Approach of the storm Chapter 37

This story was submitted to the People’s War site by Roger Marsh of the ‘Action Desk — Sheffield’ Team on behalf of Thomas Arthur Russell, and has been added to the site with his permission. The author fully understands the site's terms and conditions.

Approach of the storm Chapter 37
By
Thomas Arthur Russell

When we got ashore on our usual beer laced binges, I found a substitute for my mother’s bread. As we arrived back outside the naval base, we found women selling paper bags containing bread rolls, six for a shilling. The boys went mad for them and if your chums went ashore, you usually got someone to bring a bag back for you.

I did manage to get a bit of cod fishing when we anchored off Grantham. It helped the cook vary the diet. One day we sailed out further than usual, in fact, we ended up off the most northern tip of Scotland and a bout of some of the worst weather that I’ve ever experienced. The signs came as the ship’s company was ordered to secure everything that was loose and make ready for heavy weather that was imminent. It wasn’t long coming and it was said to be of hurricane force. The old ship heaved her fore foot up, rearing up like a startled horse, then came crashing down her bows, to be buried under an oncoming wave. One whaler was smashed to matchwood in the davits and I was told that even the for’d gun shield had been sprained. Items of food and vomit sloshed on the deck, we had reached the depths of misery. I don’t think we would have cared if she had sunk. The ship showed her age more, it had made the rust streaks more obvious, it needed a lot paint and the chipping hammers would have to work overtime to restore the ship to something of naval tidiness.

We carried out our usual routine until one day a buzz originated that we were sailing on some unknown mission; this was early in May 1945 and we were all eager to know what it was we were going to do. The Germans surrendered in Europe and some wit said that we were going to join the Pacific Fleet against Japan. We saw a uniformed officer who was wearing the regalia of the German Navy. He was accompanied to the wardroom by one of our officers and the German was carrying a large briefcase. It eventually transpired that we were going to Norway and our destination was Kristian Sands, where we were to accept the surrender of the German forces in Norway. The German officer had come aboard to act as a pilot through the German minefields. To make doubly sure, we were accompanied by a couple of minesweepers.

I felt very uneasy; I remembered the Quail and the causalities and damage that we had suffered. There was a crackle of small arm fire and an occasional oerlikon burst. Mines had been swept and the sweepers were firing at them to sink or to explode them. I heard no heavy explosions but I did see on one occasion, a mine coated in red lead bobbing up and down in the choppy sea. This did nothing for my peace of mind.. Soon I saw another amazing sight; small craft that I can only describe as smaller than cobbles which used to take anglers out of the east coast ports. They were Norwegian fishing boats and I noticed that in them were kids looking about nine or ten years of age and they were fishing with hand lines.

The Norwegian coast came into view and the usual talk of getting ashore and wondering what the “Norwegian” parties would be like. Everyone seemed to be expecting to be swamped by a lot of busty blondes. It is funny how fantasy can build a picture in one’s mind of different races and how they should look. We came to anchor in Kristian Sands; to starboard was a large building that someone said was a brewery. It was unmarked. Then I saw some hills with German AA batteries situated on the crest and sides. It would have been sticky if they thought they wouldn’t surrender after all but I need not have worried. We were piped ashore leave and my leave would be next day so I was eager to hear what it was like when the boys came back aboard. Not one drunk came aboard. Apparently there was a beer of a sort but the boys said that it tasted like onion water and if you ‘d drunk gallon, you couldn’t get drunk.

I did get ashore eventually after we had tied up alongside a sweeper. I got a surprise when the bosom’s mate shouted down the mess deck hatch, “Anyone here by the name of Bill Russell?” A chorus of voices shouted, “There’s a stoker called Tommy Russell, maybe its him.” “Well tell him there’s a stoker, Tony Harding off the sweeper here.” What a surprise, Tony is the wife’s brother. I knew that he had joined the navy as an H.O. but never knew he was on the sweeper alongside; my wife must have told him that I was aboard the Venomous. I went aboard the sweeper and sampled his tot and wished him well. They had swept the mines up and had been firing at them, and here he was now. I’d have to write home to Magdalena; she would be surprised that her husband and her brother had met like that. In a way he was helping to keep me safe; such is fate.

