6. SWEEPING THE WAR CHANNEL
The majority of the officers and ratings who pass through H.M.S. Lochinvar are posted to trawlers, which in this war, as in the last, are the mainstay of the Minesweeping Service. These seaworthy little steel ships, with high bows, a length of about 140 feet and a displacement of between 200 and 300 tons, may be seen in scores at any of the minesweeping ports of Great Britain, lying three or four abreast alongside the quay, steaming out to their sweeping grounds, or returning to port after their spell at sea.
To-day they are painted grey and carry numbers, but when in harbour they display their names in white letters on a black board. These names are sometimes high-sounding, such as Earl Kitchener, Lady Philomena, Three Kings; sometimes poetic, such as Sweet Promise, Sea Holly, Waveflower. Some, like Stella Leonis and Stella Rigel, are the names of constellations; some of jewels-Sapphire and Emerald, of trees-Acacia and Olive; of the Knights of the Round Table-Sir Gareth and Sir Lancelot; or of more mundane gentlemen, such as William Stephens.
Many of them have their own badges, perhaps designed by the Skipper, executed in colour by one of the hands and proudly displayed on the “verandah” which encircles the wheelhouse below the upper bridge. One has a representation of the Old Man of the Sea and a brush; another a brush, a mine and a flash of lightning (symbol of the magnetic sweep) with the motto Mare clausum veni, which the Skipper will translate for the benefit of new hands as “The sea was closed to commerce before I came.” The Stella Rigel has a mine below her starry cluster and the motto (disdaining Latin), “To hell with Hitler.”
The trawler’s usual armament is a 12-pounder on the whaleback in the fo’cs’le head, an Oerlikon (or twin .5’s) on the gun-platform aft, two Lewis guns on the “verandah” and a Holman projector, which fires shrapnel bombs for short range use against aircraft.
The normal complement of the minesweeping trawler is 23; the Skipper and the Second Skipper, who acts as First Lieutenant; the Second Hand, a Chief Petty Officer; two Enginemen, both Petty Officers; a signalman (“Bunts”), a telegraphist (“Sparks”), a gunlayer, a wireman (“Torps”); a motorman, eight seamen, three stokers, a cook, and an assistant steward.
Every man has his own sweeping station, each seaman his own place at a gun. If the look-out sights an enemy aircraft, surface vessel or submarine, “Action Stations” is sounded by an alarm bell. The Skipper remains on the upper bridge. The Second Skipper is in charge of the 12-pounder. The Second Hand takes the wheel from the helmsman, who closes up to his gun position. One stoker remains below with the engineers. The others serve the 12-pounder ammunition from the magazine and stand by to put out fires on deck. The cook helps to serve the gunlayer, while the wireman fills the pans of the Lewis guns.
When a trawler has brought down an enemy aircraft she is entitled (by the custom of the Service) to paint a swastika on her funnel, while the tally of mines destroyed is kept by chevrons and stars; a white chevron denotes a single mine, a red chevron five, a blue star twenty-five, and a red star fifty. The record is held by H.M.T. Rolls Royce, which to date has a total of over 150 mines to her credit.
The ratings berth for’ard, every man with his own bunk-there are no hammocks. The Skipper’s cabin is amidships, below the Chart Room, and there is a tiny Ward Room. All aboard earn their “hard-lying money”-a shilling a day for ratings-although the accommodation is considerably more comfortable than it was in peace time. The food is good and well cooked. The favourite recreations on board are draughts, dominoes, solo and cribbage. There is always a ship’s cat, and often a dog as well. In one trawler a budgerigar flies about the mess-deck: another has as her mascot a large duck, which waddles pompously along the deck, swearing at the seagulls.
In peace time a trawler skipper is usually a man of substance. Some, particularly those who work in Arctic waters, earn £2,000 a year and more. Most of them have been at sea since they were sixteen, and have been in and out of ships all their lives. They have to spend four years on deck and one year as mate before they can sit for a skipper’s ticket, which entitles them to take any ship into any waters, provided she is going fishing. The sea experience they gather with the years enables them to navigate by instinct rather than by chart.
