Hermes is considered the Herald of the Gods

I was miles away watching yesterday’s rugby in my shed, enveloped in fumes from my pipe when our Hermes delivery chap frightened the wits out of me. He had located me by the “Beautiful aromatic scent,” as he put it, from my baccy. Solani aged Burley tobacco from Africa, South America and North America. Talpa will tell you it reminds him of something that has passed through the entrails of an Egyptian street dog.

Hermes was an aircraft carrier converted to a Commando ship, we had just spent three months in Norway, January to the end of March, we embarked intent on being warm and dry. Hermes left Narvik loaded with two Commando units and all our kit, plus RN Seaking helicopters, our Squadron and all the gunners stuff. We headed out into the darkest of North Seas at 2200ish. By 2300 we hit the edge of a ‘Zebra’s Bum,’ the meteorological term for a deep Low or depression, which it resembles if you look at the isobars on a Met chart. As we moved towards the centre of this low the ship, a rather large carrier was getting a good kicking. The RN had decided to place all the storage containers, full of weapons, ammo and Mars bars right at the front of the flight deck. Behind them were 27 landrovers. At 0200 I was crashed out in my pit at the port side bow end; there was a huge bang, louder than that being made by the improperly secured anchor as it hit the hull every time a Goffer, or wave, would hit the bow. A HUGE goffer had caused a reversal of flow in the sea water main to the ships heads or toilets. The mains cock, a rather large piece of safety valve had been blown explosively into the deckhead above it. Wapppaddda! 
When I slid the door to our little mess open I saw a wave of seawater sliding from bow to stern etc. We spent most of the night assisting the damage control party; thank you ethereal being. 
The next day dawned, slightly. Snow, sleet, waves, did I mention waves? All the containers had gone; en-route to the sea bed they had smashed 23 of the landrovers into unrecognisable crushed metal. The RN had a rush of blood to the head and wanted to send helicopters with machine guns mounted to locate the containers and sink them. That idea lasted a few minutes. What really concentrated the Captain’s mind may have been the following. On each of the Port and Starboard sides Hermes carried two landing craft. Now she had three. H4 the rearmost on the starboard side had been ripped from her davits. Bye, nice knowing you, gone and never wrote a letter. 
In human terms the storm also took a toll. The Squadron boss, of Fox of Forkhill fame, commenced to ream me a new fundament as I was late turning up for our morning meeting. He took no notice of my wringing wet kit, bruises or savage demeanour until I explained what his ragged pilot had been doing all night. 
I discovered where my mate Taff was sleeping. He always suffered terribly with sea-sickness. When my face appeared beside his bunk he tried to smile, at least he tried, I asked whether he needed anything. “No, I’m dying!” 
“Well you won’t want this pork chop then.” Said I holding up a beautiful lump of Denmark’s finest. 

I can still hear him upchucking and screaming at me.