An Officer and a Gentleman Wanted...

Those of you who’ve followed me for a while will likely know that before I began writing in my early fifties, I taught English as a Foreign Language to international cadets at Britannia Royal Naval College.

BRNC as it’s known in naval circles is the British Royal Navy’s officer training establishment. It’s a magnificently imposing Edwardian building built high on a hill overlooking the small yachting haven of Dartmouth in the southwest of England. The location was chosen for the safe sheltered harbour provided by the River Dart (and possibly for the difficulty that cadets would have getting to the bright lights of... well anywhere).

It's an accepted fact that the Royal Navy’s officer training standards are among the best in the world and consequently a number of foreign navies who don’t have their own training establishments send their young officers to be trained by the RN.

Many of the International officer cadets who come through Dartmouth are from the Middle East and require English Language Training to enable them to undertake the Royal Navy’s Officer Training Course which is obviously delivered in English.

During my time at the College, I worked for a private training company whose job was to provide English Language Training to the International Cadets thus enabling them to complete their officer training alongside the British Cadets.

I can tell you hand on heart that in 8 years there was never a dull moment, and many of my wonderful experiences at the college were not only memorable, but most definitely the stuff of fiction – so much so that I always said that once I left, I’d write a book…

What you might not know, is that I did actually write the book. It’s titled An Officer and a Gentleman Wanted and was originally published as a series of short stories written in a light-hearted Bridget Jones type diary based on a single term at the College.

As my writing career took off, I decided to put all the all the stories together to create the book that's currently available on Amazon. It’s actually the only book in my catalogue that does not take place in the Shackleford world.

In fairness it’s only loosely based on my wonderful experiences while I was at BRNC and is very much a fictional romantic comedy with (I hope) my trademark humour. It’s also important to note that much has undoubtedly changed at the College since I was there.

If you haven’t read An Officer and a Gentleman Wanted yet and fancy giving it a go, keep reading as I’ve shared an excerpt for you below.

It’s Week One at the College at the start of the autumn term…

An Officer and a Gentleman Wanted

Week One

Monday 7th September

New term. New Intake. New OFFICERS…

I wonder if he’s arrived yet. Maria, my clairvoyant told me in no uncertain terms that I was finally going to meet Mr. Right this year.

We’re going to be friends first. (No shagging on the first date…)

He’s going to stimulate me mentally. (Does that mean no shagging at all?)

Bugger – she never said how long we have to be friends for first…

My internal ramblings are cut short by the car ferry’s arrival in Dartmouth – probably a blessing really. I don’t want to be reminded of exactly how long it’s been since my last carnal adventure – wasn’t really an adventure at all actually; there’s a lot of truth in the saying that ‘officers have more mouth than trousers’.

Still, I promised myself when I started working at Britannia Royal Naval College – the Royal Navy’s premier training establishment – that I would eventually become that most envied of creatures – an officer’s wife.

I might be divorced and in my mid-forties, but it doesn’t mean I’ve given up on romance – I’ve seen An Officer and a Gentleman…

0800 There is always a first day back queue at the College gate. Bloody hell, do the guards want to know what EVERYONE did during their leave period? Some of us (namely civvies) don’t actually get leave periods, we’re permanent fixtures – never leaving the site except to go home and do the washing.

Damn, I’m going to be late – Oh I forgot, I’ve been promoted now so it doesn’t matter if I’m late.

‘Head of English Language Training’ has a great ring to it – It’s even written on my badge and my security pass – how cool is that?

MS BEVERLEY WILKINS

HEAD OF ENGLISH LANGUAGE TRAINING

This is the beginning of my meteoric rise to the very highest echelons of the company; I am certain of it – my time has come…

0810 I finally get through the gate in to the College grounds after waving my ID at the guard and drive slowly up the winding road with the beautiful red brick building of the Naval College towering above me on the left and the breathtaking view of the River Dart below me on the other. I park the car in my new ‘Head of English Language’ parking space which is great because it’s not three miles from the College entrance like the last one (murder on the feet in high heels). Still, I’ll probably miss that little gambol first thing in the morning being dragged along by my dog Nelson (after the Admiral of course, not the politician) desperate for his first wee.