I got ashore next day and wasn’t impressed at all. The people seemed few and far between and not so talkative either. They seemed in a state of shock, as they couldn’t believe that they had been liberated. Then to be fair, they had never had the chance of seeing many of the goods in the shops that even we in rationed Britain had seen. The kids had never seen chocolate and I expect fruit like oranges and bananas either.
What struck me was a squad of German sailors marching past, still armed and we had not so much as a knife between us. Maybe they were happy that the war was over, maybe they were having a little joke at our expense. We went back aboard early, an hour or two was long enough in that lifeless place. While there, I suffered a bit of embarrassment. My pal and I decided to have a bath down in the narrow washroom situated just below the mess deck. This compartment had only one hatch into it and you had to bath in a large round bowl. There were only two of these bowls and you didn’t always have enough hot water anyway to fill the two.

This day we were in luck; we took our washing down and with it, the usual bar of pusser’s soap and a knife to shave some onto the washing. I had got one of the metal tubs and as I was filling it, I decided to kill two birds with one stone and I would wash my clothes and bathe in the same water; my mate decided that it was a good idea. There we were both in the nude, perched with our buttocks on the edge of our respective tubs, rubbing our washing in the lather the soap shavings had created. My back was towards the washroom entrance and I was concentrating on the job in hand. Suddenly, I heard a clattering of feet on the hatchway’s steel ladder, nothing wrong with that but then I heard the unmistakeable sound of female laughter. “Cor Yorkie,” my mate said, “Look behind you.” I turned and it must have been one of the few times that a sailor has blushed. There, laughing and pointing, were several Norwegian girls; what do you do in such a situation? We just carried on with our washing. I’d never felt so embarrassed. The b******s on the mess deck had actually directed the girls down to the bathroom and had had a good laugh at our expense. The girls had been invited aboard on a good will trip; they certainly had something to tell their folks. The boys on the mess deck, said, “Did you give them a flash, Yorkie?” But as luck had it, my back was towards them.

One day as some of the boys were returning aboard, they came across a stranger in a uniform that they had never seen before. He wasn’t German and he had only a very slight knowledge of English. He managed to get across that he was very hungry, doing this mostly by sign, pointing to his mouth and to his stomach. His uniform was a green shade, nearly the so-called Lincoln green of Robin Hood. He was escorted off the dockside, down to the mess deck and was seated while someone went off and brewed the mess deck tea urn to the half way mark. A large tin of baked beans was opened and half a large loaf was cut up into thick slices and liberally coated with butter. This repast was placed in front of him as he literally drooled at the sight. I think he would have kissed us all if we had let him. His thanks were embarrassing; I’d never seen anyone starving like this man. He wolfed the food down and we just sat and watched him. His words were Russian sounding and he did claim that he was a Russian prisoner of the Germans and said that the Germans had shot some of his mates before we arrived. We made sure that he had his fill and then we packed him off before any officers arrived on the scene and kicked a stink up. We had after all, managed to get him aboard unbeknown to the officer of the day. I often wonder about this man and his eventual fate, for since the war, we have heard reports that the Soviets didn’t treat returned prisoners of war very well, saying that they should have fought to the death and they looked on the prisoners as traitors.

After this, we sailed soon for Grangemouth, Scotland where we expected a shore leave would bring us a chance of some celebrating and maybe a pint or two of free beer. We need not have bothered. You might have thought that the war was still on. I reckon we could have been in a better place than this. The Scottish seemed to be tight fisted as was often said. Still, the war in Europe was over now and everyone hoped that the Pacific war with Japan wouldn’t be long. I stayed with Venomous a few more months, just the usual exercises with the Fleet Air Arm and a few training patrols. I returned to barracks on July 7th and I got seven days’ leave granted. I was in heaven back with my wife and daughter again looking as beautiful as ever.

