Cavanagh’s Pirates by Bill Plewright
- Invisible Enemy
- 4 minutes ago
- 5 min read
William Bryan (Bill) Plewright was born on 28 November 1929 in Bunbury, Western Australia. Bill worked as a brickie’s labourer before joining the Royal Australian Navy (RAN) in 1947. He served in Occupied Japan with HMAS Bataan from 1948 to 1949 as part of the British Commonwealth Occupation Force (BCOF). He and his fellow sailors visited Hiroshima and Nagasaki on leave and drank Kirin beer allegedly brewed in radioactive pipes salvaged from Hiroshima.
In October 1952, Bill participated in Operation Hurricane, the first British nuclear test in the Montebello Islands, Western Australia, as ASDIC operator in HMAS Shoalhaven. Tasked with conducting safety and security patrols off Legendre Island, Shoalhaven was out of visual range of the explosion but later travelled along the inshore route to rejoin the fleet and likely passed under the upper portion of the radioactive cloud, which was seen drifting towards the mainland. Bill believes the ship may have entered the outer anchorage at the Montebello Islands to exchange mail, but official records indicate this happened the day before the blast.
One year later, Bill returned to the Montebellos as a National Service instructor in HMAS Junee to exhume the remains of Sapper Frank Furlong, Royal Engineers (RE). Furlong’s remains were transported to the mainland for reinterment at Onslow. In 1956, Bill participated in Operation Mosaic as Chief Bosun’s Mate (‘Buffer’) in HMAS Fremantle, witnessing Mosaic G1 and conducting clean-up operations after Mosaic G2. He retired from the RAN as a petty officer in 1957 and went on to become president of the Australian Ex Services Atomic Survivors Association (AExSASA).
Today, Bill is 96 years old and fit and well despite battles with bladder cancer and other ailments.
The following is Bill’s account of his role in some derring-do in the lead-up to Mosaic G1. We hope you enjoy it.
Paul Grace, author of Operation Hurricane: The story of Britain’s first atomic test in Australia and the legacy that remains (and mate of Bill Plewright’s).
***
HMAS Fremantle at this time was captained by Lieutenant Commander JHG Cavanagh. The ‘Jimmy’ (first lieutenant) was Lieutenant LJ Kelaher. Other officers were Lieutenant AL Beaumont, Lieutenant G Halley and Sub Lieutenant M Ward. Lieutenant Halley went on to captain a destroyer, Lieutenant Beaumont became an admiral, and Lieutenant Commander Cavanagh became a crop duster and died a few years later. He was also a Spitfire pilot in WWII and a member of the Fleet Air Arm – a very colourful and adventurous officer.]
Now that you understand this background, I will draw you a picture wherein I became involved in some of his games.
In 1955, the captain planned that a small armed force would take over HMAS Melville, the main naval base in Darwin, enter the main signal office (MSO), and break off all communications. At the same time, another party was to enter the cells area where a prisoner was to be asked for his name, rank and serial number. (This of course was to prove that we had penetrated security and successfully carried out the operation.)
The results of the raid were reported in the Australia Station Intelligence Summary for November 1955 (pp 4–5):
The second assault was on a British frigate that entered the lagoon at the Monte Bellos early one morning in 1956. It was HMS Alert, and on the truck of her mainmast she carried a golden reindeer.
And this is where it all began.
The quartermaster woke myself and Electrical Mechanic (EM) George Smith and told us to go to the wardroom. The time was 0300 hours.
We both arrived at the wardroom to find the captain and a subby waiting for us.
The captain ordered us to approach HMS Alert, and when challenged we were to reply: ‘No, no, passing – fishing party.’ We went off into the darkness, unhindered.
Alert had all her boats in the water and secured from the stern. We crept up, with our motorboat just turning over – almost noiseless – and being down wind of Alert almost made things perfect. The captain, myself and George entered the last boat and fell off into the darkness, but an observant young rating on the Alert moved aft to check the boats – and we were caught. Well, not exactly caught: our own motorboat came out of the dark at speed and picked us up.
Suddenly our motor stopped. Alert quickly had a boat cover us. They said, ‘Throw us your head rope and we will tow you back to your ship.’
What a trap!! ‘Give us your stern line’, we replied, ‘and if we are not going in the direction of our ship, we will cast off.’
We arrived alongside HMAS Fremantle and profusely thanked them for rescuing us from the unimaginable fate Davy Jones could have consigned us into.
The captain, not satisfied with failure, planned another attack.
Now on this second occasion we planned to drift downstream and tie up to Alert’s anchor chain. Our drifting was successful and the three of us were able to board HMS Alert, assisted by her anchor cable. George Smith, being an electrician, was first up the mast. I was right behind him, but the captain was nowhere to be seen. Suddenly, a broad blue beam hit us. It was over – a tar and feather job for sure – but not so. We made a quick exit, smartly going over the side as soon as we reached the bow, and just as quickly as he vanished our captain reappeared. Soon we were back aboard our own ship. I’ve heard of the ‘power of command’ before, but never seen it demonstrated.
Still not satisfied, we began another escapade. Armed with cracker bombs, we approached HMS Alert and sped down her starboard side, throwing bombs like crazy. Back to the ship.
About 1030 hours the captain sent for us again. He had information that the landing ship tank (LST) lying at anchor off our anchorage, HMS Narvik, had in its wardroom an Olympic torch presented to this Royal Navy (RN) ship from the Helsinki Games. It suddenly became Captain Cavanagh’s objective – and our target. We pulled alongside the LST and our captain was welcomed aboard. What transpired we never knew, but after a very short period of quiet he was climbing very fast down the command rope, with the Olympic torch poking out of his shirt.
Now the wardroom of HMAS Fremantle had a prize in its trophy case, and to ensure its safety there was a dummy hand grenade wired via the pin and attached to the torch. Surely no one would be foolish enough to try … would they???
‘Repel boarders’ was piping through the ship. The Brits had arrived! The galley supplied scraps and flour, sand buckets were pressed into action, fire hoses were rigged and vigorously used, and despite all our efforts foreigners invaded HMAS Fremantle. One scientist was successful in gaining possession of our prize – and our trophy case was once more empty.
A lot of what I have just penned appeared in The West Australian on our arrival at Fremantle Harbour.
As we entered harbour, in addition to our pennant numbers flying at the masthead, was another flag: the ‘Jolly Roger’, made by one of our crew, Radio Electrical Mechanic (REM) Max Hendrick, hailing from Gawler in South Australia. And so for that one day in time, the evidence so proudly gained was borne on high by – ‘Cavanagh’s Pirates’.
