1940: Ashcrest and Suncrest

 SS Ashcrest

Crest Shipping Company arranged for me to sail as Second officer for a short trip on one of their outside managed vessels, the SS Ashcrest, which had arrived in Cardiff with a cargo of iron ore. Watts, Watts were managing this vessel (another Yugoslav gift to the war effort) and she was to have the bridge work armour-plated in dry dock. The Master immediately endeared himself to me by saying that he and the Chief officer were going on leave.

“Do you think you can manage, sonny?”

I may have looked young, but to be called “sonny” was too much! I was thrilled that at last the Merchant ships were being given some protection, and when the Captain came back from leave I enthusiastically asked him to come and see the guns and the bridge house armouring. He replied, “Sonny, with my experience you require nothing like this!” “Have you ever been bombed or machine-gunned?” I asked.

“No”.

“Then you haven’t experienced anything!”

When we eventually went into the wheelhouse the slits which had been fixed by the local dry-dock manager, when we chose a suitable height, were too high for him!! He of course complained.

“You can always stand on a sheet of newspaper”, I said, feeling most unhappy, and hoping to get back to Fircrest and the boys as soon as possible.

We left Cardiff for Port au Bouc in S. France with a cargo of coal, and whilst there the Italians declared war. The first night the port was bombed and the town was in total blackout, but the port authority had left on the cargo lights which floodlit the Ashcrest. I smashed every bulb they contained until we, too, were blacked out.

We received orders to proceed to Cannes to pick up British subjects who had been caught in France and pushed south by the advancing German forces. The ship was cleaned up as best we could, not spotless, but as clean as it was possible to make it, and we arrived in Cannes. We anchored off the town and prepared to take on 1,000 refugees. Shortly the passenger tenders began to bring them onboard.

We had a real mix of expatriates. I gave up my room to two ladies and two orphans. They all slept in my three quarter bed. They were lucky, for most had to sleep in the tween decks and on the hatches outside. it was a sunny day and very warm, and I wore a shirt and slacks and my ‘good luck’ beret which had belonged to my mother. I was stationed at the top on the accommodation ladder to greet an assortment of passengers. one young lady was rather full at the front, and I asked her what she was hiding as they were only allowed one suitcase each. She had her pet Sealyham tucked inside her coat, so I looked the other way. one gentleman arrived and told me to take him to his cabin! “Yes, Sir!” I took him to a place on No.4 hatch. He offered me a two franc tip which I politely refused. Poor soul! When I was on watch in uniform there he was looking up to the bridge, and it was only when he was going ashore in Gibraltar that he plucked up courage and apologised for offering me the tip!

We were to have had the Duke of Windsor, but instead we had his bodyguard, a piper and much luggage. We had two Princes Sami, grandsons of the last Sultan of Turkey and their entourage. When the last person came on board and I asked the passenger-tender Master to give me the basket chairs, cushions and forms etc. because we had very little for over 1,000 extra. He was no help. “Combien?” he said. How much? The Germans were getting everything the next day for nothing! I was tempted to turn our gun on him!

We left Cannes and joined a ‘French escorted’ convoy. Fortunately we had engine trouble and had to put in to Port Vendres on the French border with Spain. The British Consul from Cannes and others went ashore and bought up food and carboys of Vichy water. The engines fixed, we set off for Gibraltar on our own. I believe the rest of the convoy ended up in Oran. We had two lifeboats and some rafts for all our passengers, and in case of panic one lifeboat was guarded by one Prince Sami with a fire axe and the other by a TOCH padre who had a revolver.

Some nights later I came on watch at midnight and was fixing the position in the Chartroom, 45 miles SE of Cape Nao, when the Captain came to tell me there was a submarine. I went aft, quietly arousing the rest of the gun crew and took up station.

The memories of that night are carved in my mind.

It was moonlight and the submarine was quite visible. He opened fire and so did we. our gun trainer was our 16 year old galley boy and the gun layer was a royal Navy regular. The galley boy was weeping with frustration because he couldn’t see the sub, but when I helped him to train on the target he saw it and shouted:

“I can see the so and so, let the bastard have it!”

We did, and after two rounds at point blank range the submarine gave up and submerged. I set off a smoke float. He fired three torpedoes at us, but hadn’t allowed for a ship in ballast, and they passed harmlessly underneath us.

On my way back to the bridge I met one of the ‘English ladies abroad’.

“And what were you doing when the attack was on?” She didn’t say “sonny”, but I felt she wanted to, and being full of ‘joie de vivre’ after getting rid of the sub I joked, “I was in my cabin having a snooze”

“Oh, you coward!” she cried. I was still wearing my steel helmet and was filthy from the smoke and gun work. Some people are stupid!

