CORVETTE GALT

After a pleasant leave, I reported to Halifax and was drafted to the shore establishment, HMCS Venture, located in a small, dilapidated wooden building near the end of the Dockyard.  From there I reported each day to the Signal Training Centre for morse practice.  But not every day, for on a few occasions I had to work for the W/T maintenance section.  Then came the big moment; after a week in Venture I was drafted on a Friday evening, in early February 1942, to the corvette Galt, whose C.O. was Lt. A.D. Landles.

            Built in Collingwood, Ontario, and in commission since 15 May 1941, the 950-ton Galt was fast becoming a veteran of the Atlantic war.  The corvette, huddled with some sister ships at No. 5 jetty in the Dockyard, was typical of her whaler-type class: 33 feet in breadth, 205 feet in length, and having a speed of about 16 knots.

            On her short foc'sle was her number, K-163, and on top was a 4-inch gun, the gunshield of which was later to show painted a caricature of an old salt of a fisherman spanking a U-boat.  A small superstructure and a single funnel graced her topsides, while the bulwarks - the raised sides of the ship - extended aft from the foc'sle and around the ship, giving her a tub-like appearance.  To me Galt was a big and important ship - but not big enough; little did I know she and I wouldn't get along together.

            On Saturday the crew swung out the two side whalers (lifeboats) and, to the monotonous wheeze of the boiler feed pumps, Galt left port to assist in escorting a UK-bound convoy, HX174 - my first.  It was also the occasion for my first real bout of seasickness.  Later I was to get sick many times - a great hindrance to my work in the wireless office.

            In Galt, the Wireless Telegraphy office was located aft on the starboard side of the windowed wheelhouse.  The sounds of morse and the crackle of static intermingled with the helmsman's steady calls of speed and course changes.

            Wireless watch consisted of listening with headphones to the Halifax broadcast, in addition to a loudspeaker watch on the convoy inter-communication frequency.  Fortunately for me these were our only responsibilities, although gradually the wireless organization for escorts grew to be fairly complex.  A good example is the wireless watch-keeping of the frigate Sea Cliff later in the war when, at one point, she was serving as senior Officer of the C3 Escort Group escorting a west-bound convoy.  As Senior Officer she was assigned the distinctive Radio Telephone call sign of "Nutty", and thus all ships in the escort group automatically acquired the derivative and collective call sign of "All Nutties".  In addition to keeping the broadcast, convoy Radio telephone watch was kept on 2410 Kilocycles and one Very High Frequency on TBS (Talk-Between-Ships) equipment.  Sea Cliff also guarded: 15th Group Reconnaissance (High Frequency Direction Finding) as requisite; loudspeaker watch on the Azores Port Wave, if necessary; and convoy High Frequency loudspeaker watch throughout the trip.  Aircraft homing on a Medium Frequency was also a responsibility of Sea Cliff.  The reason for the loudspeaker watch was because there were only two operators available during normal watch.  During action stations, of course, doubling-up occurred.

            When west of 32 degrees West, escort ships listened on 105 Kilocycles to the "L" Halifax broadcast for messages from shore authorities.  When east of this line, ships listened on 107 Kilocycles to the "BN" Whitehall broadcast.  When the change-over time came, two ships were always detailed to guard the lap-over period, so no messages would be missed.  For example, during a west-bound trip, after the change-over to the Halifax broadcast, one corvette would be detailed to guard the Whitehall broadcast from 30 West to 37 West, while prior to the change-over another corvette would have been detailed to guard the Halifax broadcast from 23 West.  The broadcasts could also be heard on several high frequencies so there was not much chance of messages being missed.

            Naval sparkers were quite familiar with the two foregoing stations, yet there was another one that needs to be mentioned.  Which is CFF, a station that was established in 1940 in Ottawa at the Central Experimental Farm, a large area west of Dow’s Lake and the Rideau Canal.  PO Tel Arthur Hewitt was in charge of the installing of the communication equipment at the station.  One of his assistants was Leading Tel George Guest.  The station provided Naval Service Headquarters with an important link to Canadian, USA and overseas naval authorities.  Serving at CFF during its early years were telegraphists:  Hank Bennetts, Bert Best, Joe Carver, Ralph Davies, Art Deeves, Bob Dunbar, Bob Duston, George Guest, Jack Jewers, Bill Krogel, G.B. Nickerson, Gerry Pinard, Norman Ross, Charlie Sabean, Jack Siddons, Jack Wildey and Al Young.  Several of these men received their commission after the war.  One, Jack Siddons, served in the late sixties at the newly integrated armed forces communication headquarters in Ottawa.  One may wonder did he go and look for the site of his old station.

