Beach Parties, a Danish coal bucket and a chance meeting
I received a recall to Chatham with immediate onward draft to “S2” Group¹ in Weymouth with the frigate HMS Kingsmill² (K484) being the HQ Ship. Actually, 12 of us were based in a large house called “Blue House”. “S2” Group appeared to be all communication personnel allocated to various groups, projects and exercises.
My first allocated task was beach parties that meant being landed on various beaches on the south coast, heavily down laden with loads of gear and on two occasions coming close to drowning. All these exercises involved working with Royal Marines in a very close capacity. Either two Marines or sometimes three, the man in charge being a corporal, manned the LCPs (Landing Craft Personnel) that we used. Although both the Marines on our regular boat were truly first class fellows others I met were top trained specialists. I took a great liking to this branch of the service (except for the cooks which comes later). Our mainstay LSI (Landing Ships Infantry) was HMS Empire Lance who took us to the trial landing beaches, off loading us on to our respective LCPs or LCAs (Landing Craft Assault).
The makeup of the beaches is of prime importance. Gravel beaches were disastrous, whilst the consistency of sandy beaches varies immensely. It was often two steps forward, one back, added to this was the weight of various seas on your legs and back and a 50lb load meant that after only six or seven paces your lungs are bursting and the taste of blood in your mouth and throat is evidence of the effort required. It is very difficult to keep in mind the importance of the exercise equipment when no foothold is possible and you’re down on your knees with waves breaking over your shoulders and one’s heart is fit to bust!
Even to this very day a walk on a beach is no longer a pleasure when one understands what truly lies under foot, and the trouble it can cause.
On one exercise I was one of two signalmen allocated to a coal carrier – SS Soborg³ – with a Danish Skipper aboard, who appeared to detest the Royal Navy. When I got aboard I went down to the galley and asked about food.
“No chance!” said the Geordie cook.
Everybody provides their own on coasters and as they had come down from Newcastle to London (to supply a power station up the Thames) with a load of coal, they had been ordered out without obtaining further supplies of food and water.
All that the crew had available was some onions and several loaves. Even water was scarce. I went onto the bridge where the Skipper drew an imaginary line with his foot down the middle of bridge - he would be on one side, us on the other; not a good situation, the Skipper intended to make it an awkward situation.
We sent a couple of signals off about the food situation but received no reply. Very few signals operating so we went on strike, this included undertaking no night watches. Fourth day we flooded Empire Lance with signals and later that day we received a kit bag full of large oval tins of mackerel in tomato sauce and bread that the sailors never order or even eat on a RN ship. I took them down to the cook and he rang a big bell and the crew gathered around. Five sailors had a tin apiece and did they enjoy it – never seen such happy smiles! We were strong favourites following that.
With reference to going on strike, I did mention to the other signalman, Latimer, the penalty for sleeping on watch (according to those boards at Chatham Barracks). The punishment was to be hung in a net from the bowsprit (the boom that sticks out from the front of sailing ships) and supplied with bread and water plus a knife to cut yourself free or starve to death or drown – the choice is yours. Latimer considered it was very thoughtful of the navy.
We left the Soborg next morning after five days without food. Back on board the Empire Lance we had a medical and pronounced fit and well but told to take it easy on the grub. End of exercise; bugger you jack!
What’s more, whilst on the coal barge they opened the hatches to get rid of the coal dust and it blew over us for five days – we were like the black and white minstrels as there was no water for washing. You should have heard the remarks when arriving back at the Empire Lance. “Give us a song then!” etc., etc. There was always umpteen soldiers viewing the spectacle of others boarding or leaving from landing craft – a hazardous operation. Such is life at sea, but this was better than the Atlantic one would say, but not by much. Although the company I was surrounded by – the merchant marine, army, marines and naval forces was the finest experience of my life.
Further exercises were carried out but the culmination of the whole affair was that I was coming back from the Kingsmill one day in April 1944 from the Regulation Office. I saluted an officer and we realised we knew each other; he called me back and said “You’re Geordie, one of the mutineers at Skegness!”. Low and behold he was the midshipman who was with us in training and was now a full officer. He seemed to have considerable pull as he asked me what ship I was on and when I said “Beach Parties” he asked how I liked them. I said I had volunteered so no use complaining. I said it was a bit dicey but I was training with a great bunch of fellows.
“Have you any fancy for anything special?” he asked.
“I’m interested in coastal forces”, I said.
“Ok, I will see what I can do, but you do realise they work close inshore?” he said.
“Fair enough” I replied.
We chatted for about twenty minutes; he told me I was the first “mutineer” he had met since Skeggy. He must have done something because four days later I joined His Majesty’s Motor Launch 303, a small coastal forces boat with a crew of 23 at Weymouth, but it was actually based at HMS Hornet⁴ at Haslar Creek, Portsmouth, where we were holed up quite often.
How lucky can I get!
Two signalmen were allocated on the ML 303⁵, a chap named Ernie Carpenter, a Londoner and also a first class bloke, and myself. The crew worked 4 hours on, 8 hours off except signals who work 4 on and 4 off. On top of this, signals had to wait on the officers, tidying up their quarters and serving them at mealtimes. A job I had little time for but both officers (Captain and 1st Lieutenant) were both first class fellows.
