At sea, on Wednesday 21 March 1945, our frigate Sea Cliff crashed through encumbering ice flows during the night while proceeding to catch up with the convoy, SC170. The other ships of C3 Group: Riviere du Loup, Trillium, St. Thomas, Stellarton, and Kokanee (Lt.Cdr. F.W. Lucas), all had departed St. John’s earlier to pick up the convoy.
In the morning a depth charge was dropped by Sea Cliff for exercise. Some of the boys thought the ship had been torpedoed.
It was cold and a light snow was falling all day. The sea was covered with floating ice-cakes, and at one point we were surrounded by ice that stretched for miles
We were now in touch by W/T with the escort of the convoy; I transmitted one message to them.
Thursday, 22 March. We reached the convoy during the night and took up station. The convoy was a slow one of about 28 ships, with a speed of about 8 knots.
The seas were mountainous and topped with whipped foam. Consequently I was very sick; what I ate I lost soon after.
Friday, 23 March. I felt like fainting in the morning, but at noon I had some dinner and felt better. A sympathetic sea was obligingly getting calmer. Our general position was about 52 North 37 West.
The movie, “Dr. Gillespie’s Criminal Case”, was shown in the P.O.s’ mess. Showing movies at sea was a novel approach to improving morale. The movies were always thoroughly enjoyed.
Saturday, 24 March. My personal weather report showed that it was not as cold as the preceding days. Light gray clouds covered the sky, and there was hardly a white cap on the ocean.
The Medical Officer crossed over to the Kokanee in the seaboat. We took advantage of the trip to exchange films.
Sunday, 25 March. This might be summed up as a bad day. The weather was bad in the morning, with poor visibility, strong winds, and rain. In the afternoon it began to improve and by late evening the stars and moon lit up the sky. But in our mess we suffered a great disappointment: in the course of a movie, the main projector lamp - our last one - blew out.
Monday, 26 March. Sea Cliff entered the convoy to refuel. The oiling party had a difficult time picking up the tanker’s trailing rope with the grappling irons. When they finally did, it was slow laborious work pulling in the heavy rubber hose. The sea was choppy and the waves broke over the tanker as we oiled. But we accomplished the job of refueling.
Tuesday, 27 March. It was a hazy day with a little rain. I was finally rated Acting petty Officer, back-dated to 15 December.
At 2115 the card games and jig-saw puzzle activities were suddenly dropped as we raced away to action stations. A Radar bearing had been picked up of what was thought to be a U-boat. We fired rockets and lit up the corvette Riviere du Loup out of station. Good show!
Wednesday, 28 March. For most of the day I worked on signals in the W/T office. I had a minor argument with the coxswain, C.P.O. John Armitage, over the employment of one blacklistman, a Telegraphist, who was under punishment and obliged to do extra work. My view was that if extra work had to be done it should be done within our own W/T department.
The convoy was enveloped in fog in the evening. Our approximate position was 56 North 16 West. We had now come almost straight across.
Thursday, 29 March. We were ploughing through heavy seas and nearing the end of our journey. A cloudy sky and a strong wind brought periodic rain squalls, which at times made the reception of W/T messages impossible.
Today, in the English Channel, another Canadian ship fell victim to the enemy. About 0624, the frigate Teme (Lt. D.P. Harvey) was torpedoed but not sunk, by U-246 (KL Ernst Raabe) in position 50 07 North 05 45 West. The frigate suffered four fatalities and was towed to Falmouth. Later this same day, U-246 was sunk with all hands by the British escort, Duckworth.
Friday, 30 March. I was up early in the morning taking W/T bearings of shore stations: Barra Head, Tory Island, Eagle Island, and Mull Of Kintyre.
A couple of Escort Groups joined us as reinforcements because of the prevalence of U-boats in coastal waters.
Around 1700 the haziness of land was in view on both sides.
Saturday, 31 March. We were going through a choppy Irish Sea when one of our Petty Officers sighted what he thought was a Schnorkel. We continued ahead without investigating. Obviously this was done because no electronic contacts confirmed the sighting.
Sunday, 1 April. Today is Easter Sunday and I wondered what the folks at home were doing.
