大象传媒

I often wondered if my old mates from Hull were having the same problems on their barges. However, I soon came to the conclusion that if I was going to do the coxswain鈥檚 job, I might as well have the extra money so I put in a request for promotion. Lieutenant Smith accepted this, but said I would have to wait until we got back down South.

April, 1944, and we finished the manoeuvres, once again we were being towed by trawlers, this time two barges to a trawler. In the first few hours our towing cable parted twice, and after the second time, I signalled the trawler asking permission to carry on under our own power. The answer was 鈥淵es, if we could keep up with them鈥�. That wasn鈥檛 difficult because, having a barge in tow, they were keeping down to about three or four knots, and we could do six or seven. We eventually arrived at a Naval establishment in Sheerness, Kent, and once again went into camp, here the First Lieutenant informed me and about seven other A/B鈥檚 that we could go in for promotion. The next fortnight we were under the charge of a Chief Petty Officer, and it was like being back at school Came exam day, and we all passed, and were then Leading Seamen Coxswains, Special Combined Operations, 6th LBV Flotilla. My barge was L.B.V.43, and I took over the crew that was already on her. Once again we were on our way, this time to what was to be our last base with the barges; Langston Harbour, Hayling Island, near Portsmouth.

Here we were joined with the 5th Flotilla and we stayed together from then on.

There were other camps on the Island, Navy, Army and Air Force, so our long stay there was quite enjoyable. A football team was formed, which I was fortunately part of. I remember our Centre Forward was a young Scot by the name of Dave Lapsley. After the war he: turned professional for St. Mirren, and Captained them when they won the Cup, somewhere about 1950. So plenty of sport, home leave every month, manoeuvres with barges, a nice club just outside of camp, and the months went by pretty fast.

Early in May, 1944, we knew that the big day was drawing near, because we were sent to Southampton Docks to load up. On the way back I felt as if I was in.: charge of a floating bomb, as a good percentage of our cargo was ammunition and aviation spirit.

Back in Langstone Harbour to await the day, June 5th, and all the Coxswains were mustered in the Commanding Officer鈥檚 Wardroom to be briefed. We were to sail that night, I think it was 2300 hours (11.00 p.m.). We were given our positions in line ahead. If anyone broke down, he was to be left; if anyone fell overboard he was to be thrown a lifebelt and left. We must not divert from our course. We were to go out to the Northern end of the Isle of Wight, there to drop anchor, and wait for the other flotillas joining us from their bases.

At 2300 hours engines were started, moorings slipped, and one by one we slipped out of harbour. The night was black, the sea was rough, and my position was behind my mate, Doug Wafker. Once outside, I disobeyed my first order. The barges when loaded, were very heavy on the steering. In the rough weather they were murder, and Doug was having trouble. He couldn鈥檛 keep on a straight course. To follow him was almost impossible, so I went past him, 鈥榓nd carried on. Reaching the rendezvous鈥� point, we dropped anchor, and went below to make a pot of coffee, when I nearly got it knocked out of my hand by a terrific bump. I shot on deck to find my mate Doug alongside. He wanted to hang a rope on to me, to save dropping his own weight. The crafty bugger knew I had a good anchor. I let him do it and got a few nasty remarks from my seamen, because I had to pay out more chain to hold us both, and it was hard work getting it in again.

At last, getting towards dawn, the Commanding Officer came round on his motor fishing vessel, and through his megaphone, bellowed out 鈥淲eigh anchor, and take up positions Needless to say Doug was away long before we had our anchor up. Eventually we were in position, it was breaking dawn, and we had our first view of the armada. Two long columns of vessels, well apart; trawlers in front towing the oil, water, and engineering barges, the rest of us strung out behind.

And so we were on our way. All through the day we slugged along, and the weather was so bad we couldn鈥檛 get a warm drink made in the forecastle. And, if I remember right, all we had to eat was cheese sandwiches.

