A life in the Royal Navy - 1943-46
by Telegraphist Alan H. Smith, RN
Chronology
MARCH 1943
Received calling-up papers on my 18th birthday - reported to H.M.S."Royal Arthur" - Butlins Holiday Camp, Skegness.
MAY 1943
To Albyn School of Wireless Telegraphy - Aberdeen.
SEPTEMBER 1943
To H.M.S. Nova Scotia - Butlins Camp, Ayr.
DECEMBER 1943
To H.M.S. Drake - Barracks - Devonport, Plymouth.
DECEMBER 1943
To R.N. Signal School - Crownhill Barracks, Plymouth.
DECEMBER 1943
Boxing Day - To H.M.S. Montrose (Scott Class Destroyer) - Harwich.
SEPTEMBER 1944
To H.M.S. Drake, Devonport.
SEPTEMBER 1944
To R.N. Signal School - Crownhill Barracks, Plymouth.
DECEMBER 1944
Christmas Day - to Fort St. Angelo, Valetta, Malta.
DECEMBER 1944
To H.M.S. Euroclydon - Barracks.
DECEMBER 1944
To Fort Maddalena - Signals Depot.
JANUARY 1945
To H.M.S. Acute - Algerine class minesweeper.
SEPTEMBER 1945
To R.N. Signal School, Cammarata Barracks, Malta.
NOVEMBER 1945
To R.N. Signal Station - Trieste.
APRIL 1946
To R.N. Signal School, Crownhill Barracks, Plymouth.
APRIL 1946
To B.N.A.S. Eglinton, Londonderry, Northern Ireland.
JUNE 1946
To Fulford Barracks, (Army, Yorkshire) for demob.
Regions swept of mines
Malta, Alexandria, Naples, Capri, Ischia, Gorgona, Taranto, Leghom, La Spezia, Pisa, Rapallo, Santa Margherita, Genoa, Bari, Venice, Savona.
Service
Whilst aboard "Montrose" classed General Service.
Whilst aboard "Acute" classed R.N. Commando.
Whilst aboard "Eglinton" classed Fleet Air Arm.
Life aboard H.M.S. "Montrose"
Complement 160 crew, including 10 or 11 Officers
Weight 1530 tons when loaded ready for sea duties.
Our main task was to patrol the North Sea from Thames estuary to Humber estuary - usually out for three nights and returning to Harwich for restocking with heavy fuel oil, drinking water, ammunition and victuals.
Also, our watch was allowed shore leave for one night, having to be back on board by 2300 hours. Next morning all crew had to "work ship" which was to get the ship ready for sea patrol. Telegraphists were allowed to discontinue any manual work in order to set watch on a given frequency (usually four hours before the ship sailed), in order to obtain the latest weather report. Rough weather would curtail the number of E boats, if any, leaving the French ports to attack our shipping lanes in order to sink merchant ships carrying vital food supplies and goods for our war effort.
It was very primitive on board, the ship being laid down in 1916 and completed in 1918, going straight into "mothballs" at Harwich until 1st January 1939. It took one month to bring back to service along with other similar destroyers, and patrols were started in the North Sea to protect our territory. The crews wore civilian clothes, much to the annoyance of Adolf Hitler who even complained to the Geneva Convention about our intimidation.
By outbreak of war (3.9.39) we had the North Sea and beyond fully covered. Some of the crews were so busy that they did not get into uniforms until Christmas 1939.
Now for the "nitty Gritty" - Our mess was about nine feet square, entrance and exit gained by a small hatch and a ladder down to our lower level. All food (cooked in metal trays) , and big aluminium kettles of tea had to be lowered down the ladder. There were hooks for six hammocks and the other five members had to sleep on the deck, although one in turn was allowed to sleep on the table.
I was the last comer into the mess and only managed the table on rare occasions when all night leave was sanctioned to our watch, be it port or starboard watch. They really were the best nights when half of the crew were missing, until 0700 of course.
