First Time At Seahawk
This is a portion of the book written by Derrick Breen.
Preferably, the Staff at this kind of training establishment, should have consisted of Officers experienced in that kind of boat. The experience should have been gained on operational duties. That was not how it was at H.M.S. Seahawk. The Captain was Captain Manning, who in peace time had commanded the Sussex branch of the R.N.V.R.; his Executive Officer, was Commander Douglas Sharpe from the same division; the Training Officer was Lt. the Trefusis of Trefusis, who had no experience in these boats. Manning had served for a while in the R.N.V.R. Appointments section of the Admiralty and though he had done some good work in the A/S department at sea in the thirties, this was as near as they were going to let him get to a war. Sharpe, or "Foul Mouthed Dougie", had been briefly employed in an operational rôle, but he too had now been shunted out of the way. It seemed that these two at least, had a resentment to Officers, who while wearing the wavy stripe, were not of the pure pre-war stock. So here, where a team who were hot on the ball and fully aware of up to date operational requirements was needed we had an officious and self adulatory lot devoid of any concept of what the war at sea was now about. Trefusis alone, would be free of this criticism but was not the man to stand up to the senior duumvirate. Alone in the command team, like a streak of gold stood the Engineering Officer a man in a class of his own. Before the struggle, he had run the Scarborough Fire Service. He was a stickler for rules, his rules, created and written by him as needed. The object of his efforts was to keep all his boats running and to make the lives of the crews as easy and happy as he could. He worked endless hours and his cheerful grin was an ever present beacon on the boats where he was always welcome. I liked the Staff not at all, and it was always quite clear that they came low in Basil's concept of the human race.
Manning stipulated in his orders that we should already consider ourselves on active service overseas and that wives were not acceptable in Ardrishaig. Some of us found this rather a rough idea, knowing that we were due to go abroad on duties from which we knew few of us were likely to return. We saw these last few weeks as precious. It was not as if the staff, itself accepted or operated the same marital restrictions. I talked it over with Basil, who as usual had an answer. He read the order with care, then pointed out that the order had not specified that wives might not come to Lochgilphead, just a couple of miles along the Crinan Canal. Most of the young officers took that advice and we very soon had an out-station in the Stag Hotel at Lochgilphead. The Stag was run by "Old Smithy" and his glamorous daughter "Jenny". A house full of wives and husbands was just what they needed to keep the tills rolling. It was an odd set up, Smithy turned in about mid-night, turning things over to Jenny; she turned in some time later with her current beau; the keys then went to the Senior Officer present. From then on we ran the till, locking up when or if we finished before morning. Many a time, we only finished in time to cycle back to base to begin our days work. There were a lot of nights when we didn't get to bed, the morning found us still happy and making our way back to Ardrishaig on some obviously rather errant bicycles. It was not always like that, I can clearly remember riding back on the bonnet of a motor car in the densest of fogs. I was doing a "Wee Dougie", sitting astride the bonnet with a pile of stones and happily hurling them ahead on the established principle that a rattle was land and a splash meant we were off the road and heading into the sea. It would seem from all this that we never worked ; it was quite the opposite. Our S.O. "Babs Hutton", in 1212 (Whitehall) , was an officer of calibre and under his guidance we worked hard and effectively while little guidance came from the base. In the Flotilla there was a lot of experience, what was needed was access to particular expertises and some clear directives. Under these circumstances, a good S.O. was an essential. In "Babs", we had the man, he worked us hard and fought our corner for us with the base.
It was, however, a raw situation which was always likely to explode. Eventually it did. Manning had ordered an inspection of the Flotilla and at the last moment, without sending any message to "Babs", and possibly for sound reason, cried off. We were all paraded on the jetty, when, in his place,Trefusis arrived. As was usual, he failed to recognise that "Babs" commanded the boats and without a word proceeded with his inspection. We happened to be first. Basil called us all to attention and saluted Trefusis as he came over the brow, Trefusis immediately sailed into him, on the basis that the Captain of the base being a four -stripe Captain was entitled to an "Off caps". Basil agreed that this was so and was busy pointing out to Trefusis that as a Lieutenant, he was been given the salute to which he was entitled. At this point a furious "Babs", arrived on the scene. Babs as S.O. made it clear to Trefusis that, no matter whom he was substituting for, he was only going to get the salute appropriate to his rank and appointment. In a rather hard clear voice for all to hear, he pointed out that while carrying out an inspection for the absent Captain, Trefusis himself was a Lieutenant. The ship's companies of the boats listened with delight to this rather furious altercation.
