Portsmouth Historic Dockyard

Sunday 18 February 1996. We have strolled (increasingly slowly as our legs ice up...) from Southsea Promenade to the gates of the Portsmouth Historic Dockyard.

As we approach we can see the grand sight of HMS Warrior. Dating from 1861, she was the first iron-clad warship. We'll have a look around her in due course but just to whet your appetites I can tell you that we met up with the second and third people of the week totally devoid of any common sense whilst we were onboard her...

The Portsmouth Semaphore was the last in a line of tall buildings with wavy masts stretching from London to Portsmouth, allowing messages to be sent from the Admiralty to the Naval base considerably faster than a speeding horseman. The semaphore had been in the centre of Portsmouth, but was moved here in 1833 when the Admiralty residence moved into the dockyard. To either side were the Rigging House and Sail Loft of 1778 and to hold the semaphore tower, both buildings were joined by an archway. Only 14 years later, in 1847, the wonders of electricity brought the telegraph into the dockyard, rendering the semaphore obsolete. The tower burned down in 1913 and was rebuilt as a replica, opening again in 1930. The buildings to either side are not perfect replicas - the one on the right is not joined to the tower any more and they were originally symmetrical in design and number of storeys.

The star attraction has to be HMS Victory. She is, in fact, the sixth ship of the Royal Navy to be named Victory, the first having been launched in 1569 and which served in the battle against the Spanish Armada.

It's a wonder that she still exists. Starved of funds for maintenance after the Battle of Trafalgar, she was saved only because of public outcry every time the Admiralty announced she would be broken up. They saved her, but did little to arrest rot and damage. In fact it would be 2005 before she was returned to the condition she had enjoyed at the start of the Battle of Trafalgar.

Gingerbread. That's the term for the decorative woodwork of the sterns of most ships of the line. Victory originally had open balconies, but these were removed during reconstruction work started in 1800 during which so many defects were discovered that the cost of repairs rocketed from an original estimate of £23,500 to £70,933 (pounds sterling). During this work the number of guns she carried was increased from 100 to 104.

Also she was repainted in the colours we now see and take for granted. She had been red. After Trafalgar many warships adopted these same colours, dark yellow and black stripes but with black gunports - a chequered effect which came to be known as Nelson's Chequer.

The series of steps up to the doorway in the side of the ship is known as the tumblehome. Probably because after climbing it, particularly in a lively sea, that's exactly what you would do with some relief! You can visit Victory in a guided tour, but not with freedom to wander about on your own. We did the tour, visiting the placque on the deck where Nelson fell, shot through the shoulder by a French sniper in the rigging of the ship alongside. The bullet passed through a lung and broke his spine, where it lodged. He died three hours later in the Orlop of the ship, now the nearest thing to a shrine that any Navy ship possesses.

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Ships and Boats Index

South Coast England, February 1996

Saturday 17 February 1996. We both had a week off work and decided to go down to mooch along the south coast for the week. So Saturday night found us in Southsea where we found ourselves a hotel that was actually open for visitors in February: The Glendower Hotel (now converted to apartments, I see from Google Maps). There was a coach party booked in besides us and unfortunately the couple in the next room were both deaf and TV fans... They had the TV on full blast and yelled at the top of their voices only for the other to yell back, "What?"

Sunday 18 February 1996. This was taken from the bedroom window the following morning. It looks nice, but snow had been forecast! Hey, we're from up north... we can withstand a bit of cold and snow...

We venture out. Blimey, it's flipping cold out here and the wind is blowing a gale! What? I said what? Well, yes but... Southsea is just around the corner from Portsmouth, home of the famous naval base, that we fancy going to see. It doesn't open for an hour or more though, so we have to find somewhere warm to shelter - I mean somewhere to stand or sit staunchly to show these southerners just how northerners can deal with cold. Sheesh, are there no cafes open at all? I'm freezing! The Wightlink ferry bobs past us heading into Portsmouth and calmer waters. Southsea occupies a bit of a weird 2-mile island known as Portsea Island, with Portsmouth Harbour on one side, separating it from the Gosport peninsula and another body of water on the other side, Langstone Harbour, separating it from Hayling Island. It's almost not an island at all, being separated from the English mainland only by the narrow, but tidal, Portsbridge Creek.

