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My father, Herbert Geoffrey Hall - Geoff Hall — was born in Macclesfield, Cheshire, in 1911, and died in retirement in North Wales in 2002, aged 90. During the Second World War he served in the Merchant Navy. He kept a diary of his experiences from which he later prepared accounts of some of the more memorable and important of these. This is his account of his involvement with the Mulberry harbour project.

Val Myers (nee Hall)

MULBERRY HARBOUR

On the 13th August 1944 we went across to the artificial harbour at Arromanches, towing a huge drum from which some miles of PLUTO (pipe line under the ocean) was being unwound to lie on the sea bed. I think about 5 pipes were laid altogether, about 120 miles long, but as alternative means of getting petrol supplies became available they were not much used.
In Arromanches it was quite remarkable; where once there had been an open beach now there were deep-water quays (whales) joined to the beach by floating causeways along which flowed a never-ending stream of 3-ton trucks. An outer breakwater had been constructed by sinking no fewer than 16 old ships on one side, and a row of huge concrete blocks, which had been sunk and filled with sand, around the rest. Suitable openings had been left so that big ships could move in and out as necessary. All this and much more had been towed over from England in the early days.
There was tremendous activity, even though the war had moved away from this beachhead. As usual, no one seemed to know why we were there or what they wanted us to do, so we tied up to one of the sunken ships the Allenbank, an old friend of mine as she had been an anti-aircraft vessel on Convoy PQ 16 to Russia. For some days we did all sorts of odd jobs and there developed a pattern of air-raid warnings each evening, when we could hear aircraft but not see anything. Raids in the daytime were more common with bombs dropped and we came to the conclusion that, perhaps, small was beautiful after all. Work after dark was difficult as the forced draught fan located in the engine room required so much air that we had to keep the door and skylights open and the strict black-out meant we could only have a very dim oil lamp below.
The harbour was surrounded by a large number of barrage balloons whose winches were stationed every few yards along the cliff edge. These were intended to deter low-flying aircraft from attacking from that direction. One night a tremendous thunderstorm developed very quickly and, although the soldiers in charge of the balloons did their best to get them down, no fewer than 40-odd were struck by lightning and destroyed. A most impressive sight, as one saw the lightning strike the gas bag which took fire and slowly crumpled and fell to earth, but at the instant of strike the wire cable from winch to balloon became incandescent and came down in a rain of molten metal. I don't wonder the troops were reluctant to approach the winches.
At this time it was customary for the laden cargo ships to anchor about 3 miles out and to come in on their own power as quay space became available, but one day a ship coming in suddenly blew up and sank, as a result of passing over an acoustic mine. Now it became apparent what was the purpose of the evening raids we had heard some days ago. Jerry had been dropping acoustic mines across the path of incoming ships. Another imponderable was that these mines could be set so that a number of ships could pass and then, the fifth, say, would trigger the explosion. So, it was then decreed that the big ships must anchor 10 miles out and on being summoned to the harbour, must shut down everything in the engine room, including the generators. We then went out, took them in tow on a long rope and set off to bring them in. In our case we set everything going full belt and then sat on the engine room skylights wearing our life jackets. There were three of us assigned to this work and two of us survived.
After a little while things quietened down as the war moved away from us. Fewer ships came here as it became possible to use the Channel ports of France. Most of the small craft disappeared and we were left as Salvage, Rescue and Fire boat of the harbour. This gave some opportunity to go ashore and three of us were having a look at Bayeux on the 23rd August, the day that Paris was liberated. We were rather surprised at the lack of emotion shown by the locals. A few handshakes, a few bits of bunting and flags. I think their feelings had been drained to the limit.
Requiring bunkers a few days later we discovered that we had to do the job ourselves, i.e. shovel some 30 tons of coal into buckets and tip it into our bunker hatch on a hot day. This, of course, was why we had a "V" on our identity cards, a pledge to do anything, anywhere, as required.
A full gale developing a little later, and we were sent to tow the Harpagos off the beach, but working in the dark in foul conditions we again got a rope round one of our propellers. This time we were able to clear the rope after much heaving and juggling with the gear. The gale continued and things started to break up in the harbour.
A fresh block ship - concrete caisson arrived, all 4,000 tons of it, and we had to assist to get it positioned and sunk where wanted. These things were hollow and once sunk were filled with sand by a dredger. The dredger than knocked a hole in her bow on some obstruction and we had to get our salvage pump to work to keep her afloat. All this took a couple of days, during which we had very little sleep as the salvage pump was mounted on the bulkhead between our accommodation and the engine room and the noise was horrific.
When we had any slack days I used to make oddments - copper tankards, fancy spoons and an engine big enough for Val to ride on, which passed the time effectively. Suddenly on 17th September we were told to tow a damaged mine-sweeper back to Portsmouth. This we did and then moved over to the Town Quay in Southampton. As we were to be there a few days I managed a quick run home. Very pleasant but not enhanced by the fact that I had to stand in the train nearly all the way back and so we returned to Arromanches.
By now the war had moved far inland and Jerry was too busy elsewhere to bother with what had now become an obsolete port. Port, did I say? The damage caused by stress of weather was becoming ever more evident and several sections were breaking up or becoming unusable. We had little to do but were treated each evening to the overflight of many of our aeroplanes and even watched the 1,000 bomber raid on Le Harvre from a distance of some 25 miles or so.
Not having enough to do the crew began to get bored and restive so we were pleased when John Martell, who was acting as Superintendent for the Company, arrived on the 3rd November with news that we were to hand over to the French next week. Of course, it didn't happen and we continued to do odd jobs whilst we waited.
Requiring bunkers once again we moved to a quay where coal was stored expecting to have to do the job ourselves. This time, however, a gang of German Prisoners were sent down and they set about the work with gusto. It was interesting to see this lot working hard and singing at the top of their voices. I asked one who spoke English why he was so happy. He explained 1) the War was nearly over 2) they were all alive and being prisoners could expect to remain so and 3) they were prisoners of the British and this was much better than being prisoners of the Russians or even the Americans.
Another item of interest was the revival of life on the French coast. The place had been devastated and I don't think our people at home realised just how deprived everybody was. Some French fishermen made their small boats seaworthy and set off to catch fish in the Channel. As there had been no fishing for some years stocks were good, but you can't keep warm on fish, so, on their way home in the early morning, they would come alongside us and barter a box of fresh fish for a bag of coal. Dover soles barely 6 hours out of the water provided some of the best fish I have ever tasted.
Arrived back in Southampton and I came to the end of another remarkable piece of history. The Mulberry Harbour in conception and achievement was almost certainly the biggest engineering feat ever accomplished. Its story has been fully written up in several books but to have played a small part in it was, to an Engineer, an extraordinary experience and although those in charge frequently seemed not to know what we had to do next, one could only conclude that the opposition must have been equally inefficient or was it simply a matter of wealth and manpower? These matters I will leave to those better qualified than I am. However, to summarise some facts about the Mulberry I quote the "Guide Heimdal" of 1980. 'To build required 45,000 men, of use for 80 days, landing about 7,000 tons per day. 60 ships scuttled, and over 200 concrete caissons built to form outer breakwater of 3.7 miles long. 33 whales led onto 10 miles of floating jetties. 164 tugs employed on the project which weighed in total 1.5 million tons. One can only admire those who could visualise so big a scheme and then have the courage to carry it out.'

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