On the bridge the British Consul offered me a dram from his flask which I gratefully accepted. The master refused.

“No thank you, sir: I require no Dutch courage!” Ha! Ha!!

We could have done with some dynamic leadership!

But there were compensating moments. I had given up my toilet and bathroom. one dear old lady acted as doorkeeper and kept check on the toilet rolls, one piece per lady! There was always a queue which stretched up the foredeck, but after days of sleeping at the gun I wanted to use my own facilities and whispered this to her. She held up her hand to stop the queue and in a ringing voice announced:

“One moment please! while the officer uses his toilet”. She then gave me a whole roll. Was my face red!

Although my bed was a coil of rope on the gun position I must have slept like a log at times. one of Prince Sami ‘s servants died and was buried at sea. over the stern under the gun and I didn’t hear a thing!

One afternoon I was on watch when the British Consul came to report that a man was inciting the women and telling them that we would never make it. I said I would fix it when my watch was finished. at 1600 hours I went into the tween decks with the Consul, armed with a gas torch and found the man. in the gloom I started to address him, “Now look here, mister….” but by the time I could see him properly I realised he was at least 6 feet 6 ins tall, and my ‘tirade to be’ petered out to, “You must stop saying such ridiculous things, we are quite safe!”

My mother had assured me I would return safely and I felt sure she was right!

After the attack we closed the coast, keeping station 3 miles off until picked up by the RAF from Gibraltar some days later. We couldn’t steam any closer because a Spanish destroyer kept us company smack on 3 miles.

At Gibraltar 500 people were transferred to the Dunera and the other 500 went ashore to be cleaned up whilst we had the tween decks made suitable by the Navy for 250 passengers. We were told another vessel would berth alongside to take the final 250. imagine my delight when this turned out to be the Fircrest. after an hour or two aboard seeing all my old shipmates I returned to the grind with the threats ringing in my ears as to what would happen if I didn’t hurry up and join them with my Master’s ticket.

Eventually we left Gibraltar for home in convoy. The Polish liner Batory was in the next column on our port side. She was full of troops and her Second officer must have been very romantic because he closed in on me every afternoon for the troops to view all our ladies on deck. Naturally I took necessary precautions, but our Master, surrounded by admiring females on deck, no doubt recounting a few brave stories, shouted, “Sonny, you are too close!”

A second time, “Sonny you are too close!” What a way to give orders!

I’m afraid I had never appreciated him calling me “Sonny” and I put the vessel hard a starboard out of the convoy. His nibs rushed up to the bridge and gave me a wigging. I had not forgotten his boasts in Cardiff and his remarks about Dutch courage. For the first and only time I turned on a senior officer and told him not to show off at my expense.

Of all the trips I made during the war the few months on Ashcrest were the hardest I ever worked. Navigator, gunnery officer, Signalman, arbitrator and Water Boy. I used to go down to the Engine room for buckets of water for the three nurses on board, for one lame man on No. 3 hatch and of course for my dear old lady doorkeeper of the toilet. I had more to do with the passengers needs and comfort than any other officer and it made up my mind to stick to cargo work in future!

We arrived safely at Liverpool with the Duke of Windsor’s piper standing in the eyes of the vessel playing his bagpipes. The passengers must have been vetted in Gibraltar for there were a number of black marias waiting at the quayside. The others went their separate ways, no doubt as relieved as I was that the voyage was over and we had arrived in one piece.

We paid off and I was invited to the home of one of the passengers. Mr and Mrs C. were so grateful that their daughter had returned safely that they pressed me to return to Liverpool and stay with them when I studied for my Master’s ticket. after home leave I did return and with Mrs C’s encouragement and discipline I managed to pass my ticket in six weeks! if I stopped after dinner for a game of billiards with Mr C, she would call,

“Jeffers! Back to work!!”

I was most grateful and they remain friends of the family.

Returning home as a Master Mariner I wanted to phone Capt. T. to tell him I was ready to rejoin my old crew. Father insisted I finish my meal.

“No!” I said. “I promised to let him know”.

In the end I was told that the Fircrest had been lost with all hands.

“Don’t say “what”, say “eh!” like your father does”. The Second Engineer’s words still haunt me!

SS Suncrest

To replace the Bancrest the owners bought a new vessel from the launching owners. She was named Suncrest, and in November 1940 I was appointed Chief officer and sent to Burntisland in the Firth of Forth to supervise the fitting out. a great experience and an insight into how the unions helped to ruin this country!

A lock needed attention, and I sent for the carpenter to fix it.

“Cannot touch that, sir, because it’s a steel door and you need a boilermaker.”

