by Robert Wyatt

The Eastern and Australian Shipping Companies new vessel Arafura (2), on her second trip to the Far East, departed Hong Kong in June 1955 for Yokkaichi, Japan.

Before departure the Master had been instructed to change their intended track to avoid the Taiwan straits. This due to live firing exercises being held in this area by the mainland Chinese government. The alternative recommended was via the East Coast of Taiwan Island, and then north to Japan.

With the stifling Hong Kong humidity left behind, the weather forecasts for the areas through which the ship would be sailing, were predicting smooth seas, good visibility, and clear nights. This was welcome news for the 12-4 or Second apprentice of the three apprentices on board. His propensity to seasickness was well known, and had often made his life miserable even in moderate seas.

On the second night at sea with the mild conditions, the only relief from the hot-house atmosphere below was the breeze provided by the ships passage through the water making it a pleasure to be on the bridge on such a clear starry night. The watch passed slowly, with little other shipping about, and no fishing fleets which could be a nightmare to encounter. At 4am the watch changed, with very little to report to the Chief Officer who had just taken over. There was only one echo on the radar of a ship on a reciprocal course but well clear, and a course change much later in the watch. All the indications were for an uneventful four hours.

The Second officer and the 12-4 apprentice, after writing up the log books and completing their rounds, could relax and enjoy blessed oblivion until breakfast time.

At sea always expect the unexpected. It was still well before dawn, and in the dark sky a large reddish flash appeared, on the horizon, fine on the port bow, and to the north of the ships position. It disappeared quickly leaving no visible trace in the gloom. The Chinese sailor on lookout on the forecastle gave two strokes on the ship’s bell, reporting a sighting to port. The Chief Officer scanned the area with his binoculars, but with nothing on the radar, his response was “probably lightning”.

The watch proceeded without any further incidents, as the normal ship’s routine took over. The crew turned-to and began washing down. The bosun was given his work for the day, and the Captain arrived on the bridge to see all was well with his ship, and to allow the Chief Officer time for his shower, and to change into uniform.

The sun had brought with it the promise of another fine day, and smooth seas. The ship was just coming to life, from the galley the smells of breakfast cooking told those on the bridge, in the best possible way, that their watch was very nearly over. The Third officer and the Third apprentice along with the relief Quartermaster had just arrived on the bridge for the 8-12 watch, when a loud roaring overhead shook the ship, startling all those present. A large four engined aircraft flying in from astern, very low, and continuing its path and noise signature over the bow. The white stars on its wings and tail identified it as a United States aircraft. Having cleared the ship it banked sharply and began signalling with a morse lamp.

The aircraft crewmember behind the morse lamp must have been “service trained”. The speed was beyond the ability of those on the bridge at that time to read it. With little response from the ship the aircraft began to circle just off the bow, the frustration at the lack of response was obvious. As a last resort the watch apprentice was sent hurrying below to find the radio officer and bring him up to the bridge, in the hope he may be able to read the American’s morse.

The result was the same again due to the speed and the height fluctuations of the aircraft. In an effort to break the stalemate ‘sparks’ used the ships Aldis lamp to send the Arafura’s radio call sign to the aircraft. Returning to the radio room hoping for a response.

Success at last, although it took several repeats for the complete message to be understood. It transpired that this aircraft was only one of many, sent out from their base in Okinawa to search for a missing aircraft. The message was, “floating wreckage had been sighted about 8 miles to the north and west of the ships present position”. They requested the ship to proceed to the wreckage sighting and search for any survivors or bodies and also to recover what wreckage they could.

The Captain, already on the bridge after the initial contact with the aircraft, ordered “Stand By” rung and the covers removed from the motor lifeboat. The boat would be manned by the Third officer an apprentice one Engineer and three sailors. As requested by the Americans the ship now altered course towards the wreckage sighting with the aircraft continuing to circle above.

From the approximate position of the wreckage, the red flash sighted earlier in the 4-8 watch was more likely the fireball from the missing aircraft. Nearing the area Arafura reduced speed in preparation for launching her lifeboat. So as to avoid any identity mistakes in such a volatile area, the ship’s signal letters and the red ensigns were hoisted. In addition the British identification banners were also unfurled on either side of the hull.

Most of the ships crew were now awake, either on duty or as interested spectators. The one exception was the 12- 4 apprentice, who had managed to sleep through the initial excitement, but not for long! His cabin door was flung, open, as the 8-12 watch apprentice scurried inside to pick up his cap and lifejacket, before boarding the lifeboat. The brief wake up call, “get up sleeping beauty we are putting a lifeboat in the water”. The only answer from the recumbent form in the lower bunk, was to turn over and pull the bed covers over his head.

From out of the relative quiet in the cabin, came the loud scraping of the bridge to engine room telegraph cables that were housed in ducting outside the cabin door. Now half awake and volubly cursing at having his sleep abruptly interrupted, thoughts now only of breakfast as a compensation. a sudden thump overhead that shook the cabin, then the scream of wire ropes in blocks, plus the sight of a lifeboat descending outside the cabin porthole, brought the bunk occupant suddenly upright, hitting his head a shattering crash on the underside of the upper bunk.

First thoughts in panic! Hell the ship is sinking, must get out. Still not fully awake and half stunned, grabbing cap, lifejacket, and shoes, with shirt shorts and socks in hand, he fled to the boat deck in underclothes, not wanting to be left behind. To those already assembled this sight provided the comic relief for the morning. Then above the noise the cold voice of the Chief Officer, “get properly dressed and report to the bridge”. He obviously was not amused.

