大象传媒

It was "top secret", the Commander explained, "and when you go on leave it must not be spoken of even to your wife or relatives". He was speaking of the posting of the RNVR Sub-Lts. who had been appointed to bring over the 50 American First War destroyers, a deal jointly negotiated between Churchill and President Roosevelt of the USA for use by our hard- pressed navy. This was more than a feather in the cap of one " Wavy Navy" or " fifty shilling sailor", who in the early days were still proving their worth. I was to be given destroyer experience, until required, on HMS Esk, one of a fast minelaying flotilla based on the Humber. We attended a briefing about the hand-over, the US Navy and its differences - I remember it was mentioned that their ships were "dry" and that they had a more informal attitude and discipline, and so on - reference was also made to our part as ambassadors. America had not entered the war and had to be seen as neutral. Entering the war and building her Navy into the mighty force it became was quite some way into the future. We could look forward to a good time whilst we were over there, and were given a few days leave before joining the destroyers.

Fate had something quite different in store for me, a fate which to Naval personnel at that time was one chance in thousands. Being sunk was an expected hazard; being taken prisoner was an ignominious fate that could only be imagined in fiction. In truth it became a fact.

Late one afternoon in early September the flotilla moved quietly out of the dock and proceeded down the estuary, past the familiar landmarks to the open sea and an easterly course. The low coastline soon dropped astern as we speeded towards the Dutch coast. Our air escort came into view and stayed with us until dark, then we were on our own. Quite a swell was running, it was very dark, and I was on the quarterdeck with the mines almost ready for laying. It was about 2300 hours when we heard a violent explosion coming from the "Express" on our starboard bow. We reduced speed and as the smoke cleared we could see her outline in the darkness, rolling in the swell with her forward section from the bow to the bridge blown off. The noise of escaping steam and her wailing siren as we went to her aid was cut off by a huge explosion which enveloped us, throwing me into the well of the after gun. It was a mortal blow for the ship and she took a heavy list to starboard, lifting one of the mines standing on the short loading rail and pitching it into the scuppers. I waited for oblivion. I picked myself up still in one piece. We were now sinking. There was a further explosion; three of us had been hit in quick succession. Much happened in the short time before sinking stern first with the weight of the mines and settling on the bottom. I made my way forward to contact the bridge when there was a further explosion, bringing down mast, funnel and other top-hamper. This convinced me that it was time to depart. I took one of the last life-jackets, which had lost its securing tapes. If I jumped into the water I might break my neck, so I whipped off my duffle coat and fastened it over the top of the life-jacket to hold it down. The ship had taken a terrific list and was on her beam. Oil covered the decks and I had to crawl on all fours. I spent frantic minutes clambering foot by foot to the weather rail. Her stern was going under - I jumped off the wreck and surfaced in thick oil. I turned on my back to see the bow slowly rising higher, pulling me towards it and seeming to bear down on me. I swam frantically to get distance between us. She slid down amid an almighty commotion, spouting water, steam and smoke, with a stricken roar, and seemed to rest with a few feet of her bow above the water. I swam towards an empty Carley float which I could see silhouetted in the dark. The oil was terrible and painful to the eyes. A black oily apparition was already climbing onto the float. My cork jacket stopped me getting in until a hefty heave landed me headfirst into oil slopping in the float. Soon, many blackened forms arrived and we were soon overloaded with many more hanging on the beckets outside. The overloaded float was submerged to our life-jackets with every wave washing over us. To keep the weight in the centre on the crest of a steep wave I got everyone to put their heads down and pull the semi-conscious in too and avoid capsizing. Those hanging on the float outside probably helped to hold her down. Many of these dropped off during the night and drifted away. We all took it for granted that daylight would bring rescue boats and an end to our misery.