Each mess had to prepare their own food. Vegetables were a worry because if other messes beat you to the share-out you could easily be short on quantity. All prepared food had to be taken up to the galley for the Cook and his assistant to cook - or often burn - on a coal fired range set between two ovens with hotplates on top. When cooked the food had to be taken down into the mess - halved, and the metal trays taken back to the galley for the cook to keep warm ready for the opposite watch completing their four hour stint.
For supper we might have a bully beef or spam sandwich, so it would only mean going to the galley for the required number of slices of meat plus two slices of bread per man to satisfy requirements for the whole mess. Food was not interfered with because you did not know when you would get the next rations.
If the alarm bells rang and "Hands to action stations" sounded every crew member reported to their action station and stayed there until "Stand down" sounded which meant that everything could then return to normal.
You had to learn to get bathed in a bucket. The bath house was only big enough for three individuals and if you were unlucky to be in at the same time as one of the bullies then you knew you would have to get dry outside on the open deck. There was a steam heater in the corner and you had to pump up a bucket of water, pour it into the heater and wait for it to warm up. Then put in one leg and soap what you could then change legs and continue with your upper body, finally pouring the rest of the water over your head.
The favourite trick, especially when lads were rushing to get ready to go ashore, was to pinch your hot water and substitute it for a bucket of cold seawater. You certainly came out of the bath house sporting a nice shade of blue.
There were only three toilets for the whole crew - eleven officers had more and of course the Captain had his own - an example of the class distinction which runs throughout the Royal Navy. There was no room for doors, either inwards or outwards, so no privacy was the order of the day.
D DAY
In May 1944 we were inspected by a team of elderly retired officers who found several childish faults in our set-up. On comparing notes with other crews we learned that the same had happened to them. We were given extra training sessions in order to bring out the best in us and decided that something major must be afoot.
On sailing one afternoon we were told we were going to attack a French Port - this was the only time we were given any information. The weather turned foul and we were not allowed back into port so that we could not spread any rumours, and the news was that the invasion was postponed for 24 hours.
We then sailed for the Thames, going to Tilbury Dock to find a convoy of ships waiting for us. Our Captain, who was a most senior officer, was declared Convoy master and every ship had to get into position as ordered and obey all signals made by our Signalmen.
We took the convoy round to Portsmouth, waited for darkness, and sailed for SWORD beach head which was opposite the town of Caen. To our right were the GOLD and JUNO beachheads and further to the right were the American OMAHA and UTAH beachheads.
We arrived at midnight and had to wait until 0600 hours for the big gun barrage to commence. H.M.S. Black Prince was to our rear and when it started firing over us the noise was deafening.
We acted as a signal loop and passed messages back and forth all night. When daylight came the number of vessels became clear, absolutely thousands of different sizes, shapes, and nationalities. In the afternoon we were ordered to collect up any empty vessels and escort them to Portsmouth for refilling and we were sent to Tilbury to pick up another convoy.
On our way up the Channel we saw our first "Doodlebug" and used up all of our ammunition trying to destroy it. A Fleet order was issued stating that ships had not to waste ammunition but to use only on their self defence.
In all we escorted 11 convoys to Arromanches harbour and the last one was our downfall. After taking our eleventh convoy to the Bridgehead in France, our Captain was adjudged to have been in the wrong lane - we were in the inward lane instead of the outward - and were in collision with an American ship which nearly cut us in half during dense fog. We managed to stay afloat and were taken in tow and it took fourteen days to get to a shipyard in the Humber and dry dock. Consequently the High Lords of the Admiralty inspected the damage and condemned the vessel.
Each watch was given fourteen days leave for their efforts to salvage the vessel. After the month had expired we were assembled on deck to hear a speech by the Captain who told us we were all "paid off" and would be returned to barracks for further sea duties. The tug arrived next morning and the tug master told us there were already 22 destroyers at the yard in Blyth - Northumberland waiting to be broken up. A sad day for us all as we were taken down to Grimsby railway station and put on a train for Plymouth and Devonport barracks.
H.M.S. Montrose was home to me for ten months and seeing it being towed to the breakers yard was grim indeed.
