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The start of my draft (or posting) to the Firedrake from the Chatham Barracks, was when I answered a broadcast to attend the Regulating Office (the name of the naval drafting office] and received my papers to travel to Glasgow, by train. On arriving at Glasgow after the usual slow wartime journey, I reported to the naval control and was redirected to join a damaged Cruiser of the County Class. This Cruiser was acting as emergency accommodation whilst it was awaiting repair to the extensive damage suffered by a bomb dropped by a German plane during the evacuation of Norway.
This change was because the Firedrake had been called out on an emergency, which left many of the crew members stranded ashore on leave. I joined them on the Cruiser though I didn’t know the reason at the time.
The main reason I mention this delay is because I had quite an emotional conversation with a seaman who in some way had discovered that I was a survivor of the Princess Victoria. He wanted to find out what had happened to his brother who had lost his life in the sinking. This seaman was presumably one of the crew of the cruiser and I was able to explain what happened. More surprising was that I found he was the brother of my friend Ray who though sleeping in the hammock next to me had not managed to escape. This was a strange coincidence and one that I have thought about many times as an instance of sheer luck or fate.

At the end of each day whilst waiting for the Firedrake to return I joined many others to sit on the upper deck in the evening sunshine of a warm July evening and listen to the news bulletin on the radio. There we heard the devastating news of the end of the Battle in France and the eventual surrender of the French Government and the defeat of Holland and Belgium. That was the 15th of July.

I joined the Firedrake a few days later to find that the repairs had not yet been done.
The A.A. gun had to be fully installed as well as the boiler cleaning services completed. This was a vastly different ship to the Princess Victoria and of course the Sun tug, my two previous postings. Apart from being cramped it was still in a very dirty condition as a result of the repair work and I made my way to the seamen’s mess that was in the fore part of the ship beneath the bridge structures. There I was given a locker that served as a seat along the shipside. The mess was divided into watches, which had a separate table for the four parts of the seamen’s watches, i.e. the division into 1st and 2nd parts of the port and starboard watches.
My first impressions were not good although in wartime I had realised that good and bad were relative terms. The unfinished work and enforced emergency work had left the ship dirty, dark, and cold and of course I knew no one once again. The future facing us was very unclear. At that time the Germans were thought to be planning the invasion across the Channel, and rumours abounded that we might be forced to continue the war from an American or Canadian base. The bombing campaign — Battle of Britain, was opening and the next operation we would start was not known. Anyway I had to adjust to my new ship and soon established a good relationship with my messmates especially as there were a number of H.O. sailors like me still struggling to master being in the Royal Navy.
So it was that I played my part in watch-keeping, cleaning, painting, preparing food for our mess, exercising for ACTION STATIONS, and any jobs that arose such as taking in stores.

I served on the Firedrake from July 1940 until late autumn 1941. Most days were filled with new experiences and particularly vital operations of war. I have tried to pick out those incidents, which made the most lasting impression on me or influenced my life permanently.
The period from July 1940 to August 22 1940 was spent in various patrol and escort duties. Most of this time I suffered from recurrent seasickness. In this I was not alone and indeed during all my service at sea there were always sailors who never found their sea legs. However, by the end of this period I did achieve my sea legs and never have I been seasick since. We left Glasgow on July 8 and set sail for Iceland as escort to the Aircraft Carrier, Argus on its mission to land the first British troops. These were replacements for Canadian Army troops who had made the first invasion of Iceland. After a quiet journey as far as enemy action was concerned we entered the precincts of Reykjavik. By that I mean we stood offshore from the city, as the harbour itself was only a small fishing port. We stayed there for a few days doing some minor repairs. Thus it was that I was thrilled by a couple of new experiences. The first happened when I took duty watch on the quarterdeck as guard duty. It was in the Night Watch (midnight to 4 am) and I marvelled at the midnight sun effect on the treeless landscape, with not a living thing in sight on an absolutely calm sea. Truly an impressive contrast to what I expected.
The second incident concerned the visit I made with the off duty watch to Reykjavik when the lower deck ratings were given 4 hours shore leave. We went in by our ships motorboat, a hairy journey in a very choppy sea. We landed in the harbour and wandered into the town, which was the Capital of Iceland. The first impressions were like that of many small fishing ports, of a small group of small shops, including a Fish and Chip shop, and then as we progressed lots of small houses with corrugated roofs all painted in pastel shades. The troops we saw were all carrying their rifles and such civilians we saw on the streets or coming out of the churches, for it was Sunday, were studiously avoiding us. They, the civilians, were sympathetic to the Germans and were not inclined to welcome our presence.
The small groups of us eventually found a church run light refreshment invasion of Iceland. After a quiet journey as far as enemy action was concerned we entered the precincts of Reykjavik. By that I mean we stood offshore from the city, as the harbour itself was only a small fishing port. We stayed there for a few days doing some minor repairs. Thus it was that I was thrilled by a couple of new experiences. The first happened when I took duty watch on the quarterdeck as guard duty. It was in the Night Watch (midnight to 4 am) and I marvelled at the midnight sun effect on the treeless landscape, with not a living thing in sight on an absolutely calm sea. Truly an impressive contrast to what I expected. The second incident concerned the visit I made with the off duty watch to Reykjavik when the lower deck ratings were given 4 hours shore leave. We went in by our ships motorboat, a hairy journey in a very choppy sea. We landed in the harbour and wandered into the town, which was the Capital of Iceland.
The first impressions were like that of many small fishing ports, of a small group of small shops, including a Fish and Chip shop, and then as we progressed lots of small houses with corrugated roofs all painted in pastel shades. The troops we saw were all carrying their rifles and such civilians we saw on the streets or coming out of the churches, for it was Sunday, were studiously avoiding us. They, the civilians, were sympathetic to the Germans and were not inclined to welcome our presence. The small group of us eventually found a church- run light refreshment café where we were made welcome. The café was situated in a lovely position overlooking a sunlit lake and the War again seemed far away. After buying a gift in a stationers type shop (a handkerchief embroidered with some kind of Icelandic motif) we returned via the fish and chip shop to eat some of the finest fish I had ever had. I cannot remember what currency we were using, probably English though. That was Iceland for me as we soon returned to Glasgow.

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