            At sea with convoy HX174, Galt had an action station alarm one coal-black night, and dropped a single depth charge.  This may have been an exercise alarm, because I don't believe we had a contact.  Later, when near Newfoundland, we branched off from the convoy and proceeded to St. John's, arriving on 10 February.

            Approaching St. John's from the sea, one sees towering cliffs and then a gap that appears to have been carved by a giant axe, allowing the sea to pour through a thousand-yard channel, then to turn left into the basin that was the harbour.  Here, on the left and stretching the length of the harbour, was one long straight dock where the escorts tied up.  Above the dock was a high, comparatively bare hill, later put to use with installations of barracks and oil tanks.  Across the harbour, small jetties poked like fingers from the shore, while beyond them the many shabby houses and buildings of the city crammed and climbed another hilly expanse.

            In this my first visit, I found St. John's in its winter mantle of snow a cheerless place to be.  While there I met my old friend, Huck LeClair, whom I had not seen for over a year.

            I was amused by a story that Huck told me.  It involved himself and several friends, and happened when their corvette was tied on one occasion at Jetty 4 in Halifax.

            Huck was returning aboard ship about three o'clock early one morning when he and some friends spotted some supplies for one of the ships on the jetty.  Immediately a large wheel of cheese caught their eyes, and the consensus was to take it aboard their own ship, on the outside of about six ships, to make some sandwiches.

            As they were lugging it across an English trawler, one of the group had the benevolent idea that the poor English sailors would like to have the cheese as they were on poor rations, etcetera, etcetera.  They all agreed to this, so stopping at the companionway on deck they opened the door and rolled the wheel of cheese down the ladder, at the same time yelling gleefully, "Come and get it, Limeys!"

            The cheese bounced down the ladder, hit an iron stanchion, and broke into a thousand pieces.  The next instant brought pandemonium below as panic-stricken English sailors scrambled from their hammocks and lights flashed on.

            The following day, the Shore Patrol nosed around the ships attempting to unravel the mystery of the broken cheese.  They never did find out, and the mischief-makers laughed about it for weeks.

            After a short stay, Galt, in company with a minesweeper, left St. John's to escort a convoy of five merchant ships to Halifax.  A few days out, our ship was caught in an ice-field and the small convoy continued on without us.  When we finally extracted ourselves we hurried on, catching up with the other ships just as they were entering the gates of Halifax Harbour.  We, in turn, threaded our way between the two gate vessels with their anti-submarine nets stretching to the shore, and soon had tied up alongside other escort vessels.

            While we were in port, a tragic sinking occurred at sea.  On 10 February 1942, U-591 (KK Zetzsche) made contact with convoy SC67.  The U-boat subsequently sank one ship and then brought in U-136 commanded by Kapitanleutnant Heinrich Zimmermann who, about 0135 on the 11th, sank the Canadian corvette Spikenard (Lt. Cdr. H.G. Shadforth) in the general position of 56 North 21 West.

            In the darkness of the night, Spikenard's sinking was not noticed by the other escorts.  The corvettes Chilliwack (Lt. Cdr. L.F. Foxall) and Dauphin (Lt. Cdr. R.A. McNeil) attempted contacting her by Radio Telephone on 2410 Kilocycles, but this was ineffectual - Spikenard had gone in a matter of a few minutes.

            When daylight came, the British corvette Dentian found what was left of the crew of Spikenard - eight survivors.  Lost with the corvette was Stoker Jack Seaman, whose brother Leo was a chum of mine from Saint John NB.  Also lost were:  Leading Telegraphist L. Bate, age 20; Tel Moses Greenblatt, age 21; and Tel S.C. Walker, age 30.

            On 11 July, five months to the day from Spikenard's sinking, U-136 was sunk with all hands west of Madeira in position 33 30 North 22 52 West by the British sloops Spey and Pelican and the destroyer Leopard.