Early in the day, just past midnight, we went to action stations. We had picked up an underwater contact and were in among the ships when we lost it. Later we regained it, but couldn’t concentrate on an attack as we were told to rejoin the convoy. There was another convoy near us and one of its escorts had dropped a pattern of charges.
We detached from the remainder of the convoy in the Bristol Channel. Later we were heading north, bouncing our way through rough seas at 16 knots.
Monday, 2 April. I turned in at 0100 after a hectic time working on a large flow of messages in the W/T office.
I awoke to find us in a smooth sea and sunshine, escorting SS Corfu to Ailsa Craig, from where the ship would carry on to the Clyde.
We ourselves arrived later in the day at Londonderry.
After attending the convoy conference in the morning I settled down to a quiet routine of putting in time. Aboard ship I was mainly busy with morse exercises, although one extraneous job had me setting up the projector in the wardroom where the officers and their lady-guests were to attend a movie.
I was hungry for home news and I avidly read the Canadian Press news, longing for more. Then, looking ahead to civilian life, I bought a pair of gray trousers ashore. This required a special ration coupon signed by the captain, and two trips to the store, as the first time the ration form was not completed correctly.
For entertainment there was the occasional movie to see. Two of the movies being shown at this time were: “For Whom the Bell Tolls” and “Rose Marie”.
Ashore, I was compelled more or less to seclude myself from the other P.O.’s, simply because I was not the drinking type. I knew from experience that to wait for them - for example to attend a dance or movie - it would be hours before they terminated their drinking in a pub.
On Tuesday, 10 April, the Escort Staff Signal Officer came aboard Sea Cliff and from him I learned the communication arrangements (see Appendix E) and the route of our next convoy. The following day, “Hands to station for leaving harbour,” was piped about 0800.
At Lough Foyle we oiled and then had our Huff Duff equipment calibrated. We sailed about midnight to pick up the Clyde section of our next convoy, ON296.
Thursday, 12 April. We entered the Irish Sea. Depth charges were being dropped sporadically all day.
About 2100, our support force, Escort Group 8, had a short spirited action. Loch Glendhu forced a U-boat to the surface on the port side of our convoy with a single squid pattern. Four ships of Group 8 immediately surrounded the U-boat, firing upon it. Eventually the enemy, U-1024, was overcome and 38 sailors, including the commanding officer, E. Guttic, were taken prisoner. A boarding party was sent aboard and the U-boat taken in tow. Later the tow parted and the U-boat sank.
Friday, 13 April. Today we sailed out of the Irish Sea and south into the English Channel. It was a sunny day until the evening when rain began to fall.
A Naval message and radio news informed us that that great man, President Roosevelt, had died.
Saturday, 14 April. It was a foggy day and I was busy taking bearings of Irish and English Channel shore stations. Our course would bring us near the coast of France.
Sunday, 15 April. Our position, 48 20 North 05 45 West, was said to be about 40 miles from the French coast. It was a beautiful sunny day.
About 2300 we went to action stations after picking up a Radar contact. Nothing developed because we lost the contact.
Monday, 16 April. The English Channel section joined us; this made 70 ships in the convoy, including three MAC ships, Acavus, Adula, and Empire MacAlpine. Escorting was our C3 Group.
Other sections that converged to complete the whole convoy were: the Mersey, Belfast, Clyde, Milford, Bristol Channel, and English Channel sections. The speed of the convoy was 7.5 knots until leaving the OS/KMS (Freetown/Gibraltar) convoy, then 9.5 knots. Ships of the main convoy were destined for New York, Halifax, and St. Lawrence ports. Thirteen columns made up the convoy; distance between columns in the Irish Sea was 3 cables (608 yards), and between ships in column, 2 cables. Distance between columns when on a broad front was 5 cables, and between ships in column, 3 cables. The Commodore was B.B. Grant in Empire Flint, and the Vice-Commodore was the Master of Ariguani. Three ships were oilers: Strinda, Dageld, and G.C. Brovig; and in addition, the MAC (Merchant Aircraft Carrier) Acavus could serve as an oiler. Seven ships carried 500 prisoners of war each. The British ship Ariguani carried as passengers, 25 males and 58 females. Rescue ship for the convoy was Empire Peacemaker. The MAC ships, it is to be noted, were allocated positions in various columns.
