Service Aboard HMS Walnut

Back in Portsmouth Harbour

Marvellous when out of the sea emerged the Isle of Wight and the Nab Tower and we were back saluting the ‘Dolphin’ and HMS Victory and then we were tied up alongside the quay directly opposite the Base ship ‘Marshal Soutl’ once more. With being senior ship we got alongside the quay, the next ship in Captain seniority was next one out alongside us and so on but as a rule the most junior ship(s) had to tie up at the buoys in the middle of the harbour. This was not so convenient as all stores had then to be ferried by ship’s small boat. About one year later our Captain Lieutenant Commander Hamilton-Adams received further promotion and moved on to a Fleet Sweeper and so ‘Walnut’ became junior ship and we had to stay that way for long enough!.

Gunnery Course

As soon as we tied up in harbour our tasks for the following day appeared in the ‘Night Order Book’. This time I was detailed for a 14 day gunnery course so it was back to the ‘Marshal Soult’ for another stint but not quite such a ‘green horn’ this time. The course was uneventful and I was glad to get back on board the ‘Walnut’ again. In the following few months as soon as we entered Portsmouth Harbour all gunners were sent on one day practice shoots to Bognor Regis at the seaward end of the Pier firing at the target sleeve towed by a fighter aircraft, this was a regular chore, then there were visits to the Ack-Ack [Note 7] Dome Teacher Training which simulated attacking dive bombers or instructional training films for Naval gunnery or practise shoots at sea with a small drifter towing a raft with the target set up on the raft – the old drill came in handy “By percussion fire a tube ---------------“. I remember one very cold and frosty November morning four of us were due at Whale Island for yet more gunnery training. Whale Island was directly opposite the quay where our ships normally berthed so we caught the ‘Trot’ boat passing the old Royal Yacht “Victoria and Albert” tied up at the Buoys nearby – she looked very much as we got close by as though she had seen better days with much of the visible gold paintwork well tarnished. We were dressed in long watch coats with collars turned up on account of the cold as we landed on the catamaran with hands thrust so deep into pockets and as we were strolling past a sort of Sentry Box there was a shout and out of the Sentry Box shot a Gunnery Warrant Officer (Drill Pig) in full uniform complete with black leather gaiters and all “Where the hell do you think you are going ---------? I’ll take you to bits to see what makes you tick -------” he then proceeded to give us 5 minutes drill at the double -----” When you come here to Whale Island” he said “You don’t walk anywhere, we don’t expect you to run ---- you bloodywell fly”! That was our first taste of Whale Island, we didn’t go much on it then but it is nice to look back on from this distance in time!.

Starboard Oerlikon Gunner

We refitted at Southampton and had posh Oerlikon Gun Turrets [Note 8] fitted at the port and starboard side almost amidships and between the Bridge and the 12 Pounder Platform. I was appointed as the official Starboard Oerlikon Gunner and Ted Grainger (Tich) the Port Oerlikon Gunner.   We were all posh on the new guns and each had a telephone direct to the Bridge and we carried our 4 hour sea watches in turn on the Oerlikon Guns as soon as we reached the Boom Defence ships at Spithead it was “Starboard Oerlikon to Bridge ------” Starboard Oerlikon closed up Sir.” Our Captain regularly put us through our gunnery drill and one fine afternoon on convoy he approached Ted Grainger and I saying that if we went into action at night we would most likely have to re-load the Oerlikon Guns with a magazine pan weighing 56 lbs in the darkness so he proposed to blindfold each of us in turn and time us on his stop-watch to see how long we took to unload a pan of ammunition and to re-load with another from the ammunition locker at the base of the turret. He took poor Tich Grainger first and blindfolded him with a black silk scarf and he took about 2 minutes “No bloody good – too slow you’ll have to have much more practice.” Then it was my turn but with having a fairly large nose the Captain didn’t make a very good job of blacking me out and when he had tied the scarf over my eyes and knotted the ends at the back of my head there remained a small narrow aperture alongside my nose through which I could just see the breech of the gun, the ammunition pan and the locker. When he said “Right off you go” I quickly whipped out the pan from the breech, grabbed another from the ammunition locker and straight into the breech the pan immediately clicking into the retaining apertures. “Fantastic, unbelievable, it’s a record” he went on. In fact it was much too good I’d made a rod for my own back. Unknown to us he’d had all the ships in his flotilla doing the same exercise and when he got back to Pompey had had his meeting with his brother Captains and when the exercise with the Oerlikons was discussed and the timings were produced the others absolutely refused to believe so they all trooped onto the “Walnut”! “McCabe” says the Captain “You must do it once more to convince them.” This time the neutral officer blacking me out made a right good job of it – the counting started “Twenty seconds – thirty seconds – forty ------ one minute ------ two minutes ----- three minutes. “Cor you’ve let me down” says the Captain “Get a decent bloody watch next time” says one of the other C.O.’s. “Serves you bloody well right” says little Tich Grainger “It never pays to be too bloody good in the Andrew Lofty, try to remember that!”