Actually, delete that – no I won’t miss it at all.

I haven’t brought Nelson in today – thought I’d try for a bit of authority and respect from the teachers before they completely ignore me and focus on their favourite Irish terrier.

Ok, I walk into the main College building through the back entrance and I’m standing at the beginning of the longest and most lethal corridor in existence.

‘The Corridor’ has brought the very greatest to their knees – usually in the most humiliating circumstances with everybody and his dog watching. I think I might have the record for the only person working at the College who has not actually gone arse over tit on the polished floor.

Why don’t they carpet the floor if it’s so dangerous? Because it’s a listed building…

What are a few broken arms and legs when compared to British history?

But that’s ok because I know how to do it (and in heels). It’s not the height of your shoes - believe me I’ve seen the best of them go down in flatties…

It’s the soles on your shoes.

And the Royal Navy in all its wisdom actually makes its officers wear leather soles – quite funny really; it certainly makes them a little less pompous…

So here I am, just outside the College Chapel looking right down at least 100yards of hallowed corridor culminating at the Senior Gunroom Mess and I’m wearing new shoes.

Always makes me sweat a bit.

Experience tells me it pays to take it slowly; first of all slide left foot backwards and forwards in a tentative motion to gauge the ‘grip’ factor. Then, on to the right foot – backwards, forwards… Then cautiously take the first step and the second….

0820 I finally arrive at the English Language School halfway down The Corridor and up two flights of stairs. (Actually, above the Commodore’s office – not that I’m name dropping or anything.)

It’s taken me nearly then minutes – there is a reason why I hold the College record despite wearing three and a half inch heels. Mind you, I’ll get faster once I’ve worn the shoes in a bit.

I can’t believe it – I now have my own office. I might as well be working for the Ministry Of Defence. All I need now is a sofa and a coffee table…

I wander along the Language School corridor and stick my head in each of the classrooms feeling very territorial.

I’ve got 10 minutes before the teachers start arriving. Just time for a quick coffee and a ginger nut.

1030 It feels like I’ve done a day’s work – I’m already longing for the time when all I had to do was teach.

And the International Cadets aren’t even due to arrive for another 2 days…

also chaired my first staff meeting this morning.

Top on the agenda? Where was Nelson? Was he ill? Should we send him a get-well bone?

I’m not always sure it’s a good thing the College allows dogs to come to work.

It took me a while, but I finally managed to drag the conversation back to the matter at hand; namely how many International Young Officer Cadets we can expect for English Language Training this term…

Eight Officer Cadets from the Kuwait Navy: Quite intelligent, lots of money, very friendly, reasonably motivated.

Fifteen Officer Cadets from the Kuwait Coastguard: Not quite as intelligent, lots of money, very friendly, completely lazy.

Ten Officer Cadets from the Qatar Coastguard: Ditto – with lots of rich relatives in London.

One Officer Cadet from another Navy who shall not be named as he’s a member of the country’s royal family but we’re not supposed to know…

All we have to do is make them ready and capable of completing the Royal Navy’s Young Officer Course alongside the British Young Officers starting in January.

Just under fourteen weeks.

No pressure…

I call a quick end to the meeting determined to get down to the Wardroom for Stand Easy. (I know, made me snigger when I first heard it too – it’s amazing how quick you get used to these quaint naval terms though.)

That gives me half an hour to find out the latest gossip (dits in navy speak); check out the new officers just arrived and get reacquainted with those back from leave.

I take a slow stroll down The Corridor towards the Wardroom. Although this is actually the Officers’ Mess, we’re allowed in because we’re classed as ‘lecturers’ – even though we’re only civvies and actually work for a private company. This fact causes untold consternation and distress to older and more distinguished members of the Mess – lowers the tone don’t you know. I happen to think that a lot of the officers manage to do that all on their own – without any help from the civilians in the College – that’s why it’s such fun to work here.

I make a quick stop at the heads (toilets to us mere mortals not in uniform; mixed of course – this is the Royal Navy) and on in to the Wardroom.