Trefusis was of course, by far the best of the trio. Sharpe was able to get much further out of line than this. He called for a Sunday Church Parade, when all would march through the village to church. Dougie personally took command of the parade and with vile blasphemies and a battery of filthy oaths, he proceeded to address the troops before marching off. This went down very badly with us all. We knew that the troops went to church with much tooth-sucking, going only because they had to go, but in going, feeling that they were, if somewhat reluctantly, doing the right thing. There was a lot of recalcitrant mumbling in the ranks, which only brought on another barrage from Dougie. Most of us had already fought a hard war at sea where we had come to feel near to some God of our own. These were deep and personal thoughts and the last thing we wanted was this foul-mouthed yob making a mockery of us. Babs, I know, did not take it lying down, but had his say on behalf of us all.
Then, of course, there was the incident of the depth-charge. From working up and exercises in Egret, I had come to know a lot of the tricks of the trade; a patient read through the signal log at the end of the day was, I had found, a great educator. On the basis of this experience, I had talked to Basil on the way up and had set a D.C. ready to drop, in case the base thought they might catch us out. It was, I knew, one of the standard ploys of "Monkey Stephenson,"V.A. at Tobermory, where most escorts worked up. It didn't happen, but one afternoon, when we were stood down, there arrived a signal which said, " Proceed forthwith, drop D.C. in position Brenfield Point 270 degrees distance one mile, Acknowledge!" . Basil passed it to me and said,"Plot it". I went up to the wheelhouse and stuck it on the chart. I went back to Basil who queried my failure to call the hands and prepare for sea. I asked him up to the chart and shewed him the signal and my plotted position. The base goons had given us a reciprocal bearing, i.e. one in the opposite direction to the one intended. The dropping position lay one mile inland. Basil was beside himself with delight and back went our signal, "Your *********, request sheerlegs and handcart in order to proceed as ordered". Obviously, this should have a wider audience and he copied both signals to Babs Hutton in 1212. Shortly, there fell upon us two Senior Officers, both full of hell and demanding reasons for our ridiculous signal. Basil did not even answer, indicating that they should speak to me. I pointed to the plotted position, yet even then the penny did not drop. They demanded of Basil what else did he expect of a raw young Subbie, who had obviously plotted it incorrectly. This upset S/Lt. Basil Knight R.N.V.R., who fiercely expressed his indignation, firstly at their distrust in him and secondly at the attitude to his No.1 who he assured them was an excellent officer. We took them over the signal which they had formulated and made them accept that I was correct. They left, no apology, no regrets, only a further display of sheer bloody minded inefficiency. The episode, however, followed me every time I went to Ardrishaig in the years to come. This lot, however, did not give up easily. There was a rota of First Lieutenants who stood in for an evening in the communications centre. Came my turn, I started what was not there, a proper communications log, then ran the centre according to the book. Early in the evening I received a signal for Manning, this I routed on through the telephone exchange, but could not get an acknowledgement from his line, which I had been informed was always manned. There were only two alternatives, either there was a system fault, or for some reason something was wrong at the Captain's end. I went by the book and called out Commander Sharpe. He arrived in his usual shower of invective and bewailed having to work with non-communicators. I put him in the picture and assured him that as the duty officer I had made a record of the conversation. Manning was prepared to back him up, however, I went through the entire correct drill as I had carried it out, ending by saying that I would now report the matter to my C.O. If things were not put right, however, I insisted that I would take the matter to higher authority. Its a good ploy, particularly if the opposition have a chancy basis on which they are working. Like others to follow, they found a way to retreat with some face saved.
From these recollections, it may appear as if we never made mistakes. We made enough, but we were in the learning business and had no hesitation in admitting errors and setting out to put things right.
On the other hand we had the Engineer Officer. One of our troubles was that there was no direct supply of water to the jetty. Imagine our wonder, to awake one morning to find we had running water, courtesy of the E.O.. During the night, he and his minions had broken into the village's main water supply and put in a secondary flow line to supply the pier. Soon, we had flowers on the patch of soil around the base, these resulted from an E.O.'s commando raid; he had borrowed a van and raided local sites where flowers were to be found.
We entertained a lot and Basil kept his own visitor's book. Well, it really wasn't a book, it was a linen tablecloth upon which Basil had all our guests write their names. Names were rarely all that was put down, there were pseudonyms and significant letters, like M.T.B. , happily scribed by newly pregnant Naval wives. Regularly, he had these embroidered in by one of his many female friends. I wonder if he took it with him to Algiers, for in that case it must have gone down, when 1157 was lost as her transport sank. We grew into a tightly knit force, working hard together and presenting a solid front to the greater idiocies of the base. Our chummy boat had two New Zealand Officers, Johnny and Bill, who were to become close to me.
