Celebrating its 80th birthday, Southend Naval and Military Club began life with right royal connections. TOM KING looks back at its long and eventful history

The members' signature book preserved at the Southend Naval and Military Club begins with just a single Christian name and brief postal address - Albert: London W1.

Albert was the First of thousands of members, and although he was to achieve other distinctions, there is every indication that the young naval officer accepted his membership of the club with some pride.

Although he didn't know it at the time, Albert's signature was the autograph of a monarch-to-be. The Albert in question is known to history under a different name - as King George VI, father of the present Queen.

This year, the still-thriving club celebrates the 80th anniversary of the July day when Albert George, then the Duke of York, opened the Regency building in Royal Terrace as a clubhouse.

The idea of a club was formed in 1918, in the immediate aftermath of the First World War.

A group of local veterans of the South African campaign, where the Essex Regiment had served with some distinction, had been looking for a way to preserve the close camaraderie of combat.

They took as their motto some words of Winston Churchill: "From the cruelty and dread of war, there was forged at least one benefice, a bond between man and man that was unknown and could never be created on the gentler and calmer roads of peacetime."

This bond was what they wished to preserve - over a bar rather than in a slit-trench.

Eighty years later the club remains a bustling and convivial place, packed with service people from many campaigns.

There are also members who may not have worn uniform, but recognise a good social venue when they see it.

The club is rare among ex-service clubs in that it is completely autonomous and self-supporting. The historic reasons for this independence go back to the birth of the club.

Just at the time when the 1914-18 veterans had decided to form a club, No 20 Royal Terrace, along with its "unrivalled views over the estuary", came on the market.

If ever a house was born to be a clubhouse, this was it. The price was £5,000.

Enter R A Jones, a figure who pops up regularly in so many recollections of Southend between the wars.

Approached by the old soldiers, the millionaire jeweller came up immediately with £500 for the deposit.

Other tranches of cash came from the United Services Association and from Southend Council.

Furniture and decorations came as gifts from many sources, including one item that is a treasure by any reckoning.

In a case on the bar-room wall is mounted every badge of the British army from the Great War, plucked straight from the battlefield. "Not even the Imperial War Museum has got anything like that," says Colin Bateman, the club chairman.

Over the years, the N&M has expanded behind the original tall house in Royal Terrace. The club retains the freehold of all the buildings, which are now valued for insurance purposes at £1.75 million. That original £5,000 proved to be a great bargain.

The 80-year saga has mostly been a success story, but the club has had its problems.

The members' band that was founded at the same time as the club made a noise that seems to have reminded the old soldiers of a particularly horrendous artillery barrage on the Western Front.

It was swiftly disbanded in 1922, after a mere two years of existence, and the instruments sold off.

The club hit hard times in the Depression, and resorted to selling membership for one guinea and life membership for 15 guineas.

"Some members are still taking advantage of that bargain," according to Colin Bateman.

The club has proved a home away from home for many veterans. Current regulars include "John the Milkman", taken prisoner during the last desperate engagement at Tobruk in 1942; "Regimental Phil", one of the survivors of Colditz; and "Young Nobby" who, according to Colin, "spent the entire war in muddy ditches defusing bombs."

However, the chairman is quick to point out that club life isn't all reminiscing about the war, nor is it all saluting and military discipline. "Most of the people here are reluctant to talk about their battle experiences," he says.

For all the combat experience shared by people at the club, the N&M itself has had a remarkably peaceful history. It was only closed once, following the 1987 hurricane.

"A Scottish member travelled all the way here from Brentwood," Colin Bateman recalls, "in full kilt, only to find the building shut."

History continues to add new layers to the Naval and Military. Upstairs is the Para room, containing two trophies from the Falklands campaign - a captured Argentinean flag and the joystick from a Puchara, the Argentinian combat plane.

Relaxed it may be, but the Paras ensure that the old Naval and Military never becomes too laid back.

"The Paras are a breed apart," says Colin Bateman. "They tried to obtain a vote for dogs to be allowed in, and when they lost - well, it was like World War III breaking out right here in the club!"

Chairman Colin Bateman, vice-chairman Frank Heathcote and finance chairman Bill Betson enjoy the view from the club'sbalcony

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