Approach of the storm - Chapter 8

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 8
By
Thomas Arthur Russell

France had surrendered after being stabbed in the back by Italy, and now it posed problems for us, a formidable fleet was anchored in Alexandria with us, consisting of the French battleship Lorraine, and several destroyers and a couple of submarines.

I remember seeing two ships, which could have been light cruisers or the French super destroyers, the Duguay Truin, and another one tied up together, and they were now given an option of being demilitarised or sailing with us. They couldn't be allowed to sail to French ports, being at the disposal of the Nazis, which would have had an immediate effect on the war at sea, and would have posed a serious threat.
Our offer was to leave them with anti-aircraft defensive weapons and to stay at "Alex” till the war was over, or till anytime they wanted to sail under the Free French Flag.

We issued an ultimatum and this expired at midnight when our marines were prepared to board these ships. It didn't take much imagination to know what could happen if two fleets, including battleships, opened fire at point blank range at each other. On the French battleship, they appeared to be running hoses out along the decks and it was beginning to look serious. I went down below to No. 1 boiler room at 2000 hours, and as we maintained steam pressure, in case of the need for manoeuvre, all of us were tense and prepared for the worst, but sense prevailed over pride and our terms were accepted at about 2300. It had been close though, news came through about the bombardment of the French Fleet at Oran, and we must all have felt a sense of relief that the ships wouldn’t fall into German hands. What we would have done under similar circumstances, with families in German hands, it’s hard to say now, although it seemed to inspire the Poles to fight with a fanatical hatred of all that was German.

The anti-aircraft fire their ships could throw up was tremendous and I couldn't help thinking I wouldn't want to be a German pilot forced to bale out in range of their guns. About July 1940, we made offensive sweeps into the Eastern Mediterranean, looking for an enemy fleet, which, although being more modern, seemed to have a strange reluctance to give battle. This despite Mussolini’s claim that it was Italy's sea. Several times the fleet would come under high-level bomber attacks, which although pretty accurate, scored no hits.

A couple of times I saw bomb splashes yet heard no planes, only towering white columns of water, vivid against the blue of the sea and sky and heard the muffled thud of their explosions. Once I saw the old Eagle carrier practically vanish as a number of bombs fell near her. The fleet was in line ahead and she was in front of Ramillies, her biplane fighters, although now outdated by the Italian Macchis, looked reassuring on her flight deck. We had no radar then and action stations only sounded if the look-out could see the enemy or hear them, then the alarm rattlers, a series of short noises like a big alarm clock, would go, and the bugler would sound off, repel aircraft. The same call I heard on a film about the cavalry of older days, and if you put the words to it, it would be like "there's a bomber overhead, there's a bomber overhead, ta ra."

The passageways filled with the figures of men dashing to damage control and fire party positions, feet would clank up and down hatchways, the rattle of steel block and tackle as armoured hatches were swiftly lowered, and anti-flash geared faces would be speaking into telephones, reporting the various positions closed up. Then the waiting, usually not long, ended by the hammer beat of the eight barrelled pom poms and the crash of the four-inch A-A guns.

After a while, hands to secure action stations and then the thankful removal of the face tickling anti-flash hood and the gloves, replacing them in the gas mask satchel, which had to be carried as well. Hands to cruising stations, A-A guns crews resume third degree of readiness, meant although the danger now seemed passed, a complete relaxation and dropping of the guard could not be risked. Every dawn and dusk, we closed up to action stations and remained there till full daylight or darkness. Lookouts were warned to be particularly vigilant for this was the time an enemy would stand out in silhouette and the attacker could come in from the darkest side. Submarine or aircraft could use this time of day to their advantage, especially we having no radar equipment yet.

Although the air attacks did no damage, they did pose a problem in some ways, for men coming off watch were often denied much needed sleep by having to go to their off watch action stations when they should have been getting their heads down. "Crash my bloody swede," was the term often used to describe having a nap. This interference with the need for rest produced irritation and grumbles, but generally morale was very high. Everyone wanted a damn good bash at the "Ities" and were living in the hopes of confronting the Italian Fleet. The weather was pretty good, odd times we got a warmish wind that put white crests on the blue waters, visibility was usually very good. Sometimes the horizon had a faint haze on it. The ships would throw the waves tumbling back in a welter of white spray back from the great grey sides.