The skippers are independent by nature and conservative by tradition. When fishing they have their own methods of enforcing orders, much as the father of a large family has his; indeed, they are often related by birth or marriage to many of the crew and usually call them by their Christian names. All fishermen have an intensely developed civic pride and there is usually a friendly rivalry between a Grimsby trawler and one from Hull or Aberdeen. They are also extremely superstitious. The words pig and rabbit may not be mentioned aboard a trawler; and it is considered bad luck to go out of harbour astern, to put a hatch on upside down, or lay a broom across a trawl.
On the outbreak of war, when many of the trawlers were taken over as minesweepers, the skippers were placed in command, with fishermen as ratings. Some of the skippers had been trained in the Royal Naval Reserve, a certain number had served in the last war, others joined the Navy for the first time. They were given the rank of Skipper-Lieutenant or Skipper, R.N.R. Most of them were splendid seamen, but they did not take easily to filling in forms or writing official reports; they were often puzzled by the Confidential Books issued to them, and one was bewildered by a signal in which “rendezvous” occurred. They had but a hazy idea of naval discipline, and preferred their own way of handling their men.
On the morning war was declared the Commander M.S. of an East Coast port was on board one of the trawlers which had just been commissioned. He pointed out that the Skipper’s duty was to read the Articles of War. The Skipper fished out the Articles from a drawer beneath his bunk, looked dubiously at their many clauses, then told the Second Hand to turn all hands up on deck. When they had assembled, he addressed them thus:
“Now lads, we’ve just heard over the wireless that England has declared war on Germany. I'm supposed to read you the Articles of War. There's a lot of 'em and and most of you wouldn't understand nothing if I did read 'em. But what they really mean is this: now we're at war, this ship's yer home. Minesweeping's hard work, and fairly dangerous. I was blowed up twice last time, but I'm all right. You do yer duty and when you gets into harbour you has certain privileges. If you does yer work properly me and the Commander” (with a jerk of his thumb over his shoulder to indicate that officer) “will see as how you gets those privileges. That's all.”
That was language the fishermen crew understood. But the Minesweeping Service expanded fast. As in the last war, it could not be manned by fishermen alone and there were more trawlers than skippers. As the organisation developed, two trawlers formed a unit, with a Skipper-Lieutenant, or a Lieutenant, R.N.V.R., in command, and two units made up a group, usually under a Lieutenant, R.N.R., or a Lieutenant-Commander R.N.V.R. It was inevitable that the skippers should regard these officers, who were often much younger than themselves, with some suspicion. At first they tended to keep themselves apart, and in the local hostelries ashore they would collect in groups of their own, while the R.N.V.R. officers formed theirs. But thanks to the tact of the younger officers and the readiness of the skippers to recognise efficiency when they saw it, gradually mutual confidence was born of experience and all came to work-and drink-together.
So it was with the H.O. ratings who were drafted to the trawlers. They were new to the sea and ignorant of the traditions which the fishermen held dear. There were times when, like a traveller visiting an unknown native tribe, they stumbled against a tabu and unwittingly gave serious offence. On one occasion a wireless telegraphist, not long transplanted from civil life, brought back to his ship a brace of rabbits under the impression that all on board would appreciate a change of diet. The trawler was the senior ship of the group, commanded by a Lieutenant, R,N.R., who heard a sudden commotion in the fo'c'sle. He summoned the Second Hand, who informed him that the men were protesting against sailing with the rabbits on board. The Group Officer was a man of experience and wisdom. He issued no orders. He merely called up “Sparks” and persuaded him to drop the rabbits overboard. That done, peace was restored.
As long ago as 1663, Sir Roger L’Estrange called the English fishery “the only common nursery of seamen,” and the Navy is not likely to forget the fine men, both skippers and ratings, which the Fishing Fleet has given it in time of war. To-day, however, it is rare to find more than a couple of fishermen in a trawler and the ratings come from many trades-from butchers to bus-drivers, from metal-workers to market-gardeners. Men who work on the soil always take readily to the sea, but even a ladies’ hat renovator is not unknown in a trawler. One cook’s civil occupation was that of an asphalt-mixer. His rice puddings were said to run true to trade.
It was not long before the skippers came to recognise the worth of these young men. Landsmen they might be, and lubberly at first, but they had joined the Navy to fight for their country and they were anxious to learn. Once they had shaken down they showed intelligence and initiative.
