ON THE HOOD.

Putaruru Press, Volume II, Issue 32, 22 May 1924, Page 3

ON THE HOOD.

INCIDENTS AND IMPRESSIONS. “’Ave you seen Walter?” “ No, Marm.” Such was the brief dialogue between a female visitor to the Hood on a “ public day ” and a sailor on duty. The questioner, flustered and manifestly agitated, with hat awry, was very near hysterics. The face of u the son of the sea ” was expressionless, evincing no astonishment and taking the question as all in the day’s work. With almost magical abruptness a petty officer appeared, and it was elicited that Walter, a youth of the family, had displayed a venturesome spirit and the unknown mysteries of the under decks appealed to him more than the safety of the family convoy. “’E went down that ’ole,” explained the almost tearful mother of the family. Incidentally “ the ’ole ” was a ladder way leading to another deck. Then the fears w r ere expressed that Walter would be sure to fall into “ that machinery down there and get ’isself cut to pieces,” or “ tumble into the fires and get ’isself burnt.” But the most haunting dread appeared to be that Walter was “ sure to play with the coal, and ’e’s got ’is nice new* suit on, too.” But with the infinite tact and sagacity that only long experience can supply, the petty officer assuaged the mother’s fears and informed her that the “ ’ole ” only lead to another deck, that the machinery was not working, that Walter could not get to the furnaces, that the vessel did not use coal. The impression was conveyed to the listener that tracking down straying Walters and returning them safe and sound -to the family fold was an every hour occurrence in the duties of the ship’s officers and crew. Probably it was when the public swarmed through and over the grey monster. So it is a quite safe presumption that Walter was found and restored uninjured and clean to the materfamilias.

Walter was not the only person to get lost on the Hood. Many an adult, when strolling over the vessel, found himself in a few minutes hopelessly befogged as to his whereabouts. The Hood w T as deceptive. The size of the vessel w T as not so apparent from the wTiarf; it was only when the visitor got on board and commenced his “ travels ” that he realised how big the Hood actually is. To say the vessel is so many feet long and draws so many feet conveys little or nothing to the lay mind. Let it be remembered that the ship’s company numbers 1542, or over three times the population of Putaruru. The Putaruru Hall could very comfortably be installed on the after deck. These comparisons may convey a trifle to the landsman, who did not see the vessel, how huge she is. A veteran, who must have passed the allotted span of years, proudly wearing several medals, comparing the past and the present, the vessel on which he served with the colossus of the navy, remarked: “ You could put the gunboat I* served with on this ship and you would have to turn a search light on to find Her.” Most visitors who anything like thoroughly inspected the vessel had very forceful evidence of the size of the Hood. They climbed down and up steep stairways or steel ladders, they walked through long passages, they had to bend their backs to get into places and at the end of their visit there was a very distinct tired feeling, and the next morning the backs of the legs ached. A visit through the Hood meant a great deal of exercise, and at the conclusion “ that tired feeling ” was general. How tired many of the children that went on board must have been! They ran around and climbed every where they could. Two daring adventurers got nearly to the top of the mast. But how the children enjoyed every moment. And it seemed as if the bubbling delight of the kids proved as great a source of amusement to the sailors as the Hood did to the children. A visit to the Hood shattered many illusions. The conception of conditions founded on youthful ideas, fostered by the perusal of sea stories and anecdotes, proved to be very erroneous when faced with the actual facts. “ Just a happy family ” was and maybe is a common idea of the Hood’s complement. ‘‘Happy”? on that point the affirmative is returned; but “family,” distinctly no. That is not to state that the various sections are antagonistic; but to say that the different branches know little of each other; in fact, it may be said are often strangers. A visitor received quite a surprise on this point. He had met two officers, one in the wireless and the other in the engineers’ section. Speaking to the former he enquired about the latter, and was quite astonished to receive the reply that the engineer was un-

known to the wireless officer. “We all have our duties and we <do not come in touch with other sections, unless through outside amusements and sports. As far as the men are concerned, I only know those who are connected with our section.” And so it is through the vessel. The Hood is just like a small town.

However wonderful the engine room may appear ito the technical mind to the layman it is a trifle disappointing in appearance. For a vessel of the size a great deal more is expected, and the expression of one visitor, “ how insignificant the room looks,” probably adequately represented the feeling of many. Memories recalled the huge cylinders and pistons ami clanks and other masses of glittering and polished steel which drove the big* vessels through the water prior to the advent of the turbine. There was an attraction and a weird fascination about the old engines which is absent from the modern engine room. i How many people can remember looking through the skylight of a small steamer and watching the pistons slide up and down from the cylinders in measured time and the kaleidoscopic bubbles of grease and water that were to be seen against the back ground of polished steel. There is nothing of this about the turbine. Encased the leaves receive the steam and the crank shaft re- j volves. That is all to the layman. And yet within these cases is most delicate mechanism, so much so that the steam passed through a filter prior to entering. No risk must be taken of any substance, no matter how minute, entering the casing. Yet it is through these comparatively insignificant machines that it is possible for the 45,000 ton monster to rush through the water at a speed of 32 knots an hour. “ How much space would the other kind of engines occupy?” was asked. “It would be impossible to put them in to give us the speed,” came the answer. There are dials by fRe dozen, in their polished brass-rim-med cases. There is something wonderful to think that the narrow steel platform, with its “ gadgets,” is the nerve centre of the "vast fighting machine, from which the motive power of the ship is controlled? Oil fuel has altered the appearance of the furnaces. No longer do 2nen, naked to the waist, begrimed with sweat and coal dust, toil at Hie furnaces with long rake or shovel, or the opening of the door to throw in the coal reflect a ruddy glow on all things near it. The furnaces are there, but a small pipe leads the oil to be sprayed over the flames and feed the conflagration that rages in the fire brick enclosed space..' There is no clang*ing* of shovel or rake or other tool. Just the turn of a wheel and the speed is regulated. Turn two more contraptions and the boilers are blown out. A mirror and an electric light reflect the smoke pouring from the funnels. Black, too much oil; white, too much air; and a turn of a wheel regulates the “ mixture.” Whether the boiler room is as hot with the oil fed furnaces as with coal ones only experience can tell. It is a safe presumption that it is a very nice place on a cold day.

Possibly of all the mar*/ tilings he sees the loading and the firing of the big 15-inch guns appealed most to the visitor. “ But do they really fire them off,” asked a lady when informed she could see the guns being worked. She did not appear at ail relieved to know that no charge was to be put in the gun. Ready ! The breech swings open, there is a groaning and a clanging and the ammunition lift rises from the bowels of the ship; it stops, more clanking as a rammer drives the imaginary charge home, the breech swings to and the gun is ready. And it all happens in a few seconds. “We can fire two shots a minute.” Imagine it—two tons of high explosive hurtling through the air every minute. Modern warfare. Reference to the guns cannot be passed without narrating an anecdote. A lady visitor was overheard to observe to her husband in a tone which conveyed a degree of disappointment: “Why, there are nothing but guns on this ship.” “ Did she think she had come to a cabaret,” added the narrator.