It was a foggy day, this Monday, except for a brief respite from the dampness in the middle of the day. The sea was smooth with hardly a ripple on it.
The time was put back two hours.
Tuesday, 17 April. It was a lovely sunny day - and still a smooth sea that was marked only occasionally by the flash of a white cap.
I had a talk with a hand from Newcastle, N.B., about the train schedules home. This might seem insignificant but it felt good to talk about the places you loved.
We received a message that told us of the minesweeper Esquimalt (Lt. R.C. MacMillan) being torpedoed and sunk yesterday in the approaches to Halifax. Lost with her were Telegraphists G.J. Clancy, age 20, and W.J. Ware, age 23. Esquimalt was torpedoed by U-190, commanded by Oberleutnant Hans-Edwin Reith. This U-boat surrendered to Canadian forces at the end of the war. Later, on 21 October 1947, U-190 was destroyed in Exercise Scuppered by destroyers Nootka and Haida, the minesweeper New Liskeard, and Fireflies and Seafires of the Fleet Air Arm.
Wednesday, 18 April. I noticed in the broadcast messages that two ships were torpedoed in position 48 North 06 25 West in convoy HX348, which my signalman friend Lou Coyle’s frigate Lanark was escorting. The two ships involved were Empire Gold and Cyrus H. McCormick, and these were torpedoed by U-1107 (KL Parduhn), a U-boat that was later sunk itself on 25 April by a Liberator of USN VPB 103 squadron.
In the evening in our own frigate the movie, “Arsenic and Old Lace”, had us all screaming with laughter in the P.O.s’ mess.
Thursday, 19 April. It was a warm day with occasional sunshine. In the evening the wind had risen and in a choppy sea the ship developed more roll. The course of the convoy was changed, heading us farther south.
Friday, 20 April. I arose to find us in a placid sea under warm sunny skies. In the morning we sighted a floating mine and sank it with gun-fire. We were fortunate not to have come upon it during the night.
For a change, I watched the charges rolling off the stern of the ship during a practice drill. Normally during action stations I was employed in the W/T office, and never saw the outside activities.
That night an entrancing half-moon brightened the sky.
Saturday, 21 April. A strong wind was chopping up the sea. The days seem so very long. The radio news was cheerful, but killing off-duty time made life wearisome. Reading and writing helps to pass the time, and the periodic, nice warm shower - such as today - also helps. It surely is a far cry from the bird-bath-in-a-sink days in the old Skeena.
Sunday, 22 April. We oiled in the convoy today. Our position was approximately 39 North 41 West. Under a sky of broken clouds, the sea was choppy in the morning but smooth by nightfall.
We received a message saying we were to be relieved on Tuesday.
Monday, 23 April. On this windy, rainy, rough-sea day, I was “hats off” on the bridge, for a fault not entirely of my own making. Earlier, a message had been received and decoded, and a copy handed to me in the W/T office. It advised of a new U-boat frequency for the H/F D/F operators to listen out on. I returned the message to the coder, and left the office. I expected he would send it up the duty officer on the bridge for actioning, as is normal routine. The H/F D/F operators were not under my jurisdiction, and although I understood their job, I did not dictate what frequencies they had to cover. Unfortunately the Coder - presumably thinking that I would inform the Huff Duff operators - neglected to pass the message to the bridge who learned of the frequency change from another ship by means of visual signals. Subsequently I was charged with the neglect.
Tuesday, 24 April. I was on charge before the Jimmy who placed me in the Captain’s Report. Perhaps I was to go the way of my predecessor, the P.O. Telegraphist who had been drafted ashore for unsuitability. Was this the type of incident that led to his downfall?
In the early evening I watched our relief escorts, Group W7, coming over the horizon, while overhead a golden sun and billowy white clouds filled the heavens. About 2100 we left the convoy and headed for Newfy.
Wednesday, 25 April. It was a cold day but the water was becoming smoother. I stayed up until 0100, taking bearings of the Cape Race and Sable Island radio beacons so a fix could be obtained.