I had been on the go since 6 a.m. on the 5th, and it was now late at night on the 6th. Steering these barges, as I have already said, was hard work, 鈥榓nd so far I hadn鈥檛 dare trust. either of my seamen with the wheel, because even though we were mostly battened down, there was a space aft, which was open, blocked in only by a portable bulkhead, and to get crosswise to the weather could have resulted in us being swamped. But later on that night, I was so tired I just had to take a chance. I ordered full鈥� speed ahead, and told the lads I was going right up between the first two trawlers, and leave them to it. I knew they would lose ground, as their inexperience meant the course they steered would not be a straight one, I knew it was dangerous, and I also knew I might be in trouble, but I was so tired I didn鈥檛 care. I said, 鈥淵ou can go round in circles if you wish, but just give me an hour or so. Keep the trawlers in sight, and when they start leaving you, wake me up.鈥� With that, I dropped into the forecastle and collapsed on the floor, duffle coat and all.

The next I knew was one of the seamen was kneeling at the hatch shouting, 鈥淭here鈥檚 a barge broke down, and the coxswain wants to know if you鈥檒l take him in tow I flew up on deck and got the shock of my life. The only thing in sight was two barges astern of us, and neither of them belonged to our flotilla. One of them was just wallowing about, but the engines were going on the other one, so why they wanted me to do the towing, I have no idea. However, they would have the same orders as me concerning that so I just ignored them. I was more concerned with my own plight. I tore a strip off the seamen for not keeping an eye on the trawlers as I had instructed. The weather was calmed somewhat, but there was a strong tide running, and to be honest, I hadn鈥檛 a clue which way to head. That is, until I remembered something. A few days before we left Langston Harbour, each coxswain was issued with a chart. On this chart, Lt. Smith had marked out our course, allowing for wind, tide and our approximate speed, so that should we get lost, we could look at the chart, and hopefully know where we were at any given time.

The day before we left, two kitchen barges joined us, each with a Junior Officer on board. Class discrimination prevailed, and my friend Doug, and I, had to give up our charts, and in their place we received a piece of paper from a notebook, with the course scribbled on. I mentioned earlier about my respect for Lt. Smith as a Navigating Officer, and now here was the test. I checked with my watch, against the times on the piece of paper, and came up with the answer that we must be on the last lap. I don't remember the course marked for that last lap now, but I jumped in the wheelhouse, rang full speed ahead both, checked my compass, and off we went, fingers crossed and tongue in cheek. Good old Smithy After about an hour鈥檚 slogging, I picked up a small buoy with a flag on, and thought This could be the channel cleared by the minesweepers. Sure enough, a short while later, along came the Motor Fishing Vessel, with the Officer in Charge 鈥榓board. It was nice to hear his voice over鈥� the megaphone, 鈥淚鈥檝e been looking for you.鈥� I said something back, but not loud enough for him to hear He ordered me to carry straight on and drop anchor among the rest. Finally, we arrived in Normandy, and what a sight The sea was littered with barges, coasters, and nearly every kind of warship. On the beach we could see the defences that the Germans had built; crossed timbers, like stacked rifles in the sand; barbed wire, and quite a few of our own small assault craft which had landed our Marines and Commandoes the previous morning. Several of the warships were belting shells inland over the heads of our troops, who were well and truly pushing the Germans back. Once again, we dropped anchor and got the coffee pot on, and once again, came that voice again through the megaphone 鈥淟.B.V.43, make your way to Queenie Red Beach immediately.鈥� The length of beach that had been cleared of obstacles was marked off in sections: Queenie Red, Queenie White, Queenie Blue, and so on. Up anchor and on to the beach, and once again.., trouble. As we backed we fouled something. Down with the ramp, out with the false bulkhead, and the sappers swarmed on board and started unloading. The beach, by this time, was full 鈥榦f barges, and as soon as we were high and dry, the German planes swooped down, and machine鈥攇unned the whole length of the high water line, but were soon driven off by the Army anti鈥攁ircraft guns ashore, and the warships. But that wasn鈥檛 all, way up the coast, the Germans had a big gun, under cover, and every time the beach was full they peppered us with shrapnel shells. These, when they hit, made a hole about one foot in diameter, then disintegrated, and, believe me, they scored plenty of hits. The destroyers and gun boats were patrolling up and down the coast, but couldn鈥檛 locate it because it was so well concealed the flashes could not be seen. I think, in the end, our paratroopers dug him out. The German 鈥榩lanes also scored a hit on a large ammunition dump just over鈥� the bank top, this went up like a volcano.

