大象传媒

The following story by Terence Robertson is out of copyright and appears courtesy of and with thanks to Mike Kemble, and Captain Frederic John Walker.

When the three ships left the scene to rejoin Tracker and her escorts, the oil had spread for a mile in all directions. It was a jubilant Walker who sent the victory signal to the Group. At noon on the 8th all the sloops had reached their Prudent Limits of Endurance and Walker ordered the force to set course for Argentia, the United States Atlantic naval base in Newfoundland, where they would refuel and provision for the return voyage. On the way, one U-boat attacked Tracker with two torpedoes from a range of about three miles and HF/DF interceptions showed at least four more in their vicinity, but the Group had insufficient fuel to carry out any hunting. And that night, they ran into the worst gale to strike the western Atlantic in living memory. For the next two days, the force was hove-to in gigantic, darkly menacing seas. Starling鈥檚 leaks became larger, her stern wiggling frighteningly as the crack in the quarter deck widened and spread. While Tracker behaved like a double-decker bus on a Big Dipper, the little sloops, battened down but leaking badly, battled night and day against the rushing rollers. To those whose duties kept them shivering on the bridge or somewhere on deck it seemed that salt water could penetrate the most tightly-wrapped scarf to irritate sore necks and trickle clammily down bare backs. Senses of humour became strained and small things assumed magnified importance. It was not funny when some optimist left open a fan inlet and the fans started to spray sea water instead of air; neither was it amusing when someone else failed to clamp down a skylight and quarts of water cascaded into swinging hammocks. Meals became regular tests of stamina, for those who could eat. It required an acrobat to sit balanced in a lashed chair and tilt a cup of soup against the bouncing of an unhelpful ship. An extra lurch would send the soup sailing into unprotected and already sodden laps. Once the meal had finished there was the constant internal movement in protesting stomachs, back and forth, up and down. Perhaps the safest were those who did without. Hammocks bumped against each other and against bulk heads; a rain of condensation showered continually from steel plates of deckheads into the fouled air of closed compartments; exhausted gun crews and bridge personnel stumbled off watch to lie down and doze restlessly as they were in soaking clothes on tables, lockers and even the hard steel deck itself. At dawn on the 10th the storm eased enough to allow the Group to proceed at about ten knots; the stinging spray had lost its zest, great seas passed under the ships instead of over them and sudden violent rolls became less frequent. Through the thinning spume and rain squalls the shattered formation began to re-appear, all with woeful tales of storm damage. Woodcock had suffered worst, one huge wave had smashed into a for鈥檃rd gun mounting with its twin guns weighing several tons, ripped it from the deck and cocked the barrels to full elevation; another had crashed against steel ammunition lockers filled with shells and tossed them overboard. It was a battered, weather-scarred and rust-stained line of ships which two days later steamed into Argentia and an unexpected welcome. On entering the harbour, the Group found themselves being feted by the United States Navy. Hundreds of naval men mixed with sturdy Newfoundlanders to cheer them in. An American dance band from the Officers Club played their signature tune, 鈥淎-Hunting We Will Go鈥�, and as soon as they had tied up dozens of newspapermen and photographers flocked on board. Walker鈥檚 name had, in fact, been a byword in the United States Atlantic Fleet for some time, and the highly successful American air and sea units operating against the U-boats west of 鈥淐hop鈥� were impressed with the Second Support Group鈥檚 record. Warm as the welcome was, they found greater comfort in the feel of firm, steady ground underfoot; the singing of birds; the smell of burnt rubber on tarmac roads; the blessed release from worry; and sleep, above all sleep, real sleep in steady bunks in strangely quiet ships which no longer rolled, tossed, creaked and groaned. Walker summed up this terrible voyage briefly: 鈥淲hat are all these things compared with the satisfaction of having given the Boche more mouthfuls of dust to bite.鈥� For him, the short respite in Argentia, while the Group carried out stop-gap storm repairs and refuelled, was no rest. He gave a series of lectures to American officers on his methods and then flew to the Royal Navy鈥檚 convoy terminal at Halifax, Nova Scotia, to lecture again to Canadian escort officers. Filleul had an uncle living near Halifax whom he had not seen for many years. When he mentioned this jokingly while Walker was packing a bag for his flight in a plane supplied by the United States Air Force, he was told: 鈥淭hat鈥檚 fine, Number One. Get a bag packed and come with me. I鈥檒l have a signal sent to Halifax saying you are coming to help me with the lectures.鈥� John spent the next few days with his uncle, Walker lectured, and the Group as a whole coped with a series of entertainments organised with bewildering generosity by their American hosts. And during this period, Alan Burn was promoted to lieutenant with six months back seniority, an event which called for a liberal wining with his brother officers.
