Submariners Assocation of Canada Easti

Archive for January, 2013

HMCS Victoria at RIMPAC12.

by on Jan.27, 2013, under Message Posts

A Long Beginning shows highlights of making HMCS VICTORIA “in all respects ready” for sea in late 2011 and 2012, culminating in her successful SINKEX at RIMPAC12.

The CO shares the challenges faced by his boat and her crew along the way — and their accomplishments.

Good video of HMCS Victoria prepared by the Royal Navy here at

Or at

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Charlie Lonsdale taken on H.M.S/M Trespasser

by on Jan.26, 2013, under Message Posts

Charlie lives in Manchester, UK and is a member of SAOC(E) and visits NS for 6 to 8 weeks during the summer or every 2nd summer and lives with Paul Dube. Paul and Charlie were shipmates in HMS Taciturn a Royal Navy submarine on station in Australia circa 1962.  Charlie travelled with Us to the Pig Roast in Groton, CT and participates in summer meetings.

Picture of a very young Charlie Lonsdale taken on H.M.S/M Trespasser in 1959.  Notice how clean shaven and the very best attire (Steaming Rig).  Here are some Canadians that were part of the crew.  It might stir a few memories:



Here are some Canadians that were part of the crew.  It might stir a few memories:

C.O. Lieut S.G. (Sam) Tomlinson C.D. R.C.N.

Navigator Lieut C.G. Charron R.C.N.

P1QM2 H. Parsons C.D. R.C.N.

P2TD3 R.A. Lowry R.C.N.

P1EM4 N.P. Flecknell C.D. R.C.N.

LSSW2 A.J. Bergeron R.C.N.

LS Ken Irvine (Gunlayer) R.C.N.

Anyone have pictures or info please reply


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Take George Byzewski for example

by on Jan.05, 2013, under Stories over the ages

Submitted by Jim(lucky) Gordon

However, idle amusement, at 300 feet, was not always at the expense of the rookies. It was much more heart-warming to take on a specialist in the field of fellow folly.
Take George Byzewski for example. The Bazoo was a master of mockery and a capable comedian. One of his favourite expressions in a round of mess deck absurdity was “can’t crack me!”
To set the scene, as technology advanced we eventually installed stereo sound systems in our mess decks, for leisure listening or ballroom dance parties. We had just replaced our 8 Track with a brand new cassette tape player deck. With 18 to 20 senior rates in our mess, music taste varied from cultured to crude. Many brought their favourite music with them from home and played it in turn with choices of others. At times there was good-natured dispute over music taste but nothing too serious.
When George Sullivan and I, both very vocal, sh&t chucking seamen, found ourselves largely outnumbered by stokers on one particular trip in Ojibwa the stokers decided that they ruled the tape deck and wouldn’t let us play our favourite music. Right up front we were informed that anything we tried to play would be immediately replaced by stuff we didn’t like. Dah! With child reverse psychology applied, we enjoyed our music and denied them of some of their favourites for over three months until we could no longer contain our triumph and announced how easy it had been to choose our “like” and “unlike” entertainment. Stokers are easy!
On another trip Bazoo, fellow Dib, brought his all time, absolute favourite compilation of Waylon Jennings and Willie Nelson hits. And we were listening to “Mommas Don’t Let Your Babies Grow Up To Be Cowboys” every chance he had to
bang it into the cassette deck. One day at noon Bazoo was sitting at a table reading a paperback novel with “the Boys” crooning sveltely in the background when big Ron Kolodij entered the mess. He reached in over the heads of a few mess members and loudly hit the cassette deck eject button. The mess went suddenly quiet. When Bazoo looked up from the other end of the mess, (the sweet spot for full stereo effect), Ron, with a cassette tape grasped firmly in two huge hands announced, “I’m f*#king sick of this crap”, broke it in half, stripped out a few yards of muted cellulous tape and tossed it on the deck in front of Bazoo. Everyone in the mess was dumbfounded. Bazoo looked shocked and extremely hurt as he reached down and delicately fondled a few strands of Willies “Always On My Mind.” He let it silently track through his fingers back to the deck and without a word, head down and avoiding all eyes, returned to his novel. After all, no one could “crack” the Bazoo. And to disclose a chink in the old armour was just begging for a tireless attack of relentless ridicule. As the mess deck routine resumed to its’ normal absurdity Ron was inserting a cassette tape into the machine. Out came the tender tones of “Blue Eyes Crying In The Rain”. All eyes were turned to the Bazoo as a sheepish grin emerged through the grizzly ‘skers on his face. It was then that everyone, including the Bazoo realized that, for the last couple of minutes, he had been staring down at his upside down novel. The broken cassette tape was a fake. Ron had gotten through, cracked our Polish Prince a fine one, and this one would resurface over and over for decades to come.
We’ve all been had, more than we would like to admit. But we all knew that if we weren’t loved we weren’t included.
Buddies in Boats!

