Hazardous duties, HMS Vesper and greenhorns
I got on very well with a chap from Class 276 at Royal Arthur named Farr. As a means of remaining together we decided to volunteer for ‘hazardous duties’ that had been advertised on a notice board at Chatham. It’s common practice in the Royal Navy never to volunteer for anything but I can always say that it never affected me on the few times I did volunteer for anything.
Following up the ‘hazardous duties’ we were accepted after a strict medical and sent on a month’s course using various equipment we had not encountered during training. A week’s course on handguns was also covered, with a special course concerning revolvers. We went swimming twice daily with special attention be made to underwater swimming and intensive physical training with Navy and Marine Commandos. Also, we were informed that it was compulsory to do three months in general service, so in late November 1943 I was drafted to HMS Vesper (a first world war V & W destroyer¹).
After initially heading to the far north of Scotland to pick her up I was stopped at Edinburgh railway station and told to proceed instead to Liverpool. I returned via Newcastle to see my Mam for a night and then continued on to Liverpool’s Gladstone Dock.
The ship was in dry dock undergoing extensive repairs and a boiler clean. What a bloody mess with everything filthy, and heavy duty electrical cables strewn everywhere with welding lamps ten-a-penny - no such thing as health and safety regulations and the dockyard workers thieving everything (such as tea, coffee, sugar) – everything had to be locked away. The ship was also bloody freezing with no heating of any description. The few of us on board were in digs, most of the others sent on leave. I would not have been missed if I had stopped at home for a week! As regards the war effort I had my eyes opened for 13 miserable days and the attitude between the sailors and the workman was deplorable with trust completely missing, they could have been the enemy.
This episode coloured my attitude regarding shipyard workers, even after the war I worked in a shipyard in Wallsend for a short period of time and they were exactly the same; lazy, thieving sods!
We eventually moved out on my first convoy in late December 1943. We picked up more ships off the Clyde and proceeded to St Johns, Newfoundland. Once in the Atlantic we were on the outer screen (starboard) but saw very little of the convoy due to atrocious weather. The waves were 60-70 feet tall and there was a very low cloud base day after day. I was not affected by seasickness but suffered from terrible headaches for the first three days and I was soaking wet all the time. Towels were worn around the neck and after the watch removed, wrung out and put back on damp for the next watch. Waves constantly crashed over the fo'c's'le and bridge. I attempted to gain some shelter behind the radar cabinet.
The mess deck was bloody wet all the time; the only dry place was in the hammock but after three days that’s wet through as well (Dear Mother – sell the pig and buy me out). Drains in the mess were choked with bread and all sorts of flotsam and we lived down a tube that took in tremendous amounts of water so the mess deck was continually awash. Meals during the convoy consisted in the main of dry tack biscuits and kye² or tea. It was a pleasure to leave in February 1944 on my recall for ‘hazardous duties’.
During this trip and others very little signalling was carried out except when leaving or entering ports. One of the few signals I made at sea was a challenge on HMS Biter, a Woolworth-class aircraft carrier which joined one of our convoys but I doubt very much if any planes took off considering the state of the sea as she was bucking right, left and centre.
On the Vesper it was customary to take a five-minute break (with the permission of the officer on watch) in the WT office one deck below the bridge for kye. Both telegraphists were keeping listening watches with buckets between their knees and after five minutes I was back on the bridge due to the smell of vomit in the office. Dealing with waves coming over the bridge and the wind howling was preferable to staying in the WT office.
I always considered that keeping your mind occupied seemed to help in many cases instead of dwelling on the subject of sickness – but then again it did not bother me unduly.
Being a greenhorn and novice on your first ship is one hell of an experience. No instructions or guidance is offered in training or even on the ship, your shipmates assume you know the ropes.
First task is to find a place for your hammock and in most messes they are fully occupied but in my case I eventually found a spot that seemed satisfactory, the fellow in the next berth stating it was free. It was okay whilst in port but at sea it was useless as it had a steel locker on one side and my hip took all the motion of the ship and sea. It wasn’t too bad for the first three days but when we got into the Atlantic proper and the full buffeting of the seas my hip took the constant action and when I was called for the morning watch at 0340, I dropped out of my hammock and collapsed as my leg was completely numb with the constant thumping against the locker. It took an hour to recuperate, which meant I was not very popular with being late on watch, which was considered a crime. This incident had to happen before I was allowed to move, but my new berth position wasn’t much better.
