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From ex-Able Seaman C G Humphreys, DEMS Gunlayer CJX336950

In 1942 at the age of 18 I had to register for war service and I chose to go in the Navy. Waiting for call-up I went back to work to continue with my apprenticeship in the printing trade. Soon after I became 19 the call came and I had to report to a training camp in Pwllheli, North Wales, where the new intake had square-bashing, a bit of seamanship and training for being a member of a gun crew. It appeared that we were to be in the DEMS (Defensively Equipped Merchant Ships) designated to be gunners on merchant ships.
After six weeks followed by some leave I was drafted to Cardiff to be put on a ship. We were billeted in an infants’ school and while waiting to be drafted we did duty fire watching at Cardiff docks.
Eventually I was told to pack my kit and report to SS Barrwhin, a coal-fired merchant ship of pre-1914-18 vintage it seemed to me. In our quarters there were eight of us. Five other naval ratings and two army fellows from an artillery unit I got to know, all under the charge of a Leading Seaman. Mounted aft there was a 4-inch gun for shooting at U-boats. On the bridge was a Lewis machine gun and on one side of the ship was a piece of armament for fending off attacking aircraft. A rocket was fired up trailing a cable with a parachute on the end. Fortunately we never had to use it.
Eventually we set off up the coast and joined a convoy collected off the Scottish coast to sail across the Atlantic. As the ship was empty, apart from some ballast, it was a rough journey that my stomach didn’t like and I ate ships’ biscuits mainly during the two weeks that it took to get to our destination, which was Halifax, Nova Scotia. We used to go on watch, two at a time, for four hours throughout the voyage. It was now about October/November time and bitterly cold in the North Atlantic.
In Halifax the ship was loaded with vehicles in the bottom of the holds, tanks I think they were, all cocooned with some sort of sealant as grain was then poured on top of them. Finally loaded we set sail and formed up with the rest of the convoy for the voyage back home. My stomach didn’t appreciate going to sea again and it was back to ships’ biscuits. The convoy consisted of all manner of ships; I particularly remember we had a Norwegian whaler as it had a distinctive shape. There was also an escort of Navy vessels.
We had been sailing for about a week, chugging along at about 7 knots, when one night things started to happen. Ships were being torpedoed. Tankers carrying fuel sending flames up into the sky. The Navy ships chased around dropping depth charges but whether they sunk any U-boats I don’t know. There were 30 or 40 ships in the convoy and quite a few were sunk that first night. So we plodded on during the day, apprehensive as to what the night would bring. Then we knew. More sinkings, including the Norwegian whaler. We managed to pick up some survivors from one of the ships.
The next night the convoy was in disarray and the ships were ordered to scatter and the following morning we were on our own. I heard afterwards that a
U-boat had been sighted not far from our ship during the day. That night the inevitable happened and the ship was torpedoed on the port side and started to go down. Fortunately, my boat station was on the starboard side with the lifeboat operational. The merchant seamen started to lower the boat. It was a metal one fortunately, as it crashed against the ship’s side on its way down. I had managed to get into the boat and as other men crowded in I found myself lying on my back in the bottom. Eventually we got ourselves sorted out and I was able to get onto an oar with some other fellow helping to keep the boat head-on to the waves. Others were not so lucky, having to make do with life-rafts, after perhaps being in the water. One thing I did find though, my stomach like the motion of the boat more than on the ship and I felt fine in that respect.
It was a moonlight night and there we were in the middle of the Atlantic, just keeping the boat head-on to the waves with the oars with the life-rafts around. So what did we thank about at that time? I can’t really remember how I felt. Being only 19 I just left it to the experienced merchant seamen.
As it was wintertime the nights were long. I am not sure how long we were in that situation but it was still dark when out of the night two grey shapes appeared. They were Canadian Corvettes on their way across the Atlantic to Ireland and completely unaware of our plight but an eagle-eyed lookout had spotted us.
Rope ladders were let down and we were soon aboard and in two or three days we landed in Londonderry. We were kitted out and sent on our way to our respective bases, mine being Chatham. After booking in I was given travelling warrants and food coupons and I was on my way home for two weeks survivors’ leave.

