Publication:Sea Talk Autumn 2006/Reservists put the 'damage' into damage control
A student's-eye view of reserve entry officer training by LEUT Kirsty Boazman
The square-gaiting and goose-stepping on the quarterdeck could only mean one thing. The Chief bellowing: "No, Sir! Your other left foot!" confirmed it. An intake of Reserve Entry Officers (REOCs) was back in residence at HMAS Creswell.
Despite the previous spectacle, and danger, of attempting sword drill with groups like this, we were back. And two weeks of damage control probably never seemed so real for the instructors at the School of 4 Ss (of Survivability and Ships Safety).
Being a civilian lawyer doesn't equip you for the role of attack hose. A corporate psychologist doesn't normally deal with the rationale of exposing yourself to tear gas. A journalist doesn't consider a Pattern 50n lifejacket an 'accessory' for the day's work. Fire-fighting, gas and 'abandon ship' drill is all outside the day-to-day comfort zone. The very reason we had originally signed up.
Skippering a Customs boat, patching up broken bodies in a hospital emergency ward, preparing ministerial briefings, developing national policy, solving murder cases and debating the modern relevancy of the Old Testament. These are the everyday events of our civilian lives. Trying to hammer a wooden bung into a gushing wall of water is not. Up to our necks in a flooded engine room, the only 'sure thing' was: we would need Flipper's help to get out of this one.
In most households, 'damage control' is what happens after microwaving baked beans - without gladwrap. Or after the cat has coughed up a fur ball, and last week's Whiskers, all over the dining room floor. The closest thing to a fearnought suit is the faux fur that gets the once-a-year outing to Thredbo. The only need for an oxygen cylinder would be a Sunday morning resuscitation - after a week-end trapped in Sydney's Marble Bar.
Having a legitimate reason to wear shorts and long socks is one small reason to join the Navy. The chance to witness successful professionals stripped of their titles in challenging situations is a big reason. To see them bobbing about in Jervis Bay like oversized, water-logged ducklings, blowing on plastic whistles is a compelling excuse to enlist.
The Survival at Sea course should be compulsory for every Australian workplace. An afternoon of bailing a life raft, shifting trapped water from one suit leg to the other, and blowing up solar stills answers many important job survival questions. Who is going to smack the shark that cruises too close? Should the fish with bad breath be eaten? Who's the most creative at "I spy"? It's a necessary experience in leadership, team work and personality.
For most reservists, there is no parallel between our working and Navy lives. Certainly nothing that can be explained to workmates who consider a weak latté reason enough to call 'Hands to Emergency Stations'. The Navy is a 180 degree turn. So sometimes the salutes will look like something out of Gomer Pyle and it takes a moment to compute port from starboard.
The common thread is we have chosen to be part of the RAN through a belief in what the service means and respect for what PNF members accomplish as part of their everyday working lives. Yours is a job to be proud of, and we are reminded of that each time we return for training.
Thanks to the 4S instructors for counting to 10 when our water wheels turned into attack hoses, ladders were scaled the wrong way, protective suits were put on backwards, occaba valves were fiddled with, and the gas room became a crying game. It may not have shown but we now have a healthy understanding of, and admiration for, the DC, fire-fighting and survival skills of the RAN.
Extinguisher practice | 
LEUTs Alastair Tomlinson and Manson Ignace in fearnoughts |
Trying the attack hose | 
Gas Gas Gas |
Near total immersion off the Creswell wharf
Pics by LEUT Kirsty Boazman
