大象传媒

This story was related by Mr Dennis Brown, son of the late Mr Ernest Richard Brown, with a contribution by another son, Mr Gerrard Brown.

My father was born in Hartlepool. As a result of the German bombardment of that town during the Great War, his father moved the family to the relative safety of Stockton on Tees.

For most of his working life my father was a sea-going engineer. He served his engineering apprenticeship with the Stockton firm of Rileys, which manufactured ships鈥� boilers. Afterwards he joined the Merchant Navy. He rose to the rank of Chief Engineer very quickly and around 1928 joined the well-known local shipping line, Ropners, with which he would spend the rest of his working life.

When war broke out he was on a ship engaged in trading along the St Lawrence Seaway in Canada. He had been on that run for the previous 7-8 years. That routine soon altered and he spent the next two years plying back and forth across the Atlantic, bringing the much-needed supplies to this country. He witnessed many ships being sunk but fortunately came through, what became known as the Battle of the Atlantic, completely unscathed.

Whenever he was at sea he never slept in his bunk; he always stayed fully dressed and snatched what sleep he could on his daybed [settee].

At one point, he was sent to Canada to join a new ship, the Fort George, in Vancouver. To get there he sailed across the Atlantic as a passenger aboard the Empress of Britain then took the train from Nova Scotia. So vast is that country the journey took almost a week. It was wintertime, and when he went to bed while travelling through central Canada, he woke up to much the same scenery i.e. flat and snowbound, which made it seem as if the train hadn鈥檛 moved. The journey inevitably took him through the spectacular scenery of the Rocky Mountains and to his final destination.

Once aboard, the ship was brought to the UK via the Panama Canal. I understand that, during the war, as a precaution against sabotage, it was usual procedure in the American-controlled Panama Canal Zone for US Marines to accompany the pilot aboard every ship going through. One marine would be stationed in the wheelhouse alongside the pilot, while the other would be on station in the engine room. If the pilot required an engine movement, he would give the necessary order e.g. slow ahead, half ahead, to the marine alongside him, who would then relay it to his fellow marine via telephone. The marine down below would then relay it, in turn, to the engine room staff. In other words, the usual method of communicating between the bridge and engine room, using the instrument called the ship鈥檚 telegraph, was bypassed.

I find myself wondering what happened in my father鈥檚 case; US Marine Corps or no US Marine Corps, in HIS engine room, there was only one boss鈥nd HIS word was law. As a person I would say he was firm but fair. An insight into his character might be gained in the following example鈥�

On one occasion his ship docked with a cargo of tinned foods (fruit, meat etc.) in packing cases. Now pilfering among dockworkers has been common since time immemorial. And the type of packing cases carried aboard my father鈥檚 ship had a habit of being 鈥榓ccidentally鈥� broken open and the contents stolen. My father and his captain (the 鈥極ld Man鈥�) were both very conscious of the risks taken to bring that cargo of essential foodstuffs to these shores and had NO intention of standing idly by and watching while greedy stevedores helped themselves. Consequently they issued a warning to them through the offices of the Dock Police in the port in question that any man caught indulging himself would be reported not for stealing but for the much greater offence of sabotage, which carried the death penalty. Result: no pilfering.

Still serving aboard the Fort George, the next phase of his contribution to the War was ferrying supplies to the 8th Army. The Mediterranean was as yet unsecured from enemy attack, so his voyages were via the Cape of Good Hope and the Suez Canal.

In July 1943 his ship formed part of the force for the invasion of Sicily: Operation Husky. It carried lorries, tanks, petrol bowsers, artillery, ammunition and some 400 troops, who slept on deck. As a (very decent) gesture, the ship鈥檚 cook worked overtime such that no soldier left without a loaf of bread and some butter in his hand.

His ship was due to be the second alongside at the destination port of Syracuse. The order of docking proved lucky for him, since the first ship in line hit a mine and exploded. The crew of that ship were mostly Ropner鈥檚 men and my father lost many old shipmates in that tragedy. He also lost his 鈥榮econd鈥� watch, which he had loaned to its chief engineer in Alexandria prior to departure. (My father always went to sea with two watches in case one went wrong.)

His ship was almost unloaded when they received a visit from none other than General Montgomery himself. 鈥楳onty鈥� drove up in a jeep, got out and spoke to my father, who just happened to be on the gangway at the time. It seems that the purpose of his visit was to commandeer all the cigarettes aboard the ship for the Army, who were rapidly running out of them.

My father thought very highly of General Montgomery.

On the evening before the return journey to Alexandria, my father and the 鈥極ld Man鈥� decided to have a look around Syracuse. During their stroll they heard the sound of a church organ. They followed it and came upon a slightly damaged church. They entered and found it full of a mixture of allied soldiers and civilians listening to a rendition of Bach, Handel as well as popular hymn tunes. The organist, an Army captain, eventually took his leave, presumably to go on duty. My father said later that the captain鈥檚 finale 鈥� a hymn - had been a 鈥淏laze of glorious sound.鈥�

The final phase of my father鈥檚 war took in a voyage via the North Cape to Archangelsk. His ship, still the "Samsuva" was carrying supplies for the Red Army. The Russians gave him and his shipmates a rousing reception. He and the captain were treated to a celebratory dinner. Most of the Russians ended up 鈥渦nder the table鈥� i.e. so drunk they were unable to stand. My father managed to remain sober only by discreetly pouring his (generous) measures of vodka into anything except his throat. The dinner service used for the occasion had once belonged to the Russian Royal Family. My father took advantage of the temporary incapacity of his hosts and pocketed a cup and saucer as a souvenir.

On the return journey his ship carried a cargo of pit props, bound for Loch Ewe. On the morning of 29th September 1944 she was torpedoed by the U-310, which was under the command of a Wolfgang Ley. The torpedo struck in the engine room, killing the three men on duty. Once again my father鈥檚 luck held and he was not on duty at the time. He and the chief officer tried to get down below, but as they opened the door to the engine room and saw nothing but water. The ladders had been blown away by the blast.

My father used to test the lifeboat engines every day. His attention to this duty paid off and, although there was only one serviceable lifeboat remaining, he got the engine started and the boat cast off, full of survivors, and reached the rescue ship, the "Rathlin." There were still people left aboard his ship, however, so he asked for three volunteers to go back with him.

Thankfully, due to the nature of her cargo, the "Samsuva" was in no imminent danger of sinking and the remaining crew, including the Old Man were rescued. But while the captain was able to save his gear my father, who had leaped straight off his daybed and into action, lost everything (including his royal cup and saucer.)

Once everyone was taken off, the "Samsuva" was given the 'coup de grace' by HMS Corsica, one of the convoy's escort vessels.

I鈥檒l never forget the sight of him when he arrived home dressed in some odds and ends his shipmates had scraped together for him鈥e looked like a tramp!

He was given three months off after his sinking and then returned to duty. By this time the war was almost over. I cannot recall where he was when the war ended.

ADDENDUM

My father continued his career at sea until his retirement in the 1960s. In May 1952 he was awarded the OBE for his services. He received it from the Queen at Buckingham Palace upon the occasion of her first Investiture since acceding to the throne.

He could only take two guests, so my mother and I accompanied him. We stayed overnight at the Merchant Navy Club in Notting Hill. My father ordered a taxi for about 9.00 a.m. When it arrived, my father instructed the cabbie to take us to Buckingham Palace. 鈥淚鈥檝e waited YEARS to hear someone say that!鈥� exclaimed the driver, delightedly. Suffice it to say that driving through the gates of Buckingham Palace was payment enough for him. He would not even accept a tip.

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