War Time Convoys

Capt Len Evans recalls his war service in a speech delivered at NUMAST’s Battle of the Atlantic 50th anniversary commemorations in Mariners' Park.

Many of you present today will have served at sea during the war, and you will have memories which, although dimmed by the passage of time, need little rekindling to live it all again.

I was 17 and the junior midshipman, as cadets in Blue Funnel were called, aboard their ship Ixion on their North Pacific service from China and Japan to the Canadian US Ports on the Puget Sound. We were berthing at Union Bay, a small bunkering port when Chamberlain announced that we were now at war with Germany.

A more tranquil scene one could not imagine, the pine trees swept down from the mountains to the waters edge and the limpid sea seemed almost black in the dawn haze.

I recollect small groups quietly discussing what might be ahead and breakfast that morning was a solemn affair, and of course some of our Senior Officers and the Master had seen it all before.

We thought that perhaps we would be withdrawn from the N. Pacific but no; we continued to carry copper and lead, lumber and paper to Japan and as we discharged in Kobe and Osaka we’d be told “Bime bye you makee die”, and we had no illusions. The saving grace was the parcels of parachute silk we loaded in Yokohama for transshipment at Hong Kong for London…

On our next voyage our 4” gun, Japanese circa 1906, was fitted at the Canadian Naval Ease of Esquimalt on Victoria Island. The Chief Officer announced that we would go on a five day gunnery course, together with what Junior Engineers who could be spared - we had an all Chinese crew. We were supplemented by 3 young DEMS gunners, Canadian reservists. We learned how to deal with misfires and to fire by lanyard, and so now fully trained we sailed on Saturday for gun trials off Vancouver Island. All went well. Most of the doors on the poop collapsed, but we were judged proficient. We did one more round voyage before being transferred to a homeward bound ship at Hong Kong - Ixion followed shortly after. We had our first intimation of the real war when a torpedo narrowly missed us off Cape Verde. Nine months later this fine ship, Memnon, was sunk in that vicinity. (Photo: The Ixion)

That summer of 1940 escorts and weapons were in short supply. The Royal Navy had suffered heavily in the evacuation from France, and one of the two rifles supplied to Memnon was landed in Glasgow because the Army needed every weapon it could get.

Convoys, which might have an escort of one or two armed trawlers or perhaps corvettes, would disperse about 150 miles West of Ireland to proceed independently and I recall that our 12 pound AA gun was removed at Cape Town for installation aboard a homeward bound ship. On our return three months later we received, in exchange, a Hotchkiss machine gun. This was fitted into a steel pipe, which in turn fitted into the teak wood rail each side of the wheelhouse. Too bad it was on the wrong side when the plane came in. Thus armed we came home, independently, proceeding to 66N 27W before turning East and then South through the Minches to Liverpool.

This fine ship, the Orestes, had a charmed life. In May 1942 she was attacked off Madras by a Japanese seaplane which she drove off by accurate AA fire and the next month she was attacked by three Japanese submarines 90 miles South of Sydney. She was hit by two shells but responded by dropping depth charges over her stern damaging one of the subs and they broke off the chase.

Ships were routed as far as possible away from known danger areas so that voyages were increased in length. Instead of proceeding North from Cape Town in September 1941 my ship, Nestor, was routed across the South Atlantic, up the Brazilian coast to Newport News for bunkers and then up to Halifax for the homeward convoy. We were the Commodore of a 44 ship convoy, and were escorted out of Halifax by one corvette to rendezvous with one American merchant ship and five destroyers. The destroyers assumed escort duty, the merchant ship - which was bound for Iceland - slotted into the, convoy and we proceeded Eastward, while the corvette returned to Halifax.

About six days later, at 0600, one of the destroyers, Reuben James, was torpedoed and sunk with the loss of two thirds of her crew. The US was still neutral at that time - October ‘41 - and we were saddened at this loss of American life.

Later that day the RN escorts arrived, but the Americans stayed with us until we were almost home.

We remember those Atlantic convoys ploughing on in those grey green seas, the sloops and corvettes which rolled and pitched their way across the Atlantic. Those standard oil tankers and others, squat sturdy ships pressing on come what may, manned by men who knew - I wonder how many others did - that without their cargoes of aviation spirit and fuel oil, Britain would not survive. Brave men indeed and how often do we hear of those who went up the St. Lawrence for their cargoes of iron ore and should they be torpedoed would have a life expectancy measured in seconds not minutes. And the rescue ships such as the Rathlin, so far from home and who saved so many from the stricken convoy PQ17. And those ships, which because of stress of weather would straggle and become easy prey. We remember those very brave young RAE pilots who would be catapulted off their merchant ship in our defence and who could not return to their ship, invariably having to bale out into the sea, hopefully to be rescued by the escort.

Much has been written about the convoys to Malta and Russia. These were major naval actions which resulted in appalling losses in men and ships. 360 merchant seamen were lost in operation Pedestal, the Malta convoy of August 1942. Some might say it was a small number to preserve Malta and indeed wherever else, but it was 50% greater than all the losses in the Falklands Campaign.

