A return to HMS Ganges

HMS Ganges was a training shore establishment of the Royal Navy, and was active at Shotley Gate in Suffolk until 1976. It trained teenage boys to become professional seamen. The Navy had switched to using iron steam-propelled warships well before 1900, but continued to insist on its youthful intake learning how to manage a wind-driven vessel. So the training laid emphasis on traditional sailing skills, including agility and confidence on tall masts. 

I have been fascinated with HMS Ganges for decades. It's the fascination of the fearful for a place where terrifying things were expected.  What did I fear? Dizzy heights. The nightmare of the tiny platform at the very top of the mast in the parade ground at HMS Ganges, to which a chosen trainee would be sent - the Button Boy - to stand erect in smart Naval fashion, one arm stiffly by his side, the other raised in a formal salute; and below him, arranged in symmetrical order on each horizontal spar, or on the shrouds and ratlines, dozens of other young trainees, all forming the kind of spectacle beloved of training masters, put on for the benefit of important visitors. Each boy trying to quell the natural dread of being far from the ground and highly likely to fall if careless. But the Button Boy most likely of all. 

Here are three pictures, probably taken in 1918, 1925 and the third much later, any time up to the 1970s. 

It's undeniably impressive. I had a good deal to say about it all in my post Ultra vertigo potential: the Button Boy on 29th July 2023. And in my post The boy who fell, published on 29th August 2023, I related how I personally tracked down the grave (at nearby Shotley churchyard) of the only Boy recorded as falling to his death from the mast. The only one the Navy ever admitted to, that is. 

When HMS Ganges closed in 1976, the buildings and grounds were turned over to other official uses. The mast remained, although gradually deteriorating, so that by the time I came to see what was left in July 2023, it had been partially dismantled, and was a sad shadow of its former self, half the height and devoid of rigging. 

The site had been taken over by a private developer, on the basis that the mast would be reinstated in all its former glory. So I resolved to return, to see whether this would happen. I managed it in June this year.

As you enter Shotley Gate, you see the first fruit of the the developer's work. It's clearly intended to be a cut above the ordinary run-of-the-mill building scheme.

Here's some of their online material:

That's meant to be a Button Boy showing the shilling coin he would have received from the commander of HMS Ganges for climbing to the top of the mast and saluting from the tiny platform there, the 'button'. It was a kind of medal for the skill and courage displayed. I can imagine a very daring kind of boy putting themselves forward for that duty. He would get a lot of admiration for it, and it would do him no harm whatever in his future career in the Navy.

I turned into Nelson Avenue, one of the new residential roads, to find out whether the mast could be seen from there, and if so, what state it was in.

It was a large site to develop, containing some old buildings, presumably listed, that might prove difficult to turn into apartments. Such as that long one in the picture just above (although I think it might be used as a sports hall). Now wasn't that the mast behind it? I drove around to what had once been the main gates.

Yes, the mast had been restored to its full height, button included, and with all its rigging. I took a series of telephoto shots, mostly with with my phone.

You can make out the lightning-conductor at the very top that served as a thin handle for the Button Boy to grasp when hauling himself onto the button. He would try to lean against it when standing to attention and making his salute. 

These were, incidentally, evening shots, taken after 8.00pm, with sunset approaching. I think that, considering the diminishing light level, the little Leica and the phone did quite well. 

I was pleased to see that the developer had restored the mast. Although I do not care for the use it was once put to, it is an historic structure that could have been lost, and the historian in me approves of its renaissance. I do wonder, however, who will maintain it in the years to come. Will the new residents have to take turns to mount the rigging to tar and repaint as needed? And who will check the button at the very top? 

Ready for takeoff at Davidstow Moor

Have camera, will travel. And if a liking for historical relics of all kinds is added, should you be surprised that I go out of my way to investigate old RAF airfields that, over eighty years ago in World War II, were noisy with the roar of aircraft? It makes no difference that in 2026 they are windswept spaces with disintegrating runways and buildings, all weatherbeaten concrete, and usually covered with spraypainted graffiti and other low artwork.

Back in April, when it was a lot cooler and breezier than now - just now it's very warm where I am in Sussex! - I was pitched at Camelford in Cornwall, and not far away was the old wartime airfield on Davidstow Moor. This particular airfield is unusual in that (a) the runways are mostly still intact and haven't been bulldozed into rubble; (b) you can actually drive your car onto them; and (c) although the hangars are long gone, the control tower and most other remaining buildings are freely accessible, so that you can explore them. They have certainly seen use as storehouses and garages for a succession of local farmers, but they haven't been altered. There are no pesky safety restrictions, although really it would be irresponsible to venture into the control tower unless adult, fit and able. (I just about qualified)

It's in Wikipedia at https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/RAF_Davidstow_Moor.