            After remaining in Halifax for two days Galt, minus some of the crew who had gone on long leave, left Halifax on 22 February to sail down the cost to Liverpool for her refit - her first since she was commissioned.

            Liverpool was a gentle little town made up of a few tree-lined streets with quaint little houses, and a sprinkling of small stores and restaurants.  Galt lay tied up at a jetty near the centre of the town where she was boarded daily by gangs of workmen from the busy small dockyard.

            While in Liverpool I accepted the job of P.O.'s messman - serving the meals and keeping the mess tidy for the petty officers.  As I was entrusted with the key to the provisions locker, we ate well.   The messman duties exclude me from watch-keeping, so I was able to go ashore each evening: a propitious privilege that brightened my stay after I met Peggy Dorey, a pretty blonde willowy girl, the cousin of Cliff Dorey, a sailor whom I knew in Quebec.

            In March I went home again on leave, and in April reported to Galt at Halifax.  After nearly two weeks in port, we went down the coast to St. Margaret's Bay, about 40 miles from Halifax, to join several other ships and a British submarine in working-up exercises.  Naturally, most of the exercises were spent in submarine-detecting.

            Work-ups, as they were popularly known, were designed to train the ship's company in the ship's duties.  All of this involved evolutions.  To explain further, a ship must be prepared to deal with any emergency, in addition to her normal tasks.  Since it was possible to issue orders for certain duties or emergencies which, from past experiences were likely to be encountered, these were known generally as "evolutions".  Some evolutions could be:  Damage Control, Ammunition Ship, Replenishment at Sea, or Prepare for Towing, etc.

            During the four or five nights at St. Margaret's, we tried to catch the other ships off guard with our raiding parties.  They did likewise, so a good lookout had to be maintained at all times, while a water hose was kept ready to repel boarders.  A raiding party from our ship was successful one night.  They set out quietly, circling around the bay and along the edge of the dark shore.  Then they stealthily crept up on one of the unsuspecting ships and - painted our name on its hull.  Oh, the joys of training.

            One night an enemy U-boat was reported off the coast and we were ordered to put to sea in search of it.  We spent a day of fruitless hunting, then returned to the bay for the last of the exercises.

            Of course it was not all work at St. Margaret’s.  On one evening a number of fellows from each of the ships rowed across to one of the small tree-covered islands in the bay and had a rousing time with a big bon-fire and sing-song.  On the last afternoon a team from the Galt and one from another ship went ashore to the mainland to play a game of softball.  To put the results succinctly, we lost.

            On the Sunday before we left the bay, a Commander came down from Halifax and paid each ship a visit.  In this he accomplished his main function: to deliver a pep talk on the theme of "our entering into the Battle of Atlantic again".

            On the way back to Halifax our ship laid an effective smoke-screen for exercise.  Then just off Halifax we took part in the gun-firing exercises.  The towing vessel, pulling a small raft with an upright panelled target, was there on schedule.  The bark of our 4-inch gun soon echoed across the water.  Our gun crew, who showed great team-work and accuracy, outshot the other ships in the group.  On tying up in port, I snapped a picture of Able Seaman Ernie St. Amand tugging at a wire spring, while cook Pat Godspeed did the heavy looking on.  Pat was partially dressed in his uniform: blue trousers, white shirt with sleeves rolled up, and a red-badged peaked cap resting on the back of this head; Ernie was dressed in a blue non-issue shirt, paint-spattered dungarees, and an old battered winter cap.

            This time we were moored at Number 3 jetty, close by the huge movable crane.  Most of the other times we had tied up at Number five jetty.  Here, on one earlier occasion when the snow covered the land, I photographed an old 4-stacker that was encased in a covering of ice - a monument sculptured by old man sea.

            On 12 May while we were in port, war erupted in the Gulf of St. Lawrence.  U-553, slipping deep into the Gulf, fired two torpedoes into the British freighter Nicoya just 12 miles off Cap des Rosiers on the Gaspe coast.  Before the year was to end, the toll would reach 20 ships.

            After a few days in Halifax, Galt set out on 15 May for Newfy, slowly escorting the submarine P-514.  On the way, an approaching corvette flashed us a waggish message: "You are being shadowed by a sub".  Then off Newfy, an RCAF patrol plane gave us a cursory inspection as it flew over.

