On 29 July I was drafted to Assiniboine, then tied up in St. John's Harbour awaiting her next convoy. This sleek gray-painted destroyer was the former Royal Navy flotilla leader, HMS Kempenfelt, and had been launched on 29 October 1931. She was recommissioned as Assiniboine on 19 October 1939, arriving in Canada on 17 November, the same year. Earlier in the war, along with a Royal Navy cruiser, she had shared in the capture of the German freighter, Hannover, and in taking the prize into Kingston, Jamaica - but only after an arduous battle with a storm and a fire set by the German crew before they abandoned their ship.
Captain of the destroyer now was Lt.Cdr. John Hamilton Stubbs. My fellow sparkers were: Petty Officer Telegraphist Cassan Marlin, Leading Tels Walter Sutherland, Don Waring, and John Marr, and Telegraphists Gordon Gregory, George McWeeney, Herb Cooper, and Alex Ireland.
The Coder was Archibald Elliot, and in the Visual Sigs branch were Yeoman of Signals W. Cavanaugh, and Sigs N. Long, A. Wilcock, J. Way, S. Dickson, and A. Nichol.
On the day of my joining the ship, at sea U-210 (whom we were to meet) had sighted the convoy ON115, protected by Canadian escorts. This convoy was attacked repeatedly through 30 and 31 July by U-164, 210, 217, 511, 553, and 588, but were driven off. In the process, on the 31st, U-588 was sunk by the destroyer Skeena (Lt.Cdr. K.L. Dyer) and the corvette Wetaskiwin (Lt.Cdr. G. Windeyer). On 1 August the patrol line Pirat was formed with the forenamed U-boats, and on the 2nd they were joined by seven U-boats of wolf Group. Further attacks were made on the convoy and three ships torpedoed. Then on 3 August the action was broken off because of low visibility.
To keep in chronological order other happenings of the war, on 31 July 1942 the Women's Royal Canadian Naval Service (Wrens) was established. The Wrens, recruited primarily to release men serving ashore for sea duty, eventually composed a force of more than 6,000 women working at multifarious jobs. They served in Canada, the U.S.A., and overseas in Newfoundland and the United Kingdom. Recognition was given to the service rendered by the Wrens by the granting of various honours and awards. Three women received the OBE; seven, the MBE; ten, the BEM; and two were awarded special Commendations. Among them, winning the British Empire Medal, was Chief Petty Officer Telegraphist Irene F. Carter.
In Assiniboine - we had departed from St. John's and on 2 August our Task Unit, TU 24.1.11, had picked up the 30-ship convoy, SC94, to be increased next morning to 33 ships by the addition of three merchant ships from St. John's escorted by the corvette Battleford (Lt. R.J. Roberts). Other ships in our unit were the Canadian corvettes Orillia (Lt.Cdr. W.E.S. Briggs) and Chilliwack (Lt.Cdr. L.F. Foxall), and HM corvettes Primrose (Senior Officer), Dianthus, and Nasturtium.
At 1800, in foggy weather, an alteration of course was given to the convoy by sound signal. The change was made, but Nasturtium, Orillia, and six ships on the port wing, did not hear the signal and strayed off into the fog, steady on the original course.
After the cease of operations against convoy ON115 on the 3rd, the U-boats were formed into the Steinbrinck Group consisting of U-71, 379, 454, 593, 597, 607, 704 and the erstwhile U-210. They were positioned east of Newfoundland, waiting to intercept more convoys.
On the morning of the 4th the fog cleared around our convoy. The preceding days had been relatively quiet for the ship's crew, except for our daily exercise action stations which we practiced each morning and evening. Another training occupation, not entirely desirable, was the Physical Training period conducted each day after evening quarters.
Early on 5 August one of our shipmates, Ordinary Seaman L.K. Hornby, age 22, from Timmins, Ontario, was lost overboard. No one knew how the accident happened. Some said he had been sick and it was surmised that he had fainted near the rail and fell overboard. I recall seeing him out on deck at least the day before.
There had been much Radio Telephone (R/T) traffic on 2410 Kilocycles, the convoy wave, involving the strays from the main body. Orillia, Nasturtium and the six merchant ships were eventually given a course to steer in order to rejoin the convoy. We, Assiniboine, were detached to assist them in this task.
U-593 (Kapitanleutnant Kelbling) sighted the ships and, joined by U-595, set out to make an attack.
