thedrifter
03-28-07, 08:38 AM
A mother undaunted by 17-hour shifts and a macho world
By Terri Judd
Published: 28 March 2007
Wherever Leading Seaman Specialist Faye Turney is in Iran, her thoughts will undoubtedly be focused on her daughter.
When I encountered her on the deck on HMS Cornwall the first subject she talked about was Molly - a theme she returned to often during our numerous conversations.
The 25-year-old - just like the rest of the crew - could not have been more welcoming to the outsider thrust into their midst. I had joined the ship tasked with writing about how the British were training the Iraqi navy and Marines to provide security for the country's vital oil terminals.
A chatty, outgoing woman, Topsy - as her friends call her - was plainly undaunted by the macho environment of a warship and more than able to hold her own amid the teasing and jokes that are common currency in the military.
She agreed that piloting the Navy's fast rigid inflatable speedboats around the northern Arabian Gulf was an exciting way to earn a living. Then added the caveat that the novelty could wear off at times. The fact that the area was a potentially perilous extension of the war in Iraq, a target for terrorists, was left unspoken between us.
But it was Molly, her three-year-old daughter, that she spoke of most. She described the guilt of leaving behind her "bubbly, headstrong" little girl to be looked after by her husband, Adam, also serving in the Navy but based in Plymouth. But she believed emphatically that this sacrifice would give her daughter every opportunity in life.
The night before the crew's arrest both of us were among a patrol of sailors and Royal Marines tasked with visiting local fishermen.
The team was in a great mood, speeding across the water in the small rigid hull inflatable boats (rhibs).
While they were all undoubtedly aware of the perils they could face in an area that had previously been targeted by suicide bombers, the friendliness of the locals that night made the situation seem so benign. One young marine commented that his friends and colleagues were having a far tougher time in Afghanistan.
Exhausted after working a 17-hour day the small group nevertheless seemed buoyed by the day's events, explaining how they had been boarding ships carrying suspected smugglers earlier and planned to return the following morning.
Hours later the crew was forced to confront the devastating news that Leading Seaman Specialist Turney had disappeared, along with 14 fellow sailors and Royal Marines. What had started as a routine day on HMS Cornwall had suddenly become a dramatic turning point in their lives.
The young mother had talked so eagerly of returning home in late January. Her family can only hope that day will come far sooner.
Ellie
By Terri Judd
Published: 28 March 2007
Wherever Leading Seaman Specialist Faye Turney is in Iran, her thoughts will undoubtedly be focused on her daughter.
When I encountered her on the deck on HMS Cornwall the first subject she talked about was Molly - a theme she returned to often during our numerous conversations.
The 25-year-old - just like the rest of the crew - could not have been more welcoming to the outsider thrust into their midst. I had joined the ship tasked with writing about how the British were training the Iraqi navy and Marines to provide security for the country's vital oil terminals.
A chatty, outgoing woman, Topsy - as her friends call her - was plainly undaunted by the macho environment of a warship and more than able to hold her own amid the teasing and jokes that are common currency in the military.
She agreed that piloting the Navy's fast rigid inflatable speedboats around the northern Arabian Gulf was an exciting way to earn a living. Then added the caveat that the novelty could wear off at times. The fact that the area was a potentially perilous extension of the war in Iraq, a target for terrorists, was left unspoken between us.
But it was Molly, her three-year-old daughter, that she spoke of most. She described the guilt of leaving behind her "bubbly, headstrong" little girl to be looked after by her husband, Adam, also serving in the Navy but based in Plymouth. But she believed emphatically that this sacrifice would give her daughter every opportunity in life.
The night before the crew's arrest both of us were among a patrol of sailors and Royal Marines tasked with visiting local fishermen.
The team was in a great mood, speeding across the water in the small rigid hull inflatable boats (rhibs).
While they were all undoubtedly aware of the perils they could face in an area that had previously been targeted by suicide bombers, the friendliness of the locals that night made the situation seem so benign. One young marine commented that his friends and colleagues were having a far tougher time in Afghanistan.
Exhausted after working a 17-hour day the small group nevertheless seemed buoyed by the day's events, explaining how they had been boarding ships carrying suspected smugglers earlier and planned to return the following morning.
Hours later the crew was forced to confront the devastating news that Leading Seaman Specialist Turney had disappeared, along with 14 fellow sailors and Royal Marines. What had started as a routine day on HMS Cornwall had suddenly become a dramatic turning point in their lives.
The young mother had talked so eagerly of returning home in late January. Her family can only hope that day will come far sooner.
Ellie