Thursday, 26 April. Because it was a foggy morning, we proceeded slowly into harbour. On tying up, the mail was immediately brought aboard. At 1400 I attended the usual convoy conference. Afterwards, through falling rain, I returned to the ship tied up adjacent the Dockyard.
We remained in St. John’s for about a week. Although I was on Captain’s Report, I was allowed to proceed ashore. It transpired that I never did go before the captain. Obviously I was absolved of the alleged neglect.
On Saturday afternoon the ship went into the floating dry-dock for a brief stay. Other notable events in port were: a sumptuous steak supper ashore; the movies, “The Song of Bernadette” and “The Keys of the Kingdom”; and a Sunday dinner at Cramm’s where, afterwards, I sat contentedly in front of their fireplace reading.
Wednesday, 2 May. Now at sea. It was a foggy day, but now and then we could glimpse the ships in the convoy through the breaks. It was a slow convoy of 34 ships.
In the evening, using a package sent from home, I made some chicken noodle soup and shared it with Doug Rogers, a young, dark haired, friendly Petty Officer. Sadly to say, this was the last time I was to see him alive.
Thursday, 3 May. We homed two Liberators to the convoy, and so we had air cover despite the fact that it rained most of the day.
It was indeed a most unhappy day, for in the morning, as I sat in the W/T office, I learned the lamentable news about Rogers. One of the men had come looking for a flag - a flag that would be used for a burial at sea. Rogers was dead. I was shocked.
Since the time I had last seen him, he had taken ill, gone to the Sick Bay, and apparently was undergoing an emergency operation for appendicitis when he died on the table. Attempts by the Medical Officer and the Sick Bay Attendant to revive him failed. The M.O. took it very badly.
While the flag flew at half-mast, a disconsolate crew prepared for the burial. On deck six men practiced a gun-salute; the flag was procured for his shroud; and bricks for weighing him down were obtained from the boiler room. Lastly his belongings were checked; among these were his pictures. I remember him admiring the picture of his girl friend and saying affectionately, “My R.P.O.” (Regulating Petty Officer).
Friday, 4 May. It was a windy, dull, gray cloudy day. Just after 1100 the ship slowed to a position off the convoy and burial services for Petty Officer D.L. Rogers were held. Those of the ship’s company who were not on watch assembled on deck, dressed in full uniform.
Six Petty Officers brought Rogers along on a makeshift platform. We stood there trying to keep our balance as the Commanding Officer said the prayers. The shots of the gun-salute bravely crackled into the wind. The melancholy notes of the Last Post, played on a trumpet by a seaman, caught at our emotions before swirling sway into the grayness. Then, wrapped in his hammock, Petty Officer Rogers was slid into the cold sea, in the lonely general position of 43 36 North 38 53 West. In the eyes of many of us there were unashamed tears.
After the service I returned to the mess with the other Petty Officers. A strange silence filled the mess until P.O. Conrad Poulin swore in an attempt to break the lethargy. Forcing back my tears, I grabbed some clothing and a pail, and fled to the P.O.s’ wash room to dhobey.
Today, in the far Pacific, the Canadian cruiser Uganda (Capt. E.R. Mainguy) sailed for her first operation: the bombardment of Sukuma air field on Miyako Jima in the Okinawa campaign. In the cruiser at this time was Chief Yeoman of Signals Al Bonner of Saint John, N.B. The telegraphy branch consisted of CPO Tel McGee, PO Tels Bourgeois, Jacques, and Spohr; Leading Tels Lineker, Leblanc, MacArthur, Kingman, and Dunham; and Tels Player, Carpenter, Houston, and Beford. Leading Tel Stuart Mair, of Kitchener, Ontario, was drafted off the cruiser just before she sailed from the UK. Stuart had the distinction of having served in three cruisers: Uganda, Glasgow, and Sheffield.
Saturday, 5 May. Good news today over the radio! The Germans surrendered in North Germany, Holland, and Denmark.
The sea was moderately rough and the sun shone down on the convoy through broken clouds. In the W/T office the operators were copying the Whitehall broadcast. Over this we received instructions in the event any U-boats surrendered.
Sunday, 6 May. The convoy still sails quietly eastward. The sea was slightly rough while above there was sunshine through broken clouds. The time slips so slowly by.