As soon as I could I got on the beach to see what we had fouled. It was some beach defence (iron girders) that had been overlooked. The rudder鈥� was badly damaged, and the stabilizer bent double, luckily the propellers had escaped. So here I was again, no steering, but this time I had plenty of power, and direct touch with the stokers, so it didn鈥檛 stop me carrying on.

We were living on iron rations, all tinned stuff, and biscuits, and I don鈥檛 mean sweet biscuits. These were supposed to take the place of bread, and boy, were they hard. Anybody with false teeth had to dunk them in their tea. I remember one day the officer coming round in his boat with an issue of white bread. Two 1 lb. loaves for each crew; imagine that between six of us, about three slices each, but it was. luxury. On the beach head, there was a row of houses, and one day while waiting for the tide a few of us went exploring. They had been evacuated in a hurry, and were still fully furnished. We didn鈥檛 do any looting, but in one was a lovely piano. At the time, I used to be able to knock out a tune or two, so we 鈥榓ll settled down to a sing song, until some spoil sport mentioned that it might be booby trapped. I鈥檝e never left a piano so quick. Another day, we thought it would be safe to have a walk into the village, about a mile inland. Most of the villagers were still there, but so were the Royal Marine Military Police. A big sergeant came up and asked who was the senior rating, and what we were doing there. I said I was and we were just taking a walk. He was on me like a ton of bricks, 鈥淭ake this lot, and get back to your barges where you belong.鈥� You don鈥檛 argue with guys like that. Another time we were on the beach, me and another coxswain walked further along to another barge where we knew one of the crew was a hairdresser, we had a haircut at the same time as the Germans were giving us their usual bombardment. When we got back, one of my crew was missing, he didn鈥檛 turn up by tide time so I had to go off without him. I kept it quiet for another trip, hoping he would turn up; when he didn鈥檛 I had to report it. I was naturally upset, because as the officer said, if he鈥檇 cleared off because of the gunfire he would be in serious trouble. However, it turned out O.K., two days later we got some mail. There was a letter for me from Nottingham, it appears my seaman was on deck when a shell landed near our barge, and his leg got in the way of a piece of shrapnel. He fell on the beach, crawled over the top, and the Army picked him up and shipped him back to England and into hospital. I never saw him again.

We had a hair-raising experience later on, on a new stretch of beach which had been cleared, and I was the first barge on it, about noon one day. We were unloaded in the afternoon, and waiting for the next tide, about midnight. Just before we floated, a small coaster came head on to the beach about twenty or thirty feet on my port side. She wasn鈥檛 on long before one of the shrapnel shells hit her. The crew swarmed down ropes, and ran like hell. No wonder, she was carrying about 500 tons of ammunition, and it went off. The night was lit up like Guy Fawkes Night, and bullets were screaming all over the place. I had to ask for two volunteers to crawl out of the forecastle, along the deck away from the coaster, drop down below and start the engines. The two stokers went, and I followed, scrambled into the wheelhouse and rang full ahead. I couldn鈥檛 risk anyone on deck to get the anchor in. I dragged it off into deep water, well clear, and then we all breathed easier. That was about the last landing I made, by this time the land forces had captured the ports, and the supply ships were able to go straight in. Quite a few of our squadron of barges were out of commission, and the rest of us were ordered further down the coast where the Americans had landed 鈥� Omaha and Aromanches Beach, there to hand over our barges to make another flotilla up, while we came back to pick up some more. That was the last we saw of the barges because with the capture of the French ports, we weren鈥檛 needed any more.

So it was back into camp on Hayling Island, and the first night back I think I was more afraid than at any moment I spent on the beaches at Normandy.

I had just gone to bed when one of the dreaded 鈥淏uzz Bombs鈥� came over. It was the first one I鈥檇 heard and my heart turned over, pity the poor beggars that had to listen to them night after night.

The first few days back in camp we were short of food, one of the officers told us on the quiet that the reason was because at least half of us were not expected back, nice thought

I was soon on my way. to Scotland for more training on a different kind of landing craft to go out east and help against the Japanese, but luckily for me, I was on my way to the troopship when the atom bomb was dropped on Hiroshima. I still went, but the war was over then, so I was in the sunshine for six months, and then home for good. But I never forgot those barges, they did a damn fine job, and looking back now, I can say I鈥檓 glad I had the pleasure of serving on them.
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Added by: Alan Brigham - www.hullwebs.co.uk

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