I left Vernon Brill half way up the mast of HMS Dorsetshire waiting for the rating he was relieving climbing out of the barrel like crows nest. As he hung on there, one hand on a rung, the other grabbing the stay, he could see the ship bury her bows into a big Atlantic wave, the mast swung forward and he had to hold on tighter to prevent being cast off . Looking down he was sure the bows would keep on diving under and under but then, the bows lifted, showered white water along the decks and he was pressed against the crosstrees as the mask flicked back. When the waves were coming from the side, one moment there would be nothing below but a wave and he hung on tight, the wire strands of the stay biting into his hand, trying to hold on with his feet as the mast started to come upright and leave him hanging. When the mast was upright, he could relax, with the steel deck and bridge structure under him but, a few breaths later, he would be pressed against the rising mast with nothing but the sea below.
Once inside the barrel, he was connected by a voice tube with a mouth he spoke into to the bridge. Being there on your own was a bit frightening but - you get used to it, Vernon commented.
The picture, taken around the late 1990's, is Vernon with the last of his old shipmates. Vernon is on the left with his woundded hand behind his shipmates back.
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