From St. John’s I took passage in a small auxiliary vessel crammed with other naval personnel bound for Halifax where I transferred to a CNR train going to Montreal. On an impulse, when stopped in Levis across the river from Quebec City, I telephoned the home of Geraldine Labbe, my friend from December 1941. I was surprised to learn she had joned the Wrens and was at the Signal School in St. Hyacinthe. After I arrived at St. Hy on 23 September we became reacquainted. However, like a dolt, I did not press for more dates. Later I very much regretted it for Geraldine was a very lovely girl. Perhaps I was too confused with my priorities and with the greatly built-up signal school and the perceived tough course ahead of me. Modern buildings, numbering about 73, were spread over the 25-acre site, and housed almost 3200 officers, rating and Wrens, involved in all phases of communications training. This was a sharp contrast to earlier complements, when for example, in December 1942, the complement stood at 921, of which 40 were officers.
It had become relatively easy for St. Hyacinthe to produce good communicators, but it was not always that way. Since the beginning of the war effective training in the signals branch had been made difficult by poor selection of recruits. In December, 1940, an educational standard for V/S and W/T had been established, namely that ratings should have at least two years of high school. By 1944 greater improvements had been made in this field, and despite any earlier apprehensions, St. Hy was able to turn out a proficient and worthwhile product for the ships and establishments of the navy.
Communications training at St. Hy now consisted of courses for: Visual Signalmen (V/S), Wireless Telegraphists (W/T), Coders, Radar Operators, and Radio Artificers. The Wrens, after their arrival at St. Hy in 1943, took part in all these courses, with the exception of the one for Radio Artificers.
The oldest method of communications taught at St. Hyacinthe was, of course, Visual Signalling. This subject covered flag hoisting which entailed memorizing the colours and meanings of more than 80 signal flags, and how to prepare and hoist the many various flag signals quickly and correctly. Signalling by semaphore, and directional signalling by flashing light, were of paramount importance because of the exceptional need for this type of signalling in wartime. Enhancing the instruction of V/S was a fleet model room and a convoy model room, each with a table on which models of ships were mounted. Each ship carried lights that could be flashed so that signals could be passed from one to another in the same manner as they were passed at sea. In the case of the fleet model room, the model ships could be move to demonstrate the way in which fleet maneuvers were carried out. To augment this, large scale fleet maneuvers were carried out on the Parade Square, with each rating representing a ship in a flotilla or squadron, and his upraised right hand indicating that the Senior Officer’s signal (a “turn” or such) was understood. The flotilla leader usually carried a small flag in his hand. When the “Executive Signal” was given by the Senior Officer, the arms came down, and each ship (man) turned in the required direction.
A small number of ratings were specially trained as Convoy Signalmen. Their duty, essential during wireless silence, was to serve in merchant ships so that these ships could maintain proper contact with the warships forming the escort.
The Wireless Telegraphists, as usual, began their studies by entering the “Morse Pool”, also known as the Buzzer Pool. As in 1941, ratings could not join a regular class until they could read morse at 12 words per minute. The Morse Pool provided the opportunity to gain this speed, with the average length of time spent there being five and one-half weeks. The regular course was of 21-weeks duration and covered: a general knowledge or receivers and transmitters, Wireless organization, direction finding, W/T and Radio Telephone procedure, and transmitting and receiving morse at 22 wpm, “pushing” a pencil. Typewriters did not come into vogue until late in the war. Practical experience in W/T and R/T was obtained through the use of portable sets and through a Navy-Air Force program of establishing communications with the RCAF No. 1 Wireless Training School in Montreal.
The V/S3 and W/T3 courses for Leading Rate started in the fall of 1940 at Halifax, and continued at St. Hyacinthe. The V/S2 and W/T2 courses, for qualification to Petty Officer, started a year later at St. Hy.
Coders had been instituted in the spring of 1941. The Coders’ course at the St. Hy signal school was about four weeks in duration. The relative length of their course in no way diminished their value to the communications branch of a ship, albeit V/S and W/T ratings could also do code work.
A long signal course for officers had its inauguration in July 1944. This course, lasting seven months and qualifying the officers for specialist duties, covered all forms of communications and Radar. Attending this first course were RCN Lieutenants: T.C. MacKay, H.A. Porter, D.C. Rutherford; RCNVR Lieutenants: G. Falardeau, E.W. Disher, L.S. Howard, J.A. Woollven, R.A.H. Lort, and D.R.L. Johnston.
Specialist courses were also given for WRCNS (Wren) officers to prepare them for duties as signal officers at shore bases.