At sea the carpenter, or Chippy, did all things, whether on wood or steel. I don’t know what happens at sea now, but up to the time I left shipping we were a team and helped each other.

As Chief officer the builders took very little notice of me, until the director of Crest shipping, Mr. r. himself, came up from London. He pointed out to the shipyard that I was to all intents and purposes taking his place. Thereafter life was much easier. I had prepared a list of unfinished work for Mr. r. to see when he came north, and I learned from him how to get things done. We were inspecting the painting of the boiler room at deck level. The specification asked for two coats of paint and I had noted only one.

“Have you given the bulkheads two coats of paint, foreman?” asked Mr. R.

“Yes, Mr.R.” replied the foreman.

“Shall we just give them another coat?” he replied with a beatific smile. it was done!

The Suncrest was a lucky ship which, although in constant use, miraculously survived the war. Years later when I had retired from deep sea work and was serving as a river Pilot she came into Blyth harbour looking the same as ever.

The Master, officers and crew were appointed during the second week of December, and in the New Year we left Burntisland, loaded 1,500 tons of solid ballast at Grangemouth, to keep the propeller from thrashing fresh air, and set off down the Firth of Forth to collect timber from British Columbia. alas! on the way down the Firth the Third officer wrapped the propeller round the channel buoy and we sailed round the North of Scotland and on to Oban with one propeller blade missing. Ninety-nine donk! a terrible motion! We went down to Glasgow to have a new propeller fitted. This was cast iron in place of the original bronze, and that was no bad thing, as it later saved her from the Russian convoys where the propellers had to be bronze to withstand the extreme cold.

Under Capt. H. we proceeded on our own across the Atlantic, keeping just south of Iceland. My word, it was cold! I could not help laughing because the back of the old Man’s duffle coat was a solid block of ice. He pointed out that mine was the same! We then went south down the East coast of America, through the Panama Canal and up to Victoria, British Columbia. We lay off the port to discharge ballast and to await orders. We now had a chance to lower the lifeboats and fortunately we left them on the falls because they sank in position. The new wood had shrunk! The same thing happened to the jolly boat, and they all had to go ashore to be re-riveted. a good job we had not needed them en route! We next proceeded to load timber at New Westminster, Nanaimo and finally Vancouver, enjoying the wonderful British Columbian coastline on the way.

We left for London via the Panama Canal and Halifax, Nova Scotia, then across the Atlantic to Scotland and Loch Ewe, round to the East coast and to London to discharge our timber. We were then ordered to proceed to Glasgow to load a triple gun turret for H.M.S. Liverpool which was lying in San Francisco. We were the only vessel available at that time with sufficient hatch clearance to load the turret in one piece. it was back across the Atlantic again, but first we had to load as ballast 1500 tons of whisky in barrels and cases.

Loading in Glasgow, the stevedores, unknown to us, must have breached the first cases to be loaded in No. 3 tween decks. Even now I can see them struggling into the space with the ‘supposedly’ heavy cases. Some of the men were drunk, no unusual thing, but when one of them came at me with a knife, the foreman stevedore picked him up and threw him down the accommodation ladder to the quay below and there was no more trouble. I think it was when we were discharging the whisky at Seattle that the foremen stevedore there came and told me he had found 36 empty cases!

Thinking back I asked, “in the tween decks No. 3 afterend?” “How did you know?”

I told him about the drunken stevedores in Glasgow and how cleverly they had mimed loading those ‘heavy’ cases. How and where they stowed the contents ashore is still a mystery. Whisky cargoes are very well watched now.

Our first port of call in America had been Los Angeles. on arrival the owners of the shipyard asked me if I could show them our anti-aircraft defences, especially the Holman Projector. Having given them the usual gen, “keep the steam line clear” etc. etc. I fired a blank bomb. it certainly soared into the air, but with my poor aim it was going to land in the massed car park on the other side of the dock. I held my breath, but it landed safely between two cars, and the shipyard owners were delighted with the exhibition and sent on board a box of huge cigars for the gunnery officer (me!!). Churchill had nothing on these, and how we all enjoyed them! We discharged the gun turret at San Francisco with some of the whisky, and the rest at Seattle and Vancouver. at San Francisco I went ashore with Sparks and the Third Engineer. We ordered three whiskies which tasted like fuel-oil!

“Is this the best you can do?” we asked.

The barman showed us 29 different bottles of whisky on the shelf, all with exotic names, such as “Bonny Blue Bells of Scotland”, but we did not trust them.

“What about a decent drink?” we asked. “We’ve just brought you in 500 tons of the real McCoy from Scotland!” We were then treated to a decent drink from a hidden bottle.

