大象传媒

A Little War Story.

It took up only a few precious minutes of my life, but it could have been so much more. I was resident 鈥楽parks鈥� (for the uninitiated, the wireless operator) on board His Majesty鈥檚 Escort Trawler 鈥楤RIMNES鈥�. Trawlers and drifters formed a special branch of the Royal Navy known as 鈥楾he Patrol Service which was manned entirely by volunteers who were rewarded with the princely sum of one shilling extra every day. Our base was the Sparrow鈥檚 Nest at Lowestoft, which is still the headquarters of the R.N.P.S. Association.

The date, 4 February 1944; the time, Midnight; the place, The North Atlantic. We had left a convoy and were heading for the Mersey, which would take about twenty-three hours. My mess deck was forward, close to the bow. Sleepily, I climbed the ladder to take over the Middle Watch, my favourite mug hooked on my little finger. It was pitch dark and bitterly cold. Ahead of me was an open deck of some twenty yards before I could go up to the wheelhouse, beyond which was the wireless cabin. Halfway across, I met a wall of seawater travelling towards me on both port and starboard sides of the ship. I had nowhere to go.

A following sea is rather like a lion after its prey. It creeps up on you from behind and is faster than the ship. Most times it slides underneath the ship but occasionally it comes over the top like this one. As the ship rolled sideways to starboard under the weight of the water, I was lifted quite gently over the side. I had no lifejacket and had on just a thin shirt and trousers. Not that anything else would have kept me alive. The water was icy and I remember thinking to myself, 鈥� What a stupid way to go!鈥� The strength of that wave was awesome and I felt like a rag doll. Perhaps only seconds elapsed before I was hit by something resembling a brick wall. Of course it was the BRIMNES, clearly out of control as the helmsman struggled to bring her back on course. Instinctively, I put out my hand to protect myself and found I was touching a steel hawser to which I clung for dear life. Two seamen leaned over and hauled me back on board. I was bruised from head to foot but my favourite mug, unbroken, was still there on my little finger. We tied up at Wallasey Dock at eleven that night. Well that鈥檚 what my battered old diary tells me anyway.

Eric Hacon,
10 Cliff Hill,Gorleston on Sea.

01493 664309

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