Approach of the storm - Chapter 40

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 40
By
Thomas Arthur Russell

I awoke to full daylight back in Corfu anchorage, and the ship was soon tied-up to the repair ship. The Yeoman of Signals came round now and a quick roll call of all who were safe and well was taken. I wondered if the tragedy of the Corfu channel had been announced on the BBC news bulletins.

Forty-four men were to be the final tally of deaths, most in Saumarez. I remember feeling sorry for the relatives who would get the telegram announcing the loss of loved ones. My wife saved all kinds of documents and among them are the telegrams from the war and the Corfu incident. I often look at them, more so now that she’s gone.

Many of us fully expected our guns to have flattened the shore batteries, once we were towed out of range, but it was not to be. Men trained to action and the ability to hit back had to suffer the frustration of silent guns, because the politicians had not the stomach to give the order to open fire and avenge the boys who died. To think of it still fills me with bitterness. The service I had loved had to suffer this humility.

A boat approached Saumarez. It was the Admiral come to thank us for our work. Tired men, bleary-eyed and scruffy in stained and damp boiler suits came to attention in salute to their Admiral. The Admiral immediately ordered us to stand at ease, and I recall the concern in his eyes and voice as he passed down the small, ragged line, shaking hands with all and giving a few kind words as he looked his men full in the eyes. In a way I felt sorry for him, too. Two of his ships had been seriously damaged, with heavy casualties, many of them conscripts. Really, no one could have foreseen that any country could have indulged in such treachery as the mining of an international waterway during peacetime, yet his masters at the country’s helm could not allow him to use his power in return. Only he could know his feelings.

After the Admiral’s visit, a boat came and took us over to the carrier Ocean. We were given a hammock, new boiler suit, towel, soap, toothpaste and some underwear- the navy always made sure of your toilet requirements. The hospital ship Maine arrived at Corfu to take our wounded under her professional and specialised care. Some of the badly burned injured had a black crust on their skin and they said some even had a maggot or two under it, saying it was beneficial to the healing process. About then, I heard Bill S. and Taffy B. had died. Bill, of the “no mail” problems and Taffy, my sparring partner had gone, only then did I realize how very lucky I’d been once again.

We had a service aboard HMS Saumarez, led by a Padre and Captain. Officers and men mingled like a large family, most in their working fatigues, it was in memory of the boys whose bodies would never be recovered and who had no known grave. A few tears showed on cheeks showing a greyness of the events of the last few days, so it was that we left our ship and somewhere down below our shipmates. I also attended a funeral in Corfu cemetery of men who had died and whose bodies were recovered.

We were now transported to Malta after wishing the lads on the Maine a quick recovery; we were billeted in old stone barracks. Morning used to bring us a treat in the form of the Royal Marine Band who would play a stirring march after colours we felt like V.I.P.’s.

We heard that 25 mines had been swept up by an escorted flotilla of mine sweepers and on examination were found to be a powerful type of ex German mine, still new with their mooring cables still coated with grease. It proved without any shadow of doubt it was a new and deliberately laid minefield, laid by Enver Hoxhas’s Albanian Government. What seemed strange at this time was that we hardly heard much on the news about this tragedy and I spoke to people including ex-navy men who never heard of it even today.

HMS Saumarez eventually ended up towed to Malta. Someone said they were going to rebuild her for’d half, they’d blown half of her away by placing a necklace of charges round the end of the damaged area, her picture in the Malta Times looked as if they’d done a good clean job of it but she was scrapped. Eventually we travelled by sea to Toulon and overland to Calais first; they omitted this.

We survivors eventually travelled by ship to Dover and onto our respective depots. I arrived in Plymouth and barracks and leave. It was about this time, a man showed me a trick for getting extra leave. It involved using a type of erasing ink, and French chalk the pay book. I’ll go no further, only to say my wife wondered why I was getting all this leave for I had a week or two extra.

The Winter of 1947 was one of heavy snow and a keen frost and caused me my last bout of naval punishment. Through late trains and frozen points, I was 14 hours 45 minutes adrift and suffered stoppage of leave and pay. I remember spending three hours before a roaring fire with the shunters at Cudworth station waiting for a connection. It was a bit galling knowing I could have spent it at home.