Strategically though, it is of great importance. It guards the eastern approach to Spithead and the Solent from any potential invasion fleet and there's a castle here, built by King Henry VIII in 1544 and from its walls he watched his pride and joy warship, the Mary Rose, sink. When Britain was once again threatened with invasion, this time by Napoleon Bonaparte, Southsea grew in size rapidly to house the overflow of naval workers and craftsmen serving the Royal Navy at Portsmouth. The many acres of marshland - the Great Morass - were drained creating common and building land and the town gained a mass of buildings that Hitler did his best to knock down again in the Second World War, with quite a bit of success. The seafront promenades and piers had to be closed for the duration.

We had a walk up to the seafront and around the small castle built to defend the naval base. This shows one of the castle's cannon guarding the entrance to Portsmouth. In the distance is Spitbank Fort, one of four such, guarding the approch to Portmouth Harbour.

They were built in 1861-78, Spitbank being a smaller fort than the others and intended to pick off any enemy ships that managed to get past the larger forts further out. By the time of World War Two they had not been used at all and had become known as Palmerston's Folly, after the Prime Minister of 1860 when their building was agreed. However in the Second World War, they had had their cannons mostly removed and had been fitted with searchlights and lighter guns and presumably saw plenty of action against the Luftwaffe. (In fact a 2020 report stated that life there was so grim, that the soldiers manning it were chosen for their inability to swim, so that they would not be tempted to make a run for it...)

Southsea Castle. Whilst we were admiring the biting wind, we met our first loony of the week. He was walking his dog and asked if we were locals. On being told "no," he began to tell us about all the local celebrities. I already knew about Charles Dickens and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle but then he announced that Peter Sellers had been born there. When I said I hadn't known that, he turned me round to point out the street. "Don't go though!" he said in a voice that seemed afraid we would.

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Family Memories: Relatives and Ancestors

A series of articles featuring vintage photographs that I have come across in family archives and photograph albums. The photographs are at least half a century old with some from the early years of the 20th century or even late 1800s. They represent a view of the social history that the present generation owes its existence to. Most of the people depicted would have viewed the present world as an alien place.

Each article can be accessed by clicking or tapping the photographs below. A link at the end of each article will bring you back to this index page.

Austria Winter Holiday, 2002

A series of articles about our one and only winter holiday actually hoping to see snow, as we head for the Austrian Tyrol for a nine day trip with Leger Coaches. Two days at each end will be spent travelling but we will try to fit in as much as possible on the other five days!

Clicking or tapping the photos below will take you to the articles for each day. A link on each page will bring you back here.

Holidays Outside the UK Index Page

Guess Who Gets Roped In...

Wednesday 30 January 2002. Later that night we boarded the coach again to head to a Tyrolean Evening in a nearby large hostelry. The singing on the way there was making Jock howl in the driving seat...!

Yes, it's your actual Austrian hands, knees and bumps-a-daisy traditional evening with music, folk dancing, bell ringing and hammering in the silver mine!

Here all the little handbells are arranged on the table for the tune known as the Glockenplattler. It's usually the ladies of the troupe who play the bells interspersed with much hand slapping and knee slapping.

And these nights never pass without a certain amount of audience participation... Now admit it, yes, come on, you did expect this didn't you? I did - if there's any danger of being involved in a show it is always me... "Mug" written all over me!

There's only one way to deal with this and that is to enter the spirit of the thing with gusto and do your best to out-do the rest of the troupe!

In particular when it came to the yodelling yell, I filled my lungs and made sure my yell went on for longer than anybody else's - even the guy holding the mic! Then pulled off a few elaborate bows to get the audience well and truly on my side! I got a huge roar from the audience and as I made my way back to the table, one of the Americans on the table in front of ours stood to shake my hand! To quote a certain Mr Punch: "That's the way to do it!"

And there we go, the end of the holiday. It just remained for one of the lads in the folk troupe to get very worried as he climbed up onto our table to dance, because all the women were trying to squint up the legs of his rather short lederhosen... Tomorrow and the day after will be spent travelling north back to and across the Channel and then back to good old Blackpool and home.

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