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On 7 February 1942, I was drafted to HMS Eridge, a Hunt-class destroyer, to relieve the senior visual signal rating aboard. In two days’ time I was to be 21!

The days, and my birthday, passed by. On the 12th, we put to sea from Alexandria with the cruiser HMS Carlisle, two other Hunt-class destroyers, Heythrop and Avondale, and the destroyer Lance. We were to escort two merchant vessels westwards.

To Tobruk

The next day, the 13th, we met up with the main convoy, and were soon spotted and attacked by enemy aircraft. There was a certain familiarity creeping into all of this. The supply ships were obviously the main targets for destruction, whilst the escorts were there to protect with their lives. On the other hand, if the enemy could eliminate the escorts…

The supply ship Clan Campbell was hit but able to maintain a reduced speed, so, along with HMS Avondale, we escorted it into Tobruk.

On the 14th, the destroyers rejoined the convoy and Force K. With such pickings for the enemy, we attracted a sky full of high-level bombers all day. It soon became difficult to spot the aircraft among the ever increasing black puffs of exploding anti-aircraft shell bursts.

A distressing sinking

It also became increasingly hazardous scanning through the smoke and gun flashes for signals by lamp or flags — which could be vital. During my vigil I did witness the distressing sight of the supply ship Clan Chattern being hit and quickly sinking.

At 19:00, we were the target for a full stick of bombs, which straddled us, covering us on the bridge with grey gunge. It was the nearest in a crop of near misses throughout the day.

On our way back eastwards on the 15th, we had a good day. Although the ubiquitous JU88s and torpedo bombers, which joined them coming in at low level, attacked us. This time we experienced some back up, and our fighters destroyed three of our attackers, whilst we suffered no casualties.

A Trojan horse

We arrived in Alexandria on the 16th at 07:00 for refuelling and supplies. On the 19th, we put to sea for EMD F patrol. This was prior to the convoy next day.

We sailed on the 20th as escort for what we knew to be a slow convoy to Tobruk. We had become familiar with a small merchant vessel, Popi, which we all called Popeye. It limped along at a bare five knots maximum. The apocryphal story was that it had been planted by the Germans/Italians to slow us down, with orders that on no account was the ship to be put in danger of attack.

Only one supply ship remaining

As we approached Tobruk on 21 February, we received our usual waves of attacks, and soon our first M/V, Bintang D/H, was hit and sunk within ten minutes. Not long after, Hanne D/H was hit, and within two minutes it too had sunk.

On the 22nd, we arrived off Tobruk with one remaining supply ship — Popi! It was soon off-loaded and left the next day with another vessel, Mansang, for return, under our escort, to Alexandria — speed four to five knots, so we didn’t arrive until the 26th.

Confusing tactics

For the next four days we worked ship in Alexandria. On 3 March we sailed for manoeuvres and the necessary EMD J patrol of the eastern Mediterranean.

On the 4th, I had a briefing with the captain, but we didn’t put to sea until the 6th with two vessels, Antwerp and Princess Marguerite. On the 12th, we arrived at Famagusta, and there I went ashore to see my friend, Frank.

The following day we sailed for Haifa. We arrived there and left the same night to return to Famagusta, and then left Famagusta again for Haifa at 12:00. This procedure may well have been carried out to confuse… It succeeded.

Ordering a suit in Alexandria

On the 16th, we were relieved from our duty patrol by HMS Malines and returned to Alex. After our arrival, I managed to go ashore on the 17th and ordered a suit.

One of my staff left ship on the 18th and was relieved by a young rating called Smith, who was now about to acquire the experience of destroyer action, as I had done during the last month.

A proud ship goes to its grave

On the 19th, we slipped, and, along with four more Hunt-class destroyers — Southwold, Dulverton, Heythrop and Hurworth — we put to sea for a ‘biggie’. This was no convoy up the coast into the ports of Benghazi and Tobruk with supplies for the troops fighting in north Africa. This time we were about to meet up with a far larger force.

At 11:35 on the 20th, HMS Heythrop was struck by a torpedo from a U-boat, the effect of which broke the ship’s back. As we approached to take off some of its crew and prepare a tow, it was obvious that the vessel was beyond saving.

I took a couple of photographs with my ever ready camera, which were subsequently confiscated. Heythrop was finally abandoned; towlines were slipped, and, eventually, HMS Dulverton delivered the coup de grâce. It is an awe-inspiring, chilling feeling to see a proud ship go to its grave, and I don’t have the words to describe that feeling.

Entering ‘Bomb Alley’

We had a great deal of action with contact from torpedo bombers before we eventually arrived safely at Tobruk. During this period, the second battle of Sirte was raging north of Bardia.

We left Tobruk on 21 March to join the main convoy, taking up our designated position in the escort screen. At 09:00 on the 22nd, we entered the area most vulnerable to air attack, affectionately called ‘Bomb Alley’, at full-alert action stations.

Enemy aircraft like swarms of locusts

Oddly enough we had to wait one hour before all hell broke loose. Being such a large convoy invited everything that the Axis powers could throw at us: high-level JU88s, dive bombers JU87s — Stukas — and torpedo bombers from the sky, and the Italian Fleet for good measure.

