In June, 1941, I arrived at HMS Royal Arthur, the former Butlins Holiday Camp in Skegness. There I learned the rudiments of seamanship before being taught Morse Code preparatory to becoming a telegraphist. It was hot, and I remember the old World War I rifle cutting into my bony shoulder during seamanship training. I also remember how cold it got in those huts during the winter. Then it was off to Scarborough to learn German Morse Code interception. Early January, 1942, I went north to Jarrow to join HMS Punjabi, a Tribal Class destroyer, where I was an Ordinary Tel (S). The trip to the Home Fleet anchorage at Scapa Flow was the most miserable event in my life. I was terribly seasick, never having been on anything bigger than a rowboat on the local lake.
On May 1, 1942, while we were part of a fleet escorting Convoy PQ15 to Russia, in thick fog we were rammed and cut in half by the battleship King George V. I was picked up by HMS Martin and later transferred to King George V in Iceland. By a strange coincidence I met a member of the KGV crew while aboard her who I worked with at the Birmingham Gazette.
After survivor's leave I went to HMS Quorn, a Hunt Class destroyer based at Harwich. She was later sunk after D-Day with great loss of life. But I was then in Ceylon (Sri Lanka), intercepting Japanese radio signals. After two years there I went home on HMS Rother, a frigate, and was demobbed in February, 1946. We emigrated to the U.S. in 1957, and I retired as a district sales manager for a construction materials company in 1985.I have not regretted for one moment the time I spent in the Navy. At age 84 I volunteer at the local veterans' park here in Ocala, Florida.
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