A great friend of mine, an apprentice and later Junior Officer with Eagle Oil, made three trips to Malta and two to Russia. In Murmansk his ship was hit three times, but the bomb which hit the aviation spirit tanks failed to explode. Time and again one reads of specific ships taking part in those actions, and perhaps those of us who were not there, wonder why we also did not take part. I suppose the answer quite simply is that we went where we were sent, and took our chances elsewhere.

In May 1942 the first soldiers of the Maritime Anti-Aircraft Regiment joined a ship in which I served, but no doubt they had been at sea before this. Up to that time one or two Naval ratings, usually a leading seaman or a Marine would perform the duties of gun layer of our 4” gun, and the rest of the gun crew would come from our own crew. But in 1942, with the increase in armament these soldiers were a most welcome supplement to our own men. The Maritime AA lost 1,222 men at sea, while the DEMS Royal Navy personnel 2,713. Merchant navy losses amounted to 32,000. One in five killed.

Do you remember the gunnery courses at HMS Eaglet in Liverpool and our trips out to Armsdale for live firing at a target drone? It was a couple of days off and extended our leave. We were easily satisfied.

That voyage, on our way home, we picked up 38 survivors from the Glasgow ship Glendene. They manoeuvered their boat alongside Agapenor and painfully climbed the pilot ladder. Quiet and undemonstrative, at least they had a good meal and a few hours sleep before we ourselves were sunk twelve hours later. How the flower class corvette Petunia coped with over one hundred survivors less than three days after they had rescued 250 survivors from the Blue Star ship Andulacia Star, one will never know, but the welcome aboard was genuine and generous, and we will never forget her hospitality. (Photo: The Agapenor. John Clarkson Collection).

By now, increasing numbers of “U” boats were threatening the trade routes to the Middle East and India around the Cape, and Japanese subs were operating in the Gulf of Aden. German subs serviced by mother submarines known as 'Milch Cows', and from bases in Pewang were credited with sinking more than 170 ships in the Indian Ocean.

Despite this virtual world wide activity, many ships sailed with impunity. During Christmas 1942 I joined Perseus and we sailed at the end of January 1943 deep laden with boom defense gear for Darwin. Our route took us to New York, through the Caribbean and the Panama canal to Sydney. We discharged our cargo, part loaded for home, also with supplies for American forces in Western Australia. Having discharged the American cargo in Fremantle we topped up the remaining space, and left fully laden, across the Southern Ocean to Durban, thence to Freetown and home and as far as I can recollect this voyage was completely without incident.

We attended the usual gunnery course at HMS Eaglet and the PC instructor there told us of a new weapon, the Glider Bomb, which he dismissed as dead easy saying “You need no aim off, just wait until it is within range and shoot it down!”

We signed Articles in Birkenhead and the Shipping Master explained that because the invasion of Europe was imminent they hoped that the Merchant Navy crews would volunteer to take part. This was a national campaign, but I think we were slightly sceptical, believing we’d go wherever the ships were sent. However we did volunteer and the letter V was written on our Identity Cards. I still have mine.

Once again we were the Commodore of a 40 ship convoy out of Liverpool bound for the Middle East and India. I’m sure everyone has a date, or dates, which they particularly remember but mine was that highly symbolic date, 11th November, a day of remembering the sacrifices of the first war and now of this, and this was 1943. Early that day the SOEO came alongside and told the Commodore that we could expect an air attack that evening. The Perseus convoy number was 51. The ship astern, a fine big Dutch ship, was 52. She was bound for the same Indian Ports with an identical cargo except she had a 75 ton tug on deck.

We were closed up at Action Stations, when at 1800 in the vicinity of Oran the eastern sky lit up with 12 or 15 brilliant red flames. These were the glider bombs which I don’t think any of us had seen before. In no time they were overhead and happily ours fell close astern. I’m not sure that anyone did open fire. Shortly afterwards 52 was hit and she exploded sending the 75 ton tug catapulting into the sea, silhouetted against the flame and smoke. Almost as the debris was falling, No. 53 closed up to take the station occupied by this fine ship just seconds before.

The attack continued for some time, in darkness, medium level and torpedo bombers being used. Low flying planes seem to skim over the fo’c’sle head, but Perseus was unscathed. Although the convoy took casualties and ships were lost, we sailed on.

On a more personal basis I was reminded of this some months later.

I met my father  in Colombo and we spent New Year 1943/44 together. He was Master in a Blue Funnel subsidiary based in Singapore and had got away to India and had recently returned from a spell in the Eastern Mediterranean. Now he was on his way to Cox Bazaar on the Arakan in support of the 14th Army. The Perseus sailed on to Trincolamlee where she discharged 5,000 tons of sea mines before proceeding independently to join the North bound convoy to Calcutta. Unfortunately we met a Japanese submarine which sank this fine ship, but it took four of her torpedoes to do so.  My father was on the point of sailing from Colombo to join the Calcutta convoy when the NCSO came on board and told him that Perseus had been sunk and that there was no news of survivors. In the event it was far too early for news of survivors. However the convoy must proceed. I wonder what his thoughts were two or three days later when he passed through the area in which Perseus was lost.