H.M.S. ACUTE
1st December 1944. I was in a party of 1000 personnel who set off at midnight by train to Liverpool and went aboard a troopship heading for Malta. We arrived there at 0600 hours on Christmas Day and went into Barracks - H.M.S. Euroclydon - after passing through Fort St. Angelo which had been guarding Grand Harbour Valetta since 1642.
About a fortnight later I was woken up at 0200 hours by the Quartermaster and told to get my gear ready as I was going to replace a telegraphist who was being brought into hospital suffering from appendicitis by H.M.S. Acute. The vessel turned round immediately and set sail for Naples to rejoin the other five Algerine class minesweepers and to commence sweeping.
We spent a week clearing the Isle of Capri and another week clearing the Isle of Ischia before going back to Naples to await further orders. By this time the Americans were in charge of operations and asked us if we could use a helicopter. Our Captain was the senior officer of the six minesweepers and was put in command.
The helicopter joined us every day at 0600 hours and gave us the position of lines of mines - sometimes as long as ten to fifteen miles - so that we could detonate them without having to search for them. We could therefore clear in a day what was previously taking us a week to complete. This meant safer water for the Americans to bring in their big transport ships to Italy loaded with men and materials, and so shorten the length of the war.
This volume of work caused a problem in that the crew started experiencing "the shakes" and we were stood down, medically examined, and taken to the Isle of Ischia for seven days rest. We stayed in hotels which were empty due to the war and we took our own rations. We enjoyed seven days of sunshine and played both cricket and football on one of the beaches. Then it was back to work with the helicopter coming every day to pinpoint the mines.
In May, when rumours started that the war was going to end, we had reached as far north as Genoa. There we witnessed one of the last thousand bomber raids which destroyed an oil refinery at Savona.
Whilst at Genoa we awaited our next duty and were surprised when a team of divers appeared with all their gear and attendants to carry out an underwater inspection. The outcome was the discovery of some "sprung" plates at the bottom, and the rumour was that we were going back to Malta into the dockyard. We sailed and ended up in the Franco Tosi shipyard in Taranto - for repairs which would take about six weeks.
Before the six weeks were up Bubonic plague broke out ashore and we were told we could not leave. A team of Italian doctors came on board and inoculated us all in the right thigh with instruments which were like cattle needles. We were kept in quarantine for fourteen days and then had the ship fumigated in order to kill the rats which could carry and spread the disease.
It is ironic that after defying death for over four months duty two of our shipmates lost their lives by accident whilst we were in dry dock. The first, a Petty Officer travelling by army lorry from shore leave, slipped sideways and struck his head on a telegraph pole at the side of the road and was killed instantly.
His family wanted him to be buried at home and crew were chosen to form a guard of honour to escort the coffin being taken to an airfield outside Taranto and flown to the U.K. by the U.S. Airforce.
The second fatality was a seaman who lost his footing when crossing the gangplank on to the ship and fell into the bottom of the dry dock. His family wished him to be buried in Italy with full Naval honours and the Captain arranged his funeral. The whole crew and officers attended at the British Military Cemetery in Bari.
The coffin was put on a pick-up truck with all the flowers and we followed in lorries. Full white uniforms with white caps were the dress of the day. It is over sixty miles from Taranto to Bari and we had to slow down on entering each village where the womenfolk knelt down and made the sign of the cross and the menfolk saluted. It took us about five hours to get there and the Padre was waiting with some members of his Church congregation.
However, a team of Sikhs had beaten us to the cemetery to hold a funeral pyre for one of their officers, so we had to wait and watch as their Holy man started chanting and eventually placed the wrapped blanket on top of the pile of logs and lit the fire. We certainly did not expect anything like this and had to wait until the flames died out and all the soldiers dispersed. Then we were able to hold our ceremony and start our journey back to Taranto, arriving early evening. Everyone felt very sad and no crew member went ashore that night.