            We stayed in St. John's only a few days, then on 20 May sailed up the coast to Harbour Grace for a few evolutions with some other ships.  On our return trip to St. John's we made a sweep out to sea in the vain hope of finding a lurking U-boat.

            We spent a short time in St. John's, then proceeded to sea again on 26 May to pick up a 26-ship convoy, HX191, bound for the United Kingdom.  Our group consisted of the corvettes Galt, Camrose (Lt.Cdr. L.R. Pavillard), Sackville (Lt. A.H. Easton), Wetaskiwin (Lt.Cdr. G. Windeyer), and the destroyers Saguenay (Cdr. D.C. Wallace), and Skeena (Lt.Cdr. K.L. Dyer).  On reaching the convoy we took over from the Local Escort ships: HMS Wanderer, HMS Roxborough, Barrie (Lt.Cdr. R.M. Mosher), and Summerside (Lt.Cdr. F.O. Gerity).

            It was my first trip across, and I was woefully seasick.  In fact, because of my pallor and appearance as I struggled from the mess in the foc'sle to the W/T office in the wheelhouse, somebody described me as "the Ghost".

            My fellow sparkers at this time were Ldg. Tel Claude Wigle, and Tels Don McKendrick and Doug Shearer.  Wigle took over from Ldg Tel Charlie Batt on 2 May.  Our Coder was Harry Robotham, while looking after visual signalling were Signalmen Norm Gould, George Downing, Harold Bennett, Ed Hatton, and Roy Ferster.

            In the seamen branch were three Saint John home-towners: Able Seaman Cy Parfitt, Leading Seaman Mike Harrity, and Ordinary Seaman Art Craft.

            The trip and the month of May 1942 ended with no unusual happening.  We were fortunate because we had slipped through a group of U-boats called Hecht.  This group, consisting of U-94, 96, 124, 406, 569, and 590, had been operating off the Grand Bank, and earlier had made contact with convoy ONS92 escorted by the U.S. Coast Guard cutters Campbell, and Ingham, and the Canadian corvettes, Algoma, Arvida, Bittersweet and Shediac.  From this convoy U-124 (KL Mohr) sank four ships, and U-94 (KL Ites) sank three, while U-406 (KL Dieterichs) missed one of the corvettes because of torpedo failure.

            The warm days of early June found our convoy in UK coastal waters and soon after the merchant ships were safely in the confines of their various ports.  Our escort group then proceeded towards Londonderry, Northern Ireland.

            At this time of the year the country was beautiful, and the fields, like patches of green velvet, were a wonderful sight.  On future trips I would be just as enthralled with the beauty of the Irish countryside as I was on this first one.

            On the way into Lough Foyle we passed the fragmentary, overgrown ruins of a medieval castle, and I wondered the tales it could tell.  This castle was situated on the Inishowen Peninsula in County Donegal and stood at the narrow entrance into Lough Foyle, just opposite Magilligan Point.  Later I learned that the ruins were those of the great castle of Northburg, popularly known as Greencastle.  This edifice was built in 1305 by Richard de Burgo, Earl of Ulster.  Through the years it was captured and recaptured, changing successively from Scotch to Irish to English hands.  But now the old castle sat daily in wait, ready to capture the fancy of dreamy young men in every passing escort vessel.

            We left Lough Foyle behind and threaded our way up the narrow river.  Soon we were in sight of the docks stretching along the right bank and which were only a short walk from the Londonderry main shipping district.

            The city of Londonderry stood partly on a hill, and still retained ancient walls, though the buildings stretched far beyond them.  The harbour, if it could be properly called that, was spacious enough, and big merchant ships could discharge there; but in these days it was largely filled with escort vessels.  Derry, as we reverently called the place, was fast becoming a very important British base.  The Americans, too, were established there, having arrived in February 1942, although their work was going on from the year before.

            During our short stay in Derry, I bought some Irish linen to take home as a souvenir.  I also vaguely recall an incident which happened on board one of our ships.  It concerned a lad who apparently shot himself after receiving a hard time from his First Lieutenant.  It was only hearsay; one can only wonder if it were true.