Many U-boats were reported in UK coastal waters.
Monday, 7 May. News was received that Germany had surrendered! We were far from celebrating, as the convoy plodded through heavy seas, whipped by a strong wind. Our latest position was 49 52 North 29 27 West.
I had to climb the mainmast because our main aerial had ripped loose. While making repairs, I was drenched by the rain and ocean spray whipping over the ship.
An OP (Immediate) message was broadcast on 107 Kc/s (Whitehall) addressed from Admiralty to AIG 1 (Address Indicating Group one), meaning All Ships and Authorities Home and Abroad. The text of the message (number BN595, time 072253B) said: “Tuesday 8th May repetition 8th May is V-E day.”
At the end of the day we received over the broadcast an O-U (Most Immediate) message from Admiralty addressed to All Ships and Authorities Home and Abroad. The text read: “The German High Command has surrendered, unconditionally, all German land, sea and air forces in Europe effective from 0001B hours repetition 0001B hours ninth (9th) May repetition ninth (9th) May. From which hour all offensive operations will cease. Due to difficulties of communications there may be some delay in these orders reaching enemy forces. Accordingly, danger of attack by independent enemy surface craft, U-boat, and aircraft may persist for some time to come. The fleet in all respects is to remain on war footing and in a state of constant vigilance for the moment. The surrender procedure for U-boats will be promulgated separately. No repetition no release is to be made to the press pending an announcement by the heads of governments.”
Tuesday, 8 May. V-E Day! Victory in Europe Day. The war with Germany is over! We heard over the radio, speeches by King George and Winston Churchill. Most of the boys were unhappy because they were not in Canada to celebrate.
The convoy was proceeding slowly through rough seas. Our position at 2000Z was 50 31 North 28 09 West.
A message, in plain language, was received under BN665 and read: “All instructions for the safety and control of merchant shipping remain in force until further orders. Convoys and independent merchant ships now at sea are to continue their voyages as previously ordered. 081518B.”
An Immediate message (BN667-081410Z) was received from NSHQ (Naval Service Headquarters Ottawa) addressed to AIG 138 (All Canadian ships and authorities); it joyously said: “Tuesday eighth May 1945 has been officially proclaimed a national holiday. All ships are to splice the mainbrace on that day vide Naval Order 3315 paragraph 4.”
An Immediate message from Admiralty to AIG 1 was more terse; it simply said: “Splice the Mainbrace.” This meant a free tot of rum all around.
Today, the German High Command broadcast an order for all U-boats at sea to surrender. U-boats were to surface and remain surfaced. They were to report their position and number to the nearest British, United States, Canadian or Soviet wireless station; fly a black or blue flag by day and burn navigation lights by night; jettison ammunition; render torpedoes and mines safe; make all signals in plain language; refrain from scuttling or in any way damaging their U-boats; report their position, course and speed every eight hours; and proceed by the prescribed route to the prescribed Allied port.
Wednesday, 9 May. It was a cloudy day. In the morning the ship was rolling considerably, but towards evening the sea became surprisingly smooth. Our general position was 51 40 North 25 48 West.
The war’s end had such an exhilarating effect on the men that when we passed the Commodore’s ship a loud cheering rent the air.
By late afternoon eight U-boats had reported in.
A message was received from the Commander in Chief Western Approaches addressed to AIG 32 (All ships and authorities in Western Approaches Command). It read:
“On V-E Day, whilst the battle for which the Western Approaches Command was created to fight draws to a victorious close, I send this personal message of gratitude and admiration to all of you who have so faithfully and nobly borne the brunt of the long drawn-out struggle. In winter gales of the Atlantic and every kind of weather the little ships of this command have kept continual close touch and faith with those they had to guard. But this alone was not enough. Highly technical skill reached only by superior training, added to that, seaman’s knowledge and judgement which long experience at sea under the hardest conditions given, produced the polish which earned you great but still unnumbered successes. The standards you have set and maintained in A/S warfare are in my opinion quite unsurpassed by any of the combatting nations, and your standards in all other respects have been a source of pride and joy to me. Your losses have been heavy indeed and our thoughts at this time must constantly turn to our comrades and friends who have paid the price of victory. In thanking you for your unfailing loyalty and support and wishing you good luck, remember it is still too early to relax; utmost vigilance is necessary until the last German U-boat is surrendered.” - 081932B.