“You can take the average Englishman afloat and make a seaman of him in three months, once he gets over his seasickness,” is the opinion of one trawler skipper. “Go far enough back and you’ll find there was a seaman in his family. The biggest trouble is to make them keep their lifebelts on, or to make them realise there’s any danger-until a mine goes up alongside.”
After six months at sea a rating earns the right to wear a badge of the Royal Naval Patrol Service: a shark with a marlin-spike to represent the anti-submarine vessels, and a mine for the sweepers.
At first neither the skippers nor the fishermen ratings took kindly to naval routine, but they have come to take a pride in keeping their ships clean and in turning out in smart naval rig when they go ashore, while at Divisions on Sunday mornings the sweeper crews in port will vie with each other on the quayside, and march past the Commander M.S. (to the music of a gramophone relayed by loud-speaker) with a swing that would not disgrace the men of a battleship.
The ratings are well looked after at each Base. There are ENSA concerts, cinemas, a well-stocked canteen, a comforts store and shower-baths. Football and cricket matches are played between ships and groups, with a cup given by the Captain of the Base, and when a trawler is due for her three-monthly boiler-cleaning one watch has five days’ leave. Boiler-cleaning is a mysterious word to many relatives of men in the Minesweeping Service. One lady defined it as “the time my old man comes home.”
At every port there are always a number of trawlers with steam up at instant readiness for sea; the remainder proceed at their appointed time, and thus they keep the 1,700 miles of War Channel clear for shipping, sweeping day and night. Only exceptionally hard weather will confine them to port, and then only because they cannot sweep efficiently in a high sea. There losses have been considerable, both from mines and aircraft attack, but the skippers and their crews remain imperturbable.
The presence of R.A.F. fighter protection gives a sense of security and is much appreciated, but the trawlers have to accept the risk of sweeping alone and then rely upon their own armament. They have accounted for many enemy aircraft, and one skipper, who has several to his credit, was once asked to explain his technique to ratings under gunnery instruction. His lecture was as follows:
“I sees an enemy aircraft ahead. It gets a bit closer, so I calls my mate Bill and says, ‘Enemy aircraft on the port bow, Bill. Get on the gun.’ So Bill gets on the gun. Then I says, ‘Shoot the beggar down, Bill.’ And Bill shoots ’un down.”
On another occasion two trawlers, the Syringa (Skipper W.T. Ritchie, R.N.R.) and the Reboundo (Skipper H.A. Catchpole, R.N.R.) were sweeping in company in the Channel, when they sighted an aircraft, which appeared to be a Junkers 87, approaching from the south-eastward and flying at about 300 feet. The Reboundo challenged, was answered by a burst of machine-gun fire, and then opened with her 12-pounder and Lewis gun. The aircraft crossed the trawler’s quarter and dropped a salvo of five bombs on either side.
It then attacked the Syringa, whose armament also went into action, spraying the bridge and deck with machine-gun bullets, and dropped two more salvoes, one missing to starboard, the other to port. Turning away to starboard it again bombed the Reboundo without damaging her, but a machine-gun bullet wounded Skipper Catchpole in the thigh.
Then came the Syringa's turn again. Seaman-Gunner Colyer, at the Lewis gun, was killed by a burst from the German rear-gunner, as the aircraft passed over the trawler, and a bomb pierced the engine-room casing. It landed on the platform on the fore side of the engine, but failed to explode.
The aircraft then returned for a third attack, this time on the Syringa only. As it approached, it appeared to be losing height until it eventually came within range of the Syringa's low-angle gun, which opened fire. After the second round the German crashed into the sea a mile from the ship.
Skipper Ritchie then went down to the engine-room, where Stoker Petty Officer G.H. Wood, R.N., had remained at his post throughout the engagement.
“With the assistance of Chief Engineman E.C. Clinton,” wrote the Skipper in his official report, “I carried the bomb on deck and threw it overboard.”
The Navy is accustomed to understatement, and Skipper Ritchie’s succinct account of how he disposed of the unexploded bomb as though it had been a dead rat did not blind the Board of Admiralty to his courage, or to the Stoker Petty Officer’s calm bravery in remaining at his post with the bomb lying at his feet. Skipper Ritchie was awarded the D.S.C., Clinton and Wood the D.S.M.