The conditions on board were atrocious. The communication mess was in the waist of the ship, virtually a tube that stood proud of the deck by about a foot to prevent sea water going down it. But it was no use as the water that piled on board the waist was at leas 36 inches deep and one waited for this to subside before opening the hatch and scuttling down the tube before the next wave arrived. This did not work out on many occasions and the sea piled down the tube and all over the fellow on the ladder. At the bottom were two messes, with the ERA (Engine Room Artificers) port side and the communications starboard. The ERAs must have had another exit in their mess as they seldom used the tube at sea. We also had an entrance to our mess internally that was used when bad weather prevailed but of course no one bothered to tell me for a long time.
Both messes had thresholds about nine inches high to prevent seawater flooding them but the designer had not allowed for the Atlantic conditions. With the frequent use of this one exit and the entrance to the communication mess lots of water entered the mess which made conditions extremely wet. Drainage points in the tube and the messes were often blocked by debris such as bread, socks and general flotsam. Considering all the grub and personnel had to enter through this access it was a miserable existence under the most appalling of conditions.
There was a rota regarding duties in the mess, such as preparing meals, washing up and cleaning the area and this is mostly carried out in the forenoon. Having perused these duties I have often wondered why there was no food poisoning evident on HM ships because the washing up after meals was always a greasy and unhygienic affair. Most of the occupants in the mess weren’t that bothered about hygiene.
Disposing of the dirty dishwater and slops was always a challenge. Handling the fanny (a large oval bucket) up the tube, getting it to the side and then tipping the contents overboard was quite a problem during rough seas.
Generally the job of a greenhorn, the sea had to be timed to avoid getting the greasy washing up slops back in your lap. At the bottom of the fanny, there was often cutlery and this would also get hoyed overboard to a tinkle, tinkle sound. This is very frowned upon because if two complete sets are lost per day before the voyage is finished the mess will be eating with its fingers and what’s more the cutlery has to be renewed and costed against the mess.
Also one could be very embarrassed by this affair because someone hearing the tinkle, tinkle would sing out a well-known rhyme about knife, fork and spoons, calling it to everyone’s attention.
Another embarrassment I encountered when I was a greenhorn was an incident involving a PO who suggested we meet on the four inch gun platform when it was dark and it would be worth 14 days leave. I was not with it on this occasion and happened to mention it in the mess and the funny looks from half-a-dozen blokes finally broke the ice and the penny dropped.
This was my second experience of encountering a homosexual person and it goes to show how naïve the average 18 year old was in 1943, as compared to the present youngster who is probably five years ahead of the game on a 1943 recruit – such is life.
Seasickness is an awful experience for those who suffered from it, and to understand what it entails is difficult to describe. In a naval mess after about 12 hours of rough weather, the vomit is all over the place and to cap it all generally the cupboards break open and spill their contents onto the deck. This can be flour, boxes of biscuits, red and brown sauce from broken bottles, salt and pepper, rice and other ingredients all in a confused mess. There never seemed to be a storage locker that stood the strain of a heavy sea. This conglomeration of the puke and various goods combined with the dampness and heat in the mess produced a smell that affected the strongest of stomachs. Some individuals passed out altogether and were in a terrible state that even affected their duties. They passed out in the most unusual places such as corridors and companionways causing enormous problems.
Expanding somewhat on the conditions aboard these V & W destroyers is worth a few lines, as it is never portrayed truly in the many naval books I have read.
Constructed of steel sheets and rivets, these destroyers were built during the Great War (1914-18), completed their task and were mothballed until the second world war and then re-commissioned. Their names all began with either a V or a W – hence mine was the Vesper. They filled a very important gap when there was a shortage and did a valiant job. To live on them was very uncomfortable indeed, it was all trial and error as very little information was ever shared about what to expect or how to do things. A typical example that I lived through was the lee and weather sides of a ship.
Leaving Liverpool on my first convoy the weather was rather roughish and we proceeded north to pick up the main convoy off Iceland with the weather deteriorating day by day.
As a greenhorn I experienced severe headaches but no seasickness thankfully. After three days I was shipshape but many men who had been on her months were suffering very bad seasickness. After clearing the top of Scotland we ran into very heavy seas and I learned about lee and weather sides on a ship in a storm.