We were on our way to meet the strays and I was just coming off watch in the afternoon when it happened. Over the R/T came the message: "Ship torpedoed!"
U-boats were in the area. Everybody became tense. U-593 had torpedoed SS Spar. The corvettes Orillia and Nasturtium dropped depth charges even though no firm contacts were made. The two U-boats were driven off.
Assiniboine rejoined the convoy and all that evening we nosed about, searching, hoping - and all through the night into the 6th, straining for an asdic ping.
In the morning I was on the forenoon wireless watch. The ship was still on the prowl in weather that was overcast but clear with a visibility of eight miles.
Action stations!
The alarm came ringing half-way through my watch.
U-boat sighted! We revved up to 22 knots. The ship shook from the increase in speed.
WHAM!
One, two, three I counted; our 4.7-inch forward guns were firing. But the U-boat, U-454, was too distant for our guns to be effective.
The U-boat dived. When we arrived in the area we made asdic contact and, with Dianthus in support, dropped several patterns of depth charges. (U-454 was somewhat damaged and was forced to break off, although we were not aware of it at the time).
With no obvious results we sped off to rejoin the convoy - now about 20 miles ahead to starboard - with Dianthus five miles on our port beam. Then excitement boiled again!
It was shortly after 1700, and we had just finished our Physical Training exercises; Yeoman of Signals Bill Cavanaugh sighted what appeared to be a U-boat in the distance. Our speed increased. I was down in the mess when the action stations alarm sounded.
I rushed up through the hatch, to the seamen's mess deck, then to the wireless office. I snatched up a pencil and rushed up to my action station - the Remote Control Office (RCO) on the bridge.
The RCO was a box-like container about five feet high, about the same in length, and a couple of feet wide. Inside was equipment that could be used to operate the main wireless sets, if needed. When I arrived on the bridge I hopped into the RCO and while I waited, the U-boat disappeared into a patch of mist.
In the U-boat, the U-210, the watch had just changed and the commanding officer, Kapitanleutnant Lemcke, believing his boat safe in the fog, went below for his supper. The bridge watch consisted of Coxswain Krumm, Quartermaster Holst, Meetz, Monback, and Mueller who had just relieved Mycke at the helm.
Suddenly everyone on Assiniboine's bridge was shouting excitedly. "There it is! There it is!" At this I scampered out of the RCO to see what the commotion was.
It was very foggy. I dashed to one side of the bridge and looked over. There he was, as the captain said later: "Not a stone's throw away," cutting across our bow towards starboard. Black, silent, and deadly the U-boat appeared as it knifed swiftly through the water.
Then, supplemented with cursing and swearing, came yells from our men: "Fire! Fire!'
I thought the U-boat would get away. Then our forward guns began to fire. The U-boat was close and the barrels of our guns were trained low.
U-210, churning up the water, left a well-defined wake as it turned in its course on our starboard side. It was running nearly parallel with us and appeared to be submerging to get away. Then somehow I lost sight of it.
The next minute brought a "pup-pup-pupping" sound and everybody on our bridge flattened out. Not knowing the reason, I did likewise. Suddenly it dawned on me - the U-boat was firing back at us!
On board U-210, excitement and confused shouting had reigned also. Lemcke and Tamm raced to the bridge above where Quartermaster Holst was returning Assiniboine's fire with a 2-cm gun firing explosive bullets.
Our depth charge men, like P.O. Del Dorrington and AB Roy Churchward, both of Toronto, were at their action stations. Del, at the port depth charge throwers, remembers a Chief Stoker coming up the hatch and remarking about seeing strange feathers in the Air. When told they were not feathers but tracers, the Chief quickly disappeared below.
In the post war years, Dr. Christie of Ottawa, related an incident about his brother-in-law Surgeon-Lieutenant Johnson, Medical Officer of Assiniboine, and Dr. G.N. Tucker, Naval Historian.
The historian had been complaining that he had come to sea to see how the war was being fought, and though he was in Assiniboine in dangerous waters he had seen no sign of the enemy.
When the action alarm sounded, the MO happened to be on the bridge and the historian was not. The MO naturally had to go to the sick bay as fast as he could and departed in a rush. The historian, as a civilian and a passenger, had no particular duties in the ship, but naturally wanted to see as much as possible so he headed for the bridge. They met in mid flight.
