Workshop. I knew that one of the crew had been doing some engraving with a new machine he had bought on his own and since he was a Weapons Surface person, I thought that maybe he had left the machine on and it had somehow caught fire. This was not the case.
By the time we had secured the Weapons Workshop, the oncoming HQ roundsman showed up and lucky for us, he was an HT and therefore had keys to the HT workshop. I told him to unlock the door after feeling with my hand that it wasn’t hot to the touch nor was there any smell of smoke. Opening it very slowly, it was pitch black inside, but to our amazement there was a ball of fire eating its way across the deck head (ceiling). We quickly closed the door. I sent one of the roundsmen to the HQ1 and told him to raise the alarm by yelling, “FIRE, FIRE, FIRE IN THE HTs WORKSHOP”. As he was doing this, I grabbed the nearest fire-fighting apparatus available, a CO2 canister, and went in and attacked the fire. I beat it down from the deck head and could see that its source was a garbage can located against the far wall from the entrance door. I told the roundsman to stay at the door to make sure that no one entered and to be a safety number for me.
While all this was going on, the ship had gone to Emergency Stations. This means that various personnel were closed up at different points in the ship to fight fires or floods or anything that would endanger the ship at sea. I kept beating the fire down but it was getting dangerous as I wasn’t wearing a respirator and the workshop was quickly becoming a toxic cauldron from burning material. The time that I was in the HTs Workshop was probably no longer than two minutes, any longer and I don’t think I would be here telling this story. Upon reaching the garbage can, with the last of the CO2 I tried to douse the flames. I backed out and we retreated (the roundsman, the lifebuoy sentry and I) to the upper decks.
When we left the HTs flats I noticed out of the corner of my eye that someone other than the aforementioned personnel went out the door to the upper deck. I stopped this person and inquired who he was. He stated that he was a pilot and that he had come from the Pilots’ Ready room. I asked if he was the only pilot in there and he said he wasn’t, but that the other pilot followed him out of the room to the upper decks. “No Sir, that was me who followed you out”, was my immediate reply. I returned to the HTs flats which were now totally filled with smoke. As it was next to impossible to see anything, even up close, I felt my way around until I came to the Pilots’ Ready room. I thought I heard some coughing coming from the area. The coughing became louder and just as I was going to check the top bunks, I stepped on something! The something was the other pilot who happened to be an American, and therefore unfamiliar with the ship. Fortunately for him, he had not wandered out of the Pilots’ Ready room because I would never have found him. I picked him up and dragged him to the upper deck and had the other roundsman phone Sickbay to get someone to come and help the pilot who was suffering from smoke inhalation.
I then called the Bridge and told them the situation. Two or three of the ship’s crew had rigged a fire hose from the helo firefighting position by the Bosuns Mate shack. When we tried to charge it, we found that the hydrant was frozen solid from the cold weather. The next closest hydrant was just aft of the mortar well. More crewmembers had begun to arrive and they busily got on with hooking up another hose. The OOW had turned the ship during this time to keep it as stable as possible. The firefighting team from one of the firefighting stations had just arrived and the PO2 in charge of the team took over the situation after I briefed him as to where and what kind of fire it was.
I then proceeded down to HQ1 to give them a report. The ship’s Engineering Officer closes up in HQ1; he is in charge of all personnel in Emergency Stations. After an hour or so, the firefighting team had put out the fire in accordance with the excellent training the Navy provides. Unwittingly, someone had put oily rags in the garbage and as the garbage can had been tied to a heat radiator, the resulting internal combustion caused the fire.
Later on I was piped to the Wardroom, which was a surprise to me. When I got there, the American pilot thanked me and said he would never have survived if I hadn’t gone back in to get him. He expressed his intention of writing me up for an award. Although that was the furthest thing from my mind during the whole ordeal, I must confess that I did feel let down when it never came to fruition!
* About the Author: Len Raymond’s career spanned from 1966 to 2001. He served in 6 ships, the last as Coxswain; and held several senior positions while in ashore postings.
1 Back in the days of HMS Victory – Admiral Nelson’s flag ship – cannon balls were stowed on the deck in pyramid fashion beside the guns. In order to keep them in place during rough weather, the pyramid was contained within a brass ring called a ‘monkey’. In theory, if it was cold enough, the brass would contract and the balls would spill out onto the deck. Hence the term “Cold enough to freeze the balls off a brass monkey”.
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