Thursday, 10 May. It was a smooth and seemingly peaceful sea the convoy was sailing through, but in the evening the placid surface was punctured by depth charges dropped by Stellarton who had picked up a contact. However, nothing further developed from this attack.
Our latest position was 53 19 North 22 23 West.
So far, about 18 U-boats had reported in.
In the W/T office we logged the particulars of some of the surrendering U-boats: the number, the position, and proposed destination.
Friday, 11 May. In the afternoon, in a smooth sea, we picked up a solid contact and saturated the area with 31 charges. There was no final result from this lambasting, so we rejoined the convoy. Somehow we felt sure it had been a U-boat.
Also during the day, Kokanee dropped charges and hedgehogs on a contact.
No longer needed, the H/F D/F was closed down.
We continued logging particulars of the surrendering U-boats. Our W/T office list had now grown to show:
U-190 42 40 N 44 30 W Newfy (This U-boat had sunk Esquimalt)
U-234 50 00 N 30 00 W -
U-244 49 35 N 13 10 W -
U-249 49 10 N 05 40 W Weymouth (first reported)
U-293 58 50 N 11 00 W Loch Ailsh
U-485 36 00 N 08 00 W Gibraltar
U-516 47 37 N 08 30 W Loch Eriboll
U-532 63 30 N 08 10 W Loch Eriboll
U-541 42 00 N 16 00 W Gibraltar
U-764 61 20 N 01 30 W Loch Eriboll
U-776 50 20 N 11 20 W -
U-802 61 30 N 03 00 W Loch Ailsh
U-805 41 20 N 39 22 W Newfy
U-825 49 30 N 12 50 W Loch Ailsh
U-826 61 15 N 02 47 W Loch Ailsh
U-858 42 40 N 57 20 W Off Delaware River
U-873 35 50 N 45 00 W America or Canada
U-889 47 15 N 52 00 W Halifax
U-895 43 45 N .. 30 W -
U-901 59 00 N 08 00 W Loch Eriboll
U-956 57 00 N 10 58 W Loch Ailsh
U-1009 60 55 N 03 10 W Loch Ailsh
U-1010 50 53 N 10 05 W Loch Eriboll
U-1023 50 00 N 05 45 W Weymouth
U-1058 47 44 N 11 30 W Loch Ailsh
U-1105 55 48 N 11 16 W Loch Ailsh
U-1109 58 26 N 13 14 W Loch Ailsh
U-1228 48 30 N 36 30 W Newfy
U-1231 61 20 N 09 50 W Loch Eriboll
U-1305 - - Loch Eriboll
U-2326 57 03 N 04 32 W Kiel
U-3008 57 45 N 10 50 E Kiel
1 Transport 55 N 10 E
1 Merchant Vessel 54 56 N 08 25 E
1 Minesweeper 54 40 N 09 50 E
1 Minesweeper 54 30 N 10 30 E
Saturday, 12 May. I arose at 0400 to home a Sunderland A/C to the convoy. I would take the bearing on the D/F set, and another telegraphist would transmit the bearing to the aircraft. In the afternoon another one covered the convoy, despite periodic fog and rain.
Escort Group 30 joined us today for extra and dubious protection.
Two ships were reported as stragglers.
Sunday, 13 May. Again at 0400, I arose to home a Wellington to the convoy. It rained now and then during the day. Once we sighted a mine and tried to sink it with a depth charge and gun-fire.
By evening we were in sight of land. The evening also found us being very busy in the W/T office.
Monday, 14 May. The convoy was proceeding through a very choppy Irish Sea, and began dividing into sections with ships bound for Clyde, Mersey, and Belfast. Sea Cliff was escorting a section of 10 ships to Milbord Haven.
We intercepted a couple of messages transmitted to U-boats by GCC (Cullercoats) on 500 Kilocycles. These read: “To U-1110 From Cullercoats - Wenn genugend brennstoff innh Loch Eriboll faeiren ihre obsichien sofort GZZ10 anmelden dann de hommen sie nahere an weisugen - 141643Z,” which we believe translated to mean: “If there is enough fuel proceed to Loch Eriboll immediately, call GZZ10 when further instructions will be given.”