1100 Time to go back to work. I didn’t get to see all the newbie officers, but a bit disappointing so far.

Met the College’s new Training Executive Officer Sam (thought the title was Training Execution Officer when I first started working here – remember thinking at the time that it was a bit extreme…) He’s quite cute in a cheeky kind of way – maybe a bit young for me. In fact he actually looked about twenty. Still, apparently St Vincent Squadron has a new Senior Squadron Officer arriving this morning which sounds promising.

And of course the College has two squadrons, I haven’t met Cunningham Squadron’s senior officer yet so you never know… (Personally I love my optimism although it could possibly be misconstrued on odd occasions as reality denial.)

Ok, Head of English Language Training cap on for the next hour and a half followed by lunch and then the Commodore’s address. - it never feels like the term’s really started until after the Commodore’s waxed lyrically about his plans for the coming term - and lastly, a meeting with Commander Naval Training and Education to discuss the upcoming International Cadets arriving this term.

Never let it be said that I don’t mix with the crème de la crème.

1330 (twenty four hour clock – this is a military establishment.) I’ve just got time to visit the bathroom before heading up to the concert hall for the Commodore’s address.

Lunch was very interesting – I ended up sitting next to said new St Vincent Squadron Officer – could it be a sign?

He had a really nice face – hair was pretty much completely grey (but at least he had some) so he must be fairly near my age.

Will reserve judgement for later…

1700 Just come out of a looong meeting with Commander Naval Training and Education.

Too knackered to pass further comment.

1710 Sitting in the ferry queue waiting to get across the River Dart and home to Paignton.

1720 Still sitting in the ferry queue.

1730 Still sitting in the ferry queue. (Believe me, road rage has nothing on ferry rage – thinking of starting a therapy group for those forced to confront queue jumpers…)

1805 Home finally. It’s lovely living by the seaside but sometimes it takes so long to do the seven miles from Dartmouth to Paignton that I think I’d be better to live on board alongside the cadets (another cute Naval colloquialism referring to the fact that the College is built like a ship.)

1810 Ah the relief, just kicked off my shoes and sitting down with the first glass of wine. I can tell that Nelson’s glad to see me because he’s enthusiastically licking my feet – quite nice actually…

Think I need to get out more.

*

Tuesday 8th September

1020 I lift my head from answering the mountains of emails that being the boss seems to entail and decide I can now legitimately and with good conscience take a break.

But before I head down to the Wardroom, I check out the important bits – the new St Vincent (forgotten his name) Senior Squadron Officer might be there.

I stand in front of the full length mirror in my office and stare critically at my reflection.

Five feet nothing and one hundred and twenty pounds; maybe a little overweight (although I prefer the term curvy) – definitely not Catherine Zeta Jones but not quite Bridget Jones either. The suit jacket’s a bit tight but I don’t do it up so that’s ok. The three and a half inch heels make me look a bit taller.

Shoulder length blonde hair (ok so it’s highlighted). My face is actually quite attractive, although it definitely looks better without my reading glasses on, not so many wrinkles – sorry, laughter lines. Brown eyes, generous lips – especially when vamped up with my favourite red lipstick which always makes me feel in control…

And the suit gives me that business edge – you know what? I really do look the part.

Then I glance over at Nelson who in time honoured tradition of his first day back is snoring on the easy chair in the corner of the office, flat on his back, legs in the air showing off all his glory in complete abandon. (He can just about fit in the chair if he squidges his head round to the side – he looks like Tramp from the Disney film but with ginger fur.)

Not really the image a go-getting business woman wants the world to see, but at the end of the day I don’t care – I think he’s irresistible - most of the time.

En route I meet up with Sarah – my partner in crime for all College activities taking place after six p.m. (and some before…)

We walk together making sure we keep to the middle of The Corridor (more traffic, so not as polished) and discuss the new arrivals this term.

I ask her if she’s been introduced to the new St Vincent Senior Squadron Officer and when she nods her head, I ask the dreaded question

“Is he married?”

