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My father, Herbert Geoffrey Hall - Geoff Hall — was born in Macclesfield, Cheshire, in 1911, and died in retirement in North Wales in 2002, aged 90. During the Second World War he served in the Merchant Navy. He kept a diary of his experiences from which he later prepared accounts of some of the more memorable and important of these. This is his account of his time with the Empire Mary.

Val Myers (nee Hall)

THE EMPIRE MARY

For myself I was again going on leave. For some time I had been trying to get a job as a Lloyd's Surveyor, and after interviews had been accepted if the Pool would release me. The Pool would not. The war in Europe was not yet over and there remained the Japanese end of it, so I could expect to return to something at the end of February 1945.
It so happened that Norah was expecting the birth of our second child in early March, and as she was not too well I tried to get an extension but this was refused. My teeth had been giving me trouble for several years, probably due to eating too much sugar in the days of the grocer's shop, so at the end of February I had most of them out, and then had to wait a while before an artificial set was fitted. This meant that I was still there on 11th March when our second daughter was born at home, where mother and child were ably looked after by Nurse Walker, an elderly midwife who became a firm friend of the family. Attending Communion service at our local Methodist Chapel a few days before the happy event the parson said, "Draw near with faith", so Faith it was and still is. Altogether I managed to extend my leave to 3 months so that it was May before I told Overseas that I was available, who promptly asked me to supervise some repairs on several tugs in Southampton.
I was supposed to live on the Empire Sandy where everything was dead, no heat, no light, no food and no body. Meeting John Martell I learned that Albert Purvis, now Chief of the Empire Sophy was also in port and, seeking him out, I was able to eat and sleep on that vessel for a few days - a vast improvement.
On Sunday 6th May the Sophy had sailed and things were very quiet as everybody waited for the announcement of the end of war in Europe. That evening John Martell invited me to his hotel for dinner which I greatly enjoyed, followed by a stroll round Southampton, but, more importantly, the chance to have a bath before returning to the ship.
It was then suggested that I join the Turmoil, a fairly new deep-sea tug with two powerful engines, towing winch and other modern equipment. She had just come back from a job where she had lost her tow in the Mediterranean due, in my view, to bad handling, and as I didn't care for the Skipper I refused the offer, preferring to see what else developed.
For the next few days I was on my own, living on a dead ship and having to go to a dockers' caff for my meals, but on the 16th I was asked to take over the new tug Empire Mary to which my old friends of the Cher 3 had gone when she was launched in the Tyne earlier in the year.
The Mary was a different proposition altogether. A large coastal tug with a powerful 2500 hp engine driving a single screw, 2 oil-fired boilers and our accommodation was commodious and placed amidships. She towed on a hook - deep-sea tugs towed on a winch which facilitated the handling of long ropes used on trans-ocean tows.
As soon as our repairs were completed we were called out to an emergency in the Channel. Cutting corners in our hurry we ran aground on a shingle bank called Calshott Spit. Of course 'Orry Martell wouldn't have done this, other than on a rising tide, so that in an hour we floated free and proceeded, undamaged, to pick up our casualty which we then took to Barry, S. Wales.
In Barry I was able to look up and meet Doug. Hurst with whom I had sailed in the British Tankers twelve years previously. By now he was a Master in that fleet. Amazing as it might seem, he told me he had sailed in the Tankers through six years of war and had never seen a shot fired in anger.
A couple of trips to Liverpool, moving valuable barges down south, were enlivened when on the second one, in bad weather, we broke our 16" tow rope (ropes are measured by circumference, not diameter). At the time we were heading for Milford Haven where the Skipper had decided to take shelter.
Picking up the tow again was not easy, especially as the gale force winds were driving us on to the coast, but we managed it and slowly made the harbour. The bad weather continued and we stayed there for 8 days before being able to continue our journey to London. This gave us a chance to explore some of the beautiful country in that neighbourhood.
In London I continued my attempts to get my release to join Lloyds but was not successful. In fact I was advised to keep quiet or I might be shipped out East to join in the war against Japan.