From Liverpool, I had always used the same route starboard to get onto the bridge. When it is moderate it’s difficult but possible without mishap, but when the waves reach about 40 feet high a lot of water comes on board a destroyer and surges around the obstacles it never crosses your mind there may be an easier way and no bugger bothers to tell you.
Clad in lots of clothing, duffle coat and oilskins, heavy leather sea boots, it is very difficult to climb a 30-foot ladder whilst being constantly battered and buffeted by high waves. Clawing my way up the ladder I eventually poked my head above the deck level of the bridge. The man I was to relieve saw me and exclaimed - “Jesus Christ Almighty – try the other side next time!” Needless to say I was absolutely sodden through and had to face four hours like that in near freezing conditions. Not that the other side is much better but there is a difference and when one picks up the practice of putting a towel around your neck to avoid a thousand gallons of freezing seawater hitting your privates, you learn pretty fast. However, once your gear is wet it’s damp for 17 days while you’re out there because there’s no priority for drying for greenhorns – all the best drying spots are always taken.
The process of going up the ladder is something else to learn. Timing the waves, judging the position and angle of the ship, the necessity to wrap your arms right around the ladder, clamping it with the crook of your elbow as just holding the uprights isn’t sufficient as the sea will tear your grip away and you will have had it. Don’t relax when reaching the bridge decking thinking you are safe either, that’s the top of the safety list as the final wave is a few yards away waiting to pluck you off. My arms ached for days and were badly bruised for half the voyage due to the clamping action required to climb those ladders.
Once on the bridge, life is just the beginning, to hear that the weather is worsening and it was true that waves of 60 to 70 feet were recorded on my first convoy. January 1944 is down in naval history as the worst weather month of the year – a great baptism of fire. Water was everywhere, companionways, mess decks, and it was difficult to move or stand on the bridge with the wind and waves sweeping all before them. A destroyer appears to cut through the top of the wave instead of riding over it like a corvette. The shudder of the meeting plus the levelling off and then the rushing screw is something to experience and the sliding and wallowing into the next sea valley. One often thinks – “we’ll never make it! Where’s the kye!!”
Following up the ‘hazardous duties’ we were accepted after a strict medical and sent on a month’s course using various equipment we had not encountered during training. A week’s course on handguns was also covered, with a special course concerning revolvers. We went swimming twice daily with special attention be made to underwater swimming and intensive physical training with Navy and Marine Commandos. Also, we were informed that it was compulsory to do three months in general service, so in late November 1943 I was drafted to HMS Vesper (a first world war V & W destroyer¹).
After initially heading to the far north of Scotland to pick her up I was stopped at Edinburgh railway station and told to proceed instead to Liverpool. I returned via Newcastle to see my Mam for a night and then continued on to Liverpool’s Gladstone Dock.
The ship was in dry dock undergoing extensive repairs and a boiler clean. What a bloody mess with everything filthy, and heavy duty electrical cables strewn everywhere with welding lamps ten-a-penny - no such thing as health and safety regulations and the dockyard workers thieving everything (such as tea, coffee, sugar) – everything had to be locked away. The ship was also bloody freezing with no heating of any description. The few of us on board were in digs, most of the others sent on leave. I would not have been missed if I had stopped at home for a week! As regards the war effort I had my eyes opened for 13 miserable days and the attitude between the sailors and the workman was deplorable with trust completely missing, they could have been the enemy.
This episode coloured my attitude regarding shipyard workers, even after the war I worked in a shipyard in Wallsend for a short period of time and they were exactly the same; lazy, thieving sods!
We eventually moved out on my first convoy in late December 1943. We picked up more ships off the Clyde and proceeded to St Johns, Newfoundland. Once in the Atlantic we were on the outer screen (starboard) but saw very little of the convoy due to atrocious weather. The waves were 60-70 feet tall and there was a very low cloud base day after day. I was not affected by seasickness but suffered from terrible headaches for the first three days and I was soaking wet all the time. Towels were worn around the neck and after the watch removed, wrung out and put back on damp for the next watch. Waves constantly crashed over the fo'c's'le and bridge. I attempted to gain some shelter behind the radar cabinet.
The mess deck was bloody wet all the time; the only dry place was in the hammock but after three days that’s wet through as well (Dear Mother – sell the pig and buy me out). Drains in the mess were choked with bread and all sorts of flotsam and we lived down a tube that took in tremendous amounts of water so the mess deck was continually awash. Meals during the convoy consisted in the main of dry tack biscuits and kye² or tea. It was a pleasure to leave in February 1944 on my recall for ‘hazardous duties’.
