When HMS Sheffield was sunk in the Falklands in 1982 I had been out of the Royal Navy for just over a year but was living and working in HMS Royal Arthur, at Corsham in Wiltshire, as the NAAFI club manager. Everyone was very shocked in that environment by the loss of our first Royal Navy warship, of course, and a few weeks later the captain cleared lower deck and, paying particular attention to the ship’s company and myself because I worked with them so closely, he told us that we would soon have a survivor from the “Shiny Sheff” joining us when his survivor’s leave expired. We were told that our new oppo had been through a traumatic experience and we would all need to deal with him with the utmost sensitivity. Taff was a killick seaman and when he joined on the following Monday he didn’t look particularly sensitive but the whole ship’s company were walking on egg shells and really not sure what to say to him. My first encounter with Taff was in the Ship’s Company Bar just after seven in the evening shortly after supper. The lads were all involved in trying to make their new shipmate feel at home in the way they knew best by buying him stacks of John Smiths but steering well clear of any mention of his previous ship and her demise. The air was cleared after a couple of hours, however, when Taff declared, “Yup, that was the swiftest draft chit I’ve ever had and I’d recommend travel by exocet every time.” The atmosphere in the bar relaxed immediately and a great night was enjoyed by all. Good old Jack! Nothing gets him down.