Really, the only building that was completely out of bounds was the one that housed the radio mast. 

The entire place was the domain of sheep, and they grazed and wandered around as if they were the legal owners, giving me a very haughty 'what are you doing here?' look. But it didn't come to a confrontation. No sheep charged at me, fangs bared.

Given that the airfield isn't a playground, nor an open-air museum - although there are two proper museums on the perimeter - what did I hope to experience? Well, the atmosphere. In such places it's very easy to imagine how it might have been when it was operational as a Coastal Command base, and this conjures up all kinds of ghosts. 

I'd been here just once before, back in 2012. A quick visit on a dull, damp day, and I'd done no more than take Fiona - my car then - out onto the runway. 

In 2026 it was a fine sunny day, and the ground - inclined to be soft and squelchy off the concrete runways - was dry and form. So I could go where I liked. 

The first thing to do was to line up Sophie for takeoff. It was easy to imagine being given radio permission from the control tower. 

I was astonished that the runways still had painted numbers on them. They weren't original of course. The airfield had an afterlife as a motor racing circuit, and is still usable for launching microlights, hence the runway numbers. 

The runways were drivable, but somewhat rough in places, so I was constantly zig-zagging to avoid the worst bits. Inevitably I headed for the former control tower. 

For the life of me, I can't see what satisfaction or fun can be had from defacing surfaces with spray paint. If it were 'art' or some political message, that would be understandable. But it's mostly a grotesque mess. And the perpetrators may not be simply dropout north Cornwall teenagers with no idea how better to spend their time. It may all mean something quite different. None of it spoiled my visit. And it is, after all, only what I see on my photographic expeditions to backstreet Brighton. Although you do see genuinely good examples of street art there.

A couple of families had parked by the control tower, and had established themselves there with a picnic in mind. No doubt they felt that they had rights. Not in my book. I approached closely and took my shots. Then I entered the control tower. And if they didn't like my looking down on them from the gaping windows, then tough. But I think they realised that I was only there for the shots, and would then leave. 

Thank goodness it was dry. In winter weather it would all be very muddy and slippery. Inside it was surprisingly free of detritus, and smelled fresh - the strong breeze whistling through must be responsible for that. And of course, the sheep wouldn't venture up the stairs. 

I had the place to myself. It was pretty light, and not at all creepy. The ground floor was a series of plain rooms opening out onto a big room at the front. In my imagination these rooms and the corridor were busy with uniformed figures doing support tasks for the control staff on the next floor, reached via a concrete staircase. 

I switched from colour to black and white as the impulse took me. On the whole, I thought black and white suited the feeling of the place better. Next, the stairs up, and the first floor, the one from which takeoffs and landings where directed.

There would have been safety rails once, long since salvaged and taken away, leaving this somewhat tricky staircase. Potentially hazardous for unsteady oldies like me. But I didn't miss my footing and fall to my death.

The first floor, as expected, had a great view. 

The staff working up here certainly had a wonderfully good panoramic view of the airfield in front of them. I was amazed how well-built it was. Eighty years on, exposed to the elements for much of that time, and still holding up. In places, the ceiling showed the steel reinforcement of the concrete. Well, no wonder the basic structure was still largely intact.

I didn't go too near the windows. The breeze up here was pretty fierce.

The rest of the first floor was similar to the ground floor. I suppose the graffiti was marginally better. I peered at most of it. 

Time to investigate the other buildings. These were clearly for storage - fuel, ammunition - plus others that could have been canteens and garages. All definitely worth a look.

A stony glance from a territorial sheep.

Latrines, I suppose.

This building was supposed to be important - a notice said so - but nevertheless it had been vandalised by the graffiti boys and was full of rubbish.

That might have been an original wartime door. But pulled off its hinges and kicked to death. 

I looked at most of the other buildings too. They were in various states of decay. But at least one was serving as a farmer's lockup.

It was getting on. Nearly lunchtime. Should I have a quick look at one of the museums instead? Hunger won. On my way off the airfield I passed the wireless station, and then the RAF museum. I was tempted to stop, but was resolute and drove on. Something for a future visit.