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Rustin Chute.

by on Jan.05, 2013, under Stories over the ages

This Was Submitted  Lucky Gordon
Immediately nicknamed “Rusty” and occasionally “Dirt”. (I think his parents had a sense of humour when they named their little bundle of joy. Maybe dad was a submariner.”)
When young ‘Rusty’ arrived on board as a SPUT (Surface Puke Under Training) he was raring to go and eager to become one of his idealized brotherhood of super heros. He was an incessant burble of questions and curiosity about everything. And he sucked it all up as gospel from the righteous professionals that he worshipped. Ordinary Seaman Chute was more than a little naïve, like most of us were when we first got there.
Sitting in the mess one day, he overheard some of us seriously discussing the new bunk bags we were ordering for the mess on return to Slackers, (Halifax).
On hearing the term “Naugahyde”, the leatherette our bunk bags, seat and mattress covers were made of, he piped up,
“what’s a naugah? I never heard of them”.
Submariner’s don’t miss a chance to exercise their quick wit and sadistic sense of humour. I realized at once that he had heard naugah “hide”. I dove right into it.
“Naugahs are sort of a cross between a wild boar and a small rhino.”
And it was game on for all who wanted to participate in the age old sport of deep sea angling. Everyone baited up and cast a line.
“Yeah, they have smooth skin that is tanned and dyed and they make all kinds of leather stuff for submarines out of it. It stands up to the sea pressure better than regular leather.”
“My motor cycle leathers are naugah.”
“The meat’s not too bad either. It tastes like chicken. Hey chef, have you got any naugah on the menu this trip?”
“There are plenty of naugahs in Nova Scotia, but no one except
submariners hunts them. That’s probably why you never heard of them before. They aren’t really much good for anything but submarine gear.”
The game was revving up and Rustin was on the edge of his seat absorbing every once of absurdity.
“In fact naugah season just opened and we’re planning a hunting trip when we get back to Slackers. Wanna come with us?”
You might think that we got bored during those weeks and months that we spent under water defending our country from the great red tide of Communist aggression. Not so. There was always an object of delight to keep our magnificent miniature military minds engaged.
For the next few weeks we spent much of our idle idiot time with Rustin planning our hunting trip. The game spread through the boat like crap in a fan trunking. It eventually grew so elaborate with the massive amount of bizarre hunting gear, traps, weapons and camouflage kit, and the dangers inherent to hunting one of those prehistoric man eating beasts that seemed to get larger with each description, that Rustin began to catch on.
Once the jig was up he took it like a man, and I think he was actually disappointed that there would be no male bonding hunting trip with all the big guys.
I doodled with a pencil back then and sketched a drawing of my impression of Rusty in his hunting gear. A little Davy Crockett-ish, complete with naugah hound, Ole Nelly the naugah flint lock long gun with naugah notches for kills, naugah “hide” garb and cap C/W naugah tail, and so on. Rusty had unique features so I was able to capture a good likeness in caricature. Several years later when Rustin got married, some of his mess mates had the caricature blown up to life-size and mounted behind his head table. It was still a hit.
One thing certain in submarines, if you expose a chink in your armour, your messmates will never stop attacking it.
That’s what ‘Buddies in Boats‘ is all about.

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