A course for Radar Operators was given at the St. Hy signal school. A small number of Wrens undertook this course for duty at shore stations. As an adjunct to this course and the W/T course was the Loran (Long Range Navigation) operator’s course. Wren Marion Cornett, of Toronto, was one who took this course. In the summer of ‘44, after a month of learning morse, she abruptly embarked on four weeks of Loran training. At the conclusion of the course, now wearing a telegraphist’s badge (a pair of wings centred by a flash of lightning) that proclaimed her a Wren/Tel Radar Operator, she was drafted to the east coast along with the rest of her class. A portion of the Wrens went to the Loran station at Deming Island, Guysborough County, Nova Scotia, while the other group, including Wren Cornett, journeyed to the opposite end of Nova Scotia to Baccaro Point.
Driving up in a truck the young women found the station at Baccaro to be situated on a lonely peninsula jutting south into the Atlantic, and consisting of one hut, rocks, some thin scrubland, and a frame building which was to be their home for the next year. The Wrens completely replaced a male staff with the exception of two technicians: Jim Shipperbottom, of Hamilton, and Bob McCaskill, who was later to marry one of the Wrens, Audrey Jameson.
The equipment and buildings used in the stations at Deming and Baccaro were originally supplied by the U.S. Navy Department, but were turned over to the RCN in December, 1943, on the understanding that Canada would assume complete responsibility for the Canadian stations which formed an integral part of the North Atlantic Loran network. The original equipment, designed by the U.S. National Defence Research Committee in 1942, was still being used at these two Canadian stations in 1944.
The Loran radio navigation system, for establishing the position of a ship or aircraft, consisted of a master and one or more slave stations. The master station emits a short pulse or signal, which is repeated by the slave station. These pulsed, synchronized transmissions are received aboard the ship or aircraft and recorded on the screen of an oscilloscope in the Loran receiver. The navigator consults his map showing a series of hyperbolic curves and by reading on the receiver the time difference of the signals between one pair of stations and those of another pair the position of the ship or aircraft is found at the intersection of the two lines of reading.
The Canadian stations comprised a critical link in the North Atlantic Loran system. With equipment installed in a quonset hut Baker (Baccaro) transmitted signals to Dog (Deming), and to station Sugar on the U.S. coast. The job of the Wren operators at Baccaro was to keep the signals synchronized twenty-four hours a day. They worked regular four-hour watches broken by the dog watches (1600-1800, 1800-2000) for nine strenuous days on and three days off. During each watch they spent forty minutes on one unit, forty on another, followed by forty minutes off. Some of the other Wrens employed in this tedious work were: Carmen LaFrance, Hull, Jean Tilley, Jamaica, Peg Lyman, Fredericton, and Marg Hovey - all commanded by Wren Officer Mary Armstrong of Fort William.
To return to St. Hyacinthe, a specialist course for officers was given in Radar there. The officers taking the course were all university graduates in physics, electrical, or other branches of engineering, who entered directly into the Radar branch of the RCN. Their course, lasting several months, entitled them to use the letter R after their rank on graduation. It should be noted here that all executive Sub-Lieutenants, on completing their officers’ course at HMCS Kings in Halifax, were given a seven-day Radar course.
The longest course given at St. Hyacinthe was the one for Radio Artificers. New entries for this course were required to have an education equivalent to grade 12 standing. The course covered a period of 42 weeks. The first 20 weeks were devoted to basic training, during which students learned the theory of electricity, mathematics, and manual skills. These manual skills included welding, lathework, soldering, metal casting and other high precision work. During the second half of the course they applied their knowledge to wireless and Radar equipment. On graduation they were qualified as Radio Artificers Fifth class, just below the rating of Petty Officer. On going to ships, the artificers seemed more involved with Radar repairs and were little used as far as the W/T department was concerned; we preferred to try and complete our own technical work or waited until we returned to port. The artificers were not available to ships in any great quantity until the latter half of the war. In fact, in Skeena, we had available to us for a long period of time the services of a complementary Royal Navy artificer.