It was decided that the flotilla would return to the U.K. to keep clearing mines in our home waters, but only men who were near to demob date could crew the ships, so I was sent back to Malta. After about a month in barracks I was sent to R.N. Signal Station at Trieste and although in Italy it was on the border with Yugoslavia. There we experienced twice weekly demonstrations activated by our friend Marshall Tito, who claimed Trieste for Yugoslavia. We were not allowed outside during these demonstrations and if you were already out on watch when one started you had to stay on watch until such time as you were relieved.
Wireless Telegraphy
On completing our induction training at Skegness 72 of us out of the total intake were told we were going to be trained as Wireless Telegraphists. We were taken in lorries to the railway station on the Friday night and ended up at Aberdeen about teatime on Saturday. A Chief Petty Officer met us and we were duly distributed into local lodging houses described as civilian billets.
Pete Dunwell and I went to a house that had previously been Theatricals only. It was run by two spinster sisters – namely the Misses Bunting – at number one, Affleck Street. There were twelve rookies in the house and only one toilet and no hot water. We had to go to the local swimming baths at seven o'clock in the morning to have a hot shower.
Monday morning we started our eighteen weeks course at the Albyn School of Wireless Telegraphy – run by two 70 year old gentlemen who had been in wireless telegraphy since its inception. They had trained thousands of individuals, particularly in the fishing industry. We formed two classes, 36 in each class, and existed by competition between classes.
We first had to learn the Morse code and were allowed two weeks in order to do so. By the end of four weeks we achieved the amazing speed of four words per minute (a word was measured as five digits, either letters or figures). By this time we transferred to larger school premises at Torry on the outskirts of Aberdeen and were named Torry Rookies by the local people.
By ten weeks the pattern of instruction changed dramatically to one of rhythm – and by eighteen weeks we achieved our goal of eighteen words per minute – both receiving and transmitting – and were duly awarded seven days leave for our efforts as all 72 passed their final examination.
After leave we had to report by 12 noon Saturday to Butlins Camp at Ayr on the west coast of Scotland. This was a closed camp due to their stocks of code and cypher books and was heavily guarded by Marines. The course was designed to last 12 weeks and by the end of that period we were expected to increase our speed to 26 words per minute, become competent in compiling messages using any one of eleven codes and cipher books, and also be able to pick out any faults in our transmitters and repair them – obviously essential if you were the only telegraphist on board a ship.
At the end of 12 weeks we each had to pass a stiff examination and once again all 72 passed with flying colours. This says a lot for the original team of selectors at Skegness who were aware of the high costs involved in our training.
We got another seven days leave and then had to report to our home barracks- 24 to Chatham – 24 to Portsmouth – 24 to Devonport. I was in the latter group and arrived at Plymouth a bit mystified by all the goings on.
The week before Christmas I and two other ratings were posted to H.M.S. Montrose, a Scott class destroyer, based at Parkstone Quay, Harwich. One was a signalman and the other an A.B. gunner and we set off for Harwich. When we got there the Montrose had already sailed into Chatham dockyard for repairs. We travelled to Chatham and learned that the ship had been sent out on patrol without any repairs done and would return to its base at Harwich – consequently we had to about turn and go back and await its arrival which was on Boxing Day morning.
We went aboard – only to go out on patrol after dinner for three nights, and I received a sudden insight into life at sea, particularly getting used to four hour watches all the time.
I was made a member of the “E“ boat boarding party. This entailed carrying a portable transmitter and receiver on my back and a heavy pistol strapped round my waist, with ammunition. The extra weight came to half a hundredweight, and the transmitter was bulky. The rating seated next to me on the boat warned me not to get pushed overboard as I would sink like a stone. I was too scared to tell anyone that I could not swim (and I still cannot do so). After a hectic ten months we were eventually “paid off” and returned to barracks at Devonport.
More on HMS Acute Minesweeping
Then began another story – my journey to Liverpool to join a troopship for a three week voyage to Malta and I arrived there on Christmas Day 1944. A week later I joined H.M.S. Acute which was an Algerine class minesweeper. By then I knew all the ropes and was given the job of R/T operator (radio telephone). This entailed going on to the bridge and operating a fixed machine so that I could tell the Captain (or in his absence the Duty Officer) immediately I received any messages, and also transmit any messages to the other five ships in the flotilla.