Next over to Terneuzen at the entrance to the Ghent Canal. The trouble in these waters was the presence of many wandering mines. Although big efforts were being made to clear these, there were so many which had broken adrift that one could expect to find them anywhere. Towing at night was made easier as we could now use our searchlight to keep a look-out for them. Two big tugs, we and another, were bringing a hulk back to England one night and as I came out of the engine room at midnight my attention was drawn to a mine floating right in our path. The two tugs separated to pass it by, but there was no way we could swing the wreck off its course. Petrified I watched as the mine approached the ship and then saw it bounce harmlessly along the side of the hull. Evidently one that failed to work!
The next few weeks had little rest. In and out of the many waterways on the coast of France, Belgium and Holland, and even as far as Hambourg, where we picked up the British Chancellor, to be towed back to England. Going aboard I found that the 2nd Engineer was an acquaintance of mine. He had been asleep in his bunk when the bomb passed right through his room to explode 20ft below, completely wrecking the engine room. He was uninjured.
Jerry had done all he could to hinder our use of the rivers and docks of N. Europe. One way was to drop acoustic mines in the river channels. Somebody invented a device like a huge barge with 5 or 6 holds open at the bottom. The bulkheads were curved at the bottom to scoop up mines as this thing was towed over them at 4 kts. We tried to tow this but, owing to the water resistance, found we could only make 2 kts. Another tug joined us and we managed 2.5 kts. In the end it was decided it wouldn't work, and was abandoned. One way that did work was for us to tow a string of small barges, each of which had a rattler, a noise machine, on board. Every so often one of the barges would blow up, which was one mine fewer to cause trouble.
Another way to make progress in Europe difficult was to block the rivers and, in the case of the Seine, the Germans had sunk 4 ships across the river about 9 miles below Rouen. The largest of these and the most effective barrier was an old tanker, the San Lorenzo, one which I remembered from my days on the Ship Canal. This had been converted into a whale factory ship and, having been captured early in the war, it had been used as a submarine depot ship. By the time we got there, the hulk had been raised and our job, assisted by 4 other tugs, was to get it out of the river. The Seine is a narrow winding river and manoevering this dead object proved very difficult as there is a strong tidal flow. As the river had silted up we could only move for a couple of hours each side of high water. The 40-odd miles to the bar took nearly a week, but at last we faced the supreme test - could we get her over the bar and into deep water in the 20 minutes of slack water, with the prospect of 7 kt. tides if we were too long about it?
Desperately anxious to play their part the French Authorities insisted on having a pilot on each of the 5 tugs, and one on the wreck. Each pilot knew exactly how the job should be done, and although the man on the wreck was supposed to be in charge no one took a blind bit of notice of his instructions shouted through a megaphone. The result was chaos, we missed our tide, she swung sideways on to the current which pushed her onto a sand bank and, as the water fell away we scuttled for safety in case she turned over. She didn't but investigation showed that she was firmly wedged, leaking badly, and there was no more to be done. Heaving a sigh of relief we picked up our anchors and returned to England as fast as possible.
Towards the middle of September we were told that we were to have a refit before being sent to Canada. I had estimated that the work necessary should take even the slowest workers about a fortnight. In effect the men at Southampton managed to spread it out to last a month. I know that everyone was war-weary by this time, but the lack of control and the deliberate laziness of the shipyard workers left a very sour taste in my mouth.
As it became known that our next trip was to be to the St. Lawrence I made it clear that I should NOT be there. "What", said I, "Cross the Atlantic in winter in this thing - (150ft long), Not on your nellie!" John Martell tried very hard to persuade me; what I didn't know was that 'Orry had said he would only go if I went.
In answer to John's efforts, and knowing that the firm were a bit miserly, I said, "Well I should want double wages anyway", to which, to my surprise, the answer was "Done!" The result of which was that on the 15th October we set off for Montreal.

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