Rabbits in the Navy

I suppose it was inevitable that sailors would store up their cigarettes and rum ration for when the time came to go on leave. Rabbits as every matelot called them made life worth living on board a small ship on the other hand going home for ‘boiler clean’ leave was a cherished privilege and to be caught smuggling rum cigarettes or tobacco meant certain detention for ratings and demotion for senior NCO’s. Incidentally one of our Petty Officers was caught by Customs Officers with a very small amount of rum in a flask (1/3 of bottle size) and our ship was placed under punishment for 3 months and the PO was demoted. This meant that the crew of the ship lost the neat rum privilege for small Naval ships and we had to have two tots of water added to the one tot of rum for the next 3 months. This was indeed sacrilege to most crew members but on the first day ‘Wilf’ the Leading Cook who lived for his rum put his pint mug on the table in the P.O.’s Mess, with Jimmy-the-one (First Lieutenant) in attendance. Paddy McGee the Coxswain poured a tot of neat rum into his mug and as Paddy reached for the jug of water Wilf the cook up with his mug swallowed the rum and putting his empty mug back on the table said “I’ll take the two tots of water now.” That was the end of that on each future day for the specified period the jugs of water and rum were mixed together in a larger vessel before being dispensed!.

Duty free allowances

Whilst still on the subject of duty free goods – the Ship’s Canteen opened on board every other day and we could purchase duty free cigarettes and tobacco. Twenty of the popular brands of cigarettes such as Capstan, Players or Senior Service cost six pence (old money 240 pence to the £1.) 20 Kingsize cigarettes seven pence and Twenty (ships) Woodbines which were as large as Capstan fourpence halfpenny. Also on seagoing ships we could draw in addition once per month one pound of tinned (Tickler) shag tobacco for rolling cigarettes or one pound weight of actual tobacco leaves for rolling a prik of plug pipe tobacco for 13 pence. By the way it was an education seeing an old sweat rolling a prik of leaves with added rum in a canvas square and bound together with yards of spun-yarn. With concessions like these there was a very strong temptation to take a bottle of rum or some cigarettes and baccy to one’s dear old Dad at home paying through the nose for his smokes and drinks to help pay for the “War Effort. One of the Minesweepers in our Flotilla was due for boiler clean after one more convoy and the story went the rounds that some members of the crew had met ashore in a pub near the dockyard Gates a member of the Royal Marine Police who had offered to get all their “rabbits” out of the dockyard for them if they put all the contraband in a suitcase the night before leave was due [and] he would collect the suitcase and have same waiting for them in a specified bar the following lunchtime. The RMP collected the suitcase from the ship in due course and that was the last they saw of him or their “rabbits”. Of course no one could make an official complaint but if any of the victims had met up with him I’m sure they would have dealt with him in an appropriate manner!.

The matelot and the dock gate policeman

Another story going the rounds of our ships at about the same time, although I can’t vouch for this one, was of the matelot going up to the RMP at the Dock Gates asking if he could bring his “rabbits” through the gates (giving a specified cut to the RMP) at a certain time the following day. This was agreed and the next day Jack was hauled inside the Gatehouse and his gear was turned inside out but there was no trace of the cigarettes, baccy or rum. “Where is the Stuff?” asked the RMP. “You’re too late” said Jack “I had it with me last night.”