Now this is a small point that doesn’t seem to register with every naval officer. The ‘out of sight, out of mind’ ethos is taken to a whole new level in the Royal Navy.

Unfortunately Sarah isn’t able to shed any light on the situation, but promises to investigate further and, as she runs the College Planning Department, she might be in a better position to ask without making herself look a complete tit.

Sadly the new VSO wasn’t at Stand Easy – I can’t keep saying ‘The St Vincent Senior Squadron Officer’; it’s such a mouthful and the Royal Navy does love its TLAs (Three Letter Abbreviations…)

Plus I can’t actually remember his name, and now I’m beginning to forget what he looks like.

Is that a sign?

Oh well, maybe he’ll be there at lunch time.

1530 I haven’t managed to get any lunch, absolutely snowed under getting ready for the Internationals arriving tomorrow.

I haven’t even had time to take Nelson out for a wee – he’s looking at me very reproachfully with his legs in plaits.

Ignoring his plaintive looks, (he’s got the bladder of a rhinoceros) I grab a coffee - this must be my fifteenth today, I’m definitely beginning to feel a bit twitchy - and head into the International Liaison Office (ILO) which is next to the language school.

To most International Officer Cadets, this is the most important room in the College. The staff here deal with everything from arranging travel visas to explaining why someone’s second cousin over from Abu Dhabi can’t bunk down on his cabin floor for a couple of weeks…

The International Liaison Officer (ILO – why have two different TLAs when you can use the same one twice) John is on the phone, so I wait, patiently nursing my caffeine fix.

He’s speaking with Rashid, the Military Attaché’s personal assistant at the Qatar Embassy in London.

Turns out that only half the Qatari Coastguard will be arriving tomorrow – the rest haven’t had chance to visit Harrods yet before venturing down to the wilds of Dartmouth.

“This is a military establishment.” John’s voice is getting louder – always a bad sign. “They can’t just turn up when they damn well please.”

Can’t quite hear Rashid’s response but John turning a darker shade of purple can’t be a good sign.

“So how many have we got?” I butt in while John’s still spluttering (he does tend to waffle a bit so I always take advantage of any gaps in the conversation – spluttering counts as a gap.)

“Four arriving tomorrow, the rest on Thursday.”

“No problem, we’ll just postpone the language tests until Friday.”

I’ve learned not to get upset about the tardiness of some Arab nations. We once had a contingent of Qataris who were supposedly en route to the UK – they were ‘in the air’ for about five weeks in total…

“So that gives us twenty seven arriving tomorrow?”

“Supposedly.”

Strategic retreat seems the best option.

1715 I love to take a last look around the classrooms when everyone’s left; it’s so peaceful.

I reflect on past International Cadets who have passed through our hands on the way to Military stardom – some of them not even 18 when they arrive and little more than petulant teenagers, (albeit petulant teenagers driving anything from a Mercedes to a Porsche…)

I stand at the classroom window and stare out over the Parade Ground into the late afternoon sunshine. Beyond, the College grounds slope away towards the River Dart and the sea.

To the right is the yachting haven of Dartmouth and to the left, the Dart snakes around towards the market town of Totnes. I can just see the aft end (see I know my aft from my forward) of HMS Hindustan, the training ship moored alongside the College at Sandquay.

Sometimes the beauty of this place simply takes my breath away.

1730 In the ferry queue.

1740 Still in the ferry queue.

1750 Still in the ferry queue – had to stop the guy two cars in front of me from conducting a lobotomy on a bewildered holiday maker who insisted he didn’t know where the end of the queue was (they all say that.)

1800 Definitely on the next one if we can convince the ferry guys to refuse to allow said holiday maker ‘aka most vile queue jumper’ to reap the benefits of his heinous crime…

1830 Back at home and the kitchen looks like a scene out of World War Three. There’s a note from my youngest daughter Frankie on the kitchen table:

‘Will clean up when I get back’

Not knowing whether that’s likely to be tonight or next year, I grab a glass of wine (medicinal) and set to.

1850 The kitchen, while not exactly sparkly, is no longer a breeding ground for penicillin. Frankie’s the most wonderful cook – I just wish she’d do it somewhere else.

