My Own Command – S.S. Helencrest 

At long last, my own command! I joined S.S. Helencrest in Hull. She was a beautiful vessel, named after the owner’s daughter, Helen Roberts, who sang leading roles with the D’oyley Carte opera Co. The Helencrest had fine accommodation. The Captain’s suite was walled in mahogany, with a full sized bed in the bedroom and desk and easy chairs in the day room. On the same deck were toilet facilities and a spare room used by the RAF pilots. 

At the moment she still had the launching gear for an aircraft in place in the bow, for she had been a CAM vessel (a Catapult aircraft Merchant vessel used with the airforce to help detect submarines when we were short of aircraft carriers).

Being launched from a CAM vessel posed certain challenges for the aircraft pilot. If the CAM vessel led the convoy, the aircraft would be launched ahead of the convoy. However, if the CAM vessel was at the rear of the convoy, the aircraft would be launched over the ships ahead of the CAM vessel in the convoy and, if they didn’t recognise it immediately as a friendly craft, the pilot was liable to be shot at by the other vessels. In addition, once launched, it could not land again on the CAM vessel and if it was some distance from shore, the pilot would have to land in the sea and hope to be picked up!

The first thing I noticed when I reported to the Master of the Helencrest, whom I was about to relieve, was a rifle in the Captain’s cabin. I asked what it was for. “I’ve had a mutiny at sea” said Captain H. I was not surprised. Captain H was a brave man. I had sailed with him as Chief Officer on the Suncrest and before that solo and in convoy across the Atlantic during the early, worst days of the submarine attacks, but I had crossed swords with him many times over his treatment of his crew. Diplomacy was not his strong suit. Moreover, he had a silver-tongued Steward (Mr. L) whom we all detested.

After the first voyage on the Suncrest, the owner, Mr. Roberts, came on board and had a long conference with said Steward. He then saw me and said that I should treat the Steward with more respect etc. etc. I remember saying: “Do I have to put him to bed?” I was mad because he would never give my sailors an extra ration of sugar during the week. “It could not be spared” he said. For men who had been outside in terrible weather, a pound of sugar or tea or butter was nothing in my estimation and so I was forever rowing with him. Coming home from Vancouver, the Panama agent sent on board several stalks of bananas. an AB with a stalk on his shoulder, turned round suddenly and accidentally hit the Steward who reared up and squared up to the AB, who promptly dropped the bananas and gave him a fourpenny one. The Steward lay on the deck moaning and I had to ask the Captain to come and “console his pet boy”. He came down, listened to the Steward’s elaborate account and then laid into the AB who by now was roaring mad. His language was unprintable and I had to take him aft to his cabin to calm him down. Some hours later, I was called to the Master’s cabin to listen to the official log entries. It was all there, assault, filthy language etc. “Just sign after me” he said. I refused – I said “I wish he had killed him” – and so the AB was not fined. He was the sailor who was almost washed overboard when we tried to secure the hatches in bad weather. One of his wounds was across his throat. All the Steward did was to stick some plaster over the wound. No wonder the Steward was so unpopular! Within two days when I was able to look into it, I took over the proper treatment of the neck wounds.

At the end of that trip, on arriving in London, the old Man went on leave. The next day, a Sunday, a sergeant came on board to advise me that the Steward had been stopped at the dock gate. I went up to the police station where the Superintendent said that Mr. L had taken the goods which covered the office floor in lieu of the thirty pound salmon which he had been given in British Columbia. True, he had been given a salmon, but this was hardly equal to the legs of lamb, sides of beef, tins of soup etc., which were stacked up on the police station floor. “Don’t charge him. Send him back on board with the sergeant to put everything back where he found it and then I shall have the greatest of pleasure in sacking him.”

I told Mr. Roberts when he came on board, who said that I should have prosecuted him. “Oh no sir, you told me to treat him kindly.” if he had been prosecuted, he would have wriggled out of trouble with his lies and fancy reasons.

