A pressure tight nav light, submarines for the use of, approx £3k worth, no idea where it went but fortunately the boat had an"incident" where the fwd anchor light got destroyed (same fitting), that one wasn't on my PLR but got to it before the scratcher did, returned it and got my 126 written off.
The scratcher however.....
Reminds me of my Chief Elec, HFR. The H and the R stood for Harry and Roddis. The F stood for the expletive he used when tagging out 'leccy stuff, with the reason: NFW. The N and the W stood for Not and Working.
I was always told I couldn't be an MEM(L) as I am colourblind. After being job-changed to Heavy L, I proved the logic behind the phenomenon several times. Nevertheless HFR despatched me to undertake readings on the sacrificial anodes, measuring the resistance between the zinc thingies and a portable reference anode which was (I thought) a lump of plastic on the end of a wire.
The idea was you scooted around the upper scupper when alongside (in this case Malabar, Bermuda). You dropped the reference anode into the oggin at the reference points, connected the wire to an avo and measured the potential difference. (See? Even as a clanky stoker, I understood).
After a few dips the wire got wet & sure enough slipped through my fingers. Never mind. "Harry" I asked "Can I have another one of those sacrificial jobbies?".
HFR went ballistic. "WHAT?" he wailed. "That's on my PLR and the core is solid sterling silver you #+/=#& );
[email protected] asshole".
Fortunately I remembered the precise location it dropped into the oggin and my mate, a ships diver, was carrying out a routine ship bottom search. "Do us a favour, mate" I pleaded, "When you get to 22.5 station, starboard, swim to the bottom, have a scrabble around for a wire, etc., " I explained, adding "There's a beer in it for you".
Sure enough, Bob the whining Brummie went swimming half an hour early and retrieved it. He entered the mess, still wearing his flippers, dripping wet, proudly holding aloft a bunch of knotted wire with a lump of silver on the end. "Found it!" He shouted jubilantly.
"Nice one Bob" I replied, handing him a can of Piper ale.
"Where's my kit gone off my bed?" Asked Bob.
"Scran Bag, mate" I replied. "You owe the killick of the mess 50p if you want it back. Oh, that'll be me"