I grab a second glass of wine (I think it’s the second) and head down to mum’s flat on the floor below.

Ok so I live with my mother – well not exactly WITH, more on top of – but it works for us, and converting a large house in to 2 flats definitely gave us much more for our money.

What can I say? We have separate entrances and mum can’t hear a thing without her hearing aid.

We moved here about six years ago after my twenty three year marriage came to an abrupt end when my husband decided that I didn’t need him anymore. Unfortunately he forgot to ask me first! Luckily our girls were eighteen and fourteen when he decided he needed a new direction in his life…

I knock on mum’s door – loudly. I can hear the TV in the lounge, as can most of the street in all likelihood. I know she’s not going to answer, not with that racket going on, so I let myself in.

Nelson barges past me and unceremoniously transfers his affections to the weaker of the two – definitely mum every time. She coos at him (pretty pathetic really) and puts out his bowl. It’s already filled with left over cottage pie (no wonder he’s getting fat) which Nelson proceeds to wolf down without it actually touching the sides.

I plonk myself down and top up my glass with some of mum’s wine (better vintage)

This ritual comforts us both – for a while, she can kid herself that my dad’s still alive and I can make believe that I’m not a forty something divorcee who’s terrified she’s going to spend the rest of her life alone.

Like I said, it works.

*

Wednesday 9th September

0800 I’m already ensconced in the office waiting for the first ‘problem.’

The first day after the arrival of the International English Language Trainees NEVER runs smoothly – come to think of it, neither does the second or the third, or the fourth…

The cadets have been shown exactly where to come and are supposed to report promptly at 0830.

0832 We have one Kuwait Coastguard who has found his way (mostly by accident) to the language school. When asked where his colleagues are he shrugs and looks bored (very common response to any question from ‘Where do you come from?’ to ‘How many wives has your father got?’)

0845 three more Kuwaitis and (wonders will never cease) two of the four Qataris.

0855 We’ve been informed that our unknown royal will be arriving via helicopter this afternoon (very incognito)

Think John is going to have a coronary.

0910 Another six Kuwaitis

0915 The rest of the Kuwaitis and one of the Qataris.

0920 The last of the Qataris finally wanders in with his mobile phone plastered to his ear.

Only fifty minutes late –think it might be a first day record.

Before John can be convicted of manslaughter, I gather them all into a classroom and briskly go through my welcome speech and introduce the teachers: Caroline; Heather; Samantha and Andy (our token male poor sod.)

John has got the cadets booked for uniform fittings at 0930 and I wince a little as I look around – I think the average weight must be around two hundred and fifty pounds.

Still, not my problem. I leave the little darlings to John and head back in to my office – we won’t be seeing them again until after lunch (which could be any time from 1330 to the end of the day.)

1030 I pop down to the Wardroom for a quick coffee if one can ever say ‘pop’ when referring to a route where the casualties outnumber a war zone…

I see the new VSO from a distance – still can’t remember his name, think it might be Ron or something.

He looks over and smiles.

Is that a sign?

1330 Lunch was another write off but I did manage to get Nelson out for a quick jaunt for which he was pathetically grateful and seemed determined to show me at every opportunity by peeing for England. (Not for nothing was he named after one of our greatest heroes.)

I’m now getting ready to inform the Staff Officer Training (SOT – are you getting the hang of this?) that most of the Internationals expected have duly arrived (barring the helicopter stunt).

We are still of course waiting for the six errant Qataris who, we’ve been reliably informed, will report to the Language School at 0830 tomorrow morning.

Yeah right.

By some miracle (called John) all the cadets have actually made it back to the language school and are sitting together in one classroom looking decidedly uncomfortable in their new uniforms – blue shirt, navy blue sweater, black trousers and boots, poetically called their ‘Number Fours.’

They will live, eat and sleep in these for the next fourteen weeks (except when they’re being ‘beasted’ around the sports field – did I mention they have to be fit to commence officer training?)

We can’t group them in to classes until they’ve been tested, so for the time being they’re being lumped together.