So the signals were very busy with little time to spare. Apart from this we had to keep the bridge clean. I also had a cleaning station – the mess deck flat. This was an area off which the coxswain and motor mechanic had their small cabins on one side and the WT/Sparks had their cabin on the other. The galley lead onto it and it had a ladder that led up to the main deck.
The person in charge of the general ratings was a three-badge leading seaman. Known generally as the “Swain”, the three badges worn on the left arm indicated minimum 22 years’ service and received after 3, 12 and 22 years service. Surmounting the badges was the hook indicating his rank. His right arm carried a badge representing his branch or trade. Our coxswain had been recalled from retirement and was rather a square peg in a round hole. His service had been in the general navy and he was a misfit in Coastal Forces which is much more relaxed, composed of fishermen and weekend sailors before the war.
The Motor Mechanic (Jock) was what we called a ‘mickey mouse’ Petty Officer receiving the rank upon joining the navy due to being a tradesman. Our mechanic was a top notcher and coming from Glasgow was a great mixer that is essential on these small craft. This fellow loved his engines like other people regard a dog and his engine room was a picture to behold. Not any Tom, Dick or Harry was allowed in there, only the Jimmy and signalman and staff had the honour. This was only because I had to show him our movement signals if anybody should have had a gong for meritorious service he was the man.
One of the sigs jobs as we trundled along the Solent was to keep an eye open for the skipper’s house that was set back from the shore about two miles. We kept a white tablecloth on the bridge to acknowledge any sign of life from the house and draw his attention to it if there was. Actually, it was a right pain in the neck and drew quite a number of unfavourable remarks from the crew.
My first allocated task was beach parties that meant being landed on various beaches on the south coast, heavily down laden with loads of gear and on two occasions coming close to drowning. All these exercises involved working with Royal Marines in a very close capacity. Either two Marines or sometimes three, the man in charge being a corporal, manned the LCPs (Landing Craft Personnel) that we used. Although both the Marines on our regular boat were truly first class fellows others I met were top trained specialists. I took a great liking to this branch of the service (except for the cooks which comes later). Our mainstay LSI (Landing Ships Infantry) was HMS Empire Lance who took us to the trial landing beaches, off loading us on to our respective LCPs or LCAs (Landing Craft Assault).
The makeup of the beaches is of prime importance. Gravel beaches were disastrous, whilst the consistency of sandy beaches varies immensely. It was often two steps forward, one back, added to this was the weight of various seas on your legs and back and a 50lb load meant that after only six or seven paces your lungs are bursting and the taste of blood in your mouth and throat is evidence of the effort required. It is very difficult to keep in mind the importance of the exercise equipment when no foothold is possible and you’re down on your knees with waves breaking over your shoulders and one’s heart is fit to bust!
Even to this very day a walk on a beach is no longer a pleasure when one understands what truly lies under foot, and the trouble it can cause.
On one exercise I was one of two signalmen allocated to a coal carrier – SS Soborg³ – with a Danish Skipper aboard, who appeared to detest the Royal Navy. When I got aboard I went down to the galley and asked about food.
“No chance!” said the Geordie cook.
Everybody provides their own on coasters and as they had come down from Newcastle to London (to supply a power station up the Thames) with a load of coal, they had been ordered out without obtaining further supplies of food and water.
All that the crew had available was some onions and several loaves. Even water was scarce. I went onto the bridge where the Skipper drew an imaginary line with his foot down the middle of bridge - he would be on one side, us on the other; not a good situation, the Skipper intended to make it an awkward situation.
We sent a couple of signals off about the food situation but received no reply. Very few signals operating so we went on strike, this included undertaking no night watches. Fourth day we flooded Empire Lance with signals and later that day we received a kit bag full of large oval tins of mackerel in tomato sauce and bread that the sailors never order or even eat on a RN ship. I took them down to the cook and he rang a big bell and the crew gathered around. Five sailors had a tin apiece and did they enjoy it – never seen such happy smiles! We were strong favourites following that.
With reference to going on strike, I did mention to the other signalman, Latimer, the penalty for sleeping on watch (according to those boards at Chatham Barracks). The punishment was to be hung in a net from the bowsprit (the boom that sticks out from the front of sailing ships) and supplied with bread and water plus a knife to cut yourself free or starve to death or drown – the choice is yours. Latimer considered it was very thoughtful of the navy.
We left the Soborg next morning after five days without food. Back on board the Empire Lance we had a medical and pronounced fit and well but told to take it easy on the grub. End of exercise; bugger you jack!
What’s more, whilst on the coal barge they opened the hatches to get rid of the coal dust and it blew over us for five days – we were like the black and white minstrels as there was no water for washing. You should have heard the remarks when arriving back at the Empire Lance. “Give us a song then!” etc., etc. There was always umpteen soldiers viewing the spectacle of others boarding or leaving from landing craft – a hazardous operation. Such is life at sea, but this was better than the Atlantic one would say, but not by much. Although the company I was surrounded by – the merchant marine, army, marines and naval forces was the finest experience of my life.