I was then drafted again, this time to Belfast, to a brand new L.S.T. so different from a destroyer. She seemed like one big roomy box. She was still in her final stages of completion. Although new, I didn’t like her. I bet this flat-bottomed boat would roll and pitch, and on a trip to the Far East, we would certainly hit some heavy weather, for I assumed that we would be going to the Pacific.

I struck up a friendship with an Irishman; he was one of the dockyard’s ”Mateys” and was well into middle age. He used to slip me many a bottle of Guinness in my locker and I eventually met his family. They lived in a terraced street not far from Harland and Wolfe’s. They were nice folks; I had regular shore leave from my job as assistant storekeeper.
One pub we went to seemed to be full of elderly and middle aged women who swore like an irate miner. They embarrassed even us who were used to bad language. They sang and I‘d bet that everyone was an IRA supporter. When a drunken argument started amongst them, we decided that it was time to leave. It didn’t seem a safe place for two sailors of the Royal Navy. Belfast seemed to have its quota of beggars, usually it was, “Have you sixpence, Jack, for a man to get a bed?” or it was. “for something to eat.” and we obliged until we actually watched one who had taken our sixpence and immediately dived into the nearest pub.

It wasn’t long before I was recalled to Barracks TF11, fitted out and sailed to the Isle of Mull for some exercises off Lambash and I ended up on my way back to Devonport. My recall seemed strange after this short stay on a new L.S.T. on my arrival; I wasn’t left long in doubt. I was sent on seven days’ leave for which I was grateful. I don’t know if it was the Admiralty’s was of bribing me but on my return, I’d to report to the engineer commander’s office of the depot as a matter of urgency. I was really surprised and I knew it must be important.

I knocked on the door and announced my name and rank. Immediately, a pleasant sounding voice told me to enter. I entered and saluted a medium sized individual in the uniform of a commander. He told me to take a seat and took out a sheaf of papers from a large envelope. I was now wondering what was going to happen. I realised that the Jap war was still not over and I had visions of some specialist mission to do with this. I didn’t want to be a hero; being a hero had too many risks for a man with a wife and young child. Imagine my surprise when he looked up from the papers that he had been studying and said, “Stoker Russell, I have your record here, a good record and you are a continuous service rating. As you know, we have hostilities going on in the Pacific water and in view of your record; we would like you to consider joining the Submarine Service. We have a new submarine sown in the dockyard which will soon be commissioned and we thought that you would be an ideal member of her crew.”

So this was it, I knew it meant extra money as he quickly pointed out to me. I would have loved to say yes, to have joined the elite of the navy. It would have been wonderful. I asked for time as I had a young wife and child; he said that he would not like anyone to think that they were forced in. He did appreciate my concern for my family and said that it would not go against me if I decided to refuse the offer and he gave me four hours to think it over. I finally turned it down and said that I would sooner be drafted to my old love, destroyers. It was not to be; I was back into the dated Barracks routine. It did have the benefits of long weekend leaves and a couple of seven-day leaves. I was in Barracks for about four and a half months. The Jap war had now finished and signs of peace were all around. The Barracks were cleaned and seemed to improve; I met a few old pals who had been called up for the hostilities — only ratings early on in the war and who were now in the process of being demobbed. I found myself envying them. They’d be home for good with their families and I still had a few years to do. I could not think that I’d be signing on for my pension, not now; I loved that little family of mine too much.

All this time I had been longing for a destroyer. I started haunting the D.F.D.O. office much to their annoyance. “You will get a ship soon enough,” they would say. I knew that I would also get leave if I got drafted to a ship, and so would get home again. Eventually, in came the draft chit that I’d longed for; it said that I had to report to the D.F.D.O. draft for H.M.S. Saumarez. She was a destroyer who had the North Cape on her Battle Honours. She had been in the torpedo attacks against the Battle Cruiser Scharnhost and had suffered causalities and damage, as she pressed home her attack against the Germans. I could not have wished for a better draft. I would be proud to wear the cap ribbon of H.M.S. Saumarez.

Pr-BR

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