“To U-901 From Cullercoats - Ueder fuenf neun grad” which translated to mean, “About five nine degrees.” (Probably a course to steer.)
Tuesday, 15 May. Just after breakfast we left the convoy at Milford Haven. On our way to Derry we overtook Riviere du Loup in a smooth Irish Sea.
Our U-boat plot at 1900B showed: at Loch Ailsh - U-1305, U-1109, U-1105, U-1058, U-826, U-293, U-802, U-1009, U-825, U-956; at Loch Eriboll - U-532, U-1231, U-521, U-1010, U-516, U-764, U-244; at Weymouth - U-249, U-2023; at Gibraltar - U-485, U-541; at Kiel - U-408, U-3008; at St. John’s - U-895, U-959, U-190; at Dundee - U-2326; at Cape Sable - U-889; at Portland - U-805; at the Delaware - U-858; at the Sylt - U-1110; at Stavanger - U-901; and miscellaneous: U-873 - 39 00 N 65 00 W; U-228 - 43 00 N 61 00 W; U-234 - 46 00 N 45 00 W; U-255 - 56 00 N 11 00 W; U-776 - 49 00 N 04 00 W; and up to 13 U-boats west of UK as far as 20 degrees West.
Sea Cliff arrived at Lough Foyle before ten in the evening and immediately went alongside the tanker for refueling.
Wednesday, 16 May. We started wending our way up the Foyle before breakfast. On the way to Derry we spotted our erstwhile enemy: eight surrendered U-boats tied up.
On passing the Wrens’ barracks on the river bank, we merrily tooted our whistle. The Wrens gaily returned the salute by waving. It was a simple cheering sight.
In Derry we heard rumours of a Halifax riot. It was just as well we were not home for the Victory celebrations. Our victory success and the fact that we came through the war unscathed was signalized by part of the crew going away to rest camp in the rain.
On Thursday the water in the river was unmarked and glistened like a mirror. The verdant green land, cut into patches by the hedges, seemed more beautiful than ever. The scene was of peace - but W/T exercises still had to be carried out.
In addition there were other chores to occupy the time: correcting signal books, filling our demand forms, working on aerials, repairing the FR12 remote control equipment, and putting the Sound Reproducing Equipment in running order. Though I was busy, I was impatient to be on our way.
On the 20th the rest of the crew returned from camp, and on Monday, 21 May, we sailed at 1500 with the Senior Officer of C3 Group on board. (We were not the last ship to sail from Londonderry. That honour went to the frigate Stettler (Lt.Cdr. D.G. King), which sailed on 16 June.)
For a short while Sea Cliff lingered at anchor in Lough Foyle, then at 2000 set out for the Clyde with Riviere du Loup and North Bay. It was a fine evening, and a smooth sea made it that much nicer. We were on our way to pick up another convoy.
Tuesday, 22 May. The Clyde section of the convoy was joined by the Belfast section, and in the evening the Liverpool section joined. The convoy, ON304, was expected to consist of about 76 ships - some of them carrying troops. The escorts were: Sea Cliff, Stellarton, North Bay, Riviere du Loup, and HMS Dianella. The frigate Kokanee was to join later.
One mine was sighted and immediately sunk.
I heard a story about the frigate Strathadam. Apparently an exploding hedgehog caused several casualties on the ship, including one man on the bridge who was decapitated.
The movie “Lost Angel” was shown in the Petty Officers’ mess in the evening.
Wednesday was a quiet sunny day, and in Sea Cliff the game of “Jutland” was the rage again.
Thursday, 24 May. I was up at 0430 to home A/C to the convoy. In all, I took bearings of and homed three Liberators to the convoy today.
As usual, for authenticity purposes - to prove a transmission was genuine and not the enemy’s - twelve code words were allocated for the trip. For example, the authenticity word in force at the beginning of the trip was “Flag”. If this word was used, the number two word, “Purchase”, would automatically come into force, and so on. This can only be considered as a weak authentication system.
