大象传媒

In the summer of 1944 I volunteered for the Coastal Forces branch of the Royal Navy.
This comparitively little-known organisation (manned entirely by volunteers) operated a number of small, fast motor boats ranging in length from about 70feet to 115feet, and made up of Motor Launches (M.L.s), Motor Gun Boats (M.G.B.s) and Motor Torpedo Boats (M.T.B.s).
Based largely on the North Sea and Channel coasts, their main duty was to attack enemy shipping, deal with German E-boats harrying our own and Allied shipping, and to make assaults on enemy coasts. Life aboard these boats was much more informal than in most other branches of the Navy, there was less boring routine - and there was usually far more excitement. In the smaller boats crews usually lived ashore and went out on specific patrols, but in the larger M.T.B.s (known as D-boats) crews lived on board.
M.T.B. 700 was one of this larger class of boats, and I joined her in the summer of 1944 at Falmouth where she had been re-fitted after being badly damaged by enemy action in the Channel. She carried a crew of about 25. Just aft of the open bridge was a twin-oerlikon gun, on each side of it was a torpedo tube, and for-ard of it was an automatic 6-pounder gun. Depth charges were positioned on the stern near a manually-operated 6-pound gun, and there were 2 Vickers guns mounted on the bridge.
From Falmouth we sailed to Milford Haven and then set sail for the Mediterranean in convoy; 2 D-boats and a number of slower Motor Launches escorted by frigates. Our normal fuel tanks could not hold enough fuel for the voyage and we had a line of deck tanks fitted on each side of the after deck. These held high-octane fuel, and as the boats themselves were of mainly wooden construction, we were rather like floating bombs.
By October we arrived safely in Malta, and after a few days while our deck tanks were removed, we sailed alone to Manfredonia in Italy, where we waited for about a fortnight until we were joined by the rest of the flotilla.
Then we all sailed to our main Italian base, Ancona, and began a series of nightly patrols in the Adriatic looking for German E-boats or ships carrying arms and supplies to the Axis forces further north where both armies were "dug-in" because of the winter weather. Although we wore thick clothing the cold bit through to the bone, and on the open bridge we were often drenched in icy water and took to wearing towels draped round our necks.
Ancona was only one of two bases we used in the Adriatic. The other was Zara (now called Zadar) on the Dalmatian coast of Yugoslavia (now known as Croatia), and we used to spend several weeks at a time over there engaged in some rather strange operations in support of Marshal Tito's parisans.
Yugoslavia at that time was a queer place. After the Germans had invaded in 1941 two distinct groups of partisans had emerged, one controlled by a Communist nick-named Tito, and the other a group of guerrillas known as "Chetniks" led by a former army colonel named Mihailovic. There was no co-operation between them, in fact they were bitterly opposed to each other; and by 1942 it had become obvious that the Chetniks were "double-crossing" the Allies who were supporting them, and were actually accepting arms from the Germans and taking part in offensives against Tito's partisans. The British had then switched their full suppport to Tito who seized control of the Dalmatian coast, including the ruined area around Zara (where nearly 70% of the town had been destroyed) - although German forces still held out on some of the scattered islands. One of them was used by the Germans as a base for E-boats against which we were continually operating, but we also assisted the partisans by landing them at night in isolated bays behind enemy positions.
These partisans were a hard-bitten bunch of characters. The women especially, all seemed to be built like Potteries "Bottle Ovens" and they were slung about with hand grenades, guns and wicked-looking knives. There were also roaming bands of teenagers, all armed with Sten guns, and, as there were still isolated groups of Chetniks in the area ready to do battle with anybody, we had to tread warily - especially as it was almost impossible to tell Tito's partisans and Mihailovic's "Chetniks" apart.
Almost every night we were patrolling round the rocky islands, looking out for enemy convoys further out to sea, or landing agents or partisans behind enemy lines in northern Italy.
It was on one of these "cloak and dagger" raids, when we had strict instructions not to attack any enemy vessels, that we had our best chance of making a spectacular killing. We saw a German destroyer and tanker silhouetted against the moon, but as we turned away we were spotted and a couple of torpedoes were fired at us. From the open bridge I watched them heading straight for us and pass harmlessly underneath us. Presumably the enemy had set the depth too low for our comparatively shallow depth.
The nightly patrols were uncomfortable, even when there was no real action, and we were glad of the daily tots of neat rum to which we were entitled - as opposed to the watered-down version known as "grog" which was supplied on bigger ships.
This wasn't the only difference between life on a big ship and life on an M.T.B. in the Adriatic. For most of the time we were far removed from any visible British presence. Regulation uniform became a thing of the past, and we even went ashore dressed in a variety of costumes rather like part of the Chorus in "The Pirates of Penzance". About the only item of regulation uniform we wore constantly were our trousers. In cold weather we added woolly roll-neck sweaters; when it was wet, muddy or snowy we went ashore in sea boots; when it was warm we wore open-necked khaki shirts. I even grew a black beard, and in this unconventional uniform I looked more like a buccaneer than ever.
Perhaps it was that image which caused a group of Italian partisans to refer to me as "Similar Garibaldi" when I celebrated by 23rd birthday with them in some now unidentifiable location, when a good deal of demon vino was consumed and a good time was had by all.
It was, in fact, an appropriate time to celebrate, because the war was almost over. Eleven days later the Italian dictator, Benito Mussolini, was dead - shot by Italian partisans in Milan and strung-up by his heels from the facade of a petrol station. The next day the remnants of 22 German Divisions and six Italian Fascist Divisions in Italy surrendered unconditionally to Field Marshal Alexander, the Allied Commander. The war in Italy was over.

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