大象传媒

The Call of the Sea

Maybe it was inevitable that I would serve in the Navy during the war. My father had been a captain in the Merchant Navy. One of the master鈥檚 privileges was to be able to have his wife and family come to live with him on board ship for lengthy periods. As a result, in my pre-school years, my mother and I joined him for voyages which sometimes lasted several months - in the Mediterranean and also to Rotterdam. In particular I remember one epic train journey to join his ship which I made with my mother from Barry in Wales to Bari at the toe of Italy. As a very small boy, I vividly remember exploring the engine room, despite the terrifying noises of the pistons. On one occasion, I was told that I had been found by my parents hanging precariously through the rail at the stern of the ship, looking down at the milky water churned up by propeller. My parents were afraid to call out to me, in case that would give me a start and I fell through the rail.

These trips stopped after my younger brother was born, but I always hankered to return to sea. As an experiment in what would today be called 鈥渁version therapy鈥�, my father arranged for me, aged 14, to spend several weeks of my summer holidays on an a trawler in the notoriously inclement Icelandic fishing grounds, working as a cabin boy. However the therapy did not work, and I returned even more enthusiastic than ever to go away to sea.

In the period leading up to the declaration of war, I and several of my teenage friends made a snap decision to join the Territorial Army the following day. However it turned out to be raining that evening, so we went to the pictures instead! It is funny to think that, if the weather had been better, I could have ended up as a 鈥淧ongo鈥� (naval slang for a soldier). I later found out that many of those who did join the Territorials in Swansea were taken prisoner in France 1940 and spent most of the war as POWs in Poland.

Later, in early 1941, while working with a Swansea flour milling company, I went to volunteer for Signal Branch of the Royal Navy. However I was told to await my call-up as there was a waiting list for trainee signalmen. I was called up later in the year. My father had already transferred from the Merchant Navy to the Royal Naval Reserve. He became a Commander (RNR) and spent much of the war as Senior Transport Officer, Iceland . Later on, my brother also joined the Navy.

Life as a Rating

I trained as a signalman (we were referred to as "bunting tossers") at HMS Impregnable, a former naval 鈥榖oys training establishment鈥�. I joined a hut of some 60 young men, drawn from every conceivable background and region. One thing which struck me was that, out of them all, it was the cockneys who seemed the most irrepressible - nothing seemed to get them down. I learned semaphore there and Morse code, using an Addis lamp. The regime was extremely tough and spartan. I remember in particular the primitive ablutions block, which had no light or heating. On the first day, I tried to shave in the dark and succeeded in cutting myself to ribbons.

My father had previously offered to recommend me for a commission, but I was determined to do it my way. There were times when I felt asking, 鈥淒ad, remember that offer?鈥�

After completing my training, I served briefly on HMS Vidette, a destroyer. Obviously my early years afloat had endowed me with good 鈥淪ea Legs鈥�. In one severe storm in the Atlantic, all the regular quartermasters were seasick and I was pressed into service, ending up lashed to the wheel for several hours - the vessel was pitching and rolling so badly that this was the only way I could physically remain at the wheel.

In another storm, a ladder became detached and fell down on top of me. I was trapped for some time under the ladder listening nervously to the sound of depth charges going off below me.

After this I was transferred to Coastal Forces, based on smaller vessels, namely several motor launches (ML), a harbour defence motor launch (HDML) and a rescue motor launch (RML).

I had one inauspicious moment while based at Newhaven. The base was at the railway station and I had to stand guard at the officers mess. I did not remember my drill properly and, when an RNR officer arrived, I not only gave a 鈥渂utt salute鈥� with my rifle, but I followed this with a conventional hand salute to my cap. He noted that I was a signalman, with only rudimentary knowledge of rifle drill, and wearily educated me on the correct drill. (Later, as an officer, I also once forgot how to give a critical order while marching the ship鈥檚 company to church parade. Eventually, in desperation, I blurted out some improvised and totally unorthodox order. After some shambling hesitation, the men eventually carried out the necessary manoeuvre.)

One of the crew on our RML at Newhaven was the son of a rum planter called Bell. The Navy was fond of nicknames, so of course he was 鈥淭inker Bell鈥�. Tinker suffered badly from nerves and was a heavy drinker. He used to buy rum rations from the other ratings for his own consumption. We received our rum rations neat, unlike on other vessels, where the rum could be watered, sometimes as much as 4:1, to prevent it being accumulated and traded on the black market.

In the run-up to the Dieppe Raid, there was a huge amount of activity at Newhaven. Because Tinker was of a nervous disposition, we used to tease him mercilessly. Every time we heard more tanks arriving, we used point this out to him in order to get a good laugh when he invariably reacted by raiding his rum supplies.