Occasionally as hydraulics were tested, the great grey guns would swing round or elevate, looking sinister and powerful. I wondered what it would be like to hear the crash of these great guns, and as I looked around and saw the battlewagons, the cruisers and the screening destroyers, I felt a pride and an exhilaration to be part of this beautiful array of naval power, for it had its own beauty. Occasionally a small puff of dark smoke from the slightly raked funnel, as a sprayer was switched on for extra speed, soon dissipated in the wind, the flicker of signal lamps as shutters rattled and the admiral passed and received messages from his captains and commanders.

At times, pennants were hoisted and fluttered in the breeze, keeping signalmen on their toes, for we had this method and semaphore communications too, and over all streaming in the wind was the White Ensign. Let them come. We were ready but just then they didn't share our enthusiasm. We did conduct one operation against an Italian occupied fort on the North African coast. We and Warspite moved in at dawn one morning and I overheard a CPO say, "We will catch the bastards just getting up for breakfast."

All the ship was closed up to action stations, and for the first time, I heard the 15 turrets fire, a terrific crash, heeled the ship over to one side, I heard the noise of broken crockery and light bulbs tinkled somewhere, and the rattle of the tin hat boxes in the racks as the high explosive went on its way. Again that crash as around eight tons of high explosive went on its way. Again the noise of crockery breaking. At this rate I wondered if we would have any bloody crockery left to eat off, and all the while the destroyers were out there guarding the big ships against submarine attack.

It was all over in a matter of about 15 minutes and we left the area, at our best speed of about eighteen knots, although we had only bombarded the fort for such a short time, the fire from two battleships must have been devastating, considering the tonnage of high explosion falling on the target every few minutes. We remained at Air Defence stations for about an hour, and then secured, and all hands not on watch, went to breakfast. We were elated; we had actually struck a blow at the enemy. No one gave a thought to the carnage we must have inflicted on fellow human beings, the agony and mutilation, it was just an operation against the enemy, and such is war.

Italians boys would scream for a far off mother in the last extremities, as would British or German. We arrived back in Alex next day and steamed to our berths past the ships that had not sailed with us. As we passed each one, a bugler would sound off on the larger ships, bringing the ship’s company dressed in the rig of the day to face us at attention. The officers remained at the salute till we had passed, then sounded the secure, and back to their work. The destroyers would give their salute by the high piping of bosons pipe and the commands echoed over the water of the anchorage as the officers called the destroyer crews to face towards the incoming battleships and escorts, and render their brief tribute.

Not a man who didn't feel a surge of pride as the ships moved slowly to their berths. This was not a fleet that would shirk battle; we all had our tails up. The battle of Britain had now started and we used to listen to the radio, to the accounts of the raids on London and the scores of enemy planes shot down. The members of the crew who had relations in London must have been apprehensive. They only showed it by the odd mutter of the words: "F****** bastards," We who were more fortunate understood how they felt.

July 18th, HMA cruiser Sydney sank the Italian destroyer Bartolomeo Colleoni, which gave our morale a lift. We kept ourselves fit by swimming whenever "hands to bathe" was piped. The weather remained hot. Sometimes we went to King Farouks bathing beach at the other side of the harbour, it was a fine place to swim. The water was much clearer over at Ras El Tin. The French sailors spent a lot of time bathing over there and catching crabs for a change in diet. We thought, "What a bloody war for them, nothing but shore leave and swimming." I felt a feeling of bitterness against them, mixed up with pity for who knew how their families were feeling under the Nazis. They seemed happy enough, what I saw of them. I expect Sister Street profited from their enforced stay in harbour. Often, as my pals and I walked up and down the fo'castle, we would talk about leave and what it would be like at home now. We would always hurry eagerly down to the mess deck when mail came aboard, then I'd pop back up in the warm Mediterranean sun and sprawl out on my "corker" the matelots’ name for an old hammock or such like, used for sun-bathing or napping on the upper deck on make and mend days or off watch times, providing it caused no inconvenience to anyone’s work.

