All stories, no matter how long in the telling, have their ending.  But the very best remain stored away, together with life’s other precious memories, to be told time and time again … until time itself runs out.  As it did last Friday for a close and much-loved friend, John Carrier, who suddenly collapsed and died after being rushed to Burton Upon Trent hospital, in the U.K.

Joining the Royal Navy as Mechanical Engineers (‘stokers’) within a few months of each other, John and I first met up when – having both been chosen for accelerated promotion as ‘Specially Selected Mechanical Engineers’ (S.S.M.E.’s)  – we were both drafted to the anti-submarine frigate, HMS Urchin for advanced training, followed, in early 1964, when the two of us were both drafted to HMS Chichester, a first rate diesel-powered frigate undergoing an extensive refit before undergoing trials and work up exercises prior to sailing for what was intended to be an 18-month deployment to the Far East, in the opening days of 1965.

Immediately after joining the ‘Chichester’, both Johnny and I responded to the call for volunteers for diver training; Johnny, because he loved the challenge; and me, to escape the ship’s engine room.  At the beginning of 1964 the Navy’s entry-level diver training programme was making the switch from O2 rebreathers to include Open Circuit equipment, with the course itself enjoying a high drop-out rate.  Both of us qualified, and regularly buddied and dived together throughout the following two years.

We worked well together, enjoyed some very memorable runs ashore; and more than a few exciting moments while diving in Aden, in the South Yemen, and then in Borneo, during the ‘Konfrontasi’ with Indonesia, when – as Johnny recently recalled in a post to me – “It was so organised searching sampans: us in the midships ready to enter the water and carry out searches for arms and ordnance hidden below the water line while the sampan’s occupants were crouched down, hands on heads in the mid-ships section, watched over by seamen, one in the bow and one in the stern, both facing each other, with us in the middle.  The only trouble was that each of the seamen was armed with a Lanchester sub-machine gun.”

Post-Navy, and living in different parts of the country and, later, following our move to Australia, different countries, we still maintained contact –  with one very memorable catch-up on a visit back to the U.K. – that was always complemented by our regular Christmas Day ‘phone calls.

Over the years it became apparent that friendships are a state of mind rather than one of geography.  John remained that rarity: a man who could meet with Triumph or Disaster and – without boasting or complaining – treat them both the same., and who – in the words of Kipling – could fill each unforgiving minute with sixty seconds worth of distance run.

Possessed of a wonderful sense of humour, beaming smile and lurking laugh that – in my mind’s eye – welcomed any opportunity to burst free, his inspirational zest for life was matched only by his generosity, his enormous love for his wife, Carol, daughters, Deborah and Emma, and son, Stuart; and an unswerving faith in his friends.

A proud father, devoted husband and an unfailing friend, John Carrier was one of the most noble and undemanding people whom I have ever met, it was an enormous honour to have known him and to have shared a part of his life.

Goodbye old mate. Thank’s for the memories and the friendship.

—ENDS—

Categories: General