- Author
- Crockett, Davie, Sub-Lieutenant, RNVR
- Subjects
- Ship histories and stories, WWII operations, History - WW2
- Tags
-
- RAN Ships
- None noted.
- Publication
- June 2004 edition of the Naval Historical Review (all rights reserved)
About eleven-thirty the tapes of my lifebelt gave up the unequal struggle, and I woke with a thud on the deck. As I sat collecting myself, the ship rolled the other way and poured a cascade of water over me. Those drips and trickles had accumulated and flooded the deck, but, bent double beneath the ceiling of hammocks, I managed to change my trousers. A few others who had failed to find the consolation of sleep sat clinging to the table and chatting wearily. I put on my oilskins and mufflers and joined them until it was time for my watch – midnight.
As we went out we met those already relieved staggering in through the galley flat. All were soaked and bedraggled. They warned us to choose our moment carefully before going on deck. Seas were sweeping the whole ship periodically, making a quick eye and a strong hold necessary. I waited until the ship seemed to be momentarily steady and dodged out to my ladder but as I hauled myself up a cascade of water swept down over me. Things had not started well.
Nothing was to be seen but a flurry of white through the darkness, and the great grey waves looming in the murk above us. More and more frequently the lower parts of the ship disappeared entirely. The spray which had reached us at first was turning into solid sheets of water. After half an hour the forward gun-deck and my platform were washing down with such regularity that they became untenable. Orders came from the bridge to keep our watch behind the screen of the superstructure. We were allowed to sleep in turns; and, despite our soaked condition, we slept perfectly on the steel deck.
When the watch was over we worked our way back to the mess-deck, keenly anticipating warmth and comfort, but a scene of incredible confusion met our eyes. Water was sweeping about the deck, carrying with it every kind of object. Some of the food lockers had burst open. Raisins and jam were mingled with soap flakes and tea. Flour was the predominating substance, and gave the water a dirty grey tint. Cutlery and broken crockery clattered everywhere. Several suitcases, thrown from the racks, had broken open, adding to the chaos. Cushions from the locker tops, sea- boots, and duffle coats were floating or waterlogged. Several men had been overcome with seasickness where they lay. Under these conditions there was no hope of clearing up the mess; the only thing to do was to get off the deck, out of reach of this witches’ brew.
An hour later, at 5 a.m. a totally unexpected event shook us to life. The alarm bells rang and with the speed born of many drills, even those prostrate with sea-sickness grabbed something and ran on deck. I paused on my way to the pom-pom to collect the crew’s tin hats from a locker in the deck shelter: but I arrived at the gun without them, for the lockers and work- bench had been swept over the side.
We clung to the guns and peered out against the wind and spray for any sign of the enemy. Our search was in vain, as our arc of visibility was limited to a few yards by the rising barriers of water. Information was passed down the telephones: ‘Submarine Contact’! Ten minutes later a rocket was reported from the bridge and there were mutters of sympathy around the gun for the ship in distress – but no explanation of the rocket was ever given and all our ships came through safely.
At six o’clock, the ‘Secure’ was piped. Once again the watch below returned to their wet and stinking living space, grateful for even shelter.
At eight o’clock we were roused by the Bosun’s call to be told that no hands were allowed on deck as the whole ship was now washing down continually. Only the wheelhouse crew were retained on watch. Permission was given for hammocks to remain slung.
Most of that day was spent asleep and as a result I cannot recall much of what happened. I remember we were warned that the ship was steaming head-on into the gale, incapable of altering course. And I remember the indifference with which the announcement was received – far more interest being caused by the news that a bag of flour had burst over a stoker.