Dad

The Pacific

I joined the ship in Liverpool and on boarding was astounded to discover that she was loading a full cargo of explosives. The Second Officer was on deck supervising the loading so after introducing myself I inquired about the cargo. “Didn’t you see the flag?” he replied, and on looking I saw the blue ensign with a yellow anchor on it, the ensign of the Royal Fleet Auxiliaries; ships taken over by the Admiralty to supply the Fleet.

An ammunition ship wasn’t on my desired list, especially in war time, but I consoled myself by saying “its only six weeks or so.” Later I discovered that I was the only officer aboard who held a gunnery certificate.

This qualified me to take charge of the gun crew who manned the 4 inch gun and made me responsible for all the small arms aboard. For this I was paid an extra 6d a day; 2½ pence!

In charge of the gun

Soon after, with a full cargo, we departed for the Mediterranean and it was then that I experienced the handling of a ship in convoy. The first night out, the Captain stayed with me on the bridge during my 8-12 watch. At 10 o’clock he calmly said “OK, Third Mate, you’re on your own”, and went below leaving me in charge on a dark night in the Atlantic trying to keep station with the surrounding ships. Initially I found we either caught up with the ship ahead or dropped back on to the vessel astern, but I soon got the hang of it, signalling to the engine room for an increase or a drop in the engine revs. I was surprised to discover that even four or five revs of the propeller made a remarkable difference, but nevertheless, I wasn’t unhappy when the Second Officer took over the watch at midnight.
Once we had cleared the danger area, the convoy dispersed and we sailed independently to our first port – Gibraltar - where we received instructions to proceed to Corsica to supply the needs of Navy vessels. Our first assignment was to help the invasion of Southern France, an operation which somehow did not hit the headlines. Not long afterwards, we received orders to go to Propriano Bay and anchor there to await orders. When they came we had to proceed to Naples, for what reason I will never know, because we lay alongside for almost two weeks without loading or discharging. Approaching port, the Captain had one of his “efficiency moods” and ordered me to take soundings before anchoring off. I knew it was a waste of time because Naples Bay is deep, but who was I to argue. When I reported “no depth at thirteen fathoms” he instructed the Mate, standing by the windlass, to let go. The anchor and chain took charge and the Mate, with his crowd, backed off the forecastle amidst a shower of rust and stud links. Unfortunately someone had forgotten to secure the end and we all watched as 900 feet of chain and a three ton anchor were lost overboard. The Captain’s suggestion to get a diver was ignored !
We were later ordered back to Propriano where a Royal Navy Officer came aboard. “Great”, I thought, “back home to reload and a chance to sign off”. It was then that he told us the secret news. In an almost comical way he said, “Don’t tell anyone but we are invading Southern France on Wednesday”. Within the hour, almost all the crew knew about it. Later, when he had left, the Captain broke different news which stunned us. We were to proceed to the Pacific Ocean theatre to supply the fleet there.
Before heading for the Pacific we had to comply with Admiralty orders which dictated that any vessel proceeding East of Suez had to undergo a gunnery test. So a few days later we moved out to sea with a naval Lieutenant aboard to oversee the operation and a Petty Officer to supervise the gun crew. The target was to be a wooden framework towed by a tug and when this came into view I gave the order “Enemy submarine bearing green 150, range 0500, deflection two left” then, seeing them ready, “commence firing”. Not seeing the shot land near the target, I turned my binoculars on the towing tug in time to see the shell land some fifty yards ahead of her. The order “still” was given and on inspection, and much to my relief, the PO pronounced that the sights had jammed. Having settled that hiccup, firing recommenced and the Lieutenant later said that although it was not the best shooting he had observed, it was good enough to deter an enemy submarine. Shortly after, we turned East, through the Suez Canal across the Arabian Sea to Colombo for bunkers and then across the Indian Ocean to Perth in Western Australia and it was here, despite my previous escapades, that I came closest to being killed.
We were anchored off Perth, but before going alongside regulations dictated we had to get rid of the last of the sheep that had been put aboard in Malta for the consumption of the Indian crew. Instead of slaughtering it, one of the stewards had cruelly thrown it over the side and the unfortunate animal was drifting away on the tide. I was roused from my cabin by Second Mate who instructed me to bring my rifle, which was stored under my bunk, and to make my way aft. The Captain, who had consumed a few drinks, and the gun crew had assembled there to see the action. The Captain grabbed the rifle to show us all how it should be done. As the muzzle passed my face he accidentally pulled the trigger. Turning a whiter shade of pale, he handed the gun back to me. I climbed up onto the gun deck to get a better view of the sheep which, by now, had drifted a considerable distance from the ship. As gunnery officer, I had to put up a good show in front of the audience and I am not too modest to say I did rather well. The first shot fell short, the second went over, but the third must have killed the miserable animal immediately, as was evident from the fountain of blood which shot some three feet into the air.