I joined the battle cruiser Renown on 14th January. She was laid up in reserve at Devonport and anchored out in the stream. I was appointed to take charge of the firemain pumping system and see to the fresh water supplies for the ship’s company. I worked on a 24hr on and 24hr off system. It gave me ample scope for shore leave and writing home, mail was now more frequent and regular, I had a newfound friend aboard, a Geordie by name of Andy Cooke, a stoker mechanic like myself.

We had fun with the Chinese nationalists who were aboard for training, sometimes in off duty hours we would take an old sock onto the upper deck and stuff it with waste to be used as a football and two or three of us would play a game of football on the fo’castle. We used to play in our heavy boots while they had a fad for playing in plimsolls. We used to get howls of laughter as they hopped about if a heavy boot came up against the vigorous tackle of a Chinese plimsoll.

One day after returning from a week’s leave, I happened to pop into a sailor’s meeting establishment in Devonport. “Aggie Westons” and one of my shipmates happened across me. He had news that filled me with optimism; he informed me he had seen an A.F.O. saying Regular Navy ratings could apply for release to coal mining if they had previous experience. Back aboard ship I made immediate enquiries and what should have been pinned up on the notice board somehow was mysteriously produced. I knew the Navy was short of regulars and suspect it had been conveniently mislaid. This was my chance. I thought it over again and decided to put a request in to leave the service for the coalmines. I thought how nice it would be to live a real civilian family life away from the risks of active life in the service, for I had the feeling I could get in some more sticky situations. I wrote to my wife and she seemed a bit lukewarm about me being a miner again and I think she didn’t fancy me walking up the street covered in coal dust, and thought I should stay on, for we used to fancy living in Plymouth where I might get a job on a tug or in the dockyard.

The tragedy of the Corfu Channel certainly upset my future plans, for I might have stayed on in the navy and who knows to what heights I might have soared, but then my luck might have seen me aboard Amethyst up the Yangtze, for she was a Devonport ship if I remember rightly. I duly put my request in for release to coal mining and it was soon granted.

One day as I was taking in water from the water lighter which had moored alongside, and was having a chat with the tug man before he cast off. I was interrupted by a voice by my side. It was the engineer commander of HMS Renown and he said, “Fancy Russell, giving all this up to go down a coal mine.” It was a lovely sunny day and he must have been wanting me to change my mind and I remember pointing out to him my experiences and telling him I was a family man now, and nothing could change my mind.

The Navy was very short of regulars, due to war losses and men’s time being up after the war, and if they could, they would have kept hold of me. I was given a date for release and I had a last binge ashore in Devonport, getting drunk and regretting it next morning. My shipmates helped me to get my gear down to the boat amid wishes of good luck and a few jokes, a more serious handshake with Andy.

Two days were to pass before I eventually arrived in Pompey and went through the task of trying suits on and shirts and a trilby hat. I looked at myself in the mirror and looked more like a Yankee mobster than an ex-sailor. I packed them away in my case and travelled home in my navy uniform. I had a month’s leave and pay before I started my mining career again, and was allowed to wear Navy uniform till the end of the leave. I wore civvies some days but I didn’t care for that damned rig out and often wore my uniform while I could.

So here I was now a civvy again, I felt a tinge of regret, especially when I finished my first shift at Mitchell’s Main mine, a very dusty warm pit. My job was with the fitters and I had to check on the greasing of the machinery. This was all powered by compressed air due to its gassiness and dust. I worked weekends to make a decent wage and bought a bicycle to go to work on. I was embarrassed to ride on the bus in dirty clothes among passengers dressed up. There were no baths there, so I bathed at home.

I was excited, we were expecting our second child, we were both hoping for a boy and we got our wish in October, so the clock had turned full circle. This youth who had left the dust of the mines to join the navy had gone through a war, had seen lands, peoples oceans, sights, smells, seen fun, and found my dream girl, married, had a family and experienced all the emotions of the human mind: happiness, anger, elation, pride and at times fear and revulsion at some sights I had seen and will never forget.

To some is given the privilege of experiencing and living history, a history which, as I look at my kids and their kids, I hope they don’t have to live through.

Pr-BR

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