The MO barely remembered the encounter but when, after the fight, he and the historian met again, the latter said, "Do you remember seeing me on the way to action stations?"
"Yes, barely," replied the MO.
"Do you remember what you said to me?" asked the historian.
"No, I can't remember saying anything."
"You said: 'Get your head down, you silly old bastard!'"
Now, with bullets hitting the superstructure, I nipped back into the Remote Control Office, thinking that this would be something great to write home about. There were no messages being transmitted by remote control, so I watched proceedings through a partially open door. A Leading Signalman, prone on the deck, prevented further opening of the door.
The German gunfire was having its effect. Not over ten feet away from me was a strip of plate glass on the edge of the bridge where the captain usually stood. It became a maze of cobwebs from the firing. On the forecastle, two shells penetrated the protective shield of 'A' gun, while the ship's side and bridge structure were riddled with shells.
Through the opening of the door I could see Lt. Cdr. Stubbs shouting orders; his voice - Leading telegraphist McWeeney says - could be clearly heard coming down the voice pipe into the wireless office. He was very cool, popping up and down between bursts of gunfire to give orders; he could even see his adversary, Kapitanleutnant Lemcke, was as equally cool as he bent down occasionally to give orders on the U-boat. Near our own captain another officer, who I believe was Mate B. Ruddle, stood at the voice pipe to the wheelhouse.
Below in the wheelhouse was the coxswain, Max Bernays, plus Able Seaman Gordon Belcher along with three other ratings, executing the commands from the bridge. Unseen by them, the action raged outside.
The battle was fought at close range, with the captain keeping our ship always on top of the U-boat, which seemed to be on our starboard side during most of the firing. To keep the men busy, he kept the larger 4.7-inch guns firing, even though the barrels were depressed as low as possible, and most of the time over-shooting U-210.
The U-boat maintained constant evading movements, while we were forced to go full astern on the inside engine to prevent the U-boat from getting inside our turning circle. It was expedient that we did so, because during the action an attempt was made by the U-boat to fire one torpedo. The U-boat's torpedo crew was told to stand by, but the order to fire was never given.
Ordinary Seaman Kenneth Watson of Revelstoke, B.C., a member of 'A' gun's crew on the forecastle, dashed up the hatchway to his gun. He was immediately clipped in the arm and knocked down. But he scrambled to his feet and was intent on passing a shell to the gun-loader when an enemy shell smashed into him in a direct hit. Ken fell to the deck, there to die. He was but eighteen.
Our chugging Oerlikons and our booming large guns kept firing rapidly. A German gun's crew appeared on deck, but fire from our 3-inch gun aft and our .5-inch machine guns prevented the enemy sailors from reaching their larger 8.8-cm gun forward. A member of the 3-inch gun's crew was fellow Saint Johner, a young 14-year-old Bill McKee. When not at his action station Bill had the additional chore of Captain's coxswain, somewhat akin to the duties of a batman.
Our gun crews worked magnificently. Some were able to stand their posts throughout the action, like AB Bell Kehoe on the starboard Oerlikon and Bruce Mitchell, captain of 'B' gun; but a number of them were knocked out of the fight by bullets and flying shrapnel. Warrant Gunner N.L. Wilkinson was one of those hit. Leading Seaman Howard Oliver was hit about five times while standing on the open deck issuing orders to his gunners. Ordinary Seaman Stan Gallant was hit in the right forearm while operating one of the starboard point-five Oerlikons. The story was told later that Stan looked at the blood streaming down his arm, turned to his mate and said casually: "Hey, Bill, they got my drinking arm."
German explosive bullets caused a fire to break out on the starboard side of Assiniboine near the flag-deck. Smoke enveloped the bridge structure and flames reached three feet above the bridge railing. Inside my RCO smoke began to pour forth from a flexible voice pipe. I tried to plug it with paper, but this proved unsatisfactory, so I bent the voice pipe and pushed it through the open door, somewhat into the face of the prone Leading Signalman.
At the outbreak of the fire the captain yelled for a fire-party, and the First Lieutenant, Lt. R.L. Hennessy (much later to retire a Vice-Admiral), quickly organized his men and with hoses snaking along the starboard waist, eventually had the fire extinguished. I can still see the captain standing on the bridge giving orders, his back towards me, and his hat shining and dripping wet from the spray of the hoses.