With all these courses the staff at St. Hy was a constantly changing one. Of the original staff of the old signal school in Halifax only two served continuously at St. Hyacinthe, and these were Captain Musgrave and Chief Yeoman Curnow, RCN. Some other names worth mentioning and their respective jobs, were: Cdr. P.H. Matheson, RN, Commander “S” - in general charge of instruction; Lt. Jean Dunlop, WRCNS - Unit Officer for Wrens; Lt.Cdr. A.R. Nolan, RN, i/c W/T instruction; Lt. J.C. O’Brien, RCN, i/c V/S training; Lt.Cdr. A.M. Hurley, RCNVR, i/c Radio Artificers; Medical Officers: Surgeon Lt.Cdr. E.D. MacCharles, RCNVR; Surgeon Lt’s. M. Putnam, S. Busby, B. Wilson, and T. Richardson; Chaplains: Rev. G.A. Stone, Church of England; Rev. P.J. Curtain, RC; and Rev. A.O. MacLean, Presbyterian; P.O. G.A. Browness and P.O. Tom Carson, editors of “The Signal Log”; and, last but not least, popular instructor CPO W. Gatenby, and three of the original founding fathers who were responsible for the initial training plans and classroom layout: Lt. J.S. (Snaky) Hall, RCN; Lt. J.B. (Jerry) Wadsworth, RCN, and Signal Bosun E.W. (Stubby) Stubbington.
At the peak of the navy’s strength the communications branch contained about 9,300 ratings. Roughly 3,200 were Telegraphists, 2,338 were Signalmen, about 1,000 Coders, 2,200 Radar Operators, and 399 were Radio Artificers. It is significant that the bulk of these were trained at St. Hyacinthe.
And here I was in the autumn of 1944 launching myself energetically into my own W/T2 training, in the class of W/T2 QK. The usual subjects concerning Wireless Telegraphy were covered. In addition there were new subjects of flashing light and semaphore, and accompanying instructions requiring a written Visual Signalling paper.
During the days of my course, much was happening elsewhere to ships of the Canadian Navy in the continuous war at sea. On 4 October, Chebogue (Lt.Cdr. M.F. Oliver) was torpedoed by U-1227 (OL Friedrich Altmeier) while escorting convoy ONS33, but did not sink. She eventually reached Port Talbot, Milford Haven, after a long arduous towing trip. Later in the war U-1227 was damaged by British aircraft, then scuttled at the end of hostilities.
On 8 October, the minesweeper Mulgrave (Lt. R.M. Meredith) struck a mine off Le Havre, France. Although the sweeper did not sink, she later became a total loss.
On 14 October, U-1223 (OL A. Kneip) hit the frigate Magog (Lt. L.D. Quick) with an acoustic torpedo that failed to sink her. Magog, convoying ships of the Gulf portion of ONS33, was torpedoed in the mouth of the St. Lawrence River. Although about 60 feet of her stern had been blown off and three men killed, she stayed afloat and was towed to Quebec City. Later in the war, on 28 April 1945, U-1223 was destroyed by British aircraft near Wesermunde.
Finally two days later our side won a long overdue victory, when the frigate Annan (Lt.Cdr. C.P. Balfry) sank the U-boat, U-1006 (Voigt), south of the Faeroes on 16 October.
When 24 October rolled around, my old ship Skeena was fast approaching the end of her glorious career in Icelandic waters. Along with the destroyers Assiniboine, Chaudiere, St. Laurent, and Qu’Appelle, the fated Skeena was patrolling in the approaches to Reykjavik when the group was engulfed in a 60-knot gale. The Senior Officer, Commander J.D. Prentice, who was also captain of Qu’Appelle, ordered the ships to seek shelter further in towards port.
Skeena dropped anchor at 2230. In her sister ship, Chaudiere, Telegraphist John Murphy, of Galt, Ontario, was on watch at the time. Other Chaudiere sparkers were: C.P.O. Tel A. Carrington, Ldg Tel W. Seymour, and Tels A. Carlson, E. Saddington, D. Murray, C. Isles, C. Shoemaker, S. Harrowing. W. Abel, and John Mihichuk, a friend of mine from Saint John.
The captain of Chaudiere gave Murphy a message to be transmitted, warning Skeena of her poor position. Skeena received and acknowledged the message. Skeena’s W/T staff was almost entirely different from the staff of my time in the destroyer. Her sparkers now were listed as: P.O. Tel E. Irvine, Ldg Tel C. Brown, and Tels G. Godsall, W. McDowell, D. Dunham, D. Patterson, F. Fear, H. Rutley, D. Morgan, J. Stephenson, and R. Leader. The Yeoman of signals was Bill Kelly. Coders were Bruce Witherspoon and Ritchie Seath.
In Skeena at this ominous hour, the First Lieutenant, Lt. William Kidd, was on watch. When he obtained a subsequent bearing, it was discovered that Skeena was indeed dragging anchor. He gave the order to go ahead at 12 knots, later followed by the order “Full Ahead!” just as the stern crashed into the rocks of the north shore of Videy Island, two miles from Reykjavik. it was five minutes to midnight, a propitious time.