Three days later found us with hope of rescue gone. Weak with exposure, lack of sleep, food and water, our number was five. the past hours had seen shipmates fade into coma and death, others into wild hallucinations. I hoped, as we had used paddles both to keep up circulation and help our drift, we could make the shore. I was quite resigned, after bitter thoughts and regrets of life unfulfilled, parting from loved ones. An inevitability had crept into my thoughts though I felt I was strong enough to last quite a while longer. The sea was calmer and the waves no longer broke over the raft. My body felt warmer. The dawn lifted our spirits for a while. I bullied the two not on the paddles into doing arm exercises to break the apathy and get the circulation going. Soon afer sunrise I saw what seemed to be a light. This gave our paddlers new life; it seemed to be a lighthouse or beacon, but no land was visible. The Dutch coast is very low so I didn't expect to see anything from our sea-level position. We had been paddling for an hour when one of the boys looking the other way gave a feeble shout, " a ship!" Taken up with our lighthouse, we paid no attention. So frequently over the past days, especially earlier, when all the rafts were together hoping for rescue, mirages were seen in the shape of waiting boats, houses and people, not least tramcars at the terminus, which we were deliberately paddling away from. Our eyes were still stinging as oil came down from our hair onto the face. Another added pain to the general misery was the buttocks. The rope running round the top of the float, being wet, was iron hard. On this we sat, and with the constant motion of the float and the movement of the body, ceaseless night and day, one felt pulverised. The salt rubbed in no doubt ultimately helped the healing process. We searched together and agreed that it could be a real ship, and as we gazed we made out three vessels, spaced out. I assumed they must be patrol boats. The nearest, when about a mile off and abeam, seemed to be passing by. This galvanized us into frantic waving and croaking. I tried to whistle with my fingers. To our great relief she altered course towards us; we had been sighted and very soon she bore down on us. A line was thrown to us which I caught and made fast. The rescue ship still had weigh on her and we were towed alongside a rope ladder. We now found that our legs were almost useless as one by one we were hauled aboard. In peaceful days, while serving in the Merchant Navy I had met German seamen; the officers of the German Navy were trained in Merchant ships. The "brotherhood of the sea" was shown in our treatment aboard before being put ashore for a quite different reception.

I was hauled up the ladder and half carried to a messroom where we received our first food and drink - then helped to a shower room and given a glorious bath. Clad in a blanket, I was taken down a forepeak hatch to join the company of all the rest of the survivors from other rafts. The limited space was filled. I managed to find a space and must have gone straight to sleep with the last message: "for you, the war is finished". The next memory was of waking up to vibrating engines and a clattering behind the bulkhead. It was the chain locker and the ship was dropping anchor. We were given what I presumed was breakfast. Later came the noise of the chain weighing anchor and the ship was under way. We duly berthed in harbour. We lined up in deck, I dressed in my oil-soaked uniform, and I was taken by two officers to a waiting car and driven off. Later, I learned we were in Wilhelmshaven. I was put in a large room at the top of a fairly large group of buildings round a courtyard, and was indicated to get into bed. I awoke when an orderly brought in a clothes and directed me to a washroom. When I returned I got into my prison garb - a greenish Dutch Army tunic and breeches, puttees, odd socks, canvassy underwear with tapes here and there, and a pair of generous-sized boots. A doctor arrived, surveyed me from two yards, asked me a few questions in English and left. Our rescuers had cheered us up: " You will go to a hospital and pretty nurses will get you healthy".

I lost sense of date and time except to calculate when the next meagre food would arrive. Days passed in the bare room, with not a book, pencil or paper. I was truly in solitary confinement. On some days I was allowed to walk round the courtyard. An English-speaking soldier came in from time to time from his own curiosity. I later learned he too had been a prisoner of war, in China in the Boxer rebellion, for six years in which time he learned to play the violin and speak English. He said "You will be lucky and be home for Christmas. Hitler will be in London by November after the invasion which may start any day". There were frequent air raids. I learned later that our ratings, in rooms all together, went to air raid shelters. I was not allowed to see them. During the raids I was apparently to take pot luck. One or two of the raids were quite heavy; heavy naval guns seemed to be in action. It was deafening. I was interviewed at different times, for the most part fairly, with respect for one's position. A fluent English-speaking Lt.-Cdr. who had an English wife was at pains to let me know that Naval officers respected enemy combatants. He was puzzled - how could the British be so easily led by Churchill? Sensible people must see that Britain could not win.

Solitary confinement, on top of the physical and mental blows received, and with not a pencil, book or paper until the final few days, was very hard to endure. My spirits at this time were at a very low ebb.

A couple of days before transfer from Wilhelmshaven I was joined by the only other officer, Lt. R.N., to survive. Bleak as the future prospects seemed, I looked forward to getting away from this transit camp. With a room-mate and much to discuss the last days passed very quickly. At 4.30 a.m. on 18th September I packed my little box and, resplendent in my Dutch tunic, I joined the other sailors whom I had not seen since rescue. In the moonlight we marched to the station, and into a foreboding future.

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