Intensified mining by aircraft and E-boats stretched the minesweeping resources to the limit and involved heavy additional sweeping. With the aim of causing the utmost danger and destruction to merchant shipping the enemy was accustomed to choose as his objective a river estuary or the approaches to a busy port. Sometimes these minelaying offensives would continue at intervals for several weeks. At such times the trawlers might sweep continuously for 48 hours, covering 250 miles.
One such attack came when a strong force of enemy aircraft dropped an exceptional number of mines in port approaches on the East Coast. All the trawlers in the roads opened fire, but without appreciable results, since their armament is designed mainly for defence against dive-bombing.
The port was closed that night, but next morning the sweepers were underway at the first sign of dawn, and hopes were high for a record bag. Results were soon forthcoming. Half an hour before sunrise H.M.T. Fitzgerald detonated the first mine, and so began a momentous day. Until eleven o’clock there was one explosion after another. In a single half hour no less than nine mines were destroyed, and twenty had gone up before lunch-time.
“Then came a lull, perhaps welcome to everyone,” wrote the officer in charge of the operations. “Even the mines themselves seemed to be taking a long dinner-hour, nevertheless the sweepers toiled on, and by this time the full force were on the job. At 14.52 the sweepers seemed to get their second wind, and the buildings ashore once again felt the shock of mine detonations. This brought the grand total up to twenty-seven mines for the day, which smashed all previous records. Sweeping continued up to dark, and then only were the sweepers satisfied with their day’s work. One trawler was seen trailing forlornly into harbour about 21.00 hours, having toiled all day and caught nothing, but she knew that her job of work had been just as useful as that of the Cayrian, who could boast twelve mines in the day. Even then, the day’s bag was not complete. One mine, apparently overcome with depression at the fate of his fellows, threw in the sponge and detonated of his own accord.”
Day after day the clearance went on, the sweepers once beating their own record. The men felt that they were masters of the mines and the general attitude was, in the words of the official report, “Let ’em all come! We can deal with the mines faster than they can lay them, and we can keep it up longer.”
The account of the last day’s operations is best described by a quotation from the same report:
“The pack moved off soon after nine o’clock, led by the veteran Cayrian, closely followed by Strathborve and Gwenllian. If sport was to be shown, these were the ones to show it. The first covert was drawn blank, and the pack moved on to the next. Cayrian could do no good: it was not her day. Nose to the ground, she searched the covert from end to end without success. It was nearly one o’clock and still a blank day. Then Strathborve gave tongue and the hunt was on. For the next two and a half hours the pace was killing, but the sweepers plodded on until the area was combed. Thus ended what must have been another record day.”
When the clearance was complete the close of play score, as the Commander M.S. puts it, varying his metaphor, was well over a century for no wickets. Not a single sweeper had been damaged and the one casualty to shipping was a fishing trawler. Only a part of her bow was visible when the spray subsided five seconds after the explosion, and nothing was picked up but a man’s cap.
As against this loss many merchant ships and fishing craft had entered the port and sailed while the clearance had been in progress, swept in or out by the trawlers. The fate of the fishing vessel suggests the destruction that might have been caused to shipping had the sweepers not been there to do their work, which is but a single instance of their devotion to duty since the war began.
The destroyer has often been called the maid-of-all-work of the Navy; the minesweepers might be called the charwomen of the sea. In every town and city these hard-working women are up with the dawn, sweeping and clearing passage and office before their betters are abroad. Most people take their work for granted. Few know how they live; few even see them, save perhaps for a glimpse of one adjusting her bonnet as she departs. They are sturdy, weatherbeaten and good-humoured. Rain, hail or snow finds them at their task; and when there is a blitz they take it with a jest.
Like them, the minesweepers are as undeterred by blizzards as by bombs, and they have a spirit and a tradition of their own. They are seen by few outside their own calling, for by the time the big ships are due their sweeping is done, their gear packed, and they are under steam for home.
[Caption] THE TEAM. Top, running up signal flags. Centre, manning the winch which winds the sweep wire in and out. Bottom, down below at the engine-room throttle.
[Caption] THE BOMBER SWOOPS. In the tiny-looking British trawler, men are rushing to the guns. The German bomber takes their picture as it races down upon them.
[Caption] “ACTION STATIONS.” The gunners are at the .5 machine guns aft, the 12-pounder on the whaleback in the fo’c’sle head, and the Lewis gun by the bridge.
[Caption] GOODBYE to the old mine, on to the new.
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