Most of the orders from the captain were addressed to the coxswain, Chief Petty Officer Max Bernays, standing his action station at the helm, steering the ship. When the fire broke out, the telegraphmen had to leave the wheelhouse, and Max was left alone to execute the telegraph orders and steer the ship, while shell fragments punctured the wheelhouse and flames and smoke obscured his only exit. In all, Max carried out about 133 telegraph orders and for his conduct, ultimately was awarded the Conspicuous Gallantry medal.
It is believed the volume of smoke instilled in Lemcke a feeling of over-confidence and instead of trying to escape through the fog, he procrastinated too long - for, indeed, our own gunfire was taking its till.
Our first hits damaged one of the U-boat's port trimming tanks. When fire from our small guns struck its bridge, Coxswain Krumm was badly wounded and Holst was shot through the neck and killed outright. Because it was impossible in the beginning to depress our bigger guns, it was not until later that one of the 4.7-inch guns made a direct hit on the conning tower, severely damaging the diesel air-intake and making a shambles of the U-boat's bridge, killing Tamm, Krumm and the commander. Regretfully, Kapitanleutnant Rudolf Lemcke died only eight days after a radio message to U-210 announced the birth of twins to his wife.
Three more direct hits were scored on the U-boat. One through the torpedo tubes; another, which carried away the deck covering between the 8.8-cm gun and the forward torpedo hatch; and one aft which smashed the screws, allowing water to enter the boat. The submarine, with electric motors on fire, then began to settle by the stern.
Sorber, the German engineer officer, now attempted to dive the U-boat. As the boat was submerging the opportunity was seen by our bridge personnel and someone yelled, "Shall we ram her, sir?" The concurring orders were given. I soon felt the ship hit; it went up in the air a little, then quivered and settled down in the water again, speeding on its way.
We had struck the U-boat abaft its conning tower and over the galley hatch. U-210 descended to a depth of about 60 feet. Inside the U-boat the electric motors had now failed and water was flooding in through the damaged Diesel air-intake and through the battered stern. Sorber gave the order to blow tanks and abandon ship, under the misapprehension that Gohlich, the next senior officer, was too badly injured to make the decision. He then went below to open the seacocks.
On surfacing, it was found that the water in the air-intake prevented the Diesels from starting, and so U-210 remained stopped and slightly down by the stern. It was in this position when we rammed it again, at the same time firing a shallow pattern of depth charges as we passed the battered U-boat.
Mueller had stayed at the helm until the order to abandon ship. He then made his way to the forward compartment where his life-jacket was. There he found some men abandoning the boat through the torpedo hatch. Water was flooding through the hatch as he followed them.
The majority of the engine room personnel thought they were trapped when they found: first the galley hatch, then the conning tower hatch jammed. However, in desperation, their combined efforts finally got the tower hatch open.
Before abandoning the U-boat, the chief radioman was reported to have been able to send a signal reporting her sinking, although at the time the after aerial was out of action, the morse key was broken, and the signal was much under power. The chief later admitted that he had not been able to send any signals.
Not long after the second ramming, the crew of the U-boat was observed on its deck and from our men a cheer went up. At this I ran to the side of the bridge and looked over, just as there came a flash of flame and the sound of a last shell tearing its way towards the U-boat.
As the smoke cleared I saw Germans in the water off our port bow and U-210, with smoke pouring from its up-ended stern, sliding slowly into the sea, in the approximate position of 54 25 North 39 37 West.
After the U-boat had sunk, the corvette Dianthus pushed her nose through the fog and picked up 28 survivors. We picked up ten, and later took six off the hands of the corvette. Two of these were officers. In the battle six U-boat crew members lost their lives.
Dianthus had been standing off in the fog and saw nothing of the battle, but her captain, shouting across the water, said: "It was the most exciting thing I have ever heard."
Granted permission to leave the bridge I went below, passing a pool of blood on the way believed to be from a seaman attempting to man a Lewis gun. When I entered the seamen's mess I noticed the tables had been taken down and the hammocks piled against the sides of the ship. The pungent smell of burnt gun powder filled the air. The wounded were lying about, wrapped in large white blankets; their faces were very pale - as white as their blankets.