Further exercises were carried out but the culmination of the whole affair was that I was coming back from the Kingsmill one day in April 1944 from the Regulation Office. I saluted an officer and we realised we knew each other; he called me back and said “You’re Geordie, one of the mutineers at Skegness!”. Low and behold he was the midshipman who was with us in training and was now a full officer. He seemed to have considerable pull as he asked me what ship I was on and when I said “Beach Parties” he asked how I liked them. I said I had volunteered so no use complaining. I said it was a bit dicey but I was training with a great bunch of fellows.
“Have you any fancy for anything special?” he asked.
“I’m interested in coastal forces”, I said.
“Ok, I will see what I can do, but you do realise they work close inshore?” he said.
“Fair enough” I replied.
We chatted for about twenty minutes; he told me I was the first “mutineer” he had met since Skeggy. He must have done something because four days later I joined His Majesty’s Motor Launch 303, a small coastal forces boat with a crew of 23 at Weymouth, but it was actually based at HMS Hornet⁴ at Haslar Creek, Portsmouth, where we were holed up quite often.
How lucky can I get!
Two signalmen were allocated on the ML 303⁵, a chap named Ernie Carpenter, a Londoner and also a first class bloke, and myself. The crew worked 4 hours on, 8 hours off except signals who work 4 on and 4 off. On top of this, signals had to wait on the officers, tidying up their quarters and serving them at mealtimes. A job I had little time for but both officers (Captain and 1st Lieutenant) were both first class fellows.
So the signals were very busy with little time to spare. Apart from this we had to keep the bridge clean. I also had a cleaning station – the mess deck flat. This was an area off which the coxswain and motor mechanic had their small cabins on one side and the WT/Sparks had their cabin on the other. The galley lead onto it and it had a ladder that led up to the main deck.
The person in charge of the general ratings was a three-badge leading seaman. Known generally as the “Swain”, the three badges worn on the left arm indicated minimum 22 years’ service and received after 3, 12 and 22 years service. Surmounting the badges was the hook indicating his rank. His right arm carried a badge representing his branch or trade. Our coxswain had been recalled from retirement and was rather a square peg in a round hole. His service had been in the general navy and he was a misfit in Coastal Forces which is much more relaxed, composed of fishermen and weekend sailors before the war.
The Motor Mechanic (Jock) was what we called a ‘mickey mouse’ Petty Officer receiving the rank upon joining the navy due to being a tradesman. Our mechanic was a top notcher and coming from Glasgow was a great mixer that is essential on these small craft. This fellow loved his engines like other people regard a dog and his engine room was a picture to behold. Not any Tom, Dick or Harry was allowed in there, only the Jimmy and signalman and staff had the honour. This was only because I had to show him our movement signals if anybody should have had a gong for meritorious service he was the man.
One of the sigs jobs as we trundled along the Solent was to keep an eye open for the skipper’s house that was set back from the shore about two miles. We kept a white tablecloth on the bridge to acknowledge any sign of life from the house and draw his attention to it if there was. Actually, it was a right pain in the neck and drew quite a number of unfavourable remarks from the crew.
¹ The “S” related to the beach at Normandy – in this case Sword.
² An Evart Class Destroyer Escort – US pennant DE 280 - lend-lease to the UK on October 29th 1943 and renamed HMS Kingsmill; returned US Navy on August 22nd 1945.
³ Danish-built general cargo ship, 1,993 tons. Built in 1924 by W Gray & Co Ltd, West Hartlepool for CK Hansen, Copenhagen. Requisitioned July 10, 1940, by British Ministry of War Transport (managed by Claymore Shipping Co Ltd). Returned to Denmark (CK Hansen) September 13, 1945. Sold in 1948 and renamed Hamlet. Sold again in 1956 to German owners, and renamed Rugard in 1957. In 1960, sold to Lebanese owners, renamed Agia Trias. After being grounded in the Suez Canal on March 10, 1966, towed back to Suez and anchored. Sank June 26, 1969 (hit by shell fire during hostilities), and presumed to have subsequently been broken up.
⁴ Coastal Forces base at Gosport.
⁵ Fairmile "B" Type. Built by James Miller of St Monance.
² An Evart Class Destroyer Escort – US pennant DE 280 - lend-lease to the UK on October 29th 1943 and renamed HMS Kingsmill; returned US Navy on August 22nd 1945.
³ Danish-built general cargo ship, 1,993 tons. Built in 1924 by W Gray & Co Ltd, West Hartlepool for CK Hansen, Copenhagen. Requisitioned July 10, 1940, by British Ministry of War Transport (managed by Claymore Shipping Co Ltd). Returned to Denmark (CK Hansen) September 13, 1945. Sold in 1948 and renamed Hamlet. Sold again in 1956 to German owners, and renamed Rugard in 1957. In 1960, sold to Lebanese owners, renamed Agia Trias. After being grounded in the Suez Canal on March 10, 1966, towed back to Suez and anchored. Sank June 26, 1969 (hit by shell fire during hostilities), and presumed to have subsequently been broken up.
⁴ Coastal Forces base at Gosport.
⁵ Fairmile "B" Type. Built by James Miller of St Monance.