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Ted Power has written a book — waiting to be published at the moment — about his experiences during the war as an ARP driver, his time aboard the HMS Balta and HMS Rosevean. Here are some of the moving first hand tales he offered to Steve Murphy to be reproduced for this project.

We were steaming in line ahead for the first hundred miles or so on our return to Colombo harbour, HMS Balta leading, HMS Benbecula gradually drawing abreast in this friendly race between the two Skippers. Sister ships identical in every detail of construction, this was more a test of the crews than of the ships. This day the ocean was treating us to a most benign blue sea, flat as the proverbial pancake and clear to an astonishing depth. A submarine on the move would have been visible way, way down from lookout position in an aircraft.
There was me, sweaty backside in shorts clamped to the spotless white towel hygienically covering the Asdic stool, earphones clamped uncomfortably over my perspiring head but sometimes being removed for mopping up operations. I am just starting my second hour of watch with only about ten miles to go to harbour, rum, rest and recuperation.
Then away out to starboard, Benbecula’s port bow begins to edge forward as her Captain begins his overtaking run. In Balta’s engine room Chiefy is all set to wind up the revs to make our ship forge ahead at Lt. Pontin’s order.
But I’ve got a contact. Suddenly, slightly to port of Balta and toward the sandy, curving coastline, I’ve got a distinct ‘Pip’ echo in my headphones. It’s a very small object and so very difficult to hold within the tiny arc of Asdic transmission at that range, closest concentration is needed for keeping in contact, to come at a positive identification before reporting it. In my sweaty seat, not yet sure of the source of this echo, I’m keeping close tabs on it and saying nothing. If it is moving, it’s also a metal object moving generally in the same direction as Balta but much more slowly, yet I can’t hear any engine or prop sounds. Best to report it anyway. Captain might want to investigate.
‘Echo bearing red 35, sir! range one thousand yards!’
All those on the bridge are watching Benbecula, as she was gradually forging ahead, they now swing disbelieving heads. Everyone aboard is looking to make top speed into harbour for a couple of days R and R, and here’s bloody Able Seaman Power clapping a stopper on it!
‘What have you got there, Power?’ asks the Captain coming into the hut.
‘Not sure sir, seems too small to be a submarine yet it’s on the move and going our way.
‘Right, stay in contact and let me have a report when you have something definite.’ He then called down the voice pipe to the engine room for reduced revs and tells the officer of the watch we were going to have a closer look.
Then I’d lost the echo! I’m hotter now, around the collar, and about to report ‘Lost contact’ when suddenly I get another echo where before there was nothing. The blighter had altered course!. Now speeding up transmissions and moving the Oscillator one degree of arc each time I can get the extent of target. It’s about seventy five feet long and its speed constant. So it wasn’t just a playful great whale, as in that hot flush of discomfort I’d begun to suspect; this little blighter just had to be mechanically driven. Now confident enough to ignore misgivings I reckoned the crafty little so-and-so was, must be, a midget submarine which begs another question - WHERE’S THE PARENT SUB THAT BROUGHT IT?
No time now for that. It certainly wasn’t anywhere in our neighbourhood.
‘Target shift sir.’ I reported and gave the coordinates and my assessment of the
target echo.
While Benbecula thundered on for Colombo, fresh provisions, mail and shore leave, Balta commenced attack procedure.
‘Ted Boy’ I told myself, ‘Do yourself a favour. Speculate not. Say nothing about parent submarines. Best to let officers draw their own conclusions.’
By now the target was fairly close inshore and running generally parallel with it toward Colombo harbour perhaps intending to slip in through the boom defence while its open for Balta?
I’d managed to lock onto to it again, despite some baffling back echos from submerged jetsam, and reckoned it might be a good idea this time to get more positive data before confirming the target to our Captain. It was of the right size, shape, molecular construction and evil intent as a midget submarine but, not being able to see it, I’d no justification for this opinion beyond long experience at the Asdic controls.
