大象传媒

This story has been written onto the 大象传媒 People鈥檚 War site by Storygatherer Lucy Thomas of Callington U3A on behalf of Douglas Mahoney. They fully understand the terms and conditions of the site.

Extracts from DOUGLAS MANHONEY鈥橲 W.W.2 MEMORIES

Homeward bound

Not being needed for a ship on the American side I was shipped home on an old passenger liner along with a miscellaneous crowd of passengers, mostly Army. It was early March and the weather was as bad as ever, and cold with it. Bad enough at times to have chairs and tables and bodies rolling from side to side of the saloon and cold enough for us to spend our sleeping time dressed, including duffel coats. To add to the misery, five nights out from home the horror and terror of Atlantic Convoys hit us.

It was the 10 March when it started. We ate early at night, so it was still light and we could see the first ship catching fire, breaking in two, and sinking shortly afterwards. Not long after, another was hit and dropped astern. Destroyers and corvettes dashed all over the place dropping charges. At this point the ship鈥檚 Chief Radio man became ill and I took over for the night so didn鈥檛 see the loss of yet another ship. Working now as I was, all nervousness fled, a busy mind has no room for worry.

The following night I wasn鈥檛 needed and watched the disastrous night, bundled in as much clothing as I could get on. My companion was an equally terrified padre. We spent the night together, huddled under whatever shelter we could find, including the cabin roofs of the top deck; any higher meant climbing the masts or the funnel. It was a cold, wet, miserable night weather-wise and a worse night in every other sense.

It was fairly dark when the drama started. A cargo ship was the first to be torpedoed. We saw the flash of the hit, heard the noise of the hit, then saw the vessel slowly losing way and dropping back or, rather, we were pulling ahead and leaving her to her fate. Torch lights appeared on deck as the crew laboured to get the boats away, so they did have a chance. Padre and I were sitting staring south into the blackness, smoking our hearts out, when suddenly there appeared, as if projected onto a cinema screen, a ship鈥檚 bridge enveloped in flame. Within seconds, the entire amidships were ablaze. Two or three minutes later the hot red of the fire turned to orange and the fire grew to twice its size, reaching up into the night. It grew and a golden glow filled the horizon, showing clearly all the ships of the convoy. It was as if a sun had materialised suddenly, no twilight, one minute darkness, the next the brightness of day. Fearful of this light, I needlessly dashed to the outboard rail to search the ocean for sight of any submarines. Our shadow stretched out across the ocean and beyond that one could see for miles, such was the intensity of that fire light.

About twenty seconds later, the ship exploded. A plume of flame fringed by smoke soared six to seven hundred feet into the air, a similar plume spreading out over the sea. The intense light burnt itself out very quickly, leaving a light-filled pall of drifting smoke in its place. The light coming from thousands of white sparks was embedded in the smoke like an immense Roman candle. Slowly the cloud rose, scattered and dimmed. The stars came into focus again. The sea where the ship had been burned briefly, little flames flickering on the surface of the water.

This was an example of the German submarine tactics; hunt in packs, attack during the night, hide during the day. Deadly it was too just as our surveillance aircraft had started making daytime attacks deadly for them. We all dreaded the following night, having lost six ships during that second night of attacks. We didn鈥檛 even know the other four had gone until later when they were hit and holed, started sinking slowly or rapidly as the convoy steamed on leaving them behind. There was a rescue boat attached to each convoy which tried to pick up survivors. Some of the drifting lifeboats and rafts were lucky. Others were spotted by aircraft and reported. The chances of survival at this stage of the war were much greater than they were in earlier years.

There was little sleep to be had that day. Night eventually came, despite all our prayers that the day would never end. We were all scared, a common condition when in the convoy high danger zones. The thought of that burning, disappearing ship was very fresh in our minds. That ship that disappeared, and all who sailed in her, just vanished as if all their lives had never been. The event would not even leave the slightest blip on the chart of the progress of our world through time.

The gods were kind. We escaped further trouble and two further nights later we made an Irish landfall, and shortly afterwards sailed up the Clyde. Being a passenger, I was soon offloaded and on my way home, where I remained for some months, which story I鈥檒l save for another chapter.

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