With regard to the latest fracas, I feel sure that the mutiny wasn’t necessary when a few soft words could have calmed ruffled feathers. It started when the officers had been issued beer for Christmas, but the firemen had been ignored. Two of them went up to the Captain’s cabin to complain and one of them managed to divert the Captain’s attention enough for the other to steal a case of port wine. You can imagine the result! The Chief Engineer reported the firemen drunk and out of control. Had I been there, I might have learned a few new words! The Captain took his revolver and went below to lecture the baddies. He made a hasty retreat when they pinched his revolver. It must have been dark when he next approached the drunks with a Royal Navy gunlayer. I have every admiration for the RN gunlayers with whom I worked on several Crest ships. The Captain told the gunlayer to shoot above the men’s heads. Whatever happened, I’m sure he accidentally mis-aimed, but certainly a bullet passed far too close to the firemen who were so shocked that they gave in and the mutiny was over. The destroyer which was approaching the Helencrest to help was not needed.

I took over command of the Helencrest knowing that I would have to do my best to re-establish her good name. Fortunately my Chief Officer from the Suncrest came with me and I signed on a whole new crew.

I was in trouble immediately, for I broke one of my golden rules of never advancing anyone cash unless the crew member had that amount in the ship. The Bosun, who had just been signed on that day, asked me for an advance. I told him that he had no money due, but decided to give him a small advance. He appeared to be honest, had committed a large part of his salary as allowance to his wife and, as Bosun, could expect plenty of overtime. Alas, the next morning, the Chief Officer advised me that the Bosun was not on board. I promoted one of the sailors, and we sailed for Kirkaldy roads for convoy assembly. I was able to sign on another AB there and we left for Oban. Believe it or not, I was appointed vice Commodore of the convoy to Oban. Incidentally, we heard 10 days later that the Bosun’s body had been found. In the dark, he had fallen into the dock on his way on board and had drowned.

Approaching the Pentland Firth, we were losing ground and, in the end, I signalled the convoy to proceed without us. First trip as Master – I was devastated – we couldn’t keep up! I got the Chief Engineer and his boys to sort out the problem. The firemen and engineers had not yet worked out that the Yorkshire bunker coal, when heated, spread across the firebars allowing no air to circulate, hence our slow speed. After they had successfully tackled the problem, it was full ahead for Oban.

Alas, when daylight came, there was no sign of the convoy. Nor was there any sign by the time we arrived at Cape Wrath. We plodded on, but there was still no sign of the convoy. I felt I would never catch up, so I decided to cut the corner and make for Oban through the Mull Sound. I held back until 0400 hours when the Chief Officer came on duty. We had no luck, for as we entered the Sound, a blizzard struck and it was a hair-raising journey through the narrow sound. Mercifully we managed without accident. Years later, on holiday, I sailed through the Sound in good weather and realised how lucky we had been.

We eventually made Oban, where the Pilot asked where the convoy was. We were the first ship to enter. I said that I had thought that the convoy was ahead of me. It had apparently been delayed going the long way round and had been caught off Skerryvore in a force 8 gale, so we beat them to it!

At the conference of Masters, they proposed that I lead them out to join the main convoy, but I declined and they found another ‘victim’. I had had enough thrills for my first trip!

We proceeded to New York without incident. The Helencrest must have looked a picture, since the American Navy asked permission to bring a party of ratings on board to look round the ship.

Having loaded at New York, we went to Halifax, Nova Scotia, for convoy assembly homewards. My agent came on board and told me that the naval authorities wanted to see me. He couldn’t tell me why, so I went to the conference where I was told that I had been appointed vice Commodore of over sixty vessels. No naval assistants. During the conference, the admiral asked if the vice Commodore was present and when I stood to introduce myself, some sixty pairs of older eyes looked at me. When the conference was over, I went to the admiral and said that I thought an older Master should be vice Commodore. His words are with me still. “My boy, you will do it and you will do it well.” if memory serves me right, that was Admiral Bonham Carter. We did it well and breaking off north of Ireland, I led my two columns of vessels to Loch Ewe.

