- 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)
Cooking was out of the question. The Supply Assistant brought in ship’s biscuits for those who wanted to eat. I rolled off my locker at about mid-day and made a precarious trip to the mess locker, wading through the swirling mess on the deck. I salvaged a packet of butter; and, using a tin-opener to spread it on the biscuits, had a welcome, though monotonous, meal. In ten minutes I was lashed to my locker again and asleep.
At about 4 p.m. a further discomfort was added. The battering of the water on the fo’c’sle worked loose, and finally washed overboard, the cover to the donkey-engine lead. This left a hole three inches in diameter in the deckhead, over the centre of the mess-deck, and through this a solid stream of water poured every time a wave came over. Directly below the hole was a platform on which were stowed our kitbags. They were drenched before anyone was aware of what had happened. No plug put in from below held for more than two minutes, and it was impossible to plug the hole from above. Those whose hammocks were near this shower bath left their billets and somehow fitted in elsewhere. Every time the ship rolled my way I received a spray deflected from the topmost kitbag. But it was not enough to make me leave a relatively comfortable section of locker. Soon everyone accepted the new development and went to sleep. The water grew a little deeper on the deck, but nobody noticed it.
When I woke to eat a few more biscuits for supper I heard that a fuel tank had sprung a leak and flooded the mess-deck below ours to a depth of three inches. We turned in again, secretly rather cheered by the thought that we were not as badly off as others.
I knew nothing more until a Bosun’s call, at three o’clock next morning, announced that the Morning Watch would be called out. The worst of the storm was over and the deck was safe. I felt that the motion of the ship, though still wild, was somewhat steadier. When I went on deck in the forenoon the wind had obviously decreased in strength. The waves were still running high but were no longer white with foam and spray.
We were quite alone: of all the ships in the convoy, not one was in sight. At noon the Captain cleared all hands off the upper deck as he prepared to turn the ship. This was the first time he had taken the ship’s head from the wind for twenty hours. She came round quietly.
We were over a hundred miles ahead of the supposed position of the convoy and there was a lot of searching to do before it could be reassembled. Throughout the remainder of the day and the morning of the next we encountered them – some alone, some in groups, but by noon on the second day they were all assembled.
Except for a lot of extra work in clearing up the mess, life went on as usual. Mess-decks were cleaned, clothing and blankets were laid out to dry, and oil- sodden gear was piled up amidships. We made port with enough fuel for four hours steaming, very tired and very dirty.