MEM (M)1 NICKOLLS

When I look back now, at sixty-two, my years in the Royal Navy feel like a tide that carried me far beyond the quiet streets where I began. Time softens many memories, but the sea has a way of preserving certain moments with remarkable clarity. The smell of salt in the air or the distant rumble of engines can still take me straight back to the young sailor I once was.

Although I joined the Royal Navy on 7 August 1979, my connection with the sea had begun earlier. My family loved sailing, and growing up I had already spent time on the water. The Navy didn’t introduce me to the sea so much as deepen a relationship that had already begun.

My trade was Marine Engineering Mechanic, which meant my world lay deep inside the ship rather than on the bridge. Engineers lived among turbines, boilers, pumps and pipework—the complicated machinery that kept a warship alive. My training began at HMS Sultan in Gosport, where young recruits quickly learned that ships were not simply graceful vessels cutting through the water. Beneath the decks they were vast mechanical systems where everything depended on everything else. If the engineering department failed, the ship stopped.

My first real experience of naval life came aboard HMS Londonderry, a Rothesay-class frigate that had been converted into a trials ship. Rather than traditional operational duties, Londonderry was used for testing new naval technologies, including pump-jet propulsion systems and advanced degaussing equipment designed to reduce a ship’s magnetic signature. Because of this work we carried out trials in the clear waters of the Bahamas, where the excellent visibility made underwater testing and measurements far easier.

For a young engineer it was fascinating. The ship was effectively a floating research platform, and we spent long periods conducting trials, measurements and evaluations. Working in such a specialised environment gave me an early appreciation of just how much engineering and experimentation sits behind the Royal Navy’s technology.

Of course naval life was never only about work. One of the great traditions of the sea is the run ashore, and one of my earliest memorable ones came while we were visiting West Palm Beach in Florida. For a young sailor it felt like another world—palm trees, warm evenings and the lively energy of an American coastal city.

In August 1982 I joined HMS Antrim, a powerful County-class guided missile destroyer that had recently returned from the Falklands War. She was a magnificent ship, powered by the complex Combined Steam and Gas (COSAG) propulsion system. Down in the engineering spaces it was a demanding environment, but keeping that machinery running smoothly was a source of pride for the engineering department.

My home aboard Antrim was 3Q Mess, where the real character of naval life existed. It was there that friendships formed that have lasted for decades, including those with Andy Reeves, a school friend who became Leading Hand of the mess, and Gerry De Falco.

One of the most memorable moments of that time was Christmas 1982 in the Falklands. The South Atlantic is a harsh and unforgiving place, yet even there sailors found a way to celebrate the season together.

Another unforgettable run ashore came in Cartagena, Colombia. At the time I was simply enjoying the colour and excitement of a Caribbean port city. Only later did I realise how dangerous the place could be during those years.

Later in my career I served aboard HMS Wilton, a unique fibreglass mine countermeasures vessel operating in the Mediterranean and the Gulf of Suez. During that deployment we were invited to the British Embassy in Cairo, an experience that felt quite remarkable for a group of young sailors far from home.

Towards the end of my naval career I worked with target vessels in the Outer Hebrides of Scotland. The islands there are wild and beautiful—huge skies, Atlantic winds and seas that seem endless. It was a place that left a deep impression on me, and it remains one of my favourite places to this day.

I left the Royal Navy in 1988, aged twenty-five. Looking back now, those nine years shaped the rest of my life. They gave me adventure, friendships and a lifelong connection to the sea.

Even now, when I hear the distant thrum of engines or smell salt on the wind, a small part of me is still there—standing on the deck of a grey warship, watching the horizon and wondering where the next tide might carry me. ⚓