The final journey home

THE naval chap from Lisburn mentioned the possibility of having to be winched aboard the ship as we strolled towards the underground at Heathrow Airport.

At first I thought it was a joke but since were joining HMS Antrim at sea 70 miles off the Cornish coast, it was a distinct possibility that I could arrive on deck at one end of a rope.

In my case the initial surprise turned to worry and, inevitably, to panic. The prospect of a high-rise rendezvous with a warship, to put it mildly, did not meet with my unqualified approval.

I suffer from acute vertigo and can swim as well as a concrete slab. In fact, I was so afraid of heights that I was the laughing stock of the PE class at Ballyclare High School when I refused to go to the top of the wall bars during my circuit training.

After breakfast on a chilly April morning we were taken for a briefing on helicopter safety. We were told reassuring stories of how, if we did not get all the excess air from our safety suits, we could be dragged under the sea’s surface never to return.

“This suit’s going to drown me,” I said, then realising I had used the unfortunate Ulster turn of phrase to describe the fact that my suit was slightly large for me.

And then we were off for a half hour helicopter flight over the Scilly Isles for our rendezvous with HMS Antrim. The weather conditions were perfect so there was no need for the winch. I pretended to be disappointed, of course.

After touching down, ever so gently, on the heli-pad I was given a guided tour.

The first thing that struck me was just how vast this vessel was. It was a floating home from home for 485 crew.

And then there was the realisation that this really was a killing machine.

It had proved that just two years ago when it lived up to its motto ‘toujours pret’ - ‘always ready’.

HMS Antrim was the first British warship to arrive in the South Atlantic during the Falklands war.

The ship, with a little help from her Wessex helicopter and some troops, captured the Argentinian submarine ‘Sante Fe’ off South Georgia. The sub’s battle ensign was taken and placed in a special case in the Admiral’s cabin.

I met Lieutenant Dave Graham, who was of the few members of the ship’s current company to have served on the Antrim during the conflict.

He showed me the spot in the heads - that’s the toilets to you and I - where a 1,000 pound bomb had landed. An enemy Mirage fighter had discharged 12 bombs, but 11 of them missed.

The twelfth had found its target, but thankfully did not explode. A lucky escape.

At the stern I was shown the Seasllug Missile launcher which saw action during the war. As an added bonus I got a demonstration of how the weapon was loaded - with dummy missiles, of course!

And there was the huge front gun turret and its mighty 4.5 inch gun. After the Falklands both barrels had to be replaced after firing more than 200 shells.

Situated just behind this were the famous Exocet missiles which grabbed the headlines during the conflict.

The main drag - again, that’s a corridor in civvy street - has been christened the Giant’s Causeway because a piece of the famous stonework has pride of place on the wall.

Perhaps the most fascinating part of the ship, though, was the Operations Room. It is from here that the crew ‘fight’, the darkness illuminated only by numerous radar screens on all sides. It is essentially the nerve centre of the ship scanning the air, the surface of the sea and the waters below.

To a land lubber like myself it all looked very hi-tech - but apparently it was no longer sophisticated enough.

The stark reality is that her days are numbered.

It was with some sadness that I stood on the deck as she glided into Larne harbour for the last time. The County Class Cruiser which had fought so gallantly just two years ago was facing new horizons.

On April 20 she will be made non-operational and, after that, will probably be sold to the Chilean Navy, the victim of defence policies and a world where technology never stands still.

She is the last Royal Navy ship to bear a Northern Irish name. The present Antrim is the third warship of that name.

The bell, which was also the bell aboard the last ship to bear the Antrim name - a 10,000 tonne cruiser launched in 1905 - will be going to Antrim Council for ‘safe keeping’.

The ship is the last in a line of eight of its kind. Unfortunately, while two of her sister ships were granted major overhauls granting them another decade or so of active service, Antrim was not.

Another sister ship, formerly HMS Norfolk, has already been sold to Chile and renamed ‘The Pratt’. I kid you not.

Captain Jake Backus, who has been with the vessel for a year, explained that it was simply too expensive to modernise ships. In the long run, he said, it was cheaper to sell them and purchase new, modern vessels.

He added that the Antrim was a ‘lovely ship’ and commented that Lord Mountbatten had personally designed the Admiral’s Cabin as he felt they should have the facility to entertain guests in style.

“They are comfortable and handsome ships but, unfortunately, they are of an old design - and technology is moving so fast one has got to keep up.

“It is always sad when a fine ship reaches the end of her active life. Ships have histories and characters.”

The majority of the crew will be dispersed to take up positions with other ships but for some their time in the Royal Navy is also at an end.

It appears, however, there is no time for nostalgia or sentiment in the military. Although some of the crew were spending their last ever night at sea with us - they were flying back to England from Aldergrove later on - there were no tears being shed.

The prospect of touching the green, green grass of home was uppermost in their minds.

* Though HMS Antrim is long gone, interest in the vessel continues. She has her own Facebook page, with hundreds of members - many of them people who travelled the world with her. Reunions are still held too to keep her memory alive.