Walnut crew from all parts of U.K.

I suppose on a small ship of this size with thirty odd crew almost living on top of each other day in and day out temper did occasionally get a bit frayed but as a rule there were not many idle hours in port or at sea. The first Chief Engineer that I had served with was CPO Jack Hearty, an Irishman from Northern Ireland and a staunch R.C.. The Coxswain was Paddy McGee also from Northern Ireland and a Protestant but they were the best of friends. Then there was PO Ben Cullen and PO Jock Ferguson both engine room staff. (I was particularly friendly with Jock Ferguson and used to go ashore with him. He was a Glaswegian had no hair on his head but his chest and back were like coconut matting, and he was as strong as a bull. When due for refit in Southampton a steam pipe burst and scalded him badly on his neck and chest. I went with him to hospital but he absolutely refused to stay (he would have had no option if it had been a Naval unit) and he went off on 14 days leave that afternoon swathed in bandages and he came back on time.) Mostly our stokers were Glaswegians or Welshmen from South Wales and we had a fair sprinkling of these amongst the seamen. One Taffy Davies had been with the ‘Walnut’ from the time she commissioned on the Tees in 1940 and was based for a while at Hartlepool. Another seaman Jack Jones (painter & sign writer in civilian life) had also been with the ‘Walnut’ since the early days. They used to tell us of the early days with the first Captain who was a New Zealander, apparently his personal steward had been helping himself to a glass of wardroom whisky when he heard the Cap’n coming down the steps of the companionway and he just had time to hide the whisky bottle behind a large framed photograph standing on a sort of sideboard. The steward thought he was away with it until the Captain poked his head into the pantry saying “I don’t mind you drinking my bloody whisky Briggs but please put the bloody cork back when you are finished”! But now back to Pompey in 1943 ------------

Divine Service in harbour

If it was Sunday and we were in harbour at Portsmouth there was a Church of England Chapel in a Nissen Hut on the Quayside but there was no RC Chapel in the Dockyard and I went with Jack Hearty a couple of times to the RC Church outside the Gates of the City. He knew the drill and obtained a pass to get us through the Gates – after the Service a couple of quick pints and back on board. As time went on Jack Hearty left for promotion to Warrant Officer and I continued going to church as and when possible. I suppose it was only human nature that others on board got a ‘”Whiff of the Trifle’ as someone referred to the smell of beer and discovered that it was necessary to go into the City for their particular service, notably Church of Scotland and Presbyterians, so we used to meet afterwards in the little bar outside the Unicorn Gate. The next time I went for a Dock Yard Gate Pass, Jimmy-the-One (First Lieutenant) says to me “McCabe were you a policeman or a parson in Civvie Street? Before I could reply he said “I suppose you know you have converted half this bloody ship’s company!”

Sleeping through the Din

The monotony of the convoy run went on week in, week out, with scares every now and again from Enemy “E” boats, enemy aircraft, loud bangs in the night, star shells, tracers but nothing very serious up to now. We had another short refit at Southampton and came back fully refreshed. We dropped anchor at Spithead and all hands were ordered to muster on the well-deck. On re-commissioning after refit our Captain read the Articles of War ------ ‘Any man sleeping on his watch shall suffer death ---------’ A couple of days later we were back on the convoy run and were watch below 12 midnight to 4am. By this time I had graduated to a bunk – the top bunk on the port side right for’ard, and at sea we just laid on top of the canvas bed cover. I was in a deep sleep and was roused by the “Action Stations” Bell, a mad scramble up the stairway from the mess-deck and onto the Starboard Oerlikon – telephoned Bridge – “Starboard Oerlikon closed up Sir.” “Very good” came the reply. Twenty minutes or so later we got the “Stand Down” message. On returning to the f’ castle mess-deck I heard someone remark “I’m glad it didn’t last as long as the last one.”?  It transpired that I had slept through a previous actions stations alarm bell when apparently there had been some activity from “E” Boats. In the excitement on the Bridge no one had rumbled that Starboard Oerlikon hadn’t reported “Closed Up”.  I was very fortunate indeed that no one had missed me and I resolved to try, if I possibly could, to sleep a little less soundly and to have one of my pals give me a thump when the alarm went. There actually had been another incident not long before which had worried me quite a lot. We were on convoy and the Port anchor just above where I was off watch and sleeping broke away from its tether or housing and a considerable amount of anchor cable ran through the hawse pipe apparently with a hell of a clatter but I never heard a thing!.