From the air, the attack was in excess of what we had so far experienced. Enemy aircraft filled the air like swarms of locusts buzzing about, whilst the anti-aircraft shell bursts pockmarked the sky above the convoy. As torpedo bombers came in low to discharge their lethal loads, the decision to open fire on them at such low altitudes, across the convoy, was a highly calculated risk.

An escort vessel under maximum speed and helm — to evade missiles — gave little help to the gun crews manning the pom-poms and Oerlikons, trying to keep the enemy aircraft in their sights.

Greetings from the Italian fleet

We, HMS Eridge, swept the area to the north of the convoy. Lookouts were constantly reporting sightings of aircraft attacking out of the sun. With news that the Italian navy had put to sea and was on its way, our cruiser escort broke off and, to the north, laid a smokescreen.

Keeping an occasional eye on the admiral’s ship in the distant smoke, I noticed plumes of water between the cruisers and us that could not have been made by bombs. Our skipper confirmed that they were shell bursts from some large warship — we learnt that the Italian fleet of one battleship and three cruisers had come out to greet us.

It was at this point that out of the smokescreen came the flash of a signal lamp. Upon answering, I received the order to turn the convoy south. I informed our captain and acknowledged the signal at the same time. With the remaining escort, we set about the task of shepherding our flock away from the action.

En route to Malta

During the air battles we had personally claimed a JU88, which came too close, and a torpedo bomber (879). Unfortunately, a shell from the Italian battleship hit the destroyer HMS Kingston. In turn, we believed the Italian battleship had been hit by a torpedo.

At dusk, the convoy split up, and we, HMS Eridge, were given the well-being of the supply ship Glen Campbell, which had previously survived bomb damage. Our task was to escort it the rest of the way to Malta.

There is nowhere so lonely as a single ship being dive-bombed. Even though there were two of us, we still felt very exposed as we sailed away with our ward.

Our worst fears realised

Our worst fears were realised as, at 08:30 on the 23rd, enemy aircraft sighted us. With no air support, things looked black, and at 10:30 the main attack started. Despite valiant work by our gun crews there was little that could be done to prevent the onslaught that was hailed upon us.

Because of our speed and manoeuvrability, we managed to escape damage whilst our guns tried their utmost to prevent harm to the Glen Campbell. Unfortunately, the almost inevitable happened, and the ship, which was put in our trust, received what turned out to be its final blow, from which it would not recover.

Survivors in a blazing sea

I had seen worse destruction; tankers hit and exploding in a ball of flame, leaving no trace. Glen Campbell certainly disintegrated, but there were survivors and debris. Oil quickly spread over the area, and, here and there, the sea was ablaze.

Not wanting to tempt fate and suffer any more casualties, the marauders flew away, leaving us to lick our wounds and pick up the pieces. Thus we were able to concern ourselves with searching the area for survivors, whom we found clinging to spars and pieces of wood and debris. All of them were affected in some way with the oil fuel, and some completely covered and all the more difficult to haul inboard.

Tending the survivors and venting our anger

What was very distressing, although we tended the survivors with medical aid and cleansing, was that several of them succumbed to their wounds and the ingestion of the oil fuel.

We continued our journey empty-handed with heavy hearts and vented our anger on the renewed waves of aircraft that attacked us as they passed us en route to Malta. We suffered only scarring and deluges of seawater from near misses before arriving at Malta at 17:00.

Countless air raids

The 24th arrived with a typical day at Malta. People stopped counting the number of air raids. Our sister ship, HMS Southwold, was put out of commission. Our ship’s company consisted of a skeleton crew to reduce the possibility of casualties.

On the 25th, at 06:00, we slipped along with HMS Beaufort to proceed to the assistance of supply ship Breconshire, stranded outside the harbour. During air attacks, we attempted to tow the ship into the bay and ground it without fouling our own screws.

Breconshire eventually settled, grounded, outside the harbour, but available for the disembarkation of precious cargo. Unfortunately, it was also very vulnerable.

Leaving Malta

HMS Legion arrived damaged, and we escorted it into harbour. By no means an isolated attack, at 15:00 Breconshire was violently attacked by JU87s (dive-bombers), and Grand Harbour received waves of JU88s (high-level bombers).

At 20:30, along with destroyers Hurworth and Dulverton and the cruiser Carlisle, we left Malta.

Floating bombs

We had been part of the escort in convoy Chitty, but on the 27th we proceeded with HMS Dulverton to Tobruk to round up three ‘empties’ — Cerion, Katie Müller and Destro — supply ships for return to Alexandria. Cerion had previously been burning in Tobruk for three weeks, so we knew it would be another slow convoy.

We were joined the next day by Delphinium, Snapdragon, Protea and Klo and received an alarming number of U-boat reports. The tankers proceeded to vent out their tanks with great canvas ‘tubes’.

With little wind and under very little way it would be a long process, and, with holds full of fumes from oil or aviation spirit, they were floating bombs. When we arrived at Alexandria intact on the 29th, we considered that it had been the quietest trip ever.

No pay and no tot

On 30 March, the guy I had relieved returned to ship from his course ashore, and my term of relief ended. I left HMS Eridge at 17:00 for shore base Canopus II and immediately put in a request to see the base accounts officer regarding back pay.

On the 31st, I still had no pay — and no tot!

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