While we wait, perhaps a Submarine Story to pass the time!

Memories are great things while you have them.  In order to keep the grey cells in circulation, I've decided to follow the example of others and try my hand at scribbling..   Here's the first in a series of short articles about life on board Ojibwa (sorry no photos)

Recollections from a Cold War Submariner.

The smell……to this day, the slightest whiff of diesel exhaust takes me back over 40 years to my dim, womb-like “rack” in the forward accommodation space of HMCS OJIBWA, a compartment about the size of the inside of your living room (if you lived in a very small bungalow), only with a 6 foot 2” ceiling, and no windows.  This cozy space I shared with 15 messmates.

Amenities were minimal. Your coffin sized bunkspace was your private domain, ,18 or so, cubic feet, barely enough space to turn over in but curtained off for some token privacy…..Your uniform and “running ashore civies” under your mattress pad to keep them uncreased and semi-presentable should the occasion arise, everything else stored in a couple of breadbox sized lockers in the outboard bulkhead.

Waking up from a short sleep (usually 3 hours ) between watches, wrapped in your nylon sleeping bag (the same you’ve slept in for the last year, usually fully dressed in the same rig you’ve worn for the last few days..or weeks, you no longer think about the smell…it becomes so familiar, just a part of your world.  The only thing you smell is the pong of the ever present diesel fumes, which saturate the atmosphere constantly and completely. When on the surface or snorkeling, the exhaust from the twin 32 Cylinder Admiralty Diesels would find their way back through the “Fresh Air” intake, there was no escape. The bodily odors trapped within the fibers of your clothing resemble something you could only imagine if you put your head inside a teenagers gym bag, one in which you accidentally spilled some diesel fuel. All this mixed with the other essences emanating from sewage tanks and heads, combine to create the unique “submarine” smell which with time becomes normal to you and detectable only to those poor unsuspecting souls you encounter ashore, where sensibilities are still intact.

I recall vividly, having returned to home port after 3 month exercise, with the last 30 days submerged, the reaction I got when I left the dockyard gate with my “Dhoby Bag” (read dirty laundry) and re-entered the civilian world.  As I boarded the city bus, excited to get home and have my first real shower in a month, I noted a strange expression on the bus driver’s face as I hopped aboard, paid my fare and took a seat at the front. Within seconds, all of the other passengers had found seats at the rear of the bus and were opening windows, even though the weather outside was a typical Halifax spring day… cold an wet. It didn’t stop there, I had the feeling I was being shunned wherever I went, even after a hot shower and a good soak in a hot tub, the pong lingered.

Eventually I found my way to what today we would call a “spa”, but was something else….. at least it had steam cabinets. You would strip down, wrap a towel around your neck, open a door and step into the booth, sit down, with nothing but your head exposed and wait for the steam to do its work and force the sweat to flow, which it did in short order. As I took a peek under the towel to see how things were progressing I saw small rivers of black oily body sweat running down my chest, forming a slick pool on the floor of the cabinet.   Three months of submarine air absorbed by my and now being expelled again. A couple of more trips through the laundry put my kit back in reasonable shape, but I swear the smell never completely left my clothing and could still smell a hint when I pulled my old uniform out of storage just a year or two ago.

Why would we live like this?  I can’t speak for others, but back in the 1960’s we were involved in a Cold War that we thought could turn Hot at any time. We were only 20 years past WW2 and had grown up learning how to “duck, roll and cover” in the event of nuclear attack and could remember hearing tests of the civil defense sirens outside our schoolroom windows. The Soviets had tried to arm Cuba with Nukes and the whole world almost went over the edge as a result. There were itchy fingers on the trigger of enough nuclear capacity to wipe out every living human being several times over. The Soviet navy was turning out nuclear armed and powered submarines at a frightening pace and they were maneuvering to take positions close to our coasts, within launch range of major cities such as New York, or even Detroit, Chicago. This was very real and we were part of an anti-submarine force that was put into place to keep the threat at bay.

We were operating one of the most effective anti-submarine weapons ever made, the ultra quiet, heavily armed diesel-electric hunter killer Oberon Class Submarine. We could detect hostile enemies at long range and put ourselves into position to attack them without detection. Our only limitation was the need to restore and refuel every 30 days or so.   We knew and trusted each other like not even real “family” could. If there was going to be a war, we were not only ready…..we were right there, at the sharp end.  We were young and immortal, where else would we want to be?   The smell, the discomfort, the long absences from home and family?  Just part of the price of admission.

Rick Morgan

Leading Seaman

HMCS OJIBWA 1966-1968