After a few days alongside we headed South to Sydney, which was to be our main base, but when we arrived, we were not allowed to berth in the main harbour because of the nature of our cargo. Instead we were directed to an anchorage at the mouth of the Paramatta River, a district called Hunters Hill.
	The famous Sydney harbour bridge

It was an area of exclusive housing and we made lots of friends amongst the local population, being entertained royally by them.
One of the drawbacks was that we had to run a liberty service so that the shore going members of the crew could catch a tramcar into Sydney, a service which the Second mate and I operated between us. We lay there for almost seven weeks before receiving orders to proceed to the Philippine Islands, and other islands whose names escape me, supplying the Royal Navy, and sometimes American war ships with their needs.
The action, at times, was terrifying. During the day, waves of Japanese planes flew high over the fleet dropping vast amounts of bombs. Although badly aimed some bombs inevitably reached their target and half a dozen ships were left crippled. The fear, of course, that one of the bombs could land on our ship at any time.
Ironically, the nature of our cargo was our salvation. As soon as enemy attacks were imminent we had to clear the area because nobody wanted 4,000 tons of explosives going off anywhere near them. That put us in a solitary position and no target for the bombers and thankfully, we were ignored by the most terrifying of all weapons – suicide bombers- who were after the capital ships of the Fleet. In the latter years, the Japanese introduced a new type of Kamikazi bomber, a fast jet propelled aircraft with comparatively short range of some forty miles, so it had to be transported strapped to the underside of a “mother” aeroplane. They were not, I am thankful to say, very successful.
On one of our return trips to Sydney Harbour we were told that Rear Admiral Fisher was making an inspection of the Auxiliary Fleet and would be boarding that same afternoon. We, naturally, had to put on a show so I organised the guns crew and two POs, put aboard to supervise the cargo, into a welcoming party and formed up on the main deck. When the RA’s barge came alongside, the first to greet him was the ship’s dog which ran down the gangway and tried to sink its teeth into his left leg! The dog was dragged away with a portion of the RA trouser still between its teeth and I apologised then escorted him up to the deck. He inspected the party and was suitably impressed, explaining that he had been aboard one ship to find only the bosun and a Cadet to welcome him. On enquiring about the rest of the crew he was told that they had all b******d off ashore!
Our Captain had organised his own welcoming party on his deck with a bottle of whisky, and out of the corner of my eye I saw the Mate helping himself behind the Captains back. A true “alcho”, but it lent a Fred Karno atmosphere to the proceedings!
On one memorable morning I went up on to the bridge to relieve the Mate at 8am to be greeted by the Captain. Asking about the Mate, he told me to look in his cabin, and there he was, slumped in his chair unconscious with an empty whisky bottle beside him. Apparently he had been found like that at 6am when the Quartermaster had called the Captain, having seen another ship on the horizon!

It was on one return trip to Sydney that we ran into the severest weather I had ever encountered. Off the East coast of Australia the winds got up to 120 mph and the seas were huge, reaching mast height. For four days we lay hove to with the engines on half ahead. Numerous ships sent out distress calls but we were unable to offer assistance. One was a Liberty boat that had shed his propeller and another was an American destroyer which had gone over on his beam ends but had righted herself.

We learnt later that she had turned turtle with the loss of all hands. When we eventually fixed our position, we discovered that we had been blown astern more than over 100 miles. During the hurricane, which is what it was, a 500lb anti-personnel bomb broke adrift and the Mate offered two shillings and sixpence (12p) an hour to anyone who would go below and stow it. Needless to say, there were no takers! Eventually, and much to our relief, it chocked itself off. We eventually arrived in Sydney with a twenty degree list and a lifeboat hanging over the side.

The photo shows me in Sydney. You can just make out the hand of my girlfriend, however, the remainder of her was cut out a few years later by my wife.

Sydney in 1945

We made one final trip to the Phillipines but by that time the two wars, mercifully, were coming to an end and my one desire was to be at home.
When news same through that the Germans had surrendered, where were we? Lying at anchor in the Philippines. We assembled on the bridge deck and the Captain said a few words and we remembered those who hadn’t survived.
Not long after that, the Pacific war ended and where were we then? At anchor behind a small, but extremely beautiful island. Once again we were unable to celebrate in the way we would have wanted to.
But I was thankful to have survived five years of war at sea. I mourned the loss of my twin, and others I had sailed with, but the thought of returning home after a two year voyage cheered us up.
In Sydney we loaded a full cargo of explosives, and what did they do with it when we finally arrived in Milford Haven? It was taken to sea and dumped overboard.
I enjoyed the trip home. South about Australia, across the Indian Ocean to Colombo for bunkers, across the Arabian Sea, through the Suez Canal and finally home via Gibraltar. We made the passage with all the deck lights on and navigation lights burning. A different story to the outward trip!