We loaded general cargo at Vancouver for the U.K. and filled any empty space with ‘Bundles for Britain’. at Halifax, Nova Scotia, the convoy assembled and we were made Commodore vessel for the return voyage, with vice-admiral Strutt on board. I have a tremendous admiration for the royal Navy, and especially for those reserve officers who came out of retirement to help with the convoy work. I cannot imagine a worse job than crossing the North Atlantic in 1941 in charge of sixty odd ships of all shapes, sizes, ages and nationalities, with only very few R.N. escorts to watch over them.

Our Commodore was a wonderful character. He was very keen on navigation and in the First World War had been navigator to Beatty at the Battle of Jutland. Created ‘Master of the Fleet’ for his services he wondered what his wife would have been called, had he been married!

Leaving the Canadian coast we ran into terrific weather and the convoy scattered. our forepeak hatch was washed off. The old Man hove to, whilst two sailors and I attempted to deal with the hatch and batten it down securely. Then the biggest sea of the day came over the bows. The two sailors were washed some 150 feet down the foredeck. indeed Forest A.B. was lucky to be caught by, a rail across his middle, next stop overboard!! I was washed under the windlass. The Commodore saw me weakly waving and told the Captain he thought I was in trouble.

“Nonsense!” said the old Man. “He’s always fooling!”

After another look the Commodore sent his Chief Yeoman Thomas and some sailors to help. I was trapped and had a gashed leg and a bashed head. They took me to my cabin to thaw out and dry. With my wounds dressed and a change of raiment, I was leaning against a radiator preparing to return to the bridge when the Commodore arrived.

“Where are you going?”

“On the bridge to finish my watch, sir!”

“You are not!”

“Admiral, you are the Commodore of this convoy, but I am the Chief officer of this ship, and I am on watch.”

“Chief Yeoman Thomas, put the Chief officer in his bunk!”

With royal Navy discipline and efficiency I was picked up and put to bed. The Commodore spoke to me as a Dutch uncle and gave me some painkillers. They must have been potent because I did not wake up until the next day to learn that the old Man and the Commodore had shared my watches between them.

Meanwhile the weather moderated, the escorts ushered the vessels back into formation and we set off again to cross the Atlantic and proceed to Loch Ewe. We arrived safely and in the Minches we were overtaking a coastal convoy of small ships.

“Chief Yeoman, make a signal,” said Commodore Strutt.

“Request permission to pass!” Back came the reply: “request denied!”

The admiral huffed and puffed, or so it seemed to me.

“Chief Yeoman, make a signal Consider sufficient room to manoeuvre the grand Fleet. I am passing regardless” I managed to persuade him to hoist his pennant. I felt very sorry for whoever was in command of the small convoy as we sailed past with a vice admiral’s pennant streaming from our masthead, and of course there was room to spare!

We anchored in Loch Ewe and the ‘Clanking Sword Brigade’ arrived, our name for all Port officials the world over. They wanted our Commodore to join them ashore, but he said, “Come back in the morning. I am playing cards with the boys tonight.”

He sent for me the next morning before disembarking. He was in the saloon in civvies, looking very smart. His reply to my complimentary remarks was,

“Not bad for the Fifty Shilling Tailors!” What a man!!

Before leaving Loch Ewe to complete our voyage south via the North of Scotland, we were treated to a great sight. The battleship K.G.V. arrived with her consorts and she lay at anchor with her family, as it were, around her.

We had been fitted with kites to be flown aft in coastal waters. We never mastered the kites. We could get them up, but they never stayed up and usually dropped astern. on our way south we called in at Dundee to discharge part of our cargo and to bunker. a Sub. Lt. R.N.V.R. came on board and asked if he could show me the ins and outs of assembling and flying kites. He spent some time, and when I thanked him and offered coffee he declined, saying that he had to rush off to someone else. (To the next ignoramus! …….. my words, not his!!)

While we discharged part of our cargo the foreman stevedore said, “I see you’ve had young graham on board.”

“Who the so and so is young Graham?

“That’s the next Montrose!”

We did our best to follow his instructions, but we never succeeded with those kites and eventually they were scrapped. I remember the young Sub. Lt. saying that he wished they would give him a proper job at sea. I hope they did!

We arrived safely in London and discharged the remaining cargo. We were then fitted with depth charges and the latest anti-aircraft defences. The pig’s trough! That is 28 rockets each side of the bridge.

During the next months over 1,000 merchant ships were to be sunk and we were given the chance to fight back. Suncrest was rapidly becoming a veritable mini warship!

She also moved into the top league for firefighting and other survival skills. after the Bancrest I think I had lifeboat mania, for every occasion possible, particularly when at anchor, I would leave the old Man and the Chief Engineer on board whilst we abandoned ship. great fun! it gave the crew a break. at least we could all row!