time, like a silent river (10)

Remembering a World at War

Who will you remember on Remembrance Day? Or, what will you remember?

William Anderson, Toronto remembers an explosion and a 'hapless pilot'. In Voices of a War Remembered (published in 1991) he says the following:

     Every year when Remembrance Day rolls around, I go back
     almost half a century to my days in the Second World War. 

On November 11, 1943 Mr. Anderson, a young RCN officer, was shipped to England aboard SS Bayanu, a tiny freighter, and on route watched two biplanes attempt to land upon a nearby aircraft carrier. The first landed safely but the second, because of heavy wave action, hit the ship's stern head-on.

     "The ship fell back into the sea like a broken toy. As we
     watched in horror, helpless and spell-bound, the carrier
     captain ordered full power and drove the ship away as fast as
     he could before the depth charge (loosened from the biplane
     on impact) reached its exploding depth. When the explosion
     did come, the resultant column of water threw the aircraft
     and the hapless pilot skyward. It was the end of the pilot and
     his machine. In little more than an instant, out idyllic cruise
     to Europe became a real and frightening experience." [pg. 307]

Every year fewer WW2 veterans are present at Remembrance Day services to recall the past, good or bad. But it is my hope that every year some other person will come to stand in their place.

["A veteran on the Parkwood Hospital bus, at

London's cenotaph, Nov. 11, 2011": photo GH] 

* * * * *

Today's quote - 

               "One restaurant (in Halifax) had a sign in its

               window - Dogs and sailors not allowed."

               L/S Doug Harrison, Navy memoirs

["Welcome to Halifax"]

Today's story -

More drills, oppos and a rare navy buzz (2)

By volunteering for the RCNVR in 1941 my father was required to move, initially, to Hamilton, then to Halifax. By volunteering for 'special duties overseas' while in Halifax he was required to undergo more specific types of training with Combined Operations in Scotland, a new part of the armed forces initiated by Winston Churchill and carried out, for the most part, by Lord Louis Mountbatten.

About the first time he caught wind of Combined Ops while in Halifax my father writes:

     One day we heard a mess deck buzz or rumour that the navy
     was looking for volunteers for special duties overseas, with
     nine days leave thrown in. Many from the Effingham Division,
     including myself, once again volunteered. (Will I ever quit
     volunteering?) The buzz turned out to be true and we came
     home on leave, which involved three days coming home on a
     train, three days at home and three days on the train going back.
     [pg. 7, "DAD, WELL DONE"]

Apparently, other sailors new to Halifax, arriving a month or two after my father, were also asked to volunteer for special duties, and my father indicates there was more than one type of volunteer:

     We met a lot of sailors, who were shortly to go through what
     we went through already, and they called themselves commandos.
     They sure were in for a rude awakening. We were never called
     commandos, only combined operations ratings, and we were the
     first from Canada to go overseas. [Ibid]

["Will I ever quit volunteering?": Doug Harrison,

part of the first Canadian draft for Combined Ops]

After celebrating Christmas leave at home, father returned to Halifax to board the Queen of Bermuda, a large passenger liner bound for the Firth of Clyde and Canadian barracks in Scotland. For some reason, the ship quickly ran aground and couldn't be moved, so - after many hours of fruitless bailing - the troops were transferred to a Dutch ship, the Volendam. With assurances from the captain that they would all arrive safely ("the Volendam had already taken three torpedoes and lived to sail", recalls my father), the men settled in for their first meal ("sausage with lots of grease") and many young sailors, "who had never been to sea except for a few hours in Halifax upon a minesweeper", promptly became seasick.

Seasickness, however, was the least of their worries. Many years after his first trip abroad, my father would recall the night he stood watch at the guns and saw an explosion off the starboard side:

     Late at night I was on watch at our stern (4.7 gauge) and saw a red

     plume of an explosion on our starboard quarter. In the morning

     the four-stacker (i.e., an American ship) was not to be seen. The

     next evening I heard cries for help, presumably from a life-raft

     or life-boat. Although I informed the officer of the watch, we were

     unable to stop and place ourselves in jeopardy as we only had the

     Firedrake with ASDIC (sonar) to get us through safely.

["On 17 Dec. 1942, while escorting a convoy, Firedrake
was torpedoed and sunk. The corvette HMS Sunflower
picked up 27 survivors."

Caption and photo at wikipedia]

     After some days we spotted a light on our port stern quarter one

     night. It was the light of the conning tower of a German submarine.

     How she failed to detect us, or the Firedrake detect it, I will never

     know. I was gun layer and nearly fell off the gun. I informed the

     Bridge and the Captain said, “Don’t shoot. Don’t shoot. It could be

     one of ours.” But as it quickly submerged we did fire one round to

     buck up our courage. (After arriving in Scotland) it was soon

     confirmed that the American four-stacker had taken a fish (torpedo).

And down the ramp and into the cold Canadian barracks he did go after his own less than 'idyllic cruise to Europe'.

More to follow.

Photos by GH

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