Motor Vessel TUVA
In London we were accommodated at Ambassador Hotel in Upper Woburn Place. We were given funds to replace lost clothing. I was a tourist in London for a few days, then we were offered two weeks rest and recovery time at a resort, with a choice of the Highlands in Scotland, or the Seashore. I chose the Highlands. The rest of the Officers elected to go to the Seashore. I went by train to Pitlochry in Scotland, where I enjoyed walking the trails in the woods and the hills. [At the time I was under the impression my purchases of clothing and the holiday were being paid by the shipping Company. However when I was finally paid off in Canada I found all my purchases and holiday expenses were deducted from my back pay!]
Back in London on August 8th, I was told to report to the Motor Vessel TUVA in the King George Docks, in the Port of London. This was another Dutch ship, with a mainly Dutch crew, and a British Chief Wireless Operator. We left Port a week later, sailing up the east coast in a small convoy, with barrage balloons flying to discourage dive bombers. We docked at Sunderland, where cargo was loaded. Among the crew on this ship were the two Dutch Gunners who had been on the MAASDAM. As loading continued, I had time to explore Sunderland, and to visit Newcastle by bus. Loading was finished on the 24th and we sailed that night. We sailed around the north of Scotland to Loch Ewe to await a westbound convoy. We sailed Sept. 1st with a large convoy, leaving it on the third day to enter harbour at Reykjavik, Iceland, and drop anchor on Sept. 4th. The docks in the harbour could accommodate only three ships, so we remained at anchor until the 10th, with the city on one side of us, and a snow-capped mountain rising on the other side of the harbour. While off-loading proceeded night and day, I had time to explore the city, visit the local theatres, and found the ‘swim-bath’, an enclosed swimming pool with natural hot water from the many hot springs not far from the city. The hot springs were the heat source for the whole city, and there were many greenhouses, especially those attached to restaurants. I learned to swim at the ‘swim-bath’. The Captain arranged a bus tour for those interested, to the Geysir and its associated hot springs, to the Gullfoss [Golden Falls], and to an extinct volcano crater with a lake in its bottom. The landscape appeared to be rolling grassland, with some shrubs, but no trees that I recall.
We left the dock Sept. 27th, and remained at anchor in the harbour, until sailing on the afternoon of the 28th.
We were a small convoy, the weather was rough, and I was seasick. I was on watch at 4AM Oct. 2, when we were torpedoed. The Chief Operator was out of his bunk immediately to take over the watch, while I proceeded as before to dispose of the code books in the weighted sack, and then to get the emergency radio from its stowage and take it to my assigned lifeboat. The ship was settling by the stern as the boat quickly filled with officers and crew assigned to that station, and when the Captain joined us the boat was launched and pulled away from the sinking TUVA. I learned later that the second boat had also loaded and pulled away, but that the damage in the crew’s quarters in the stern, where the torpedo exploded, was very extensive as the gun platform had collapsed into that space, pinning one man in his bunk. His mates could only give him a bottle of booze and leave him. The stairway to the deck had collapsed, but two of the young men were able to climb through a hole to the deck. They then pulled their mates up through the hole. They were commended for bravery, and medals were subsequently awarded. Only one of them got home from later ship assignments to receive his medal. Some of the crew had cut a float loose and one seaman had jumped into it, breaking his legs. Others had jumped into the water then climbed onto the float.
In the lifeboat, in the wind and waves, we were pitching quite steeply and I was not feeling very good. Out of the darkness a ship was suddenly beside us, and we were able to step onto the deck of HMCS St CROIX. All our crew from the two lifeboats and the float were taken aboard. As we came aboard we were directed to different quarters. I was directed below into the crew quarters, as I was not wearing an officer’s cap. I climbed into a third tier bunk and happy to be warm and dry, drifted off to sleep. I wakened feeling pretty queasy and climbed down from the bunk and headed for the companionway to the deck. Once in the fresh air I felt better and the first person I saw was our First Mate. It turned out he was looking for me as I was not with the other officers. He directed me to the Petty Officers quarters in the Forecastle. The ride in the destroyer was quite rough, compared to the freighter, and I was seasick until we reached St. John’s harbour. Because the ST CROIX, a four-stacker destroyer obtained from the USA, was low on fuel, as well as provisions, she headed directly for Newfoundland.