‘Target’s a midget submarine, sir.’ This to the officer of the watch standing nearby. The Captain heard and came in from the fore bridge.
‘What’s this, Power?’
‘Midget sub, sir, I believe.’
‘How sure are you? There’s very little depth over there.’
‘Yes sir, but the echo is firm and clear, extent of target about right, now moving left to right.’
‘What’s the extent of target?’
‘Seventy five feet, sir.’
‘Put it on the speakers.’ Ordered the Captain; and moved outside to the officer of the watch, his binoculars trained on the target location range.
Ron now appears beside me and wants to know ‘What the devil are you playing at? We’re almost in!’
Keeping my attention on the matter in hand I silently pointed to the speaker system and let him find out from listening; I’m happier keeping the earphones on......
I heard the captain give the order to set charges to fifty feet and go straight in to the attack. He warned the engine room to expect some hefty thumps and vibrations.
Then the clang of alarm bells and the urgency of swift activity as all hands rushed to action stations. The ship throbbed with increased vibration and urgency again as Balta moved in for the attack at her four minutes per sea mile (2000 yards) absolute emergency top speed!.
This was one really crazy exciting attack. A depth charge set to explode at fifty feet fires about twelve seconds after reaching the water, say fifteen seconds max from dropping off our stern platform. Depth charges launched from our port and starboard throwers would take longer, of course, being fired fairly high into the air to achieve the trajectory that would bring them far out, one on each beam, before descending to the water; but I doubted we’d be using the throwers on this small target, and the kill zone so near the surface. That zone today would only become a killer if I got ‘instantaneous echos’ firing point right and the depth charge handlers aft let go at the optimum moment as we closed in for the drop.
Each depth charge dropped on this target would be set to explode its four hundred pounds of amatol practically on the sea bed, very close to and preferably just below the target.
We came over the target as I called ‘INSTANTANEOUS ECHOS’ and spun the oscillator through 180 degrees to transmit dead astern as we passed over the target. I whipped off the headphones so as not to get ear drums burst as the charges exploded, just in time to hear the quick ping-ping as Mr Long pressed the button sending the firing signal aft to the depth charge crew.
They dropped two simultaneously, one from each rail.
The Skipper swished up his binoculars, looking avidly aft at the sea for where the gigantic spouts of up-blasted water would appear. He wasn’t disappointed; and didn’t need binoculars either! An almighty thump beneath the keel lifted Balta like
she was a paper boat and he found himself suddenly staggering across the bridge platform as the two explosions smashed their way skyward uncomfortably close to our stern. Before he could utter what his mouth was trying to say the ship crashed down again with a turbulence of very warm sea water carrying sand, dead fish and bits of many other objects, unidentifiable odds and sods as they descended. Everyone on the bridge got tossed about a bit. Including the Captain, who had now recovered balance and was firmly planted on two feet. Yours truly was still clinging fearfully to the Asdic binnacle.
‘What the hell was that?’ cried Bunts as he struggled to extricate his arm from a signal halyard, ‘a flipping torpedo!?’
It was all over in less than a minute, yet the noise of the explosions and the descent of vast quantities of water on the ship was incredible.
The Captain slowed and turned the ship onto the reverse course to take a looksee as we re-entered the drop zone.
‘Nothing, Sir.’ I reported in answer to his question.
‘Sweep the area again when we turn back into it, Power.’
‘Aye, aye, Sir.’ I moved the oscillator as he turned to speak to Sub Lieutenant James.
‘Get a boat down, Sub’ he ordered, ‘and see what you can find in the flotsam that might confirm a Japanese underwater craft; and you might as well get some fish while you’re at it, there’s plenty to choose from on the surface by the look of it.’
The boat was gone a long time and I found nothing on or in the water within a mile of our position apart from our sea boat.
‘Right, carry on normal sweep.’ He ordered.
Mr James brought back bits of soggy clothing and what looked like a hand made decorated bamboo cane. Whatever it was would be scrutinised by experts when we got in to harbour.

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