大象传媒

LIFE ON A FLOWER CLASS CORVETTE

1. SMOKED OUT

In the autumn of 1942 Escort Group B4 was moored in the harbour of St Johns Newfoundland having handed over the westbound convoy they had brought across the Atlantic to the Inshore Escort who would take it on to Halifax and the east coast ports of the US. We expected to spend perhaps two nights in St Johns repairing, refueling, rearming and reprovisioning. We also hoped to get out of the clothes we had worn all the way from Londonderry, and have a bath with a bucket of hot water

The Commander of the escort group was the Commanding Officer of the destroyer HMS Highlander. The other ships were the V and W destroyer Volunteer, the Lease/Lend destroyer Beverly, and the Flower Class Corvettes Anemone, Abelia, and Pennywort.

In the midst of all this activity we were not overjoyed to be told that the Commander of the Group was coming to inspect HMS Anemone. As soon as he arrived we were piped to action stations. My partner and I shut ourselves in the RDF (the term 鈥渞adar鈥� was not yet in use) hut - a five foot square steel box perched above the bridge. We switched on the set and made sure everything was clean and tidy before we settled down to await inspection. We waited and waited for about half an hour and eventually decided that we had been forgotten about. We got out the fags and lit up. Hardly had we had a couple of puffs when we heard steps on the access ladder. The cigarettes were hurriedly nicked and put in our pockets, I grabbed the ashtray and put it in my duffle coat pocket, and my partner attempted to waft smoke up through the hatch to the aerial lantern. By the time the Commander had undone the dogs on the door and opened it we were seated giving a good imitation of conscientious operators hard at work. The Commander sniffed, looked hard at us, scanned every surface, then got down on his hands and knees and looked under the units to inspect the, fortunately, spotless deck. He got up, looked out of the door, and shouted down to the bridge "Fire in the RDF hut. Two men overcome by smoke. Send in rescue party!"

We were dragged out of the door, bundled down the ladder, and laid out on the deck to be given painfully enthusiastic artificial respiration.

With hindsight, we can be glad that the "Kiss of Life" had not yet been invented.

2. WELL OILED
If a convoy was very slow, or there was a lot of bad weather, or there had been much U-boat activity, the escort vessels tended to run short of fuel. If there was a calm spell both in respect of weather and enemy activity, escorts might refuel at sea from a tanker that was equipped for the purpose. This was a process that was always fraught with incidents ranging from frightening to hilarious.

The procedure was for the tanker to drop a large inflatable float attached to a coir rope. (Coir rope floats.) The tanker would steam slowly ahead trailing the float. The escort, usually a corvette, would, eventually, get a grapnel over the rope and haul it and the float aboard. The tanker would then start to pay out the oil hose attached to the coir rope. Half a dozen men lined up like tug of war team on the escort's fo'csle would start to haul in the rope as the tanker paid out the hose. The difficulty was that the two ships had to be going at exactly the same speed.

On one occasion Anemone found itself traveling slightly more slowly than the tanker with the result that the tug of war team was dragged inexorably towards the rail. Unfortunately the man at the head of the line, Jake by name, had got the hawser pulled tight round his left arm, and was facing the imminent prospect of going over the side. The bosun was standing by with an axe though, obviously, Jake had horrible doubts as to whether it would be used on the hawser or his arm. Luckily Anemone started to move marginally faster, the hawser went slack, Jake was able to free his arm, and the oil hose was hauled aboard.

On another occasion all had gone very smoothly until the tanks were full and it was time to disconnect the hose. The bosun went to unscrew the connector but he was unable to move it. The First Lieutenant who was supervising stepped in close to see what was wrong. The bosun hit the lug on the connector a sharp tap with the back of his axe and the screw came loose. He gave the connector a quick twist and tug and it came away from the intake. For some reason there was still oil in the pipe at considerable pressure. It spouted up in the air like a Texas gusher and descended in a shower drenching the two unfortunates so that they were black from head to toe. It was a few seconds before their language came in to the politically correct category.

That was the last time we oiled at sea!

3. DELAYED ACTION

A few years ago while attending the annual reunion of the Flower Class Corvette Association in Leamington Spa, I was having breakfast along with four old wartime shipmates in the old Regent Hotel. An American coach party on a tour of the Shakespeare Country was also at breakfast. We noticed an old man among them talking to the headwaiter and looking our way. The waiter, who knew us well from previous years, could obviously answer his questions. The old man had a word with his companions, left his seat, and came over to our table.

He bowed to us and said, "Excuse me Gentlemen. In 1940 I was in the Belgian army. We had been driven back to the coast and were being annihilated. The British Navy came in and rescued us. I owe my life to them. For nearly sixty years, I have waited for an opportunity to express my thanks to the Royal Navy. Gentlemen, may I shake hands with you?"

We all stood up and he solemnly shook hands with each of us in turn. The whole room was silent and still while this was going on. As he returned to his seat with tears running down his cheeks, I doubt if there was a dry eye in the room.

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