We reached St John’s the afternoon of Oct. 6th, and went ashore to spend the night in a hotel, while the injured seaman was taken to hospital. The Red Cross distributed ditty bags with toiletries and socks for each man. The next day we were taken aboard the ST CROIX and she set out for Halifax. We arrived in Halifax on the 9th and were accommodated at the Halifax Hotel. We were given advances on our pay and went shopping for clothing. The Captain was waiting for clearance from the shipping company to pay me off and release me to go home. Finally on Oct. 25 the Captain arranged to pay me wages due, and undertook to forward to me the survivor’s indemnity, which was being questioned by the shipping company. I flew home on Oct. 26th. [Some months later I did receive a settlement, paying the survivor’s indemnity in full, but deducting from it the cost of my ‘holiday’ in Scotland, and the clothing I had purchased in London.]
I had expected to apply for another ship, after a period of rest at home. However a Department of Transport advertisement, recruiting Radio Operators for a job in Ottawa, caught my attention. I responded to the ad by mail, and received a telegram asking when I could report! I reported to Ottawa in January 1942, and learned that the job was intercepting German wireless traffic, working at the Ottawa Monitoring Station. Thus my career as a Merchant Navy ‘Sparks’ came to an end.
Ottawa Monitoring Station
At the Monitoring Station I found that a number of the Radio Operators were ex-MN Operators, while others had come right out of radio schools. Some Operators with a year or more of experience had been recruited from their ships to provide a basic group of experienced operators, some of whom became shift supervisors. Their experiences varied from round the world travels, to commuting to the Caribbean and back, and a few had had encounters with the enemy. One chap could probably claim the shortest seagoing experience, having signed on a ship in New York, and three days out of the port being torpedoed, and spending the next three weeks in a lifeboat. Another chap had been on a Norwegian tanker and in the port of Cardiff had experienced a near miss of a high-explosive bomb in an air raid. With no evidence of serious damage the ship set out for North America. About a week out of port the engines failed due to sea water in the fuel. The bomb had cracked her plates where the damage was not visible. The Captain would not agree to break radio silence, so they drifted with wind and currents for 40 days, seeing no other ship. As the Atlantic currents carried them within reach of Bermuda, they broke radio silence to call for a salvage tug. A tug located them and towed them into port where repairs could be made and they later went on to the Port of Galveston to check their repairs, and to take on a new cargo for the UK. In the ships mail waiting for them was a letter from Department of Transport to this Radio Operator, advising him that there was a job for him in Ottawa if he wished to accept it. He consulted the Captain about leaving the ship, since any foreign person entering the US on a ship was supposed to depart with that ship. The Captain’s response was that if he wanted to accept the job, he could be across the border before anyone would be looking for him. However, to get authorization to pay him off, a release paper had to be presented for signature at the Norwegian Consulate. He took the paper to the Consulate and it was duly signed – by the Nazi German Officer in Charge!
Other Stories
Over the years I had become acquainted with other former Merchant Navy Radio Operators, and learned something of their experiences. One chap was very active in advocating the recognition of Veteran status for those who served in the Merchant Navy, making repeated submissions to Veterans Affairs Canada in support of such recognition, which was finally granted in 1995. His own experience was aboard a tanker, which sailed from New York to Africa. Returning empty from Sierra Leone in March 1941, the ship was intercepted by the Surface Raider KORMORAN. All on board were taken prisoner, and their ship sunk by gunfire. He spent 52 months in Prisoner of War camps. He was a leader in the prolonged fight for recognition of the Merchant Navy sailors as Veterans, and for adequate compensation for POWs. His health failed in latter years and he was on his deathbed when Legislation granted the recognition and the compensation he had sought.