Unfortunately, this means that the current classroom language is Arabic.

1600 The cadets have been allowed to go back to their cabins (the stampede is anything but regimented – we’ve got a long way to go) and everyone breathes a sigh of relief that we’ve got through the first day.

We know that our royal has arrived – mainly due to the noise of the helicopter landing on the Parade Ground right outside the classroom windows…

I wander into the ILO before I remember that John is no doubt waiting to welcome our illustrious guest, who, we’ve been told wants to be treated exactly the same as everyone else – starting with his mode of transport…

1630 I hold another staff meeting – Nelson graces us with his presence and decides to lie directly in the middle of the small staff room thereby ensuring that everyone has to risk life and limb when they step over him (are there any health and safety issues here?)

We discuss how best to structure tomorrow given that the Language tests won’t start until Friday morning and we may well still be missing 6 cadets. We settle on ‘Getting To Know You’ activities (in English preferably) and split the classes randomly since we don’t currently know their level of English.

I leave the teachers to work out their individual ‘GTKY’ lessons (I know that Samantha’s generally involves throwing a ball around the classroom and hopping on one leg which I predict will go down a storm with our Arab friends – I make a mental note to ensure that she doesn’t use the classroom directly above the Commodore) and drag Nelson back to my office.

John is back having postponed his highness’s uniform fitting until tomorrow. There’s been lots of hand shaking but very little verbal communication – John says that HRH has a level of English equivalent to a bog brush…

I groan – how on earth are we going to get him ready for Officer Training in fourteen weeks?

Still, I’m determined to be positive – this may just have been a ruse to throw us off the scent concerning his royal connections.

Just like the helicopter…

1715 I’ve had enough and want to go home.

1725 Arrive in the ferry queue

1740 Still in the ferry queue

1750 Still in the ferry queue – I make a mental note to bring a blanket and pillow tomorrow.

1755 I pull on to the ferry and wave at Kevin the ferry man who is really a bit of a local celebrity as well as being a plumber on the side. The ferry men actually got together to create a calendar a la Chippendale style. Unfortunately, I never got to see it – it went underground pretty quickly, but I was reliably informed that Kevin could have been on January February and March all by himself…

We were discussing this fact over drinks in the Royal Castle down in Dartmouth a little while ago only to be tapped on the shoulder by a well dressed lady who primly informed us that we were talking about her husband…

Which pretty quickly put an end to that conversation!

2250 I’m finally in bed having spent the entire evening comatose in front of the TV. Unfortunately due to the fact that I’ve done absolutely zero, I now can’t sleep.

Then I remember that tomorrow’s Thursday – Shareholders on the Quarterdeck – and I haven’t even worked out what to wear.

I leap out of bed and spend the next forty five minutes rummaging through my wardrobe trying to decide which outfit best fits the description: sassy, sophisticated, sexy and business like.

I decide on my chocolate brown suit. The jacket is fitted (maybe a bit too fitted but it does actually do up). The skirt is a little shorter than my usual but it skims the knee quite nicely and I have some killer heels that do wonders for the backs of my legs and more importantly have been tried and tested on The Floor.

All this for a coffee morning…

I climb back in to bed now pleasantly tired (it’s amazing what a spot of exercise can do for you).

My last thoughts are of the new VSO.

Is it a sign?

*

Thursday 10th September

0830 As predicted, the six Qataris are nowhere to be found. John is making frantic phone calls to the Embassy after we’ve both endured a blistering ear bashing from Commander Naval Training and Education (another mouthful so will refer to him from now on as Commander NTE), the essence of which was, “This is a bloody military training establishment, if they’re not here in the next twenty-four hours, they can bloody well go home.”

Now it’s certainly not John’s fault that the Qatari cadets have failed to arrive. Nor is it mine. But I do understand Commander NTE’s frustration. Britain’s Defence Diplomacy policy (not to mention the Navy’s desperate need for cash) dictates that training Internationals is top priority.

But those who make the policies don’t actually have to do the training…

John is assured by the soothing tones of Rashid that the cadets are on their way to Dartmouth this very minute and are scheduled to arrive at the College sometime this afternoon.

