After the Missile Had Gone
To those watching from outside the ship, a missile firing was an impressive sight. There was smoke, noise, speed and the unmistakable impression of modern naval power. A guided missile destroyer doing what she was designed to do was exactly the sort of image that appeared in official photographs and public descriptions of the modern Royal Navy.
For the sailors who maintained the ship, however, the story did not end when the missile disappeared over the horizon.
HMS Glamorgan carried the Seaslug missile system, a weapon that looked every inch the product of the missile age. Mounted on its launcher aft, it gave the ship a capability that belonged to a new generation of naval warfare. The firing itself was dramatic, but the aftermath was rather less glamorous.
The quarterdeck was my Part of Ship at the time. As a Seaman (TAS Branch) rating, that meant that when the firing was over and the excitement had passed, responsibility for restoring the area did not disappear with the missile.
Paintwork, cleanliness and maintenance were still waiting.
Missiles, in my experience, were a nuisance in a way that ordinary weapons were not. They were impressive pieces of equipment, but they also created work. Once the launch had taken place and the photographs had been taken, somebody still had to deal with the consequences.
That somebody was usually not the person who had enjoyed the most exciting part.
The sailor watching a missile disappear into the sky and the sailor later repairing the deck were often two entirely different people. One experienced the few seconds of drama. The other experienced the hours of cleaning, maintenance and restoration afterwards.
This was not unusual in the Royal Navy. The Service depended upon thousands of ordinary tasks being completed properly after the more visible events had finished. A ship could fire weapons, conduct exercises and appear impressive to the outside world only because somebody was always responsible for the less glamorous details.
That was the reality of life aboard a warship. Every spectacular capability had a practical consequence. Every piece of equipment required maintenance. Every evolution created work somewhere else.
The missile launcher might have represented the future of naval warfare, but the quarterdeck still required paint, brushes and sailors prepared to use them.
There was nothing unusual or unfair about this. It was simply how ships operated. The Royal Navy relied upon specialists throughout the ship's company, each with their own responsibilities. Some operated the weapons, some maintained the machinery, some kept communications running and others ensured that the ship itself remained fit for service.
The difference was that the dramatic parts were usually remembered while the routine work disappeared into the background.
Years later, it is easy to picture the missile itself: the flash, the smoke and the roar of a large weapon leaving the ship. It is less easy to picture the sailor afterwards with the cleaning materials and paint brush, restoring the deck ready for the next day.
Yet that was equally part of operating a Royal Navy destroyer.
The missile lasted seconds. The maintenance lasted much longer.
RN-E-131: The Official Rag: Jack, Pusser and the Printed Navy
Primary source: RN-006
RN-E-130
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