The Shovel
Please be assured that the tale you are about to embark on is in fact 100% factual as I have first hand knowledge of the incident (having been one of the members involved with the saga). So please sit back, grab a drink and buckle up brother, you’re in for a treat.
The History
The Shovel. To the international submarine community, especially those of the Commonwealth nations, the shovel is a coveted piece of hardware. The original was used to break ground the C&PO’s mess in CFB Stadacona and after it was mounted it was appropriated away quite quickly and relocated to a new home and so a tradition was born.
The rules were simple and few:
1. The shovel should be prominently mounted in a military mess in a manner which will minimize damage when it is inadvertently nicked, appropriated or otherwise removed.
2. The appropriator should, at the earliest opportunity, inform CFB Halifax C&PO's mess, and other interested messes listed on the shovel, who has the shovel and where it is mounted.
3. The shovel should never become a personal trophy.
The original was retired in 93 and now resides in either the Halifax C&PO’s mess or the Maritime Command Museum in Halifax, details are a little fuzzy.
The Adventure
This brings us to the shovel that will be starring in our story. Since the original was retiring and every square inch of the mounting plate was already covered in tally plates, a second shovel was put into circulation, this one, I believe, to have broken ground on the submarine training school in Plymouth England.
Before heading out with a distinguished group of Canadian submariners on our miscellaneous sonar course in Plymouth, we were told of the legend of the shovel and how a select few of Canada’s finest had attempted and failed in acquiring the shovel in years past, including having vehicles search for days and the involvement of the Military Police with threats of arrest.
Going out, I made it my personal mission to do everything I personally could to repatriate the shovel back to Canada. I knew that anything that we attempted would have to happen on the very last night prior to leaving the base, but boy oh boy I was not prepared for the lengths that would be needed to see mission success.
As soon as we got to the base, the commissionaires informed us that they were all retired submariners and would be looking in our bags prior to us leaving if they were informed that the shovel went missing (right, very last-minute operation it is). Next we learned that the shovel was hanging on the wall of the front hall of the school!?! (see rule #1) that was manned by a receptionist or school employee any time the doors were unlocked. We were also informed during our introductions to the school chief that the wire coming out the side was hooked up to an alarm that would sound if the shovel was removed from the wall. We were there for two weeks so I had time to plan, and plan I did.
It all started with the schedule. We were set to finish course on the Friday of the second week and our flights were booked for Saturday from London at 1300. Problem 1, the quickest way from Plymouth to London is by train and it is about a 5 hour ride. The only train to London after we were scheduled to graduate was the Saturday morning at 0700. That would not get us into London on time to clear security and catch our flight. So, we arranged for graduation on the Thursday and travel and accommodations on the Friday in London.
Now my plan only hinged on somehow getting into the school, removing it, praying it didn’t set off the “alarm”, getting it past the front gate, onto a train and a plane (praying again that Air Canada didn’t make me check it and then loose it). You know, an average Thursday evening for us submariners.
It was now Thursday evening, and the plan was in place. My associate, Martin, was hiding in the shadows along an alcove beside the stairs to the school and I had begged the front gate guards to let me into the school as I could not “locate” my passport and was scheduled to leave early the next day. They called for the Petty Officer of the Day (POOD) who acquired the keys and the necessary codes to gain access to the building. We hike over to the school, got the doors unlocked and the alarm turned off when he mention, “Do you think we should lock the front doors?....nah, no one else will be around here this time of day.” Whew, that was close! I hadn’t planned on the POOD wanting to lock the doors behind us. As the classrooms were on the second floor, we made our way up there while Martin snuck in behind us, removed the shovel from the wall with about 12 feet of wire and made a beeline for the barracks. Meanwhile, the POOD and I had made our way to the classroom with me in the lead. I entered the classroom while the POOD turned the lights on and I relocated my passport from my back pocket to a place in between 2 desk on the floor. When the lights were turned on, I “found” my passport! Now I just had to make sure the POOD didn’t notice the spot on the wall where the shovel used to be.
On our way back down, I assisted with turning off all the lights we had turned on and “accidentally” turned off the ones in the front hall early while the POOD was setting the alarm. Apologizing for turning the lights off too quickly, we left through the front doors, locking them behind us and I rejoined Martin at the barracks. So far so good.
The last obstacle in our way was the front gate guards and we quickly ran into a problem, the shovel was too long to fit into any of our bags! They would surly notice it if we tried to walk out the front gate with it in the morning. I quickly devised a plan, confirmed its feasibility with a
quick walk through with Martin and we went to sleep for the last time prior to our departure from Plymouth.
The next morning, we woke early, not wanting to miss our train and executed the final leg of our plan. Martin left first, went through the gate and around to the taxi stand while I went to the fence line next to the taxi stand. There was a hedge on the other side of the fence, so I tossed the shovel over the fence and into the hedge. Martin easily retrieved it while I went through the front gate and around to the taxi stand to await our ride to the train station.
While enjoying some much deserved breakfast, Martin and I reminisced on how the school chief would likely be arriving at that very moment, only to realize the shovel was no where to be found and that all the bloody colonials were on their way back from whence they came.
Andrew Ryskamp