At the Ottawa Monitoring Station where the German Wireless signals were intercepted, many of the Operators had been recruited from the Merchant Navy. Those with more experience were shift supervisors, and some operated the Direction Finder. (Please see Interception of Enemy Wireless) The majority of them had not come under attack -- however, some had had very unpleasant experiences, which they did not discuss. In one case I learned at the funeral of a friend, that while he never talked of his life at sea, he had had nightmares, apparently related to seeing survivors in the water when it was too dangerous to stop to pick them up. In reading a number of books about the Battle of the Atlantic, I know that there were many occasions when Escort Vessels had to pursue contact with the U Boats, and leave rescue efforts for later. Sometimes the last ship in a column in a convoy would be designated as the rescue vessel, but when the risk seemed too great, they would not stop. When Escort vessels returned to the scene, few survivors would be found in the cold waters.
One operator told a story not associated with enemy action, but just the hazards of the North Atlantic. He was aboard the SOEMBA, in convoy HX100, in rough weather. The cargo of pig iron and scrap iron shifted in the heavy rolling, and the ship foundered. When a ship rolls, and goes down, only those on deck, or very close to an exit will get clear of the ship. He happened to be on deck, wearing his life jacket, when it happened. They were fortunate to be picked up by a ship of the convoy. 21 survived, 39 perished.
When a ship was caught alone and torpedoed, their own boats were the only chance for survival. This was the case with the first casualty of convoy HX133. The MS Vigrid had engine trouble and had fallen behind the convoy. She was torpedoed on June 24th, when 40 miles behind our convoy, and all on board got into the lifeboats. A Deck Officer was in charge of each boat, and they were on their own as it was impossible, in rough seas, to maintain contact with each other. Two headed for Greenland, while two headed for Ireland. On July 5th the Captain’s boat was found by chance by USN Destroyer CHARLES F. HUGHES, which was an escort vessel of a USN Task Force enroute to Reykjavik to relieve the British Occupying Force there. They searched for the other lifeboat without success, and landed the survivors – the Captain, 9 crew and 4 Red Cross Nurses, at Reykjavik on July 8th. On July 17th HMS KEPPEL picked up one lifeboat near Ireland, with 2 Officers, 3 crew, and 2 Red Cross Nurses. The two remaining boats were never seen again, lost with 21 aboard, including 4 nurses.
You may recall that the Tanker TIBIA in our convoy was torpedoed but not sunk. About 40 years later I learned that a friend in Department of Transport, whom I had known for many years, was the RO aboard the TIBIA! He had graduated from a radio school in Halifax, and reported to the Merchant Navy Manning Pool. He was assigned to the TIBIA, but when the ship was laid up for repairs he was assigned to coastal tankers in the UK supplying gun positions along the coast. On another occasion he was assisgned to a Foundation Company Salvage Tug operating out of St. John’s NF. He was at sea for the duration of the war! He passed away a few years ago after shoveling a heavy fall of snow from his driveway.
While in Iceland, we were aware that survivors were brought in from time to time. I met a young Canadian seaman one day, who had just arrived, and he and his shipmates had survived three ship sinkings before reaching Reykjavik. Our own First Mate on the MAASDAM had already survived two ship sinkings before we were sunk in June.
References
My reference sources for information, other than my own experiences, are as follows:
“IN ALL RESPECTS READY” by Cdr. F. B. Watt, RCN Ret. Cdr. Watt was in charge of the Naval Boarding Service in Halifax harbour, and also was responsible for the Merchant Navy Manning Pool.
“THE SEA IS AT OUR GATES” by Cdr. Tony German, RCN Ret.
“CONVOY” by Martin Middlebrook. An account of the U Boat battle of March 1943, with Convoys HX228, HX220 and SC122. This was a turning point in the Battle.
“THE ALLIED CONVOY SYSTEM 1939-1945” by Arnold Hague.
“IN GREAT WATERS” by Spencer Dunmore.
“CANADA AND THE BATTLE OF ATLANTIC” by Roger Sarty.
A very helpful website is: www.warsailors.com/convoys/index.html where all the eastbound convoys from Halifax and Sydney are listed. Only a few of the westbound convoys are listed.
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