The English Channel section joined today. Also joining and adding to the escort was the corvette Baddeck (Lt. D.H. Tozer).
Friday, 25 May. I arose at 0400 to home a Wellington bomber to the convoy. We were heading west at the approximate latitude of 50 North. The convoy speed was 9.5 knots. We were using up plenty of oil, so we refueled in the morning.
The Atlantic was declared a non-combatant zone.
Saturday, 26 May. We were busy cleaning up - but there was no Captain’s Rounds. Sea Cliff paused long enough to pass supplies: beef, can goods, etc., to HMS Lavender, a weather reporting corvette.
Under cloudy skies the sea was becoming rough, no doubt producing the bad headache with which I was inflicted.
On Sunday, as usual I said some prayers privately and silently on deck. The sea was slightly rough and it was cloudy for most of the day. I exercised and amused myself by playing with a new member of the crew - a small friendly dog. The running about on deck left me with tired legs and a parched throat. I wondered if I was getting soft.
Monday, 28 May. It was a sunny day and the boys were lying on deck acquiring a tan. But negat for me: I burn too easily. Instead I played the game of Lexicon.
We heard news of merchant ships burning navigation lights; however, ships in our convoy were not doing so.
A report came in saying a U-boat was sighted by an aircraft in position 40 31 North 63 43 West. Contact was picked up by HMCS Kamsack (Lt.Cdr. R.F. Wilson). A torpedo was fired and the corvette dropped depth charges. Later she lost contact. But all was quiet around our convoy.
Tuesday, 29 May. The convoys seemed bunched around our general area, 43 to 46 North 45 West, and the W/T was very active. Some ships were encountering ice, but as yet not us.
I transmitted one 146-group message to Halifax advising our position and that the merchant ship Empire Talisman would be going to Saint John, New Brunswick. I envied the crew of that ship going to my home town.
A last message (L437) addressed to us from the Commander in Chief Western Approaches was received today. It read: “To Escort Group C3 From C in C WA - On saying good-bye to you I send you my warm thanks and appreciation of your loyal and efficient cooperation. The successful protection of Atlantic convoys has been a vital factor in the victory of our arms. Good luck to you all.” 291804B.
Wednesday, 30 May. Three Western Local escort ships joined us at WESTOMP in the morning. The Kokanee joined also, and C3 and his staff transferred to her.
A warm sunny afternoon found me tempting the sun. As usual I received a slight burn. In the evening a cool damp fog set in.
Thursday morning the fog lifted. Then in the middle of the afternoon we detached from the convoy and headed for Newfy. But it was our last convoy. On Friday, 1 June, I awoke to find us with our course changed. We were going about 19 knots, heading for Slackers (Halifax) at last. I must admit I was disappointed I did not get to visit the Cramms for a last time and a proper good-bye.
We arrived in harbour Saturday morning and tied up on the Dartmouth side. It felt good to be back in Canada.
We waited most of the day to be paid, then I went ashore to phone home. I learned my brother Chris was in Halifax, and I went to meet him, lodged at a local hotel. We enjoyed a good brotherly talk.
On Sunday I paid a visit to Jean Anderson, and learned that she was soon going to be married. When the first of the week rolled around I began to relax more. I went ashore to a dance at the Forum and there met and enjoyed the evening with a very charming girl. Later I walked her home.
Two days slipped by, then on the morning of Thursday, 7 June, Sea Cliff de-ammunitioned ship in Bedford Basin, and at 1230 sailed for Liverpool, N.S., arriving there about 1630. On Friday we had our 4-inch gun taken off at the Mersey jetty, then later in the day we moved over to tie up at the Thompson Brothers’ works on the Liverpool side.
On Saturday, all our wireless equipment was stowed away and as I looked forward to civvy life, days of relative inactivity followed. The time passed slowly, and with no wireless chores to keep me occupied I worked instead in the ship’s canteen, and stood Duty P.O. watches. After duty hours, dances and movies at the Elmwood barracks or movies at the Astor theatre provided sources of entertainment.
Eventually, about 28 June, my final draft came through and I was on my way to commence my de-mobilization routine at Peregrine barracks in Halifax, thence to Saint John for a month’s leave and final discharge from Captor II on 9 August.
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