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Hopefully we can share some of the experiences of forum member Philo Nauticus who is an ex-Ganges boy.
Hmmmm....
Well ... I joined Ganges straight from school at 15, having signed on for 9 years (well actually, 12 – it was 9 years ‘mans time’, i.e. over the age of 18 ).
Initial memories are of arriving at Ipswich station, with dozens of other boys, and being herded out to buses to be taken to Shotley, the site being dominated by the mast. You were not allowed into the main establishment for the first month, being housed in what was called ‘the annex’. Those four weeks were the crucial ones actually. You were kept occupied every minute of the day, being issued with kit / instructed how to wear the uniform / how to look after it / taught how to march and salute etc. You discovered that you were not really on land, but on a ship, as that stretch of road was a quarterdeck, which you saluted should you pass along it (at the double); if you were to leave the establishment you were going ashore. You also had to learn a new language - you were not late, you were ‘adrift’ – you did not wash your clothes you ‘dhobied’ them – you would eat strange food, such as ‘train smash’, ‘Spithead pheasant’, ‘babies heads’ or ‘sh*t – on – a raft’.
Sport was compulsory and plentiful, you were expected to take part in everything – I almost got brained during an over enthusiastic hockey match – but it did save me from the compulsory boxing.
One of the last things you did at the annex, before being moved to the main establishment was to climb the mast – also compulsory. Marched across en masse, you climbed, not to the cap, but to the topmast. I would think that a modern health and safety person would faint at the sight of 50 boys clambering up the rigging, with no safety harnesses or clips, just using hands and feet.
You were allocated to a division, all named after Naval Heroes, so there were Benbows, Blakes, Rodneys etc – I was a Collingwood. The large drill hall was Nelson Hall, and I remember the walls being covered in ships badges, and photo’s of ships and actions in the 2nd world war. Of course all of this was to encourage and inspire you – as was Kipling’s poem ‘If’, which was written in large letters on the walls of the gym, which you saw every day. It was to pass on the message that you were now part of an organisation that had long tradition, which you were expected to maintain and live up to; you were being looked at, not just by your instructor, but by all those long dead naval heroes.
The discipline was strict, but never, I think, harsh. If you did not get out of bed instantly on being called in the morning, then you were liable to have the bed tipped over, with you still in it...you were paraded and inspected regularly, and if the slightest fault found, given a public telling off...the physical training instructors (PTIs) seemed to delight in picking out anyone who was not quite as agile or able as the rest and loudly informing the whole gym how useless you were...indeed you were almost certainly a muppet (most useless person pusser ever trained)...when drilling, if your class had not been as smart as the instructor thought they should be, then a few circuits of the parade ground ‘at the double’ was ordered... messes were regularly inspected, and your locker and bed had to be in perfect order – if it was not, then your kit could be dumped on the floor, or you could get a full kit muster – laying out every item of kit on the messdeck floor, in regimented order, so that it could be inspected.
If you could not swim when you arrived, then were classed as a ‘backward swimmer’ and had to rise at 05.30 and spend an hour in the pool being shouted at by PTIs (and prodded with long poles if you tried to get to the sides...)
Every day was fully occupied – after breakfast, it was ‘divisions’ (parade) for inspection and then doubled off to classes which lasted until 16.00; you then ‘shifted clothes’ and paraded again, in sports kit for ‘dog-watch sports’ for two hours; ‘shifted clothes’ again for supper, after which it was usually in the messdeck preparing uniform for the next day, with lights out at 22.00.
Just before every weekend it was ‘Friday night routine’, when dog watch sports may be given over to frantic cleaning and polishing of the mess – I remember being on hands and knees with a shoe brush, polishing a wooden floor ... Because Saturday was Captain’s Rounds, and there was a great competition to be judged the ‘best mess’.
The formal punishments – usually for variations of failing to do something - followed the usual naval routine of extra work or drill. During my time there was still corporal punishment. The ‘cuts’ were 12 strokes of a cane delivered by the Master at Arms or one of his patrolmen. This however was only for serious crimes, such as stealing or attempting to ‘run’.
It did leave its mark on me - I still like to iron my own shirts (my wife does not object!) and I feel guilty if my shoes are not regularly polished.
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