大象传媒

contd. from Part 1 .....

Full speed ahead and we seemed to be in an estuary with even blacker black on both sides. The engine throbbing was all that could be heard. Then a signal light ashore flashed a message to us, in German. The Campbeltown replied, in German. We steamed on, faster and faster now. A searchlight beam fell on the Campbeltown and she replied by unfurling a simply gigantic Nazi Swastika. Seconds went by, we were getting nearer. Then a German gun fired once and we made no reply. Meanwhile we had passed the Campbeltown which had stuck on a mud flat. Then it passed us again, and then we passed it as it stuck once more. Then all hell broke loose. Searchlights by the dozen illuminated us from both sides and we became shooting targets for a huge variety of guns. At first I took cover behind a Depth Charge on the deck, but a bit of that went whizzing past my ear so I stood up. The Corporal next to me took over the rear Oerlikon gun and began firing at the lights till the Skipper came back and said not to fire any more for we wanted some ammunition to get home with.

I couldn't see anything of the big shells which must have been falling but the air was thick with tracer shells coming from all directions rather like cricket balls. You could see them coming and jump out of the way, or jump up in the air for the same reason. I turned round to see how the boat behind was getting on and found it had just disappeared bearing the Sergeant Major and the Colt he had promised me if we both got back. Ahead I saw the Campbeltown just about to move into the dock gates and here we were at the Old Mole, for all the world like a boating lake when your time is up, "Come in No.7!"

I envied Commander Beattie in the "Campbeltown," he at least was in an armoured tower while we were in wooden boats with no protection at all. We approached the east side of the Mole but as we pulled up beside it we crunched into something submerged. Meantime it was all too obvious that the Huns were still on the Mole. We pushed our ladders up against the Mole but anyone who tried to climb up fell off for the ladders were pushed out from above. Now bombs began to be rolled over on to our decks and we were all dancing about kicking them into the water. I turned round to see what was going on behind and saw a Captain of the Inskilligs Fusiliers falling off someone's shoulders. He had been trying to get a Bren Gun up to fire over the angle of the Mole by standing on a soldier's shoulders. He assured me that he had killed a man but the recoil made him fall to the deck.

Meantime the skipper judged that we were not going to manage there and reversed out and tried to get along the other side of the Mole, but the boat ahead of us was now burning fiercely, all lit up like a film river boat. As he hesitated there I saw a German soldier climb up to the Bofors type gun on what was supposed to be my medical post and load that gun I had warned about with a clip of four large shells. He was all alone but he managed to direct the gun by using two lots of wheels, one for aim and the other for elevation. Then I noticed my Red Cross armband shining white and fluorescent in the searchlights. So I took it off and stuffed it in my blouse. Then my gunner fired his clip, he was only about 25 yards away. The first shot fell into the water only ten yards away, the next was five yards away. I didn't know then what happened to the third but the fourth produced a draught as it shot by me and splashed into the water only ten yards on the seaward side of our boat.

A shout came from the water just alongside and I was able to yank a British soldier aboard and he was distressingly short of breath for his Mae West had tightened up in the water and was compressing his chest. I tried to cut it's ties with my dagger, but to no avail, then I remembered that I had a pair of scissors just for such a purpose and these gave him instant relief. Then another voice called from the water which was now licking with flames. It was Captain Burney, a very dear friend. We managed to lock our hands but then the boats propellers gave a great surge in reverse and our hands were torn apart because of the oily water.

And now my medical sergeant came up to me and said "Do you know, sir, we have wounded below." I lost my cool and said that we shouldn't be worrying about that but should be on land and in that blockhouse which was firing at us. I looked to see what the skipper was doing but he seemed to be busy enough so I went below to deal with the wounded there. Happily the lights still worked and I was able to check that none needed immediate care. As I had dressed my first casualty I was rising to go to the next when the boat gave a great lurch and I was thrown off balance kicking the poor casualty on the head.

When I was free of wounded I looked out of a hole in the side of the ship to see what was happening and saw we were moving fast and in a zig zag fashion down river in clouds of smoke. The skipper had spotted not so bright areas on either side of the searchlights and by travelling in these we were not being hit anymore. By the time I got back on deck we had left the harbour and were racing for the open sea. I could tell him that we had eight casualties, no dead and none all that serious. We continued grimly with our run for the open sea. Now another ML joined us, and together we made for the centre of the Atlantic.

It was now about 2 am. There was little moonlight but the phosphorescence was such that on deck I could read the "hatches matches and dispatches "from the Daily Telegraph. But creeping up from behind came a shape, always following our course and it's bow wave getting nearer and nearer. Before we opened fire on it we found that it was another of our ships, a motor gunboat, and it too joined our little fleet of three ships out of the 19 which had been there an hour ago.

On and on we went, due westwards and as the first greyness of dawn made itself felt, we saw ahead of us two major warships on the horizon at full tilt and all their guns firing. This is it, we all thought, and we threw overboard all maps and code books and paperwork while we waited for the shells to fall on us. I went below to tell my wounded that they mustn't put too much air in their Mae Wests or I couldn't get them through the hatch. Then I heard an English voice on a loud hailer asking where the rest of us were. I stuck my head up to see our two destroyers of the Hunt Class, HMSs Atherstone and Tynedale. I was arranging to transfer my wounded when they just picked up speed and disappeared towards France and we were left alone in the Atlantic, with no maps and no charts.

