I recently attended a number of events to commemorate the decommissioning of our last Leander class frigate, the Canterbury.
Those gathered were mainly former Canterbury men and women who had served in the ship. In my case, I had been gunnery officer in 1973-74 and I commanded her in 1983-84.
During my first time aboard we were, among many other activities, present at the French nuclear-weapon testing at Mururoa Atoll. While I was in command, we served in the Indian Ocean in support of the Royal Navy, which was involved in the Falkland Islands.
As might be expected at such a gathering, I met many former shipmates and the usual stories were swapped - some absolutely authentic, others slightly distorted by the passage of time. Memories were both sad and hilarious.
It was rather like a funeral in some respects, where we celebrated the good things we had achieved and modified the less memorable to an acceptable extent.
We remembered those who had served and those who had passed on. Characters were enhanced and assassinated in the same sentence. In all, it was a typical naval reunion and great fun.
But the events were invariably coloured by the knowledge that the Canterbury, after 34 years' service, was to be consigned to the knackers' yard or sunk for recreational use by divers.
No longer would she live as a warship with up to 260 souls crammed into her inadequate spaces.
Never again would she come to life as boilers were flashed and the 1001 duties carried out to bring the ship to a state where she was ready for sea.
The endless tasks of preparing, rehearsing and refining both the ship and her company for the ultimate act of war-fighting would no longer occur in her lifeless hull.
While the occasion was, of course, inevitable and the Canterbury had been operational for more than 10 years past her designed life as a warship, it was also a time for contemplation.
We noted the end of an era of steam-propelled ships in our Navy, particularly the Type 12 ships Otago, Taranaki and Blackpool and their successors, the Leander class ships Waikato, Canterbury, Southland and Wellington.
These ships, usually four in the fleet at a time, had served the country so well from the early 1960s to today.
Although very heavy on maintenance demands, fuel consumption and manpower, they were modern for their time, able to take their place in international fleets and make contributions to coalitions of the willing where naval power was needed.
They served from local seas around New Zealand on resource-protection duties, throughout the Pacific, in the Indian Ocean, and in Far Eastern waters.
Attracting even greater discussion, however, was the structure of today's Navy and its future.
No one to whom I talked had any reservations about the people who serve today - they are clearly as professional and able as any who have served at sea for this nation.
While they may do things differently to the old days, they achieve similar excellent results. But there is very real concern that the main force structure of the modern Navy has been changed to that of a coastguard.
With the introduction of three new classes of ships over the next few years, it is clear that the fundamental notion of providing for our maritime defence has been amended to provision of essentially a police force in our local area and deploying the Army for peace operations.
None of us was convinced that this is what our populace understands as it hears Government PR which would have us believe the Navy is being revitalised with seven new ships.
What is generally less appreciated is that they will not be combat vessels able to go in harm's way. Rather, they will be built to merchant ship standards, without the redundancy or modern weapons systems necessary for self-defence in a war or near-war.
They will be able to deliver the Army's vehicles and heavy equipment to benign theatres, patrol against errant fishermen and smugglers, and provide a presence in the local area.
Lightly armed and able to overwhelm unarmed fishing boats, their roles will be very limited. In a hostile environment, they would become a liability, requiring protection of more capable ships.
The new ships will add to the fleet: one multi-role vessel, a converted vehicle ferry which is to be tasked in the main with very occasional transport of the Army's heavy vehicles and stores, fishery protection and training; two offshore patrol vessels for patrolling the outer exclusive economic zone, sub-Antarctic and Pacific Islands; and four inshore patrol vessels.
Together with the two Anzac frigates, a tanker, a survey ship and a diving tender, there will be seven different types of ships to man and maintain in the Navy.
There are few similarities between the ship types and few of the skills for one type are transferable to another.
The only warships we retain are the two excellent and already overworked Anzac-class ships Te Kaha and Te Mana. They represent the fighting capability of the Navy, with their large guns, anti-air missiles, torpedoes and helicopters, which can themselves deliver anti-shipping missiles.
(As an aside, the Navy now retains the only weapons of any significance held by New Zealand that can be employed at long range. With the loss of the Skyhawk strike aircraft, this capability is limited to the two frigates and embarked helicopters.)
The new patrol vessels were acquired as the result of perceived future plundering of our fishing grounds by foreign vessels, and increasing illegal immigrants arriving by sea. If there are, indeed, such threats to our resources and borders, there is a case for new money to be found to provide a coastguard capability.
Instead, we have witnessed the evisceration of the Navy to provide for civil policing tasks.
My colleagues and I are concerned about the integrity of our vital trade routes that look increasingly unsafe in this unstable world.
For reasons of ship maintenance, training demands and manning issues, our two frigates will be able to make only a very occasional contribution to maintaining our maritime security interests.
New Zealand's failure to make a proportionate effort will be viewed with contempt by our friends who will need to make up the numbers. Our standing in the international community will be further diminished.
And so farewell to Canterbury. Her departure reduces our combat fleet by a third, with no prospect of this deplorable situation being redressed soon.
* Rear Admiral Jack Welch is a former Chief of Naval Staff (1994-97).
<EM>Jack Welch</EM>: Sailing into uncertainty
Opinion
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