A dead Canadian, crap food and a dud mine
We were told to report at 2000 hours that night and were transported to Pompey docks to board a ship to Arromanches with the first batch of Wrens going to the invasion area. It was a very pleasant crossing and we had a good tale to tell – heroes one and all!
We went alongside the piers in the Mulberry harbour, said cheerio to the Wrens and were transported to a Marine encampment on Sword Beach in preparation for a boat to the Stevenstone – this didn’t arrive for four days. So, in the meantime we were shown a shallow hole with a bell tent over it that had a series of air vents in it ranging in size from saucer size downwards. Asking the Marine Sergeant about the ventilation he skirted the question and suggested we collect shovels and clean the hole out to a depth of at least four feet. During the process of enlarging the hole we came across the body of a Canadian soldier!
It now transpired that German six-inch guns were shelling the camp from Le Havre – shrapnel from explosions having caused the ventilation in the tent. They opened up that night but thankfully they passed harmlessly (for us) onto another location.
The biggest shock (even more than the shelling!) was the quality (or lack of) the food – it was absolutely atrocious! How the Marines either put up with it, or survived on it I’ll never know. The tea was ghastly, it was the equivalent of wet smoke and they should have thrown the cooks in the bloody sea.
The crew of the Stevenstone had to make room and provision for the Capt ‘D’ Staff and it is quite difficult to make room on a hard pressed destroyer and one is not met with open arms and considered interlopers really. It was a very industrious ship, and the crew whilst off duty undertook a great range of hobbies. It seemed every possible craft or hobby was taking place on board.
Our job was far from interesting. We were formed into a quadrant, with the Stevenstone in the centre and four fleet trawlers on each side. Only two attempted attacks involving explosive boats trying to run the blockade happened – both of which failed. The biggest trouble was RAF planes coming back after sweeps over France (and there were a lot of them) would empty their guns in close proximity to the ships. In fact, a number of them were inclined to think we were the enemy because we were close to enemy occupied territory and at times were warned off them with our guns which kind of complicated the issue somewhat.
Most of the time we swung around the hook and one exciting moment was when a sea mine came floating towards us. It was reported to the duty officer whilst well out, but the currents out there are five to six knots and the bloody thing was on top of us by the time the necessary staff had reached the bridge. No time to crowd the anchor and lift it, she had to be let go completely – hook and chain altogether. (A sighting was taken in order to retrieve the anchor at a later time).
The mine was now sliding down the starboard side of the ship. Lower decks were cleared except for essential personnel, and the mine eventually cleared the ship.
All I can say is that it must have been a dud as it bumped and scrapped its way aft. A few shots were expended on it to no avail and it was left to go on its merry way. Next day a diver was obtained to recover the anchor and chain.
My time on the Stevenstone lasted about six or seven weeks and then I was on my way back to Pompey and the Barons Estate, followed by 14 days leave with my old gear instead of being a spivvy sailor thanks to the light-fingered git.
It must be said that the person to suffer the most mental anguish with reference to my service was my mother – she was especially bad during the invasion. Mother was alone in Gateshead, my father was working in Rugby and my two elder sisters were in the WAAF¹. I was given to understand that she was a mass of nerves, and constantly hurried from our house to Charnwood’s shop about a quarter mile away repeatedly without a break. Not even the postcards from the invasion area helped to alleviate the stress involved for those at home. As least I had good companions I could talk to and die with. My mother carried the burden totally alone. Dearest of mothers, your blessings brought me through it.
We went alongside the piers in the Mulberry harbour, said cheerio to the Wrens and were transported to a Marine encampment on Sword Beach in preparation for a boat to the Stevenstone – this didn’t arrive for four days. So, in the meantime we were shown a shallow hole with a bell tent over it that had a series of air vents in it ranging in size from saucer size downwards. Asking the Marine Sergeant about the ventilation he skirted the question and suggested we collect shovels and clean the hole out to a depth of at least four feet. During the process of enlarging the hole we came across the body of a Canadian soldier!
It now transpired that German six-inch guns were shelling the camp from Le Havre – shrapnel from explosions having caused the ventilation in the tent. They opened up that night but thankfully they passed harmlessly (for us) onto another location.
The biggest shock (even more than the shelling!) was the quality (or lack of) the food – it was absolutely atrocious! How the Marines either put up with it, or survived on it I’ll never know. The tea was ghastly, it was the equivalent of wet smoke and they should have thrown the cooks in the bloody sea.
The crew of the Stevenstone had to make room and provision for the Capt ‘D’ Staff and it is quite difficult to make room on a hard pressed destroyer and one is not met with open arms and considered interlopers really. It was a very industrious ship, and the crew whilst off duty undertook a great range of hobbies. It seemed every possible craft or hobby was taking place on board.
Our job was far from interesting. We were formed into a quadrant, with the Stevenstone in the centre and four fleet trawlers on each side. Only two attempted attacks involving explosive boats trying to run the blockade happened – both of which failed. The biggest trouble was RAF planes coming back after sweeps over France (and there were a lot of them) would empty their guns in close proximity to the ships. In fact, a number of them were inclined to think we were the enemy because we were close to enemy occupied territory and at times were warned off them with our guns which kind of complicated the issue somewhat.
Most of the time we swung around the hook and one exciting moment was when a sea mine came floating towards us. It was reported to the duty officer whilst well out, but the currents out there are five to six knots and the bloody thing was on top of us by the time the necessary staff had reached the bridge. No time to crowd the anchor and lift it, she had to be let go completely – hook and chain altogether. (A sighting was taken in order to retrieve the anchor at a later time).
The mine was now sliding down the starboard side of the ship. Lower decks were cleared except for essential personnel, and the mine eventually cleared the ship.
All I can say is that it must have been a dud as it bumped and scrapped its way aft. A few shots were expended on it to no avail and it was left to go on its merry way. Next day a diver was obtained to recover the anchor and chain.
My time on the Stevenstone lasted about six or seven weeks and then I was on my way back to Pompey and the Barons Estate, followed by 14 days leave with my old gear instead of being a spivvy sailor thanks to the light-fingered git.
It must be said that the person to suffer the most mental anguish with reference to my service was my mother – she was especially bad during the invasion. Mother was alone in Gateshead, my father was working in Rugby and my two elder sisters were in the WAAF¹. I was given to understand that she was a mass of nerves, and constantly hurried from our house to Charnwood’s shop about a quarter mile away repeatedly without a break. Not even the postcards from the invasion area helped to alleviate the stress involved for those at home. As least I had good companions I could talk to and die with. My mother carried the burden totally alone. Dearest of mothers, your blessings brought me through it.
¹ Women’s Auxiliary Air Force.