1941: Suncrest and Longwood

After our honeymoon in Scotland, I joined the Suncrest in Glasgow. One of my memories of Glasgow involves the ‘Honour’ of Bosun Zimmerman. Capt. Mac was on leave when a police sergeant called at my door.

“Have you a crew member called Zimmerman?”

“Yes, he’s my Bosun”.

“Unfortunately he’s in gaol on a serious charge”.

He explained that Zimmerman had had a run in with the Salvation Army and would be in court next morning. I mustered as much cash as I could from the Officers on board and went with the Sergeant to bail out the ‘baddy’.

Zimmerman’s story was that he had called at the Salvation Army Temple for a cup of tea and was refused because he was not a member of the fighting services. “But I’m in the Merchant Navy” he said, “this is my badge”, pointing to the M.N. badge in the lapel of his coat.

“Oh, anyone can buy those” they told him. This made him furious and he refused to leave. Three men (six footers, I saw them in court) set about him and tried to force him out, lacerating his legs with kicks and eventually calling in the police. A young constable calmed Zimmerman down and they set off for the Suncrest. All went well for a hundred yards, when the Bosun turned, ran back and kicked in one of the plate glass doors of the Temple. Hence his arrest.

I spent a long time typing a letter to the court, using the hunt and peck system, and asked the officer who had arrested Zimmerman to give it to the Judge after he had heard the evidence. I ended the letter by saying, “The whole trouble seems to have been caused by the tactless behaviour of the so-called custodians of the Temple”.

In court the Bosun explained to the Judge “Well your Honnor, this badge is a thing of Honnor, your Honnor etc. He mentioned “Honnor, your Honnor” so many time that the Judge asked the Officer “What is this word Honnor the man keeps harping on about?” “Honour, your Honour”, said the young Officer (without the aspirate).

The court was cleared of all but the witnesses. I peeped through a crack in the doorway. I believe the Bosun’s Honour, the Officer’s evidence and my letter sealed the fate of the Salvation Army. “All right, Zimmerman” said the Judge, smiling. “Fined £3 and get back to your ship”.

We loaded in Glasgow, general cargo and dozens of ten ton trucks for Algiers, and sailed in July for the Mediterranean. On the way, off Portugal, the Commodore asked vessels with paravanes to indicate. We had them and were told to move up to lead our column in readiness to sweep for mines approaching Gibraltar. We hadn’t been out of our rear position for long when the replacement vessel was torpedoed. Fortunately she had anti-submarine nets so she didn’t sink. We wouldn’t have been so lucky. The submarine must have been under one of us, or nearby, for we were rocked by the continuous depth charges from our destroyer escort. They were First World War American ancient mariners, but crewed by the Royal Navy. They ran out of depth charges and, as they went to Gibraltar for refills, a flotilla of Hunt Class destroyers took over and they too gave the submarine hell.

Approaching the Straits of Gibraltar, the order came to stream the paravanes. It was supposed to be easy, and I suppose it was, but to my astonishment both of ours surfaced on the starboard bow and streamed merrily along there. Some hours later the Commodore signalled to retrieve the paravanes. It was dark and although we retrieved the starboard one easily the port one was a different kettle of fish. With difficulty the Bosun dangled on a ladder at sea level and had to lasso the flaming paravane. Eventually we succeeded in housing it. We had the gear overhauled in Gibraltar and we were told that a vital part was missing, hence its behaviour.

We arrived at Algiers and discharged the cargo, only to be told that the vessel which was due to take it on to Italy had been sunk. We had to re-load. The Second Mate and I drove the ten tonners back to the vessel and, hoisted down into the hold, drove them into position. The dodgems had nothing on us!

Whilst in port, I witnessed an amazing sight. German bombers raided us one night to attack the port and shipping. Together with the Fleet and the Merchantmen there must have been a thousand guns firing. The sky was lit up with all the tracer bullets. I believe thirteen aircraft were downed. Once more my Mother’s prophecy was right. We had two near misses, but survived in one piece.

Again, although we had landed hundreds of tons of stores, we couldn’t get any to replace our own and we were overstaying our original timetable. No matter, the Senior Naval Officer showed me the way.