Feeling neglected we agreed that we should now head North and try to find England. Little did we know but we had passed Finisterre by a bare 25 miles. From behind now came a Messerschmitt 109. He circled to have a good look and then began his dive to machine gun us from behind. But we fired before he did and he just flipped over and dived into the sea on our Starboard side without visible sign of a splash even. We didn't try to pick him up.

Soon a huge four engined bomber appeared. He too circled us respectfully from a distance, climbed and began his bombing run from behind. Some of our chaps fired and it was only too obvious that he was too high for our poor armament. So he took his time and slowly we watched as his bomb doors opened and then the bomb began it's descent. I watched it for a brief period and couldn't stand it, but the skipper was watching it all the way down. All I felt was a thump from behind. He had missed and we surged on. The bomber than left us for his home. Probably he had just run out of bombs.

Then as we sailed on my skipper asked me how I felt and would I like to try a jump on to one of the other craft who wanted a doctor, not that they were bleeding so badly but that their wounded couldn't pass water. There was a swell estimated at between 15 and 30 feet, but he pulled his ship up behind the other craft and I threw my haversack on board. That landed safely and after a number of hesitations I jumped too and landed flat on my face but on the deck. I sorted out their problems and then the remaining craft wanted me too.

Again in the heavy swell I repeated the manoeuvre but this time as I landed I was met by Commander Boyle who got me firmly by the chest and nearly put his fist through my thorax in the process. When I got my wind back I found that one of his chaps was dying and told him so. He was a bit unpleasant when I said I had no blood with me and I reminded him that the plan was to get our wounded on the destroyers which had deserted and all I had was what I could carry. We thought we might be near the Scilly Isles so I was allowed to break wireless silence and request an ambulance and hospital attention there.

It must have been about 6 o'clock in the morning now and ahead of us was a Convoy going up channel without any protection of Air Force or Navy. Our own or German? We couldn't make out so we adopted an arrowhead formation and closed on it, guns at the ready. We approached the rearmost huge tanker as it steadily chugged up the Channel. At it's stern a sailor was busy hanging out his underwear to dry in the breeze. We asked him where we were and he pointed due North and said he could see Falmouth from his point of vantage. So we steamed due North, and soon we were entering Falmouth Bay none of us with any fuel left.

The many ships in harbour dressed their decks and blew their hooters in delight. So those of us who could still stand went on deck and dressed our battered ships too, But then Boyle handed me a wireless message he had just received. Sadly I had to order all my chaps below and they didn't like that at all, but orders is orders. By now my one sailor had died. As we tied up in harbour Brigadier Laycock came down the steps in the harbour wall and shouted at me "You, Captain! Where are your prisoners?" Only then did I notice that my Red Cross armband was still in my blouse, so I put it on again and referred him to another officer.

Soon a couple of ambulances drove down to receive us. All our chaps made loud booing noises, which naturally the airmen didn't understand till we told them that the RAF had been a total washout in our experience, noticeable only by their almost total absence. The only medical person on land was a crisply starched and very officious VAD girl, who told me that the doctors would not be out of bed yet. It was about 9 a.m. Now we had been ordered not to shave so as to save water and I had about three days growth on. She took me to one side and said " Doctor. You haven't shaved!"

We went by bus to Plymouth to see the rest of our chaps who had come home on the destroyers and then by train back to Ayr, where I marched my sorry little Commando of 3 officers and 25 men from the station back to our H.Q. for debriefing. The people of Ayr stood in the streets and the women wept as we marched. They remembered us as the rumbustuous 400 they had learned to live with for months. We all got a week's leave, the Navy got a month and more.

Of course you know that the ship blew up about four o'clock that afternoon but a great mystery remains unsolved. At our briefing the Navy assured us that blow up she would for they had put fuses on the explosives which would detonate at two hours after she struck, at 4 hours after, and at six hours after and just to sure another which would blow up at 8 hours after. But she went in about 01.00 hrs.. At dawn she was still there. Soon after an RAF Mosquito made a very quick reconnaissance and confirmed she was lying in the dock gates.

The Huns were jubilant. The stupid English had boobed again. The vessel could be pulled into deep water quite easily. So all the top brass in the area came and brought their wives to see this strange vessel. The ship was packed with Huns when up she went. 15 hours after! Now don't ask me how that happened. But I met a German at St. Nazaire in 1982 who was in the town when it blew up, and he could remember the bang and the limb of some person landing in the street beside him. He dearly wanted to get on to the Royal Yacht, but our seniors would have none of that.

Sitting in the mess at Plymouth trying to get through to my wife in Catterick the other surviving captain and myself got a breathless message to get on the phone at the guard room, and quick. A Mr. Winston Churchill was on the line. Sadly I had to surrender to the Infantry officer who had a chat with the Great Man, who wanted to know what had gone wrong. When told that the RAF had failed to show up at all, he nearly exploded.

When it was all over, no less than five Victoria Crosses were awarded. Lots of D.S.Os. and M.Cs. and D.S.Cs. etc. etc., but not one sausage for the troops who got back. At least they did get back to live to fight another day, indeed for many other days.

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