大象传媒

I was 22 when I went to Liverpool in November 1942 to become one of 90 sardines in the tin can the Admiralty called HMS Burwell.
First commissioned in 1917 as the USS Laub this four-funnelled destroyer displaced 1200 tons and was one of 50 First World War vessels turned over to the Royal Navy in 1941 by the late President Roosevelt. A gift by a great man to a nation in distress, the Burwell was rusty, obsolete, and practically useless, but qualified nevertheless for the title of "the luckiest ship afloat"!
It took nine months to get her clear of Liverpool where she rested at one time or another in nearly every dry dock in the place!
Assailed by a Navigating Officer whose mishaps would have ruined the insurance company for which he worked in peace time, the Burwell eventually limped into Tobermory in the Hebrides for working-up trials, and thence to Londonderry to assume escort duties in the North Atlantic.
The degree of protection afforded allied merchant ships by the Burwell was by any standards minimal.Her main armament was an ancient 4 inch gun, and on the only occasion I recall this fearsome weapon being discharged, every light in the ship went out, the cockroaches went raving mad and we sprang leaks all over the place!
The Asdic (anti-submarine detector device) failed to function more times than I've had hot dinners, whilst the black smoke belching from the ship's four funnels could be seen for miles away.
It requires little imagination, therefore, to realise that my term as Visual Signalman aboard the Burwell was something of a hair-raising experience, and what follows is the little known story of,thankfully,her last operational voyage.
In the Spring of 1943, the British 1st and 8th Armies had Rommel by the throat and were poised to clear North Africa altogether of all Axis forces. So it was on a day in April of that year, a convoy of 47 merchant ships, with the Burwell in it's escort, formed up off the coast of Northern Ireland and sailed out into the Atlantic bound for Algiers.
It was apparent from the outset that the Burwell was to be more of a liability than an asset, as evidenced by the signal received from a Flower Class corvette attempting to track down a U-Boat, in reply to our message "Can we help?" came back the witticism "Can the blind lead the blind?"

On the outward journey the Burwell broke down twice, and on the second occasion, according to Admiralty intelligence, it's position was uncomfortably near to reported U-Boat packs. For four hours, with the convoy disappearing over the horizon, we were a sitting duck, while the Engineer Officer and his Chief Tiffy worked below to coax some response from the Burwell's clapped out engines.
When we finally reached Gibraltar, the old tub seemed to emit one last despairing gasp, after which she refused to function for another week.
By this time, of course, the Burwell had been detached from the convoy and our skipper subsequently received secret orders to proceed to the Azores, 1200 miles to the west. None of the ship's company knew the object of this mission, of course,and as Signalman I was pressed to find out what was going on.
On the third day out I saw the islands appear on the Navigating Officer's chart, and by referring to a Pears Encyclopaedia found that they were indeed Portuguese.
This was an area of intense U-boat activity, and the Portuguese destroyers based there were kept busy picking up survivors from torpedoed merchant shipping.Although pro-British, Portugal was nevertheless neutral during World War 2 and so - in accordance with international law- all survivors were placed in internment camps for the duration.
I mention this because on arrival at Ponta Delgada on the island of Sao Miguel we went alongside for fuel and water. I was on the bridge at the time and was the first to see a ragged army of survivors meandering through the pineapple groves bent on seeing the first British ship to call there for months.
There were Cockneys,Taffies,Jocks,Paddies, Yanks and Laskars - the lot;all craving for a packet of Woodbines and news of the war. They got both too. The ship's company had a whip round and gave away the entire NAAFI stock of cigarettes.
When we sailed next morning, however, still unaware of our final destination, we found 37 stowaways on board. Where they'd been hiding I'll never know, but you couldn't swing a cat on the mess deck!
When the skipper found out he was furious as the stowaways seriously embarrassed him. He was due to re-enter Portuguese territorial waters again in 8 hours time at Horta on the island of Fayal, the main Portuguese Naval Base in the Azores. He harangued the crew saying there would be an international incident; but you could tell his heart wasn't in it.
We entered Horta at around 6 pm and were surprised to see a 14,000 ton British merchant ship at anchor there. This was the new refridgerated meat ship, the SS Horarata, torpedoed on her maiden voyage from New Zealand to Liverpool. She'd been patched up by the Portuguese to enable her to get home, but her compass equipment had been destroyed and it was this the Burwell had brought out from Gibraltar.
While the compass gear was being transferred,a Portuguese Naval barge cut it's way across the harbour towards the Burwell. It seemed obvious that the news was out and the stowaways were about to be taken back into custody.
There was only one remedy available to the skipper in such an emergency - gin and angastura bitters! With due naval dignity the Portuguese Commodore was piped aboard and wheeled straight down into the Burwell's Wardroom.
When he and his Flag Lieutenant re-appeared two hours later they both had the glazed and happy look all customers wear when when leaving the pub at closing time. Supporting each other unsteadily they fell into their barge and made their way contentedly back to shore for a late dinner.
At that instant both the Burwell and the Horarata weighed anchor and went like the proverbial clappers heading for home. However, this frantic burst of activity proved a bit too much for the Burwell, as she broke down three times on the way back to Blighty, forcing the crippled merchant ship to circle and wait for her escort!
When we finally parted company off Lough Foyle I read the following ironic signal from the Horarata " Very many thanks for your protection!" This amused me so much it nearly cost me 7 days stoppage of leave for laughing on the bridge!
Our skipper never did have a sense of humour! But at least the stowaways got home anyway, and they all went back to sea again as far as I know, although whether they all survived the war in their circumstances I will never know.
As for the Burwell, well she was like I am getting now, a bit passed it,so they gave her a quiet number up the Clyde for the rest of the war. After all, you can't go on for ever, can you?

Albert E. Owen (ex-Leading Signalman RN)

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