We anchored at Naples, but had to return to Salerno. We were taking V.I.P.’s to Italy. I remember among others a Senior Naval Officer, an Engineer, the father of an R.N.R. Officer who had been awarded the Victoria Cross, and an American Army Officer (Mitch), who had his own jeep. I had been told that things were pretty awful ashore and I assembled all sorts of things for them, including a toilet seat which the carpenter had made. It was funny to see them going ashore by launch together with a toilet seat, hurricane lamps etc. Mitch and his jeep stayed with us for a few days until he could rejoin his unit, and we became good friends. During those days, we went to Pompeii and did a small tour. It was fascinating to stand there in the ruins, among history. As a contrast, our journey there was of this world. The jeep’s exhaust gasket had seen better days, with the result that each time we descended a hill we sounded like a machine gun and pedestrians scattered and dived into the nearest ditch for cover.

I met Mrs. ‘Mitch’ next time I was near to Marblehead, U.S.A. She was growing her hair, which was not to be cut until her husband returned from the war. We have not managed to see them since (they now live in Florida) but we have corresponded ever since at Christmas and exchanged news and family snapshots for fifty years!

There were other voyages to Gibraltar and to Oran, and I remember one in particular when there was pilfering from the Compo rations which we took over for the troops. I think it was in Algiers that three sergeants came on board and asked permission to stop the Arab stevedores as they went ashore. They had been sent by Monty to try and find out who was pinching items such as soap from the rations. The sergeants searched each man as he went ashore and found the soap sliced and hidden in their turbans. The first day didn’t seem to solve matters and the Sergeants asked if we had a room they could use. They also asked for a bar of sunlight soap. I gave them the soap and the use of the hospital. After the noise from the first two Arabs, I went into the hospital to see what was happening. Two sergeants held the culprit and were forcing him to eat the bar of soap. “You want soap, you miserable b*****s, then you can have soap”. There was no more pilfering!

The Suncrest returned to Gibraltar and had orders to cross to New York. We heard afterwards that we had not been long on our way across the Atlantic when a message came from London (too late) that I was to fly home to take over the Junecrest for a trip to Russia. I was not sorry to miss that voyage!

For the past 18 months I had been complaining to Mr. Roberts that outside Masters were being given command of our new ships and I, who was the senior surviving member of the Company, was still waiting.

“How can I promote you when my fellow directors remember you looking like an 18 year old?” was his reply. “I’m nearly 30 and married” I replied.

Arriving at New York, we were fumigated prior to loading for the Mediterranean. This time, before we could sail, orders came through from London. I was to go home to take over my command. The Second Engineer was also to return for promotion to Chief.

We were to sail on MV Longwood, a fleet oiler. Just before sailing, her Second officer was put ashore with pneumonia, and as no replacement was available I was asked if I would sign on in his place for the journey back to England. I accepted and for 19 days experienced life on an oil tanker.

As we approached the convoy, the Captain left me to it. Our station was astern of an aircraft carrier. At full speed we soon caught up with the rear vessels and I reduced speed to half. The helmsman said, “She’s taking a lot of starboard helm”. Still overtaking, I reduced speed to slow ahead. “Nearly hard over, sir”. I looked at the telegraph. Was my face red, she was a twin screw! I rang down to the engine room and apologised. “I wondered what new exercise you were having” said the Second Engineer.

We oiled the destroyers, which was a new experience for me. They played music on their tannoy systems and I shall always remember their favourite tune – terrible, but well meant. ‘Pistol packing Mamma, lay that pistol down’.

The Longwood had miraculously survived bombing by the Japs in Ceylon. She had sailed for Durban with her foredeck held together with railway lines welded across the gap. From Durban, she sailed for Bahia Blanca and then to Norfolk Virginia, where she dry docked and was permanently repaired. She then joined the convoy in New York as a Fleet oiler. No doubt discipline must have been weakened with all this, and I remember an A.B. being logged for striking an officer. The same A.B. looked after me when I had to spend two days in bed with a high temperature and quincy. I was in the ex Second officer’s bunk and no doubt picked up some of his germs. The sailor was so good that I was able to have his fines cancelled by the Captain.

Coincidentally, I piloted the same vessel to the breaker’s yard at Blyth some 30 plus years later. They must have done a splendid repair job.

We arrived in Glasgow, where I was immediately relieved and eventually joined the Helencrest as Master. She was a beautiful vessel, named after Mr. R’s daughter.

I remember the super saying that the bow was a little out of line after a previous collision with a Spanish trawler and that if I was going to hit anything … ‘Make a good job of it’.

But that’s another story