Approach of the storm - Chapter 9

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 9
By
Thomas Arthur Russell

I went ashore one day and I came across the ship's Church of England chaplain and an officer. He recognised me and E.B. and bought us a Pilsner each and chattered. During that time, I noticed even a parson can harbour a hefty thirst, he could probably have seen us under the table, but he was liked and respected and would take the good natured banter of the crew in good part when he paid the occasional visit to the mess decks. Anyone in trouble, no matter from which direction, he was available to advise and help, he carried his dog collar with our respect. He wasn't only a parson, he was a friend.

One day we were ordered to scrub and air our hammocks and bedding, it was a periodical duty designed to maintain hygiene, we took out the mattress the lining of our hammocks and lashed them over the upper wire of the guard rails with the rope lashing from the hammock, till the fo'castle looked as if it had sprouted a wall of hammock mattresses. The outer canvas covers, we scrubbed down in the bathroom then found a place over the grid walkways in the auxiliary boiler room where they quickly dried.

After that, we had a kit muster where the items of clothing had to be properly marked, folded neatly with the name showing and it had to be clean. Any items missing had to be replaced and woe betide anyone who had someone else's kit mixed up with theirs, even cloths and blackening brushes had to be shown. Some men got a recommend from the inspecting officer and some got a rollicking, we hated this part of the ships routine, but I believe it helped to keep pilfering down, which did exist on a small scale. I wouldn't have liked to have been caught at that sort of thing, for the contempt we held for thieving from one's comrades was a terrible price to pay. It doesn't take much imagination to realise the risk anyone caught at it ran, after all you existed in close proximity to one another even if it was a battleship with a crew of about 900 men and officers, and news soon spread around who the culprit was.

The news of the Battle of Britain was good. Gathered round a radio on the fo'castle and listening intently, waiting for the score to be announced, when it came through we gave a cheer, "Good old RAF give the NAZI b******* some hammer." It was a bright spot in the news.

We sailed again on a sweep into the Eastern Med', but no joy. The Italians didn't show up. Apart from a stick of bombs from high level bombers well off target, it proved uneventful. Back to Alec, to swimming and a bit of shore leave. Some of the lads were yearning for the dusky charmers of Sister Street and I found it taxing on the will power not to go myself, young blood runs hot and not only stomachs grow hungry.
Tombola and a nosh up at the Fleet Club were a must. It was surprising how the same dusky face appeared with a flash of white teeth, smiling and welcoming you to your table. I found these Egyptian waiters very amiable and always faultlessly courteous and the white clothes they wore were spotlessly clean. How they remember their different customers never ceased to amaze me.

The day dawned on what was to mark my first real taste of action against the Italian fleet. These things sometimes happen in a seemingly casual way. It was November 1940 and although we did not know it, the ship had been ordered to the UK for other work. Ramillies sailed as force D, comprising the heavy cruisers HMS Berwick, mounting 8" guns, HMS Newcastle 6" guns, the AA cruiser HMS Coventry and destroyers, Defender, Greyhound, Griffin and Hereward.

We were escorting a slow convoy to Malta, and sailed, not really expecting anything out of the ordinary. What I remember of the weather was typical Mediterranean, blue sky, sea, a bit choppy but visibility good. As usual lookouts were posted and we were at third degree of readiness, eyes scanned the sky and the sea, men off watch were trying to get any chores done and a few were walking up and down the fo'castle getting a bit of exercise and fresh air. I was on the fo'castle and I noticed that the ship had increased speed. We seemed to be pulling away from the few ships we were escorting. The Berwick and a couple of destroyers had opened out to starboard. Something was happening.

You don't increase and put on speed away from a convoy no matter how small, unless something is in the wind. By now the ship was throwing the seas up in a welter of foam as she ploughed forward at her best speed. Berwick was slightly ahead and well out on the starboard quarter, going back up to the HA gun deck. I heard the Italian fleet was out and just over the horizon and had been running parallel to our course for an hour. At that time I had no idea of its composition, neither did I know that Force H with HMS Renown battle cruiser and Ark Royal aircraft carrier with Sheffield, Manchester and Southampton, three city class cruisers, a Delhi type cruiser and eight destroyers were also heading in our direction.

Suddenly the alarm rattlers went calling all hands to action stations; the metallic clatter of feet on companionways and ladders, the rattle of the chain-blocks lowering armoured hatches into place, and all the time the alarm for action, speed is the essence of preparing a warship for immediate action.

The reports would be flowing in to the bridge from all parts of the ship, of the various damage control and fire parties closed up, gun positions manned and ready, ammunition supply parties, and magazine parties, closed up boiler rooms all connected and the engine room double banked. I dashed quickly down through the hive of activity to make my way to the ford damage fire control party on the seamen’s mess deck.

All had now fallen strangely quite except for the hum of the ventilators and the subdued tone of the leading hand reporting we were closed up, we seemed strangely alone, the seamen all being at action stations. We sat below decks right under a turret.

Soon we were informed of the proximity of the enemy ships and it was a formidable force, two battleships of modern design, far faster than either Ramillies or the battle cruiser Renown. They were Gaulio Cesare and Vittario Veneto with 8" and fourteen destroyers, the only 8" cruiser we had in the force was Berwick, yet we were confident. It turned out we had tried to trap them between Force B and H and bring them into a decisive fleet action. Our Admirals were not the kind to shirk action of this kind. Somerville and Cunningham had the full confidence of us all and they had certainly trained us to a fine pitch.