A week later Walker and Filleul returned to take Starling to St. John鈥檚, the British base in Newfoundland, to stock up with Christmas shopping, the whole crew indulging in a spending spree on food and goods not seen in England since the introduction of rationing. In a Red Cross parcel, Walker found a multi-coloured patch-work leather waistcoat which became his favourite sea rig. Then they sailed to rendezvous with the Group, now minus Tracker, bound for the United States, and Woodcock which had suffered serious storm damage and had been sent home with a convoy for refit. Starling, leading Wild Goose, Magpie and Kite, set off across the Atlantic to support hard-pressed convoys routed near the Azores. But it was not until the Admiralty signalled that the east-bound convoy, SL 140, had been sighted by Focke-Wulfs and reported to U-boats in the area, that the Group was committed to action again. The Second and Fourth Support Groups were ordered to the convoy鈥檚 defence with Walker in overall command. After three days steaming, the four sloops made contact with the convoy to find the Fourth Group already there. On November 27th the Admiralty signalled that 鈥減ack鈥� attacks could be expected from that night onwards, and leaving the close escort alone, Walker sent the Fourth Group into the deepfield on the star board bow while his own ships patrolled to port. By the late evening, HF/DF interception of enemy wireless signalling was reported by all ships in company and they estimated that nine U-boats were shadowing the convoy. Wild Goose and Magpie were sent to deal with one of the enemy while Starling and Kite gave chase after another. Subsequent events are described in Walker鈥檚 Report of the action. 鈥淎t 2022 (8.22 pm) a searchlight was seen about eight miles away fine on my starboard bow shining upwards and circling, shortly followed by a ripple of firing. I formed the hasty opinion that this could not be a U-boat, but was probably an encounter or alarm by a unit of one or another of the American task forces鈥� in the area with whom I did not want to get mixed up. (Two U.S. striking forces were at sea with the carrier, Rogue and Santee). 鈥淭he situation was tense and a lively battle imminent. The weather was still rough, the sky overcast and intermittent rain squalls made a pretty dismal background to the threat of heavy enemy attacks. Whatever happened I wanted to keep myself and the Fourth Group free to return at full speed to the defence of the convoy once the balloon went up, although I hoped the Support Groups could break up the packs before they formed up. Conditions were not ideal for this, but it was all we could hope for. 鈥淚 am now thoroughly ashamed of my inaction over the searchlight incident. On cool reflection it was quite obvious that no American task force would come within twenty-five miles of a convoy unheralded. And worse still, it is highly probable that the illumination came from the U-boat we were after, and that it was firing at an aircraft, probably from Rogue or Santee. I cannot express my regret too deeply. Later, I swept the area for some fifty miles from the convoy with Kite in company until we suddenly sighted starshell in the convoy鈥檚 direction. I turned about and headed back at full speed.鈥� Meanwhile, Wild Goose and Magpie had sighted a U-boat which dived ahead of them. They attacked but were unable in that weather to gain firm asdic contact. Soon after midnight, Starling joined the hunt, taking place thirteen miles from the convoy, and an hour later her radar picked up an object ahead. The four sloops fired starshell and illuminated a U-boat on the surface which was at once placed under heavy barrage fire. One hit on the conning tower blazed redly for a moment and then sizzled out as the enemy crash-dived and vanished under water. In the next two hours three concentrated 鈥減laster鈥� attacks were made without result and the Group settled down to match its skill against the U-boat鈥檚 cunning. Walker was gazing anxiously over his shoulder at the convoy now under attack and thawing further away. Snowflake rockets and starshell were being fired in all directions and already the Fourth Group had dropped back into the outfield off the starboard beam to reinforce the defence. The elusive enemy below would have to be sunk quickly or left alone. One more attack failed to bring any evidence of victory to the surface and at 3.30 am Walker ordered the Group to rejoin the convoy at utmost speed.
The battle was over and the brunt had fallen on the Fourth Support Group who had beaten off repeated enemy attacks without the loss of a single ship. They claimed one U-boat probably sunk. For some reason, the 鈥減ack鈥� failed to attack again and, on December 2nd, Walker鈥檚 sloops, battered again by the weather and virtually useless for any prolonged action, parted company with the convoy and limped home to Liverpool where they docked on the 5th. Of this voyage, Walker wrote: 鈥淭he new enemy tactics must have been disappointing to them. Clearly they had known about the convoy for many days and had gathered for the usual mass attack. For some unknown reason, however, they failed to follow up the initial attacks. There is no doubt it was intended as a saturation blitz but it proved a complete flop due to the powerful protection supplied by the escort.鈥� The crews of the Group, however, were not sorry to reach Liverpool with the promise of Christmas at home. They had endured miserable discomfort for weeks in appalling weather. Men and ships needed rest. There was reason to be thankful that neither 鈥済nats鈥� nor 鈥淐hase-me-Charlie?鈥� had appeared to put the final seal on the sheer misery of this voyage. Strain and over-tensed nerves had already taken their toll of Starling鈥檚 crew. Since commissioning, two officers had been sent ashore unfit for further sea duty, and an able seaman, the best gunner in the ship and a compact sturdy man, had been on leave when he suddenly went berserk with overstrain and was certified insane.

Continued.....
'This story was submitted to the People鈥檚 War site by 大象传媒 Radio Merseyside鈥檚 People鈥檚 War team on behalf of the author and has been added to the site with his / her permission. The author fully understands the site's terms and conditions.'

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