Both propellers were sheared away and the ship swung helplessly full length onto the rocks. Then, after repeated rolling and pounding , someone gave the order to “Stand by Carley floats and rafts!” This was followed shortly after by the order, “Abandon ship!”
Some of the crew heeded this order unfortunately. The starboard seaboat having been smashed by 15-foot swells, the port seaboat was lowered, only to founder. Of the floats that had got away, one washed up on Videy, while the others were carried by the tide temporarily towards the open sea. The floats capsized repeatedly before the survivors finally washed up on the mainland beneath snow-covered Mount Esja. In the turmoil, fifteen men had lost their lives.
The remainder, who stayed aboard Skeena throughout the long grim night, were soaked to the skin. The battered ship never ceased twisting and grinding on the rocks; she was holed in her boiler and engine rooms, in her forepeak, and oil from her fuel tanks flooded her decks.
The rescue of the remainder was accomplished in the morning by a party of 30 Royal Navy ratings led by Lt. J. Tate, royal Navy Volunteer Reserve, and an Icelander, Einar Sigurdsson. At 0740 a light line was shot from Videy across to Skeena by Coston gun and a heavier line returned. By 0830 all of the men were hauled safely ashore in Carley floats.
The funeral of Skeena’s dead on 28 October was said to be the most impressive ever seen in Iceland. In the solemn funeral procession were the Admiral Commanding Iceland Command, Vice-Admiral B.C. Watson, and senior officers and men of the Royal Navy, United States Navy, Royal Marines, Royal Air Force, and Royal Canadian Air Force.
The captain of Skeena, Lt.Cdr. P.F. Russell, with his officers and men, marched in the long procession to the row of graves. Also present were officers and detachments of ratings of the other Canadian destroyers, along with their respective captains, Assiniboine - Lt.Cdr. R. Hennessey, Chaudiere - Lt.Cdr. C.P. Nixon, and St. Laurent - Lt.Cdr. A.G. Boulton.
The bodies of the victims, wrapped in Union Jacks, were carried to their graves by shipmates, while others bore the wreaths that were placed on each man’s grave. The funeral services were conducted by RN Chaplains J. Dyson (C of E), T. Byrne (RC), and RCAF Chaplain R.H.N. Davidson (P).
The dead of Skeena were thus buried with full Naval honours in the War Graves Section of Fossaburg Cemetery, Reykjavik, a white cross with the name and number of each man at the head of his grave. The cemetery lies on a gentle slope overlooking the waters that sweep in from the great Faxa Floi. Here, among the dead, in their last resting place, were Leading Signalman R.G. Hancock and my good friend, Coder Ritchie Seath of St. Lambert, Quebec.
Later in 1945, Skeena was refloated and repaired by a company owned by a very competent salvage expert, Mr. Arsaell Jonassen of Reykjavik. He then offered the ship through a detachment of the Royal Navy at Iceland to both the British and Canadian navies, but there was no interest because the war was drawing to its close. The Canadian government declined because it considered the expense too great for outfitting and making her really seaworthy. In the end, old Skeena was broken up and sold as scrap in 1946 and 1947.
About 0230, on 25 November, the corvette Shawinigan (Lt. W.J. Jones) was torpedoed by U-1228 and sunk with all hands in Cabot Strait, in position 47 34 North 59 11 West. Going down with her were: Ldg Tel R.O. Armstrong, age 31; and Tels R.S. Hunter, age 19; R.C. Thomas, age 21; and H.G. Woods, age 21. At the time of the sinking U-1228 was commanded by Oberleutnant Friedrich-Wilhelm Marienfeld. This U-boat survived the war and surrendered to the Americans at Portsmouth, N.H.
With the end of November came the conclusion of my course in St. Hyacinthe. When the results were announced I was happy to hear I had passed. On 1 December I was granted the non-substantive rate of W/T 2, a promotion from W/T 3. On the 2nd of the month I was drafted to the Drafting Depot, HMCS Peregrine, in Halifax via long leave which I spent joyously in Saint John.
December days brought another sinking of a Canadian ship. On Christmas eve, the minesweeper Clayoquot (Lt.Cdr. A.C. Campbell) was torpedoed and sunk in the approaches to Halifax harbour by U-806 (KL Klaus Hornbostel). This U-boat, U-806, survived the war but was scuttled afterwards in Operation Deadlight.
On 27 December it was our turn: the frigate St. Thomas sank U-877 in the North Atlantic, but more about this later.
On Friday, 5 January 1945, my brief stay in Peregrine was almost completed. I finished my Out routine but missed a draft to Newfy where I was slated to go. So I had to remain in cold dismal Halifax for a few more boring days.
