People often ask me, “What was it like being in the Navy?” I spent half a lifetime—28 years—in the Royal Navy, affectionately known as "The Andrew" (legend has it, after a particularly zealous press-gang officer named Andrew Miller). Like any other job, it had its ups and downs, but in the Senior Service, the "ups" often involved the Maldives and the "downs" usually involved a 12-hour shift in a sweltering hangar.

To understand the life, you first have to understand why the Navy exists. We are an island nation; 95% of our trade comes by sea. The Navy is the shield that ensures those "motorways of the sea" stay open. But as any Rating (a non-commissioned sailor) knows, the policy is decided in London, while the work is done in 100% humidity.

Teenage Kicks and the "Gizet"

My journey began on HMS Hermes. Back then, she was a floating city with a complement (full crew) of over 2,100 souls. You grew up fast in an environment of strict discipline, mostly centered around avoiding the “Reggie’s” wrath. The Regulator is the naval police, and one slip-up meant you were on "Nines" or the dreaded "Tens"—specific levels of punishment that saw you losing your pay, your shore leave, or your free time to extra work. But where there is discipline, there is mischief. Working the "slip watch" (a staggered shift pattern), we were a gang of jokers. We once "gifted" a rather unpopular Killick—that’s a Leading Hand, named after the old Gaelic word for a small anchor—some Swarfega in his soap dish. The vacuum seal was so tight he couldn't get it open. My own contribution involved a "Gizet"—navy slang for a gadget or souvenir, usually bought overseas. This was a high-tech automatic umbrella from Gibraltar. I primed it with a heavy dose of talcum powder just as we disembarked to 814 Squadron’s home base at Culdrose (a "Stone Frigate," or a shore base commissioned as a ship).The "de-brief" in the crew room was legendary: he’d tried to impress his wife in the rain outside a pub. One click of the button and boom—a localized blizzard of talc over the wife, her new fake fur coat, and his dignity.

"Up and At ’em, Chatham"

By the time I reached HMS Chatham (a Type 22 Frigate), I was the SMR (Senior Maintenance Rating). As a Charge Chief—the senior non-commissioned engineer with ultimate "sign-off" authority for the aircraft—I led a flight of 14 ratings, two pilots, and an observer. We were the “Airy Fairies” (Fleet Air Arm), a title the “Fish-heads” (the General Service sailors who run the ship) used with a grin.But the flight deck is no joke. It is a place of invisible killers—rotating tail rotors and winch mishaps. During three years of back-to-back Armilla patrols in the Gulf, we worked in 30°C heat on "12-about" watches (12 hours on, 12 hours off), reducing to "8 and 4" (8 on, 4 off) when manpower was tight. Yet, the Navy gave back; we "Crossed the Line" (the traditional ceremony for crossing the Equator) and sailed into Cape Town as the UK’s capital ship for Nelson Mandela’s Jubilee.

The Grass of SW19

Eventually, I served as the 2nd Sea Lord’s representative at Wimbledon (1997–2004), recruiting 1,800 service personnel. It was here I had to manage "Taff," a Senior RAF Warrant Officer who thought he was a tennis coach. He would often be caught down the players' practice courts shouting at world-class professionals in a broad Welsh accent: “You’ve got to throw the ball higher!” Strike one, Taff. I moved him from Centre Court stewarding to the players' changing rooms. My ultimate mistake. Taff’s career ended after a frustrated Goran Ivanišević was in the dressing room thrashing his rackets after a loss. Taff put an arm around the Croatian and said: “Never mind boyo, you played like a C****, but there’s always next year!” Safe to say, Taff was sent home.

A Changing Tide

Looking back, the Navy I knew is changing. Today, we see "Lean Manning"—a corporate way of saying "doing more with fewer people"—and ships that struggle for readiness. As I write this in 2026, global tensions are rising with President Trump’s “Epic Fury” targeting the Iranian regime. It is a bitter pill to swallow seeing our Carriers unavailable or called "toys" by a madman pretending to be a President, while old shipmates on social media rage about under funding.

We sent our HMS Dragon south, and while she is a fine ship, the "thinning of the line" is clear. On Hermes, I had 2,100 shipmates; Dragon carries a mere 190 to 235 souls. From the scale of the 70s to the high-stakes diplomacy of Wimbledon, it’s been a hell of a ride. I only hope the powers that be remember: an island nation is only as secure as the fleet it maintains.

A Field Guide to Jack Speak (Naval Slang)

Just to add a note about other "Jack Speak" terms, I've used in the poem below :

In naval slang, "trapping" refers to the art of successful courtship while on shore leave. It implies a certain level of persistence and, usually, a bit of friendly competition among the lads to see who could land a date before the next "pipe" (the ship's whistle or announcement) recalled everyone back to the gangway.

Banyan: Is a navy term for a BBQ or party, usually held on a beach or the flight deck, involving plenty of "bits and bats" (food and drink).

Gas, Gas, Gas!: The standard warning during NBCD (Nuclear, Biological, Chemical Defence) drills. Nothing bonds a crew like the shared misery of sweating in a respirator.

Get your kit together: Not just about your uniform; it's about getting your life and your head in order.

The Andrew Way


I wonder where it all began, I wonder every day,
If I chose the path that was right for me, as some people say.
"Go to work and get some dough"—is that the only biz?
What is there to achieve at sixteen, when you’ve got no fizz?

But joining up meant making friends—not "colleagues," nothing close,
In Stone Frigates like Yeovilton, or down at old Culdrose.
The banter, it was legendary; we’d always take the piss,
Without the RN in my life, there’s so much I would miss.

Twenty-eight years, man and boy, a lifetime on the sea,
Playing "sailors" with our toys—as happy as can be.
Shouting "Gas, Gas, Gas!" while joking, and choking in the mask,
Off-watch for a Banyan, then trapping a lass for the task.

So take it from a naval vet, you’ll have no real regret,
The finest bunch of shipmates that you haven't even met.
I’m no AI, but listen close to the message that I play:
Get your kit together, lad—and do it The Andrew Way.