there's a right way to do it.

There’s a right way to do it!

I must say that I just couldn’t believe that anyone, especially a “Commissioned” Officer could allow such goings on as related in Bob’s last story ( H&S, Don’t make me laugh).

What on earth was he doing to allow untrained Sappers into such a dangerous environment as a filthy fuel tank when there were 3 Fully Trained Petroleum Fitters serving on the Island.

Now, we also had some tank cleaning due and in this story, you will see how it should be done.

Firstly the equipment needed:

Suit. This consisted of a water (Fuel) proof suit that covered the entire body and included a helmet with a fitting to connect to an external air supply.
A hand operated pump to give a continuous supply of “Fresh” air.
Wellington Boots.
Gloves.
Safety Harness.
Wooden/leather buckets (Spark proof).
Wooden scrapers and shovels. (Spark proof).
It was a “Legal” requirement to ensure that tank cleaning and petroleum handling personnel were issued a daily allowance of 1 pint of fresh milk ( that’s one perk we really enjoyed)

Minimum of 3 personnel:

One to operate the “Blower”
One inside the tank working.
One to handle the buckets on retrieval from the tank.

A system of rotational work was operated so that minimum time was spent inside the tank.

They were the requirements to safely and correctly carry out the Tank Cleaning procedure.

Now down to the nitty gritty. We had a tank to clean.

The tank in question was located on the wharf within spitting distance of the Spit. As always it wasn’t going to be a simple task for two reasons.

Firstly, who was in charge? The bloody “Prof”, this signalled impending doom and disaster.

Secondly, the tank was situated about 50 feet up on the top of a very dodgy metal framework structure

The space up there was extremely limited. Therefore even before we started the task we had these two disadvantages. The “Prof” and the Drop.

One minor point I failed to mention. “WE HAD NONE OF THE KIT EITHER”

It wasn’t a big tank, if I recall it held about 1000 gallons, unlike Bob’s ours was a petrol tank. The hazards here were even more obvious. Very explosive atmosphere and Tetra Ethyl Lead sludge. That stuff is a killer if absorbed through the skin.

The access hatch was about the same size as Bob’s, just less space for manoeuvre inside.

The operation was planned and the first into the Tank was going to be our favourite Sgt, I was going to be the “Harness man”, Yorkie was the sludge bucket king.

It was a scorcher, nothing unusual for the Island, the temperature inside the tank must have been at least 120F.

“Prof” ties the harness on and lowers himself into the tank. Buckets start their rotation, Empty in, full out, empty in, full out. No problem, we were really getting things together. At least that’s what we thought.

Suddenly from inside the tank we hear the sound of loud singing. Yes, singing.

He must really be enjoying this was our immediate thoughts. However, soon the singing became louder and our wonderful leader started to accompany his vocal renditions by slamming the wooden shovel against the side of the tank in time to his singing.

This was serious, he was really feeling the effects of the vapours, time to get him out.

With one foot either side of the hatch, and a 50 drop on either side, I started to try and haul out our leader. Sadly, during his song and dance routine, his harness had managed to get itself positioned exactly around his waist.

After a good heave we managed to get him as far as the hatch, but all we could see was his waist. Hidden on either side of the hatch was his head one side and his feet the other. There was no way he was going to bend double and come out bum first.

We dropped him back to the bottom of the tank and talked him into attempting to adjust his harness, this was made even more difficult because of the difficulty he had hearing us over his singing.

Eventually after a lot of rope jerking, shouting and threats of violence, the necessary adjustments were made and he was hauled back into the fresh air. We packed him off against his will to the Medical Centre to get checked out.

Luckily, he was no worse for wear, but the cleaning operation was put off until next day.

Next day arrives. The “Prof” is duly advised that no way is he getting near the inside of the tank. We weren’t worried about him, it was us teetering about 50 feet up that was the problem, he could only drop back into the tank. Our journey down was further and harder.

As it happened, I drew the short straw, I was to go in.

No more than 10 minutes was the agreed time limit, less if necessary. Harness fitted correctly so that it would end up round my middle, bucket and spade in hand. In I go

Suddenly, after only a few minutes Yorkie starts getting into the tank.

“Watcha doing Yoirkie? Yer not due in yet”

“Little prezzy for you Chatty”

Dirty git was suffering from “Advanced Bean & Beer Fever” (Flatulence to the technically inclined)

I’ll leave the rest to your imagination, but I can assure you that I had no need for the harness. I came out of that tank like a submarine launched Polaris Missile.

Even now when I speak to Yorkie on the phone that is one of his more perverse favourites when reminiscing.

Needless to say, we eventually finished the job, and no serious injuries.

So Bob, if you’re going to do the job, DO IT PROPERLY!