Whilst in New York, two sailors came to see me with the usual “Can we have a word with you, Captain?” The Scot whom I had signed on at Kirkaldy said that when he had signed on, accompanied by his wife, she had said to him that the Captain had beautiful blue eyes. I told them that if they were going to waste my time, they had better return to their cabins. “Oh no sir, didn’t you notice that she was pregnant?” etc. etc. I could hardly keep my face straight, but managed to ask what they wanted. “Could we have twenty dollars?” I explained that there was no money in the ship and wouldn’t repeat the Hull episode. No ill feelings. I must point out that my purser had been instructed to give the men as much money as they were due and not as the government had decreed, five dollars per man. Imagine crossing the Atlantic both ways to be given an allowance of five dollars, on instructions from some little person in Whitehall.

On the voyage back and some eight days from the U.K., a Greek vessel signalled that his steering gear had broken down and that he was using manual steering. No wonder his steering and station-keeping were erratic. In the event, he made Loch Ewe with us, but at the conference for East Coast vessels, the naval officer in charge finished with “any questions?” The Greek Captain said that he wanted strong men. His men were tired. The naval officer tried to wriggle out of it, but the Greek Captain repeated that he wanted strong men, his men were tired. Perhaps if the naval officer had been with us in the Atlantic, he would have understood the problem. Nevertheless, we backed up his request, naval ratings were put on board and the Greek ship made it to Scapa Flow for repairs.

We went round to discharge our cargo at Hull, where I signed on a new crew and loaded for Immingham. I drew a veil over the stevedores’ behaviour at Immingham. I had worked with the lads of the Pioneer Corps in Gibraltar and Salerno and had found them splendid men, very different from the stevedores at Immingham, where in order to gain an hour’s extra overtime, they took 2 hours and 5 minutes to position a launch on no. 3 hatch.

Having signed on and loaded, we proceeded to Brindisi. Among the crew, we had a galley boy, mess room boy and cabin boy. The cabin boy was only 16 years old and was the son of a Master in the Ellerman Wilson line. The galley boy was the ring leader and since it was the time of the dead-end kids, the three of them had long hair reaching almost to their shoulders. I spoke to the cabin boy, pointing out that his father would not approve of his girlish locks. That didn’t work, but one of the AB’s who was an amateur hairdresser, at my suggestion, cut a v for victory in his neck line, so that he had to have the rest cut to a shorter length. Incidentally, he came to me when we reached the U.K. and admitted that he had been mistaken in following the galley boy’s example. The galley boy had fallen foul of the army at Brindisi. The three yobos were ashore and came across some shells stacked in the street. The galley boy, who was going to show his friends what a strong boy he was, was about to pick up one of the shells. An army sergeant told him to leave them alone, but the galley boy persisted and the army sergeant gave him a punch which sent him through a plate glass window. Loud were the lamentations in the camp. He rushed on board to me for sympathy and asked me to fix his lacerations. Did I?? I passed him on to someone else.

Having discharged, we returned to the U.S. and loaded again for the Mediterranean, this time with American escorts. We were in the outside column, with an American tanker ahead of us. Each evening as it became dark, the tanker dropped astern and came inside of us, presumably thinking he would be safe. This left a gap between the vessel ahead of me. For three nights, I was informed that I should close the gap, the American escort not noticing that the tanker was abeam of me inside on my starboard side. The third night, the escort came within hailing distance and gave me a lecture on how I was endangering lives etc. etc. I had had enough and bawled back, “Check with your own tanker! She’s well out of position. You have been playing at war for the past 18 months whilst we have been fighting. I shall report you for prejudicial behaviour.”

We returned to the U.S. and loaded for the Mediterranean. It was supposedly an 8 knot convoy, but even doing 10 knots, we couldn’t keep up, so we gave up trying and returned to the U.S. via Bermuda. Eventually we sailed for the U.K. and this time I was appointed rear Commodore. After passing Belfast, we were making for the Bristol Channel when the Chief Officer phoned me and said he thought we were aground. Plenty of water according to the echo sounder, but Helencrest was certainly stuck, engines doing 8 knots. The chart mentioned “tide rips” and I seemed to be fast in one of them. I sent a signal to the vessels astern of me, “Keep clear. I am manoeuvring with difficulty.” With engines flat out, I wriggled out of the undertow, hard over one way and then the other. I remember the Commodore’s signal, “What on earth is wrong?”, but before I could explain, he too must have found the outer edge of the disturbance and was having trouble himself.