For the Dieppe Raid itself, we were sent from Dover to patrol mid-Channel, ready to pick up any airmen from downed aircraft. After we had been recalled to Dover, I and another signalman were taken to augment the signal station staff. It was very difficult for us to take signals from so many vessels arriving back from Dieppe in rapid succession. It was only later that we became aware of the full extent of the losses suffered by the (mostly Canadian) troops who had gone ashore.

There were also other lighter moments. On one occasion we were sent into Brighton beach to recover a practice torpedo which had missed its target and ended up on the shingle. Although the beach was covered with barbed wire and inaccessible, we could not resist the temptation to inform the police through a loudhailer that the torpedo had a live warhead (it did not) and we watched them scurry about clearing of the promenade. This was obviously a very silly prank, and the best I can say is that possibly it was good training for them.

Officer training

In 1942 I was one of a group of ratings identified as candidates for officer training and sent to Lancing College, which had been taken over by the Navy as HMS King Alfred. Ratings selected for officer training were known as 鈥淐W Candidates鈥� (= 鈥楥ommission Waiting鈥�). People were amused by class difference even in those days and on some ships the 鈥榩ipe鈥� would be: 鈥淗ands to dinner! CW Candidates to lunch!鈥�

Officers were not always regarded with affection by the crew - I remember then being referred to as "the pigs back aft".

Shortly after receiving my commission, I was sent to do torpedo attack training at Roedean, the famous girls public school, which had been taken over by the Navy. In the dormitories was a notice saying 鈥� If you require a Mistress in the night, ring the bell. We all hopefully rang 鈥� but without success! The current Headmistress has informed my son that one of these notices was taken by some one as a souvenir - only to be returned to her some 60 years later, doubtless when the guilt pangs got the better of him.

Further training involved attending cipher school at the Royal Naval College at Greenwich. I remember being very impressed by the hall with the painted ceiling in which we were served dinner by Wrens wearing white gloves. Our rooms were very basic - just an iron bed and a wash stand, to which a Wren stewardess brought hot water in the morning. I was intrigued by the fact that, at breakfast, the more senior officers were entitled to a special stand on which to prop up their newspapers while having breakfast. It was here that I learned never to ask for the salt to be 鈥減assed鈥�. The correct naval expression was to 鈥済ive a fair wind鈥� to the salt.

The East Coast

From early 1943 I was First Lieutenant, known throughout the Navy as "Jimmy The One", on a Motor Launch (ML) I was based at Lowestoft. Our job was often to act as stern escort the east coast convoys. which were subject to repeated E-boat attacks. One of my most striking memories from this period is of an occasion when, during a night of poor visibility, I lost sight of the last ship in the column ahead. I had a horrible sinking feeling of near panic, as we had no radar, but fortunately it was not too long before we found her again.

On other occasions, we would stop engines and drift in the middle of the North Sea, listening with hydrophones for the propellers of E-boats (not U-boats, as these were very uncommon in this area). On one occasion when we were doing this, I walked round the deck in the small hours of the morning. The forward gun was manned by a regular RN rating - to me he was an old man, already in his 30s. He was sitting perfectly still by his gun, and I suspected he might have fallen asleep. (This would have been a serious offence, although I would not have reported him). Although we were a long distance out in the North Sea, I could see in front of him a small bird perched on the bow. This was surprising given that we were so far from land. In fact he was not asleep, but was staring intently at this bird . As I passed by, the bird flew away. Moving back aft again, I was amused to hear him complain in a stage whisper "He frightened my bloody birdie away!" I suppose it is little things like this which keep people human during wartime.

On one occasion, when it was very quiet, we and another boat made fast together. Leaving one officer on watch, the other three retired to one of the small wardrooms. One played a sax, the other an accordion and I, using a biscuit tin and wire brushes, was the drummer. We used to play jazz. (Well, we had to have some relaxation from time to time while fighting a war!)

It was common then for ships to be 鈥渁dopted鈥� by different organisations who, for example, knitted balaclavas for the crews. Our ML were adopted by an Ivor Novello musical show in London called 鈥淭he Dancing Years鈥�. On one memorable occasion, we were visited by some chorus girls from the show. I don't think the ship had ever been so clean as it had been for their visit. Also, since this was only the early part of the war, some ingredients were still available, and we managed to produce some cakes to offer them.

It fell to me and the Coxswain to go to await their arrival at the station. As we stood there, I thought what an odd pair we would appear - I am 6鈥�3鈥� but the Coxn was tiny. They were truly gorgeous girls - we were rather over-awed to meet them.

Continued鈥�. [ This is the first part of Graham Rouse鈥檚 three-part story on this website; the second part, entitled 鈥淚 was Navigational Leader in D Day鈥�, has the reference A3504953. ]

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