From ex-Able Seaman C G Humphreys, DEMS Gunlayer CJX336950

In 1942 at the age of 18 I had to register for war service and I chose to go in the Navy. Waiting for call-up I went back to work to continue with my apprenticeship in the printing trade. Soon after I became 19 the call came and I had to report to a training camp in Pwllheli, North Wales, where the new intake had square-bashing, a bit of seamanship and training for being a member of a gun crew. It appeared that we were to be in the DEMS (Defensively Equipped Merchant Ships) designated to be gunners on merchant ships.
After six weeks followed by some leave I was drafted to Cardiff to be put on a ship. We were billeted in an infants’ school and while waiting to be drafted we did duty fire watching at Cardiff docks.
Eventually I was told to pack my kit and report to SS Barrwhin, a coal-fired merchant ship of pre-1914-18 vintage it seemed to me. In our quarters there were eight of us. Five other naval ratings and two army fellows from an artillery unit I got to know, all under the charge of a Leading Seaman. Mounted aft there was a 4-inch gun for shooting at U-boats. On the bridge was a Lewis machine gun and on one side of the ship was a piece of armament for fending off attacking aircraft. A rocket was fired up trailing a cable with a parachute on the end. Fortunately we never had to use it.
Eventually we set off up the coast and joined a convoy collected off the Scottish coast to sail across the Atlantic. As the ship was empty, apart from some ballast, it was a rough journey that my stomach didn’t like and I ate ships’ biscuits mainly during the two weeks that it took to get to our destination, which was Halifax, Nova Scotia. We used to go on watch, two at a time, for four hours throughout the voyage. It was now about October/November time and bitterly cold in the North Atlantic.
In Halifax the ship was loaded with vehicles in the bottom of the holds, tanks I think they were, all cocooned with some sort of sealant as grain was then poured on top of them. Finally loaded we set sail and formed up with the rest of the convoy for the voyage back home. My stomach didn’t appreciate going to sea again and it was back to ships’ biscuits. The convoy consisted of all manner of ships; I particularly remember we had a Norwegian whaler as it had a distinctive shape. There was also an escort of Navy vessels.
We had been sailing for about a week, chugging along at about 7 knots, when one night things started to happen. Ships were being torpedoed. Tankers carrying fuel sending flames up into the sky. The Navy ships chased around dropping depth charges but whether they sunk any U-boats I don’t know. There were 30 or 40 ships in the convoy and quite a few were sunk that first night. So we plodded on during the day, apprehensive as to what the night would bring. Then we knew. More sinkings, including the Norwegian whaler. We managed to pick up some survivors from one of the ships.
The next night the convoy was in disarray and the ships were ordered to scatter and the following morning we were on our own. I heard afterwards that a
U-boat had been sighted not far from our ship during the day. That night the inevitable happened and the ship was torpedoed on the port side and started to go down. Fortunately, my boat station was on the starboard side with the lifeboat operational. The merchant seamen started to lower the boat. It was a metal one fortunately, as it crashed against the ship’s side on its way down. I had managed to get into the boat and as other men crowded in I found myself lying on my back in the bottom. Eventually we got ourselves sorted out and I was able to get onto an oar with some other fellow helping to keep the boat head-on to the waves. Others were not so lucky, having to make do with life-rafts, after perhaps being in the water. One thing I did find though, my stomach like the motion of the boat more than on the ship and I felt fine in that respect.
It was a moonlight night and there we were in the middle of the Atlantic, just keeping the boat head-on to the waves with the oars with the life-rafts around. So what did we thank about at that time? I can’t really remember how I felt. Being only 19 I just left it to the experienced merchant seamen.
As it was wintertime the nights were long. I am not sure how long we were in that situation but it was still dark when out of the night two grey shapes appeared. They were Canadian Corvettes on their way across the Atlantic to Ireland and completely unaware of our plight but an eagle-eyed lookout had spotted us.
Rope ladders were let down and we were soon aboard and in two or three days we landed in Londonderry. We were kitted out and sent on our way to our respective bases, mine being Chatham. After booking in I was given travelling warrants and food coupons and I was on my way home for two weeks survivors’ leave.

