Approach of the storm - Chapter 26

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 26
By
Thomas Arthur Russell.

We quickly learnt to help one another even if it wasn’t our turn as “cook of the mess”. Some of the older men made pastries and the odd cake to add a little touch at meal times. The P.O. cook used to have a terrible job in heavy weather. His galley was against the slightly raked funnel and his cooking range was oil fired. Even the rail surrounding his working surface was often inadequate to retain the pile of metal dishes if she gave an extra vicious roll.

I’d seen him, his hat perched on the back of his head, sweating and tears just about starting, cursing (this f****** b******, pig of a ship, why can’t it keep f****** still a bit, look at this f****** b****** lot). This, among what should have been a lovely nice hot meal of spuds, meat, gravy all mixed in with other debris. All his work gone with one big sea. Then it would be hard tack and corned beef, and of course, poor old chef got a bollocking.

“This isn’t rough. Can’t you b***** cook? It’s only rolling a bit. What if it really gets rough?” “Well, then you f****** well starve to death or eat hard tack,” would be his answer, and amid some laughter, “Well, we’d have to chuck the cook over the side and get a new b****** then!”

Yes, a cook on a destroyer in those far off days earned every penny of his pay. He also earned underneath all the kidding a large amount of respect from his shipmates, for they were good cooks and did their best against the elements and the rations available. Our cook had a roster for the egg and chip supper, for eggs and chips were a meal that Jack had a peculiar yearning for. To make sure that we were all evenly treated, we had our egg and chips on a rota basis. Each mess had a different night, whenever it was practical. Enemy action or rough weather could throw the rota out a bit, and then on return to harbour, there were a few arguments as to whose turn it was. But the cook always had his rota ticked off, so anyone trying to pull a fast one lost the argument.

On the whole, Quail was a happy ship, between the rounds of shoots and manoeuvres essential to bring the ship up to full efficiency, all hands still could find that particular brand of humour. Tiredness didn’t damp it. One thing I remember was one young leading stoker who was very sea sick, said, “Cheer up stokes, you could be dead,” to which the young lad said “How b***** lucky.”

We used to grumble at the sudden call to action stations, just when we were expecting a nice little snooze after a particularly rough day, and yet we knew in our hearts it was essential. For even at Scapa, you never knew if it was an air raid or a submarine, and it was fitting us for our own survival.

We had to answer the alarm rattlers by an immediate response, gun crews closed up, damage control and fire parties at their stations between decks, torpedo crews stood by tubes or depth charge racks, and guns would follow the director, traversing in the direction of the expected attack, anti-flash gear and steel helmets had to be worn on the upper deck and in a real attack anti-flash gear would have to be worn between decks too. Soon our preparations were completed and our programme of exercises was complete, but I remember one incident in which we were screening a mixed fleet of British and American ships, including a couple of battlewagons on a bombardment practice. We picked an echo up on our ASDIC and thought we had a submarine in the area. The fleet immediately returned to Scapa and we were ordered in with them. A rumour, which went round the ship said a U-boat was sunk.

Our own submarine exercises involved a submarine going out to a certain area whereupon we would conduct an ASDIC search, and then would drop a small charge designed to make a noise without damaging the sub on which the submarine signalled it as being near was classed as a hit.

One day our captain summoned me up to the bridge. We were at sea on a submarine exercise at the time. “Could you try and stop this bloody water getting through the windscreen Russell?” “I’ll try Sir,” I answered him. He showed where the wind was forcing the spray as it flew back over the fo’castle between the small panes, and he was catching some of it as he perched on his high chair scanning the ship. Some of his officers and a midshipman were stood around him hanging on as the ship rolled, for it was pretty rough.
I gazed with apprehension at the job in hand. I had a vision of tumbling down into one of those grey troughs and knew my chances if I did were pretty slim. He gazed at my face and probably saw the consternation there, for with a twinkle in his eye, he said, “Its okay stokes, I’ll hang onto your legs, you’ll be okay. I’ll not let go.” He thereupon got hold of my legs as I lowered my body over the windscreen. One of the officers passed the putty and my knife as I required it, and I quickly did my best to stop the water getting through. It took about 15 minutes, then he said, “Now, if you are not too wet you can stay on the bridge a bit and watch the exercise from here.”

I felt quite proud for this big redheaded skipper of ours to ask me to observe the exercise, I knew the responsibility he must have on his shoulders. In this tumult of wind and water I heard the noise of the asdic, the noise steadily increased to a rapid pi-ing, pi-ing, pi-ing, and the indicator scrawling away on the round card showed the submarine’s course as she tried to evade the hunter. Somewhere down there were men like us trying their best to lose us, though they tried, we eventually came into position over her, and a grenade type charge caused her to release a flare which bobbed up to the surface acknowledging a hit.