From the Bristol Channel, we were sent to London, where we loaded for Antwerp. Helencrest was appointed Commodore of the first London convoy for the Continent. At the conference, I stated my reservations on the Senior Escort leading the convoy. The Senior Escort was French and unfortunately I had had a number of bad experiences with the French. The senior naval officer in charge of the conference said that there was no choice, since the French outranked the British commanders. We left London, with a royal Navy commander on board as Commodore of the convoy. I was therefore fondly expecting an easy passage, but when the pilot disembarked, the Commodore told me that she was all mine. “To work, Jameson!”

It was one hell of a Channel crossing. The German E-boats were out sewing mines across our path. The French escort waffled and gave us no lead. We were saved when a British Destroyer came up at speed and instructed the French ship to get out of the way. He took over and helped us through the mines. Such courage! There was only 1/4 inch of metal between his ship and the mines. We probably stood a better chance of survival than the destroyer. There were only a dozen ships in the convoy, carrying essential supplies and, thanks to the royal Navy, we all arrived safely.

We discharged our cargo and had to shift to another berth to load scrap metal. I warned the pilot that we had pretty powerful engines. Unfortunately the head tug had other ideas and the simple manoeuvre ended up with the Helencrest ramming an American vessel full of high octane fuel in jerry cans. The Master, a Scandinavian, must have seen trouble coming for his fire fighters were over the hole before we struck. My crew were also expert fire fighters and the flames were thus contained and soon extinguished. The tug master was caught and whipped off to gaol for sabotage. Difficult to tell friend from foe at this stage of the war.

The Superintendent in London had once said to me, “If you are going to damage the vessel, make a good job of it.” We did, but made the bow watertight by pouring tons of cement into the damaged stern and were able to return to London for repairs. It was the time of the v2 bombs. We had a near miss on the Continent and another in London. We had barely a whole undamaged washbasin on the ship. When we were discussing a night-time raid, one of the officers’ wives said, “Yes, my husband jumped out of bed, put on his pyjamas and went on deck.” after a second’s silence, we all guffawed. We badly needed something to smile about. The fact that wives could join the ship in London helped. The Scandinavian master of the American vessel we tried to crash gave me a truly enormous turkey to take home. Myfanwy was on board in London and we managed to wrap this massive addition to our food supply. We took the train to Newcastle and put the turkey on the luggage rack. By the time we left London, the train was crowded and became very hot. Halfway home to Newcastle, the turkey began to thaw and gradually drips fell on the heads of fellow travellers. We pretended it had nothing to do with us, but the uncomfortable journey had been well worth while when my mother saw the new addition to her pantry. She wanted to cook it straight away so it was dismembered and a good portion put in the oven to roast. It was the night of the Carol Concert at Church and it would be ready to eat by the time we came home.

Unfortunately, as Father took the roast out of the oven to baste it, some of the juice spilt on his trousers. There wasn’t time to change so we mopped him up, but the Jameson clan had some quiet giggles in Church, as the strong smell of turkey came from Father’s trousers as he warmed up in the pew. And did we all sing with gusto!

Back in London, things were no easier and I was worn out. I asked the boss if I could have some leave. I got the usual reply, “But, Jameson, you had a week off last year!” Next time I was home in Rothbury, I passed the Doctor’s house and decided to call in. I was met with a kiss by his wife and invited to have a coffee. She tells me that when she came back with the coffee I was sitting on the stairs with tears streaming down my face. She went for her husband and he gave me a thorough going over in the surgery, accompanied by a few grunts. I was ordered home to rest. “Complete bed rest and no cigarettes! “Doctor, I’m due back on ship.” “Leave that to me” he said. I never knew what he told the shipping company apart from sky-high blood pressure, a tired heart etc. etc., but I was kept in bed for some weeks with Myfanwy doing her best to keep me from smoking and worrying. Good food, rest and the country air did the trick. Japan retired beaten from the war and gradually normality returned. It was back to sea again.