Now we were expecting to show our mettle.
A shuddering as the ship altered course and then a terrific crash seeming to come from over our heads, hat boxes fell out of the racks and crockery broke in an untidy mess as it jumped out of the mess shelves under the shock of the concussion, electric light bulbs tinkled, cork flaked down from the deckhead.

We were informed from the bridge that we had opened fire on the Italian Fleet. That was why the ship had heeled over, her full broadside of 15” shells had punched her over onto her beam. Now we knew, so this was what it was like.

At the back of my mind I wondered what it would be like to be wounded or blown to bits. None of us between decks could now know what was actually happening, we had to rely on the spasmodic reports coming through.

Our next news was that our broadside had fallen several thousand yards short of a swiftly retreating enemy. The cruisers maintained contact for a while, and one of their cruisers had suffered hits causing a large fire. Berwick had suffered an 8” shell on a turret, killing all of its crew, so we hadn’t had it all our own way.

The date was 21st November and became known as the Battle of Spartivento. We pursued the Italian force for a while but the only way we were going to catch them was by following them all the way to base.

The pursuit was called off. There were the enemy mine fields to be considered and we should be at risk from aircraft operating from nearby airfields.

The danger was obvious. We had lost too many ships and personnel, every ship was needed, besides the rapidly expanding U boat fleet, The German surface fleet was comprised of some very powerful units and they posed a constant menace. The possibility of them breaking out into the Atlantic, even into the Mediterranean, couldn’t be ignored. The Rock was no absolute guarantee that it couldn’t happen.

I think every man was disappointed that the action had not led to greater things, but it brought home the fact that some had died. It had brought out feelings in men that they probably didn’t know existed. Battles are not only about bravery, they are also about that small growing fear of, "If I get hit, if I get mutilated, will death be sudden or slow? What will it be like to drown or burn like a rat in a trap?" Only a fool, they say, has no fear at all, and the bravest feels something in the pit of the stomach. Therein lies the answer to the constant training and discipline. You do your job and you overcome these feelings and once the action hots up you often forget it, till it’s all over.

It was a pleasure to strip the itchiness of the anti-flash hood off and re-pack them and the gloves in my gas-mask case. After a while, I made my way up top. The skies had greyed over and out to starboard. I saw the battlecruiser Renown, she was slightly ahead, about 21 miles away, and as several of us watched, we saw her 15” guns trained overboard suddenly light up in a ripple of lurid flame and billowing clouds of yellowish brown smoke.

The sea under the blast ruffled as if by a great wind, and the shells sounded like giant hands ripping a great canvas apart as they rushed through the air. There was no cause for alarm; the guns had been loaded and this unusual salvo was being fired to clear them. They were now retrained in the fore and at position. It was something to see and hear, 15” guns so near, something I don’t think anyone will see or hear now.

Looking back over it all, I feel that my generation have lived through so much and seen so much history and change in really a comparatively short time, that we are privileged. Not so long ago I was a scruffy-arsed kid, going to school in patched-up trousers, then a youth working down the pit drawing my first wages, till I went to work on the coalface doing "a man’s job for a man’s wage". Now I had joined the RN as a stoker and had my first taste of real action against enemy ships. So much had happened in so short a time.

We picked the slow convoy up again and carried on. The weather varied but we steamed through some weather every bit as rough as the Atlantic, and as wet, with the wind blowing rain squalls. I saw that curious phenomenon of rain clouds on the horizon, forming up and then sending pillows like tree trunks down to the sea to form water spouts. Our voyage was uneventful, we exercised action stations occasionally and closed up to first degree at dawn and dusk.

The destroyers of our screen seemed to be in exactly the same place day after day as if some strange magnetic field held us together. Were submarines really out there? It seemed more like a peacetime cruise.

We put into Gibralter to refuel and were given shore leave. Gibralter didn’t seem like much of a place to me, it was one main street, not much to excite young matelots, especially as we knew we were on our way to the UK.

Its redeeming feature was the price of the drink and the goods you could buy so much cheaper than at home. The boys used to shop specially for souvenirs and I bought a roll of silk-like material. Why, I don’t know what happened to it. I recall several of us swaggering into the Trocadero and as we watched Spanish Flamenco dancers, we drank. I’m afraid a mixture of threepence a tot of rum and beer chasers soon had me drunk! Ivy Benson’s Ladies Dance Orchestra was playing there, as I recall.

Making our way back to the ship, the realisation that I had lost or misplaced the silk came to me. We made a staggering hunt some of the way back, but I never found it.

The drunken spree ended with me being put in the cells up forward near the bows and situated on the starboard side. Some of my mess mates took it in turns to keep an eye on me. Did I get a tongue-lashing the next day! I’ll always remember that first run ashore in Gibralter.

The leading hand in the mess said, "Trying to keep a bloody Jack Russell?"- a term applied to anyone trying to drink his mates under the table. I had a long way to go to beat some of those boys. Consuming drink on such a scale is so very foolish, but looking around at today's youth, who am I to cast a stone when we say how daft they are?

Pr-BR

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