From ex-Able Seaman C G Humphreys, DEMS Gunlayer CJX336950

In 1942 at the age of 18 I had to register for war service and I chose to go in the Navy. Waiting for call-up I went back to work to continue with my apprenticeship in the printing trade. Soon after I became 19 the call came and I had to report to a training camp in Pwllheli, North Wales, where the new intake had square-bashing, a bit of seamanship and training for being a member of a gun crew. It appeared that we were to be in the DEMS (Defensively Equipped Merchant Ships) designated to be gunners on merchant ships.
After six weeks followed by some leave I was drafted to Cardiff to be put on a ship. We were billeted in an infants’ school and while waiting to be drafted we did duty fire watching at Cardiff docks.
Eventually I was told to pack my kit and report to SS Barrwhin, a coal-fired merchant ship of pre-1914-18 vintage it seemed to me. In our quarters there were eight of us. Five other naval ratings and two army fellows from an artillery unit I got to know, all under the charge of a Leading Seaman. Mounted aft there was a 4-inch gun for shooting at U-boats. On the bridge was a Lewis machine gun and on one side of the ship was a piece of armament for fending off attacking aircraft. A rocket was fired up trailing a cable with a parachute on the end. Fortunately we never had to use it.
Eventually we set off up the coast and joined a convoy collected off the Scottish coast to sail across the Atlantic. As the ship was empty, apart from some ballast, it was a rough journey that my stomach didn’t like and I ate ships’ biscuits mainly during the two weeks that it took to get to our destination, which was Halifax, Nova Scotia. We used to go on watch, two at a time, for four hours throughout the voyage. It was now about October/November time and bitterly cold in the North Atlantic.
In Halifax the ship was loaded with vehicles in the bottom of the holds, tanks I think they were, all cocooned with some sort of sealant as grain was then poured on top of them. Finally loaded we set sail and formed up with the rest of the convoy for the voyage back home. My stomach didn’t appreciate going to sea again and it was back to ships’ biscuits. The convoy consisted of all manner of ships; I particularly remember we had a Norwegian whaler as it had a distinctive shape. There was also an escort of Navy vessels.
We had been sailing for about a week, chugging along at about 7 knots, when one night things started to happen. Ships were being torpedoed. Tankers carrying fuel sending flames up into the sky. The Navy ships chased around dropping depth charges but whether they sunk any U-boats I don’t know. There were 30 or 40 ships in the convoy and quite a few were sunk that first night. So we plodded on during the day, apprehensive as to what the night would bring. Then we knew. More sinkings, including the Norwegian whaler. We managed to pick up some survivors from one of the ships.
The next night the convoy was in disarray and the ships were ordered to scatter and the following morning we were on our own. I heard afterwards that a
U-boat had been sighted not far from our ship during the day. That night the inevitable happened and the ship was torpedoed on the port side and started to go down. Fortunately, my boat station was on the starboard side with the lifeboat operational. The merchant seamen started to lower the boat. It was a metal one fortunately, as it crashed against the ship’s side on its way down. I had managed to get into the boat and as other men crowded in I found myself lying on my back in the bottom. Eventually we got ourselves sorted out and I was able to get onto an oar with some other fellow helping to keep the boat head-on to the waves. Others were not so lucky, having to make do with life-rafts, after perhaps being in the water. One thing I did find though, my stomach like the motion of the boat more than on the ship and I felt fine in that respect.
It was a moonlight night and there we were in the middle of the Atlantic, just keeping the boat head-on to the waves with the oars with the life-rafts around. So what did we thank about at that time? I can’t really remember how I felt. Being only 19 I just left it to the experienced merchant seamen.
As it was wintertime the nights were long. I am not sure how long we were in that situation but it was still dark when out of the night two grey shapes appeared. They were Canadian Corvettes on their way across the Atlantic to Ireland and completely unaware of our plight but an eagle-eyed lookout had spotted us.
Rope ladders were let down and we were soon aboard and in two or three days we landed in Londonderry. We were kitted out and sent on our way to our respective bases, mine being Chatham. After booking in I was given travelling warrants and food coupons and I was on my way home for two weeks survivors’ leave.

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