In the evening the ship was ordered to return to St. John's, because when we had rammed the U-boat a large hole had been opened in the bow of the ship and the sea had poured into one compartment. It was feared that the bulkhead between the swamped compartment and the next one might give way and cause further trouble. These compartments were just below the fore-lower mess in which I slept. As there was a chance our mess might get flooded, most of the men would not sling their hammocks in it. But a few of us, perhaps a trifle rash, did sling our micks there.
The pack of U-boats, meanwhile, continued their attacks on the convoy. On 6 August, U-595 was damaged by Nasturtium and Orillia and had to break off.
On the 7th, U-174, 176, 256, 438, 660 and 705 were also operating against the convoy. Between the 7th and 8th, U-597, 605, 607, 660 and 704 missed with attacks on stragglers and the convoy.
On the afternoon of 8 August, U-176 (Kapitanleutnant Dierksen) and U-379 (Kapitanleutnant Kettner) attacked the convoy almost simultaneously and sank three and two merchant ships respectively. Three other undamaged ships were abandoned briefly in panic. The crews of two reboarded their ships, but the third was torpedoed by U-176. That same day the RN destroyer Broke (Lt. Cdr. Layard) reinforced the escorts and was joined later during the night by the Polish destroyer Blyskawica. U-595 fired torpedoes at Broke but missed, and an attack by U-704 and U-607 at the convoy also failed.
On the 9th, the beleaguered escorts were augmented by Liberator aircraft of No. 120 RAF Squadron from Northern Ireland. Despite this help, U-174, 254, 256 and 704 all fired torpedoes at the convoy - but missed.
The 10th brought more attacks with U-597 firing and missing. Then about midday the U-boats achieved their last successful hits. U-660 sank one ship, while U-438 sank three, to bring the total to eleven ships - a third of the convoy. But the victories were not all German; besides ours, the corvette Dianthus had scored one on the 8th, sinking U-379 (Kettner).
The boy who was killed in Assiniboine was buried on the way to port. Those who were not on watch fell in on the starboard side of the torpedo tubes, while on the other side an armed guard was fallen in, dressed in full rig. We stood with our heads bared while the captain, standing on the torpedo tubes, said prayers, adding something like: "He was a brave man. He died doing his duty for this country and his ship. Could any man do more?" The prayers soon were finished, three volleys were fired, the body of Kenneth Wiley Watson was slipped into the sea, and then it was over.
As we proceeded towards St. John's, aircraft were sent out to keep an eye on us. On Saturday evening we met the corvette Napanee (Lt. S. Henderson) which had been sent to act as our escort.
On Sunday morning we arrived in St. John's. Twelve wounded, of which six were cot cases, were immediately whisked away to the RCN hospital in big dark-blue ambulances. Altogether we had 14 wounded: OS Harold Cottrill, PO Cook Claude Daley, AB Percy Ellerton, OS Stan Gallant, AB Bill Hefferman, OS Winston Johnson, LS Bill Leggett, PO Ed Moore, AB Ken Morris, LS Harold Oliver, LS Geoffrey Salter, AB Henry Sharo, OS Herb Taylor, and Warrant Gunner N.L. Wilkinson.
After the wounded had been taken off, the RN destroyer Witherington came alongside and the prisoners were transferred to her to be taken to Halifax.
On Tuesday, 11 August, two days after the arrival in port of Assiniboine, I was drafted to the destroyer Skeena and we put to sea the same day to pick up a convoy. This was a disappointment at first, as I had learned from a buzz (rumour) that Assiniboine was slated to go to Saint John, New Brunswick, my home town, for her refit.
Our courageous captain, John Hamilton Stubbs, was later awarded the Distinguished Service Order for his role in the sinking of U-210. In April, 1944, as captain of the destroyer Athabaskan, he lost his life in the English Channel in action against two Elbing Class destroyers. His body lies among other Athabaskan sailors in the communal cemetery at Plouescat, Northern Brittany.
Eventually Assiniboine did get patched up, and served valiantly through the rest of the war. But she was old, and in the aftermath sadly suffered an ignominious end. On 7 November 1945, she was being towed to the scrap heap by SS West York (formerly the Canadian corvette West York); and, like a knowing animal being led to slaughter, she was struggling and yawing just off East Point, Prince Edward Island, when in strong northwesterly winds, the towing line parted. Assiniboine piled up on the shore, where for years the battered old hulk waged her last and losing battle with the elements.
No comments:
Post a Comment