He gives me the thumbs up and I breathe a sigh of relief. As long as they arrive sometime today, we can go ahead with the testing tomorrow.

I reflect that we’re already nearly at the end of week one which only gives us thirteen weeks to get these International cadets ready for their Officer Training starting in January.

Thinking about it makes me panic a bit and I wonder what on earth I actually wanted this job for – at least when I was a teacher, the buck stopped with somebody else.

0900 I get on the phone to the Physical Training Instructors over at the gym to organize a fitness assessment for the cadets on Monday. I promise the Chief PTI that the students will report to the gym at 0730.

His response is to snort down the phone – he’s done this before I can tell.

Not really much else to say.

1025 Shareholders on the Quarterdeck.

Britannia Royal Naval College (I’ll call it BRNC from now on) was built at the turn of the century to resemble a ship, and the magnificent cathedral like Quarterdeck with the Poopdeck balcony overlooking it really is the hub of the College. I love Thursdays when the whole College staff gets together there for coffee and biscuits.

As I walk up the steps towards the imposing entrance, I reflect on the splendour of BRNC. How quickly we begin to take things for granted. It reminds me of an occasion when I’d just started teaching at the College.

Several of us were sitting in the Wardroom during Stand Easy and as we sat, a helicopter landed on the parade ground right next to us. What a spectacle – none of us had ever seen anything quite like it (helicopters not really a regular occurrence in the majority of British Language Schools).

We oohed and aahed and watched its descent, completely enraptured.

Fast forward six months later.

Similar scenario, Stand Easy in the Wardroom, helicopter landing.

What did we say?

“Wish the pilot would hurry up and land the bloody thing, it’s making a hell of a racket.”

Sad really.

The Quarterdeck is off The Corridor and although the floor is made of the same lethal material, for some reason they don’t polish it quite so much thereby rendering it slightly less effective for those with suicidal tendencies…

I head towards the queue of people waiting for tea and coffee (served from silver pots by waiters on tables covered with white cloths – all very colonial). As I wait, I glance about to see who’s around. I wave to Sarah and other people I know while scanning the crowd for Ron, the new VSO (must stop calling him that – probably not his name).

Is he here?

I can’t see him and stifle disappointment, which actually surprises me.

Think it must be a sign…

After grabbing a coffee, I make my way over to Sarah and some of the other lecturers.

I’m absently dunking my coffee just as a voice says “Hi,” in my left ear.

Startled, I drop my biscuit into the cup – and inwardly groan. I can’t fish it out – not in polite company. I stir the bits around, in an effort to get them to sink and, plastering a polite smile on my face, turn towards the voice.

It’s Ron, the new VSO.

“Hi,” he repeats. “Don’t know if you remember but we were introduced the other day – I’m Rob, the new VSO.”

Rob! That’s his name – phew, close call.

“Of course I remember.” Oh God I’m gushing. I determinedly take a big sip of my coffee only to feel one of the larger bits of biscuit lodge itself in my throat.

Fear of asphyxiation wars briefly with fear of embarrassment – fortunately the fear of death part wins out and I cough and splutter back into my cup. Luckily Rob has a tissue and hastily hands it to me before I begin decorating the front of his uniform.

As the coughing subsides, asphyxiation begins to seem the better option. My face is beetroot red and my eyes are watering profusely.

“Er, I think your mascara might be running – either that or you’ve got a black eye.” My humiliation is complete. Rob is making no effort to hide his amusement and has a broad grin on his face.

Swallowing an insane urge to burst in to tears, I try to find a non sticky bit of tissue in an effort to wipe underneath my eye without getting bits of gobbed up biscuit in it.

Luckily, the Commander takes that moment to welcome everyone to this week’s shareholders.

“Thank you God,” I mumble as everyone’s attention turns towards him.

I expect Rob to move away once the Commander finishes updating everyone with the College news, but he seems quite content to stay where he is.

We chat. He asks me how long I’ve been working at the College. I want to ask him where he’s stashed his wife but haven’t got the nerve.

