Frank George Crombie was born in Hull, on 24th August 1925,­ a Yorkshireman through and through - hence his attachment to brass: after all, brass is brass up in Yorkshire!

In truth, little is known of his early life, other than that his father died at a relatively young age, leaving Frank to look after his widowed mother. Then in 1942, at age 17, he joined the wartime Navy, volunteering to become a specialist Radar and Sonar operator, which suggests he had a technical bent even during his schooldays. Posted to the Torpedo and Anti-­submarine branch, he would almost certainly have trained at Gosport. Sonar operators are not simply ‘boffins’ - they must know the difference between the echoes from a wreck, a shoal of fish, a whale or a submarine. In the little Sonar shack below the bridge, he was his Captain’s “Golden ears” and­ apparently known to his shipmates as ‘The Maniac’.
Nor was he always confined to sonar duties: on one occasion, sent astern to make up a depth-charge party, when they fired a pattern one of the depth-charges exploded on impact with the water, blowing Frank and his colleagues clean over the side! Left treading water for more than an hour, during which time he must surely have been wondering just how indispensable his Captain considered him to be, they were eventually picked up, and Frank was restored to listening for his pings.

Serving in the Navy had obviously instilled two things into him: firstly the importance of the mainbrace (and when it might ­- or might not -­ get spliced) and secondly the location of the yardarm (and the relationship of the sun to it). For, as the years passed by, it seemed as if the sun had picked up speed in its urgency to rise over that yardarm -­ ‘though by then Frank preferred whisky to a tot of Rum.

On being de-mobbed Frank joined the BBC, initially working in Manchester’s Comms Centre. He was a keen rugby man, and loved county cricket, frequently chiding Geoffrey Boycott at the crease. Legend has it that it was Frank who used to play ‘The Teddy-bear’s picnic’ each night when the Home Service closed! Of course, being based in Manchester, he'd take the opportunity to ‘go over’ to the Isle of Man to help provide coverage of the annual TT races. He knew all the riders well, and they’d sometimes take him out for a spin: Frank would undoubtedly be the one leaning out as they went round those bends -­ with his understanding of ballast!

It’s not known quite how Frank was introduced to Miss June Godden - or indeed by whom - but once Cupid’s arrow had struck home he invested in a Morris Minor and much rubber was burned between Manchester and London in her pursuit, until finally they were married ... on 3rd September 1967. Then, with June's employment at a top London department store, Frank transferred down to London Control Room. From there, during the odd quiet period, he would communicate with erstwhile colleagues in ‘Manch’ or elsewhere via the SB phone system. Not that he was a linguist, but he could communicate with people on any number of levels. A master of pitch, he knew all about controlling volume! His guffaw was always loud and rolling, but when arrangements occasionally didn’t go 'quite to plan', he’d throw the headset down and utter the phrase we all associate with him - “I wouldn’t pay those bu**ers in brass washers!”. How we all laughed!  
Although he was a relatively recent arrival in London himself, he kept a fatherly eye on the many of us youngsters who joined LCR in the late sixties and early seventies, and was always ready to offer sound advice to those who asked. He was incredibly proud of anyone who shone in some particular way - his big, jovial face beaming as he declared “That’s my boy!” Then again, he was a keen driver when the slot-car track came out after the networks had all close down! And one enduring memory I personally have is of Frank watching the England v. Wales rugby international, with him on one side of the Control Room and myself on the other, each cheering wildly when our respective team scored a try! Ah, Happy days!

In the late '70s, when shift-work (especially nights) had got to be 'just a bit too much’, Frank spent a couple of years ‘in the office’ supporting Roy Honey ­- as his ‘diplomatic' troubleshooter. Daytime working hours also meant he was better able to provide care for June, who by then was finding it increasingly difficult to move around. When he did eventually retire, in 1981, he thoroughly enjoyed the very lively ‘leaving party’ we organised for him in a hostelry near to BH -­ and I’ve got the photographs to prove it! [Afraid they're NSFW!]

In retirement, he took on the mantle of Chairman of his Residents Association, with his 'Master Plan' - to get a grip of, and ultimately reduce, the rapidly escalating service charges for their block of flats. Instead, and as so often happens, he found that some major renovation works were urgently needed, and the residents had to be asked to stump up! It’s undoubtedly testament to Frank’s ‘diplomatic skills’ that some 37 leaseholders (from at least seven different countries!) were supportive in this matter. He continued in this role until the need to provide more continuous care for June forced him to pass the baton on. He and June lived devotedly together in their London flat for nearly 50 years and, although they had no children, Frank took immense pleasure from watching June’s nephews and nieces growing up.

Sadly, crippled by severe arthritis (which had by that stage rendered her bed-ridden) his beloved June passed away in the summer of 2013. He bore the loss with great fortitude, and agreed to spend last Christmas with his Godson’s family in their Wiltshire cottage -­ his only request being “for a pint at lunchtime, and a whisky before bed!” What no-one knew -­ including Frank himself, perhaps -­ was that a cancer would claim his life so relatively soon afterwards. Frank died peacefully - on 16th May 2014 - with members of his Godson’s family at his bedside.

It seems just a trifle trite to sum up his life in a handful of words; Frank was so many things, but most of all he was 'a good man'. I recall that Geoffrey Chaucer had a phrase for the likes of Frank - “he was a very parfit, gentil knight”. Those who knew him would certainly drink to that! RIP old friend.

[Special thanks to Mr Martin Monaco for his considerable contribution to the above.]
~~~~~
This poem - “Hull’s fellow” was written by Peter Godden (one of June’s nephews) in his memory - was read at his funeral.


A Yorkshire lad, replete with charm,
A man possessed of inner calm.
The gentle man, of thought and deed
With shoulders broad in times of need.
A solid bloke of simple creed.
When lost, just take his arm.

A rock of grit and loyalty,
Just two long shifts as employee:
With one, he fought the vicious fight
A dangerous spot, suffused with plight
Where drowning colleagues slipped from sight,
The good ship BBC!

But first escape from streets of mean
A world of places to be seen.
At seventeen came duty’s call
When evil had the world in thrall,
And chaos reigned in dreadful squall
Above Frank’s submarine.

This mariner - dubbed Maniac -
A fighting man, a technocrat
Whom officers could wholly trust,
Who reveled in the cut and thrust.
Despising all who’d be unjust,
Played life with the straightest bat.

From Manchester to LCR,
His laughter filling every bar.
So happy when on Sports OBs
A rugby man - who loved TTs.
Besotted with his wifely squeeze,
His glamour-puss, his star.

Those salad days of summers long
With Wiltshire beer, so dark and strong:
And malts to warm the winter’s heart,
Great steaming pies and apple tart.
Good English grub, no a-la-carte;
All hail the dinner gong!

But how on earth could it be fair
Those lonely latter years of care?
Locked in love, and brushing hair
Never voicing his despair.
Complaint? A suit he’d never wear!

His final role - Life’s Laureate -
Adoring youngsters won’t forget.
It’s we who owe the greatest debt.
Elysium bound, to our regret
Dear Frank - Hull’s fellow - most well met.