We were excited and some gave a weak cheer. “Now that’s one of ours, and remember this is practice. Don’t expect the Jerries to be so obliging. He’ll not release a flare, it may be a b***** big tin fish if we don’t get it right.” Just after this the submarine came to the surface, her Aldis lamp blinking over the ink coloured top of her conning tower, congratulating us and wishing us good luck in the future. The exercise was over and we proceeded back to harbour, seeing the submarine again as we left her in a burst of spray, as the air hissed from her tanks as they were flooded to take her down again. Swiftly, we set our course back to Scapa; after a few days there, we were ordered to Greenock for a boiler clean. We knew it would mean a short spell of leave to each watch, so it aroused excitement on the mess deck, after these four months of Scapa where practically everything except bloody hard work was at a premium. The day we sailed was blowing really rough, the sky was grey and we set out for Greenock in a full gale.

As we left the cover of the surrounding headlands we met a destroyer returning off patrol. She was heaving and showing much of her red painted underside. Even in a following sea she seemed to be taking a battering. One destroyer off our starboard beam fell back and we were alone in a heaving world of seas. I’d never seen seas like this, it was awesome. Every shuddering climb up and the resulting shuddering crash jarred through your very body. Seasickness I suspect now became tinged with apprehension as we changed course steadily and took some of the seas on the starboard beam. Then she lay over as if she wouldn’t come back, sending mess deck crockery crashing out of the shelves, hatboxes fell from the racks and mess kettles slid about among vomit and water. One stoker who had joined the ship recently was hanging on the edge of the metal washbasins in the bathroom with one or two of the lads trying to comfort him. Poor b*****, he was vomiting a greenish bile streaked with blood and moaning. He was classed as unfit for sea duty eventually, so I was told. I’ll bet he remembered that trip.

My watch came and I watched the seas very carefully as I held the knot of rope of the safety line. This was a thin wire braided line, very strong and strung along each side of the ship. You watched for your chance then dashed along the deck. You could swing your legs up in an attempt to let any water go under you if you were a bit late. Anyway, I managed it and got to the gear room above the engine room with a quick dash along the gleaming steel deck. My mate the leading stoker arrived next. He was slightly wet and after the passing of water past the rim of the hatch, he passed down the short steel ladder, fastening the hatch down behind him.

The motion of the ship was now a rolling motion from side to side. It was an effort keeping one’s feet on the steel plates as one kept a constant watch on the reading of the gauges of the forced lubrication pumps, and as the hour came up to pass the readings over to the engine room, I didn’t relish going out on the upper deck, for the short dash to the after superstructure, leading to the shaft passages. This was necessary to check the temperatures of the shaft bearings. A thermometer was inserted in the Plummer blocks, which supported the shafts. After that came the check on the steering engine in the tiller flat.

A small party of torpedo men were posted back, taking it in turns to keep a lookout over the turbulent waste of waters from the inside of the after superstructure. They were also ready for instant action if we got an asdic contact, for they formed the depth charge crews, as well as maintaining torpedoes and the electrics of the destroyer. As I passed through them, one Scottish lad with a mop of red hair said, “I dinnae want your b***** job down there Yorky,” and gave a little cheer as I shut the hatch behind me amid a shower of spray.

I wasn’t long down there, for the sea was swishing oil and water around in the bilge giving a sickly stench off that I didn’t find was doing my queasy stomach any good. I made my way back to the gear room and read the readings over by telephone to the engine room chief E.R.A., for him to enter into the engine room log. This hazardous journey back aft had to be done four times in the four-hour watch just before the hour. The ship seemed to be settling down into an easier motion, and when my watch came to an end, I handed over to my relief and went on deck. By now it was nightfall, but the skies had cleared and a big moon was up. The seas appeared to have subsided, although it was still rough and the moonlight was shining on the white topped foaming crests. It gave the scene a wild beauty enhanced by the screeching of the wind through the yards and signal wires.

I thought now that I could discern grey shapes faintly appearing in the moonlight, we were in the Lee of the Minches off the west coast of Scotland. Our ordeal would soon be over and we would be going on a well-earned leave. Only four days each watch, but one eagerly looked forward to by all the ships company. We entered the Clyde and anchored off Greenock. Quickly the mess deck became a hive of activity as tiddly suits were donned and cases packed for the short 4 day leave which was all a boiler clean could afford us.

We were piped to fall in aft for railway warrants and pay, and our ration books for a few days leave. I got to Leeds late, and a taxi dropped me outside the door at about 1am to the delight of my wife, but four days wasn’t long, as we visited relatives and walked in the country.

Pr-BR

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