A buzz was going around that several ships were sunk outside the Halifax gates. This must have stemmed from the Clayoquot sinking, and the fact that the corvette Fennel (Lt.Cdr. K.L. Johnson) and the minesweeper Transcona (Lt.Cdr. A.E. Gough) each had an acoustic torpedo exploded in the Cat gear, both fired by U-806. The Cat gear (Canadian Anti-Acoustic Torpedo gear) was a noise-making device which was towed astern to deflect the sound-guided torpedoes away from the ship’s propeller.
On Saturday some of us were ill, and the barrack food was suspected. In my sick condition I tried to relax and recuperate by playing classical records in an ante-room in the drill hall in Peregrine. By Sunday evening I was feeling much chipper and accordingly went skating in the Forum, a short distance from the barracks. Afterwards my evening was brightened by dropping in at Jean Anderson’s home for tea and a friendly chat.
I was having a difficult time trying to get my promotion to Acting Petty Officer. On Monday I travelled down to the Dockyard in a vain attempt to get my request form signed. Instead, I was informed that a draft I was to join was leaving next day for Newfoundland. I was glad to hear we were going by rail.
Tuesday afternoon found me arriving in North Sydney in a driving rain. The stop was long enough for me to cross over to Sydney and join sailor Jack Hulbert at supper with a kind family by the name of Smythe.
At 2100, I boarded SS Burgeo and, after life-boat drill, went to bed in my assigned cabin. The Burgeo departed early in the morning, but I did not arise until noon, when I had dinner. I then spent a short time on deck. The Canadian sky astern was bright, while ahead the Newfy sky was an uninviting dull gray.
It was a good trip and we arrived uneventfully in Port aux Basque about 1600. Three hours later I was on board a train, slowly pushing its way through continually falling snow.
We arrived in St. John’s about 2100 Thursday, and then a truck carried us to Avalon barracks where that night I slept on the springs of a bed that had no mattress.
On Friday I completed my In routine and reported to the Signal Training Centre (STC). Here I was to bide my time for almost three weeks before getting a draft to another ship. But what ship?
After supper in barracks I went down to the ever familiar waterfront and called on Saint Johner, Louis Coyle, a signalman in the frigate Lanark. I returned to barracks following an evening movie and slung my hammock. I was to use my mick for only one more night, for on Sunday I discovered some low thief had stolen it. Consequently I had to obtain some loan bedding, to be used in conjunction with my bed for the future: the top of a table.
The days passed slowly while I dawdled around the Signal Training Centre waiting for a draft. At the STC, time was passed in entering corrections in signal books and assisting in Radio Telephone exercises conducted for the benefit of ships in harbour. My daily routine usually was: up at 0600, breakfast at 0630, and, often, Mass at 0700; then off to the Signal Training Centre.
One day I met another Saint Johner, Lt. Stanley MacKenzie, who was serving in Avalon as Assistant Schoolmaster. Before leaving his office he gave me some hometown (Saint John) newspapers which I read avidly and wished for more.
Ashore, time was filled at the occasional dance and movie, but especially I enjoyed the visits to the home of my friends, the Cramms, where happy hours were spent in endless chatting over tea, toast, and cake.
I bumped into another friend accidentally on the street, Leading Coder Lawrence Matson, formerly of the frigate Wentworth. We renewed old times over supper at a restaurant on Water Street.
By the 29th I was still sleeping on the table-top in barracks and becoming inured to its hardness. I had already begun efforts to procure another hammock by first submitting a request form to see the Executive Officer. I followed this up by going round to each barrack block and obtaining a chit to verify my hammock was not in each respective block. What a ludicrous situation it had become! The X.O. granted my request to have my mick replaced and I hastened down to the Dockyard supply stores, but was unable to obtain one as they had none in stock. While there I gazed longingly at the escorts ships, hoping that soon I would be a member of one of them.
On the 30th we were paid in the large Drill Hall. Possibly to coincide with pay-day, a big dance was held in the Drill Hall in the evening. I enjoyed myself at the dance, and afterwards walked a Wren home to her barrack block. In windows of the adjacent block some lads were kibitzing and cajoling couples into kissing good-night. So as not to disappoint them, the Wren and I kissed good-night - and the day ended blissfully.
The end of January brought the news I might be drafted to a frigate. I sat at a table in barracks with fellows I knew: all drinking tea and jabbering continuously, and learned the names of possible ships to which I might get drafted.
At long last, on 1 February, I received my draft notice: to the frigate Sea Cliff. Forthwith I did my barrack Out routine. Afterwards I wrote home, and then packed my gear.
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