We did several sweeps with the rest of the fleet, HMS Warspite, HMS Malaya were there, and HMS Eagle, but barring the occasional high level attacks, we didn't see so much action, although we had a cruiser hit by a torpedo, one dusk action station with some casualties. I believe it was HMS Liverpool, but it made us realise dusk and dawn action stations were an important part of operational activity.

One morning, the regulating chief stoker appeared on the mess deck. He called a few names out of which mine was one, put a clean boiler suit on, bring a towel each and some soap and muster on the quarterdeck. Being of a suspicious nature where chief stokers were concerned, I wondered what the bloody hell now. Soon we were to know as the picket boat took us across the harbour. We climbed out on the jetty near a tug. It was an Egyptian tug. She looked in pretty sound fettle, but was coal fired and we wondered why we were here. It transpired her crew didn't want to take her to sea on what they thought was a risky business. That business was to tow a latticework target designed in my view, more for rambler roses to climb up. The tug was weaponless except for the service revolver carried by the WO in charge of us. My mate said, "No wonder these black buggers don't want to sail her. What if the bloody Eyties get attracted by the ships and come after us. What can we do except throw a shovel full of coal at them?"

We were split into watchers and I recall going to her boiler room. It was a bit dodgy at first, trying to hit the hole in the furnace from a heaving, rolling deck. After a bit of shovelling and raking, accomplished by a few oaths and given up rolling, we got the feel of it. Its surprising what a knowledge of the seamier side of the English vocabulary can do to let off steam. By now we were several miles out at sea, and after my turn below, I went to the stern and saw the object of our mission, the lattice work target was about the length of a good sized bungalow and looked about 14 feet high. It was yawing and dipping about a bit in a welter of foam.

Away on the horizon, looking like distant grey castles were the fleet, battlewagons and a destroyer escort as far as I could make out, the signaller we carried with us must have made contact, for next, thing we were told, the fleet will open fire on the target any time now. Lets hope the buggers have their eye, in a voice said, "If one of them projis hit this s*** bin, we'll all go west."

Suddenly dark yellowish clouds boiled around the grey castles, followed by the bright metallic glow of the muzzle flashes. The whole fleet seemed to ripple with flame and we heard the rush of the shells as they came towards us. An instant later, great white geysers of water towered up maybe 200 yards behind the target; they fell back froaming and boiling back into the blue sea. "Christ they're only practise shells. What if they were real?" The shells started straddling the target, getting nearer their mark. The object wasn't to destroy the target, but to get as near as possible with the straddles. Of course, if this had been an enemy vessel, the shells in all probability would have hit her upper works, for they would have towered so much higher than the target on tow. After about an hour or so, a flicker of distant signals, a flutter of pennants and we were on way back to harbour. We arrived back and tied up, weary, relieved and black with coal dust, it reminded me of my days down the pit, we were ordered to clean up as much as possible. Using a rope and a bucket of water and a couple of bars of pussers soap, the seawater wasn't the ideal way of sluicing down. It took some effort to gain a lather and it didn't do a man's ego any good to see the sly grins from the brown faces passing by as we stood naked with bucket in hand. Never mind, their women in Sister Street had seen it all and in some cases felt it.

Back at the ship, we reported on the quarterdeck, then had a meal and went down into the bathroom to wash boiler suits and bodies with freshwater. The Engineer Lieutenant Commander congratulated us on a job well done, but looking at the fuzz growing on my face, told me to purchase a razor and start shaving. I was finally a man. I went ashore and decided to see Judy Garland in the Wizard of Oz. One of my messmates and I enjoyed the film, even now when it is shown at Christmas time, I immediately think of Alex and the friends I knew and thank God I was spared to see this day.

Pr-BR

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