I joined the Suncrest after my leave, along with the Chief Officer from the Helencrest. We sailed for Vancouver in ballast, loaded and returned by Halifax to the U.K. again across the Atlantic to Santa Domingo to load sugar at Barahona. We arrived off the port about midnight and I had orders to anchor in the bay. However, as things were still a bit haywire, my intuition told me to wait until daylight. We sailed up and down the coast until daylight. Just as well, for when I approached the harbour at dawn, it was to find boom defences still down. They didn’t believe the war was over.

Having loaded for Liverpool, we proceeded, calling at the American base in Cuba for routing instructions. Off the Southern approaches, I noticed I was missing one position off the Bristol Channel linking the route to Cardiff or Liverpool. I asked Liverpool (Western approaches) for this one position. in reply, Sparks was given the whole route from Cuba and when I arrived in Liverpool, I was sent for by the Navy, who started to tell me off for wasting their time etc. etc. all I said was “Have you got my original signal?” They had, and I pointed out that I had requested the one position which was missing from my sailing instructions. They apologised, but I often wonder whether the officer in charge ever admitted their mistake or whether Suncrest was left holding the baby. Probably my fault. I didn’t always treat the shore staff with the respect they deemed necessary. I often felt that they had no idea of the difficulties of wartime life at sea and we usually met up after a hard voyage to listen to often niggling suggestions and complaints when I was too exhausted to be very civil.

We always referred to OBE honours, which were only reluctantly given out in the Merchant Navy (usually when a ship was lost), as “other Buggers’ Efforts” and although I had been told that I had been recommended for an honour after 6 years of war at sea, it never arrived. At least I had been lucky. I had survived and I hadn’t lost my ship!

The following trip was back to the United States to Norfolk, Virginia. There I happily swapped tales of Northumberland with the agent, who knew my home town of Rothbury as his sister lived in nearby Pondicherry. Small world!

We loaded coal for Casablanca and made the journey back to West Africa. Our next order was for Bahia Blanca in Argentina to load wheat. First I had to bunker and the French in Casablanca were charging £8 a ton and they couldn’t supply any charts. I sailed to Gibraltar where I bunkered for £2.10 a ton, but even there I couldn’t get proper charts. I sailed for South America with a general chart of the Atlantic, expecting to pick up the necessary charts at Montevideo.

Before the war, I sailed from Cardiff to South America every 2½ months and I looked forward to the change from the North Atlantic. It turned out to be a very lonely voyage. After years of work with convoys and the camaraderie it entailed, to say nothing of the very witty exchange of messages between the naval escorts, which cheered us all up, life was suddenly very quiet. Still it was a real joy to be able to get undressed for bed, even if I didn’t always enjoy a dreamless sleep. It was a long time before I stopped waking up fighting imaginary battles. One day, an officer coming off watch apologised for waking me with a report of a ship without lights. “Do you remember what you said Sir?” He was smiling as he continued. “You shouted: “Hard a starboard and ram the bastard.” Then you went off to sleep again and we left you to it, after reporting the vessel for attention.”

The war in Europe was now over and, at Bahia Blanca, we were ordered to load wheat for Germany. On our way to Hamburg, Myfanwy joined me in London and we both saw at first hand the desolation that was Germany at the end of the war. Proud Hamburg had been flattened and bombed. The Town Hall and one or two large buildings still stood above ground, but mostly people lived in cellars.

The Indian army were in charge and had their headquarters in a refurbished hotel. We dined with them and with the agent, Herr Jacob, in the basement of the Town Hall, but mostly we stayed on board ship.

For the first time in my life, after the cargo of wheat was discharged, I saw men sweeping up the last grains in the holds by hand. One of the workers whined to me about their hunger and their sad state of affairs. I reminded him that early in the war, when Hitler sent his bombers over to blitz England, my wife had lost her home and four members of her family. What did he expect, except to reap the whirlwind? I also pointed out that we were bringing them food after their U-boats had tried their level best to smash our Merchant Navy. He said no more, and he was the only moaner we met!

Before we left Hamburg to return to London, we left all we could spare of clothing and footwear for the agent and his daughter. They were very grateful.

In London, our next orders were to load coal for Casablanca and then go to Marseilles to load for Saigon. A voyage to the other side of the world. Life was never dull! Maybe I could get Myfanwy some genuine pearls there for a belated wedding present!