We must have made a good job of clearing the mines around the Isle of Capri and the Isle of Ischia because the Americans (who were in charge at that time) asked our Captain if we could use a helicopter to spot the mines which he agreed and so began a new concept in minesweeping.
We sailed every morning at 0600 hours and finished at 1800 hours. The helicopter came over and spotted a line of mines – anything up to 12 miles long – for each of the five ships. The sixth ship was changed daily to act as a guard ship in order to do battle with the German E-boats which were determined to stop us detonating the mines, which floated to the surface after our other ranks had cut their anchor chains or wires.
Thus we completed in a day what would have taken us a week normally and helped to clear larger areas of sea. This enabled the Americans to bring in their huge transport ships which brought enormous amounts of men and materials on to the beaches and strategic positions, saving a lot of lives and shortening the war.
I must point out that when using R/T the limit of reception was approximately ten miles – as compared to a modern mobile phone being audible at ten thousand miles now.
A ship had also to be pointed in our direction in order to transmit a message and the helicopter had to hover over our masthead in order to exchange conversation. We often had to wait until a ship turned “bows on” before we could complete a message much to the annoyance of the Duty Officer. He was even known to say to his contemporaries that those ruddy sparkers don’t know what they are doing, when the reason was obviously due to the mechanics of wireless telegraphy. Our answer to them was that they did not have the training we had and no right to condemn us.
One trick of the enemy was to fasten two mines together with a length of chain or wire rope and if a ship caught the obstacle with its bows the two mines would be drawn inwards and this would cause a double detonation and severe damage. I saw the remains of a frigate beached on a sandbank at Taranto which had its bows blown off by this method leaving half a ship floating with its deck plating ripped just like galvanized roof sheeting. The explosion must have been terrible.
Demobilisation
Demobilisation eventually came nearer and you had to be back in the U.K. before the actual date. It would have taken about five weeks to travel by sea from Trieste to Plymouth, so an officer for once showed a bit of ingenuity and arranged for fourteen of us to travel by train from Udine in Northern Italy to Calais in France by the now famous railway route.
It took about 80 hours and we travelled in a cattle truck, which we scrubbed out with plenty of hot water obtained from the train driver in exchange for a liberal supply of cigarettes.
At night we spread our hammocks out on the floor and two stayed awake in turn in order to keep watch over our kit because the train kept stopping due to track damage and engine breakdown. We stopped every morning at Army camps to get hot water for wash and shave and also cooked breakfast. We had a bag meal for dinner and then stopped at night for a hot wash and a cooked supper, arriving at Calais in due course.
We all made it to Chatham barracks and stayed the night. Some then travelled on to Portsmouth barracks and stayed the night and I was left on my own to travel on to Devonport barracks. I was only there one day and was posted to Royal Naval Air Station, Eglinton, Londonderry, Northern Ireland and saw out my time before starting my last journey to Fulford Army barracks in York.
The Regimental Sergeant Major did not like having to deal with anyone connected to the Royal Navy and told me so in no uncertain manner. He did not want to be lumbered with my kit, which I had to hand in, said he did not want to be saddled with my rubbish - and to take it with me. He had to smile in the end when I cheekily asked him to get me a taxi to go to the station.
I came to Leeds eventually, ending up at Bowers Halt, and Mrs. Mathers lodger who ran the signal box kindly looked after my gear. I walked home to ask my dad to go for it with his wheelbarrow and we came home in style along the lines. --------AMEN.
Note To Readers from the authors son
All the text above was written by Dad in his own words. It has been typed up with only minor corrections for punctuation and readability.
A couple of years before Dad died my brother heard that anyone who served in an action to liberate France was eligible for the Legion d’Honneur. Dad was too ill to attend a ceremony but we were able to get the medal sent to him and it became a treasured possession.