They were an incongruous couple, Johnny, tall, handsome with long black hair and a tanned skin, manly in build, lithe and athletic; Bill, short, rather tubby, and a face full of single accidents, each an unhappy accident, yet in composite , a wholly happy accident. This diverse couple had joined up together in N.Z., trained together and kept together until their arrival in England. Both had sufficient experience to have a command, instead, they had asked to stay together. A ship could have only one Captain, so here they were, with Johnny in Command and Bill as his No.1. They ran a happy but efficient ship. I was interested in how they did it. I was with them one day, when we met one of their crew. He saluted, with a smile, the smile was unusual and from them both came a cheerful word along with the rating's name, they returned the salute; the rating replied cheerfully , and went on his way. A simple lesson in how to run a ship, a start in learning to use authority and still stay human. A hard lesson to learn but one harder to maintain when the screws were on. They died together, shot to bloody rags by Stan's Dog boat because they were not fast enough to reply to a challenge. I have always wondered whether or not the two things had any connection. Knowing them both as I did, I think they would rather have had it that way. We grew to be good friends and from them I learned a great deal. All of it to be evaluated, some of it to be the basis of my own approach and some to be discarded, simply because it did not work under the conditions in which I found myself.
We toiled on the Loch, working with an "H" type submarines, either H31 or H33 both of which were really past their days of frontline operational service. With the submarines, we did an endless series of A.S.P. exercises, starting with A.S.P.6 in which the submarine was dived on a steady and fixed course, at a set depth and dragging above it, an indicator buoy which showed to surface craft the position of the target.
Normally, we slipped at first light, picked up the submarine, then dived him just south of Gulhane Rock on a course of 170 degrees. Attacks would be carried out until he was abeam of Tarbert, when he would come round to 140 degrees and run down to Inchmarnock Water. ASDIC attacks in Coastal force craft differed completely from those in other warships, basically because we had fixed and not trainable oscillators. Our set would only work on the beam or directly ahead. Running abeam of the target, we would pick up an echo and settle on its bearing before swinging the ship to point along that course. With the target directly ahead, we would run in, swinging the boat across the target to determine in which direction it was proceeding. This was done by swinging the bow of the boat and cutting on and off the two extremes of the target, giving us through change of bearing the size of the target and the direction in which it was steering. This information was presented in two ways: firstly , the audible note, secondly by the trace on the ASDIC Recorder, where a stylus ploughed across the iodine impregnated paper leaving a visual trace. In addition, the extent to which the note of the returning echo changed through Doppler Effect allowed the operator and A/S. C.O. to estimate the rate at which the target was closing us or moving away. From this information, the team would lay first an intercepting course and at the last, a course thrown off ahead, which would allow us to drop charges in a position to sink and fall upon the moving submarine. About 200 to 300 yards from the target we would lose contact with the submarine, often because the ASDIC beam was being bent up away from the submarine. That was the point at which we threw off ahead, the extent to which we threw off was a matter of experience combined with intelligent guesswork. This being a friendly submarine, we did not drop charges. From the position of the floating buoy, we were, however able to estimate the accuracy of our attack.
These attacks were, however, carried out in the foulest of weather conditions with the 72 footer pitching and rolling in a beam or quarterly sea. Keeping within 40 or 50 degrees of the course to be steered, required a skilled and a strong Cox'n. The physical stresses upon all the crew were cumulative and as the day wore on the crew became less and less able to meet the demands upon them. Building up physical stamina was a secondary intention in the training. There were other problems, which affected the results obtained from the A/S set. The copious rainfalls of the area filled every burn and these, flooding into the Loch, created underwater rivers, which being of different temperature and salinity, bent the ASDIC beam upwards. The wakes laid by hunting craft were impenetrable to the A/S. and this involved steering many undesirable courses into wind and weather to keep the target area clear. As a result, beside throwing off ahead, there was much throwing up ahead. At the end of the day, the run back up the Loch to harbour was often the first relief from butting into a pounding sea. At the end of each day, we came in wearing our clowns rig, white salt caked faces, red eyes and lips licked red, all on the background of a blue face. We kept steadily at this through the long winter, happy at the end of each day to drop an S.U.E. (Submarine Underwater Explosive ) to bring the "H" boat to the surface before heading for home.
Babs pushed us hard but working together, we began to get results and recognise that we could be effective A/S. Boats when the Navy, as so often, played us a wild card. Gert and I had been indulging ourselves at the flicks in the village hall. We came out to find Staff on the steps, calling all Officers to report aboard. With the dawn, we sailed for Ardrossan, our goodbyes mostly unsaid. At Ardrossan, we were given instructions to sail for Newport in Wales for embarkation.