The ship had now stopped, rolling slightly in the swell.

The motor lifeboat dropped into the water with its crew on board. The engine roared into life, and with the painter released, headed away from the ships side, and into the field of wreckage, which from water level was as far as the eye could see.

Two other aircraft had now joined the original one, all flying circles around the ship. A comment from the Captain, “hope they keep a good lookout for each other, otherwise we will have more wreckage to pick up”.

For the next five hours the lifeboat criss-crossed the area, collecting wreckage which included several plexi-glass domes pieces of fuselage, undercarriage wheels, seat cushions an instrument panel, pieces of uniforms, and other personal effects of the crew, a large amount of sodden paper work, such as charts, aircraft specifications, log and code books, radio navigation charts, and very sadly human remains. The lifeboat returned to the ship regularly to unload and to refuel. As the morning advanced the slight breeze dropped, the flags hung limply, and the sea turned to a smooth glass like surface. Without the ships movement, the heat descended on all those involved in the operation, including the lifeboat crew which required cool drinks to be passed down to them.

A radio message from one of the aircraft above informed the ship, a U.S. Naval tender had been ordered to the area. This would allow the Arafura to leave the site and proceed to Okinawa and unload what had been recovered so far. The message also included a sincere “thank you” for the effort.

The lifeboat was recalled, its crew disembarked by the rope ladder, after hooking on the falls. The boat had only just cleared the water, when the electric boat winch belched black smoke and stopped working. The boat dropped back into the water again. This left the laborious task of raising the boat manually before the ship could get underway to the island of Okinawa.

To the apprentices fell the job of sorting and to secure the recovered wreckage. The task had to be done and done quickly. It was not the time or place to break down at the sights that confronted them, that reaction would come later.

It was during the 8-12 watch that a flurry of radio messages were received from the U.S. authorities in Japan, changing the destination to Yokohama, instead of Okinawa. The reason was security. The Okinawa Base was “off limits” to foreign crews and Arafura had a Chinese crew.

It was a grey overcast and showery day, with a brisk onshore breeze, when Arafura threaded her way through the anchored ships outside the Port of Yokohama, pausing just long enough to board the Japanese harbour pilot. Then she headed for a wharf on which waited a convoy of trucks, two field ambulances, and an immaculately kept jeep, bristling with radio aerials, all in the drab green with white stars of the U.S. army.

When the gangway neared the wharf, two occupants from the jeep bounded up it, re-appearing shortly on the bridge accompanied by a Quartermaster. The two Americans with stars and battle ribbons, one smoking a large black cigar, briskly saluted the bridge officers. The more decorated of the two shamelessly eavesdropping on the conversation between the Pilot and the Captain, that was about the shortage of tugs in the Port, and the row that had erupted because Arafura had “jumped the queue” for the berth.

As if on a field exercise with his troops, the (call me) Colonel took charge. Towering over the Japanese Pilot, in a voice accustomed to command, insisting he immediately contact whoever was “raising hell” to keep their “shirt on” because the ship would be clear of the berth in one hour. No tugs, this would be no problem, he offered the use of one of theirs. Turning to the other officer, probably an aide, speaking as if he was standing on the fore deck, instead of right in front of him. Ordering him to contact their base, to get the crew of the stand-by tug to “break up their poker game” start up and come over to Arafura on the double. Despite his brashness, the Colonel was as good as his words. One hour later, all that had been recovered from the crash site had been removed, and the convoy of trucks and the ambulances were disappearing between the wharf sheds. With the ship now free to leave, the crew had the mooring lines ready to let go and the gangway raised and stowed. The tug as promised, had arrived, and had backed up to the midships fairlead ready to take the ships wire.

When the remaining lines were let go, the Pilot signalled the tug to take the strain. Instead, with water boiling from under her stern, she surged forward, pulling the wire so taut, it twanged like a guitar string. Crew members standing nearby dived for cover in case it snapped. The ship heeled as it was dragged off the wharf. Those on the bridge shook their heads in disbelief. The tug master was obviously used to dealing with large battleships and aircraft carriers and not small cargo ships.

Then, with no visible warning, the tug crew released the towing hook. The wire, tension lost, snaked through the air and draped itself over the ships rail while the tug, without pausing nosed up to the ships bow and began pushing. A frantic wave from the Pilot, and a baseball cap with large cigar below it appeared in the tugs wheelhouse. A wave with the cigar, then black diesel smoke poured from her squat funnel, as she turned away her bow wave caused some fishing boats moored nearby to roll and pitch frighteningly.

The ship, now under her own power, headed away from the wharf, while its delayed occupant was already on her way in, leaving only metres between the two ships. They were in a hurry, the one hour’s delay must have thrown her tight schedule out completely, or that was what we were supposed to think.

On arrival at Yokkaichi the allotted berth was still in use. Arafura had to anchor out and wait her turn. The three apprentices were put on day work whilst at anchor. It was the first time they had all been together at the one time since they had left Hong Kong.

The absence of any emotion up to this time was not just boyish bravado, it was simply the need to keep a lid on their feelings, until they could all relax, and then talk amongst themselves, about what they had seen and felt during and after the wreckage recovery.

With it came the realisation that there had been real people on the aircraft that had crashed who had real families and friends, whose lives had been torn apart, along with their hopes for the future. It drove home the message that life itself was very fragile and far too often far too short.

It was agreed that the memories of that part of the voyage would last a long time, and so they have in the author’s case, for 57 years.

In respectful memory of Bryan Ashley-Cooper 1936-1991. Fellow apprentice on S.S. Arafura 1955/1956, and a lifelong friend.