Luckily Sarah comes to the rescue by asking him where his home is.

“I’ve got a cabin on board; it seemed the easiest thing to do after my wife and I separated last year.”

I resist the urge to punch the air and make an effort to look suitably saddened to hear about their break up.

He goes on to tell me enthusiastically about his seven year old son Jack who lives with his mum in Manchester.

He has a seven year old son.

How old does that make him?

He doesn’t look that much younger than me.

But then my youngest is twenty – eek.

I try frantically to think of a way to ask him his age but the Quarterdeck is beginning to empty and I’m forced into a strategic withdrawal.

Live to fight another day as they say.

I murmur a polite goodbye and offer a slight smile (not too friendly but not too frigid either – there’s an art to this) then I turn my back and walk away.

Now this I’m good at, even if I’m not quite Jessica Rabbit.

I know, just know he’s watching me go, so I walk slowly, putting one foot directly in front of the other whilst swinging my hips from side to side.

I resist the urge to turn round to see if he’s watching – any twisting motion on this floor could result in a double back flip.

And finally exit the stage triumphantly

Think it’s definitely a sign…

1115 I get back to the language school where I can hear less than enthusiastic thumping sounds coming from the first classroom.

Shit, I forgot to change Samantha’s classroom.

I hurriedly get on the phone to the Commodore’s PA, grovelling apology at the ready.

Fortunately the Commodore’s up in London until Monday so I breathe a sigh of relief and resolve to ban all physical GTKU exercises from the classroom.

Maybe I should extend that to outside the classroom too – just in case.

1530 Still missing six Qataris.

1630 John gets a phone call from HMS Raleigh in Cornwall asking if we know anything about ‘training some Arabs.’

Turns out they’ve gone to the wrong establishment.

Oh well, at least it confirms that they are actually in the Country…

John organizes a mini bus to go and collect them from Raleigh and bring them back to BRNC.

1700 All the tests are locked up in my office and ready to go for tomorrow. I think it’s time for a quick drink – the Cherub is calling. I head down the hill with Caroline and John and fifteen minutes later we’re walking into the welcoming dimness of Dartmouth’s oldest pub.

A glass of wine and a portion of chips – complete with mayonnaise and tomato ketchup. It’s the small things that make life worth living.

*

Friday 11th September

0830  It’s been a long week.

The language school is quiet as the teachers have all gone off to oversee the English language tests, done in one of the larger classrooms off The Corridor.

We only have thirty four students but it takes every teacher we have to ensure that each cadet’s contribution is entirely his own. Past experience has taught us that “I help my friend” is a very common concept.

They have their Reading, Writing and Listening tests in the morning which leaves all afternoon for the one to one Speaking tests. And then all hands on deck – nobody goes home until the tests have been marked and the cadets put into the appropriate levels.

In theory, all International Cadets are supposed to have a certain level of English to be accepted into language training at BRNC, otherwise they have no hope of reaching the standard required to undergo Officer Training with the British Cadets.

In theory…

1230 Ok, all the morning tests completed. There was no reported conferring (mostly because the room used can comfortably accommodate around eighty people so we were able to seat them all at least ten feet apart).

I dish out the completed papers to all the teachers not conducting the speaking tests this afternoon and we head en mass to have a fortifying lunch.

It’s going to be a long afternoon.

1245 The Wardroom is always busy on Friday lunchtime. Officers like to come in for their fish and chips before heading back home to their families for the weekend (and as most College functions take place on a Thursday evening, the grease helps to soak up the alcohol consumed the night before…)

The College generally resembles the Marie Celeste on a Friday afternoon.

Normally I try to avoid the fish and chips but decide today to throw caution to the winds and go the whole hog with the lame excuse that I need the ‘brain food.’ However, I decide to put a bit of salad on my plate to give it a bit more colour.

It’s called denial.

1830 Five hours later all the tests are marked and the students grouped according to their English level.

All of them that is apart from one.

It turns out that our resident Royal really does have the English language level of a bog brush…

I sigh.

Thank God it’s the weekend.

***