            At sea the Hecht group of U-boats was still busy.  Earlier on 8 June U-124 sighted the convoy ONS100, escorted by the Canadian destroyers Assiniboine and St. Croix, the corvettes Buctouche and Chambly, the RN corvettes Dianthus and Nasturtium, and the Free French Aconit and Mimosa.  In engagements from the 8th to the 12th, U-124 sank Mimosa and another ship, U-94 sank two ships, and U-94 and U-569 shared a straggler between them.

            On 16 June the Hecht group made contact with convoy ONS102 escorted by the Canadian destroyer Restigouche, the corvettes Agassiz, Collingwood, Mayflower and Rosthern, and the U.S. Coast Guard cutters Campbell and Ingham, and the USN destroyer Leary.

            Restigouche, using her High Frequency Direction Finding equipment, located the U-boat as they transmitted sighting report signals; the enemy, with U-94 and U-590 being damaged by depth charges, were driven off.  On 17 June U-406 missed Leary with five torpedoes, but on the 18th U-124 sank one merchant ship.

            On 17 June our corvette Galt sailed for convoy ON104.  Before leaving Irish waters we carried out anti-aircraft gun practice, shooting at a target towed by an aircraft passing overhead.  Later we picked up the west-bound convoy and headed into the open Atlantic.

            On  20 June  the war in the Pacific came close to Canada. The freighter Fort Camosun was torpedoed and shelled by the Japanese submarine I-25 near the Juan de Fuca Strait in position 47 22N 125 30W.  Tom Atkinson, an HSD in HMCS Edmundston, took a snapshot of ther shell-punctured starboard side of the freighter. The crew of the abandoned ship, who refused to go back aboard, were picked up by the corvette which then escorted the freighter, towed by a tug, to Port Angeles, Washington.

            During our crossing I was awakened one night by the fellows rushing excitedly up through the hatch to the upper deck of our short-forecastle ship.  Something heavy had scrapped along the side.  It was thought to have been a torpedo.  But, it could also have been flotsam from some sunken ship.  Anyway there was no damage to Galt.

            On another day we picked up an underwater contact and dropped about four depth charges - with no result.  Other than this, it was a quiet trip.  Off Newfy we handed over the convoy to a relieving escort group and headed towards St. John's.

            After the seasick weakening trip I went ashore the first day in, and perhaps ate too imprudently, for the next morning I was very ill.

            I decided to report to Sick Bay, so I set out for the "Georgian", the floating barracks at the upper end of the harbour.  I dragged myself along the jetty and then the roadway, and arrived so weak that I thought I was going to collapse.  At the Sick Bay they gave me a perfunctory examination, shot a needle of something into my arm, and sent me back to the ship.

            Towards noon a medical team came aboard the Galt for blood tests of the crew, and as I was still ill and lying on a locker, some good Samaritan reported my condition to them.  That afternoon an ambulance pulled up on the jetty and I struggled down the gangway and into it.

            At the RCN Hospital, while awaiting formal admittance I had to request permission to lie down, I felt so sick.  The Medical Officer’s remarks on my records concurred, “The patient is pale, skin cool, clammy, and altogether looks rather ill.”  Eventually I was placed in a dormitory bed, examined, fed intravenously, and in a few days began to mend.  On 10 July I was discharged from hospital and sent to the RCN wireless station about five miles west of the city of St. John’s.

            Meanwhile, on 18 July, on the other side of the Atlantic U-210 was departing from Kiel on its first was patrol.  This U-boat, which was to enter my narrative with full impact in August, subsequently headed up the Norwegian coast, then past the Faeroe Islands, eventually coming abeam of Iceland on the 22nd.  It was commanded by Kapitanleutnant Rudolf Lemcke, who kept the U-boat on the surface for most of the journey but was often forced to dive because of aircraft from Iceland.

                        At sea, the destroyer St. Croix (Lt.Cdr. A.H. Dobson) was busy, and on 24 July sent the U-90 to the bottom.

            Ashore, I worked for a couple of weeks at the W/T station, but at first stood no watches.  During that time I studied, wrote, and passed an examination for Trained Operator rank.  I was then placed on watch-keeping and, side by side with other operators at their receivers, worked on different wireless waves, listening out for ship messages.