Storm in the Channel

It was about this time that we ran into a rare old Channel storm. We were not long out of Portsmouth when the storm blew up rather suddenly with giant waves in no time at all. A large steel cask full of very strong concentrated disinfectant stored in the forepeak just above the seamen’s mess-deck had broken loose and as it topped over the bung came out and most of the contents streamed down into the seamen’s Mess. The stench was nauseating and overpowering and it took weeks to get rid of the smell. Most of us would have been sea-sick anyhow – I know that for once I was glad to get out of the Mess and on watch 8am – 12 noon – it was a cross sea and the ship was rolling badly. One minute it seemed from the starboard Oerlikon turret that I could have put my hand in the water, the next I was up sky-high and my opposite number was down near the water on the Port side. I remember the Leading Seaman Punch Caddy and the other old sweats looking very worried indeed and I overheard Punch saying “There could be some bloody sea running when we get round Beachy Head!” He was right of course – the waves seemed twice as big, then they were worried about the new RNVR Officer’s qualification for seamanship and would have liked to face the storm head-on rather than shipping seas broadside on to them remarking that all these corvette type ships had flat bottoms. When I went off watch what with the ship rolling alarmingly – at times it seemed to hesitate and I wondered if it would go back again, then the stench of the disinfectant, seawater in the mess, broken pots everywhere, mess stove long since out and most of us sea-sick, then Geordie the Assistant Cook shouted down the vent that the Galley fires were also out and that there would be no hot food ---------- a string of oaths were sent in his direction but I suspected that if the others felt anything like I did the last thing they were interested in was food!. I was glad to reach Gillingham after that trip and decided as it was my watch ashore to spend the night in the Salvation Army Hostel in Chatham. As I got off the Liberty Boat and was walking up the road from the landing – the road seemed to be still moving – Apparently I still hadn’t got my sea legs. I stayed the night in a tiny cubicle at a cost of one shilling – the bed was clean and comfortable but I was disturbed about 3am – police accompanied by witnesses looking for a sailor who had allegedly stabbed a marine in a local pub. Suddenly the door flew open, covers were pulled off my face, a torch shone in my face. “Is that him?” someone asked. “No” and off they trooped next door and I was off to sleep again.

Volunteers required for Regulating Branch

Back on board next day and much rested after my night ashore. The sea was much calmer but the smell of disinfectant was everywhere. It was about this time that I happened to see an AFO (Admiralty Fleet Order) that had originated many months previously asking all regular policemen serving in the Navy, provided they had completed six months service at sea, to volunteer for transfer to the Regulating Branch of the Service where they were urgently required. I put my application in but the Captain said that now [that] I was a qualified gunner I was urgently required on board the “Walnut”. He also handed me my Silver Minesweeping/Anti Submarine badge, awarded for six months service on a seagoing minesweeper!.

HMS ‘Pine’ torpedoed and sunk on convoy duty

More convoys, mainly uneventful apart from the odd storm, and then tragedy for one of our flotilla, the minesweeper ‘Pine’. We were in company with ‘Pine’ when we got the alarm during the night when we were almost on the last lap to Portsmouth. ‘Action Stations’ the usual star shell, tracers and very loud bangs and flashes. Then there were a couple of terrific flashes and it was rumoured that two small tankers in the convoy had vanished in them, more flashes and the ‘Pine’ was hit and blown clean in half by a torpedo – the stern half remained afloat – the rest had just disappeared. A few survivors, including two officers, were eventually fished out of the water and shortly afterwards they went back on board to try and salvage the stern half of their ship. They managed to get it taken in tow but a couple of hours later it also sank without warning and the survivors had to swim for it once again! The culprits had been “E” [Note 9] boats on a pitch dark night lying in wait in the swept channel with their engines switched off. We had regularly been laid alongside the ‘Pine’ in harbour and we knew most of those lost fairly well so it came as a great shock to all of us.