During this trip and others very little signalling was carried out except when leaving or entering ports. One of the few signals I made at sea was a challenge on HMS Biter, a Woolworth-class aircraft carrier which joined one of our convoys but I doubt very much if any planes took off considering the state of the sea as she was bucking right, left and centre.
On the Vesper it was customary to take a five-minute break (with the permission of the officer on watch) in the WT office one deck below the bridge for kye. Both telegraphists were keeping listening watches with buckets between their knees and after five minutes I was back on the bridge due to the smell of vomit in the office. Dealing with waves coming over the bridge and the wind howling was preferable to staying in the WT office.
I always considered that keeping your mind occupied seemed to help in many cases instead of dwelling on the subject of sickness – but then again it did not bother me unduly.
Being a greenhorn and novice on your first ship is one hell of an experience. No instructions or guidance is offered in training or even on the ship, your shipmates assume you know the ropes.
First task is to find a place for your hammock and in most messes they are fully occupied but in my case I eventually found a spot that seemed satisfactory, the fellow in the next berth stating it was free. It was okay whilst in port but at sea it was useless as it had a steel locker on one side and my hip took all the motion of the ship and sea. It wasn’t too bad for the first three days but when we got into the Atlantic proper and the full buffeting of the seas my hip took the constant action and when I was called for the morning watch at 0340, I dropped out of my hammock and collapsed as my leg was completely numb with the constant thumping against the locker. It took an hour to recuperate, which meant I was not very popular with being late on watch, which was considered a crime. This incident had to happen before I was allowed to move, but my new berth position wasn’t much better.
The conditions on board were atrocious. The communication mess was in the waist of the ship, virtually a tube that stood proud of the deck by about a foot to prevent sea water going down it. But it was no use as the water that piled on board the waist was at leas 36 inches deep and one waited for this to subside before opening the hatch and scuttling down the tube before the next wave arrived. This did not work out on many occasions and the sea piled down the tube and all over the fellow on the ladder. At the bottom were two messes, with the ERA (Engine Room Artificers) port side and the communications starboard. The ERAs must have had another exit in their mess as they seldom used the tube at sea. We also had an entrance to our mess internally that was used when bad weather prevailed but of course no one bothered to tell me for a long time.
Both messes had thresholds about nine inches high to prevent seawater flooding them but the designer had not allowed for the Atlantic conditions. With the frequent use of this one exit and the entrance to the communication mess lots of water entered the mess which made conditions extremely wet. Drainage points in the tube and the messes were often blocked by debris such as bread, socks and general flotsam. Considering all the grub and personnel had to enter through this access it was a miserable existence under the most appalling of conditions.
There was a rota regarding duties in the mess, such as preparing meals, washing up and cleaning the area and this is mostly carried out in the forenoon. Having perused these duties I have often wondered why there was no food poisoning evident on HM ships because the washing up after meals was always a greasy and unhygienic affair. Most of the occupants in the mess weren’t that bothered about hygiene.
Disposing of the dirty dishwater and slops was always a challenge. Handling the fanny (a large oval bucket) up the tube, getting it to the side and then tipping the contents overboard was quite a problem during rough seas.
Generally the job of a greenhorn, the sea had to be timed to avoid getting the greasy washing up slops back in your lap. At the bottom of the fanny, there was often cutlery and this would also get hoyed overboard to a tinkle, tinkle sound. This is very frowned upon because if two complete sets are lost per day before the voyage is finished the mess will be eating with its fingers and what’s more the cutlery has to be renewed and costed against the mess.
Also one could be very embarrassed by this affair because someone hearing the tinkle, tinkle would sing out a well-known rhyme about knife, fork and spoons, calling it to everyone’s attention.
Another embarrassment I encountered when I was a greenhorn was an incident involving a PO who suggested we meet on the four inch gun platform when it was dark and it would be worth 14 days leave. I was not with it on this occasion and happened to mention it in the mess and the funny looks from half-a-dozen blokes finally broke the ice and the penny dropped.
This was my second experience of encountering a homosexual person and it goes to show how naïve the average 18 year old was in 1943, as compared to the present youngster who is probably five years ahead of the game on a 1943 recruit – such is life.
Seasickness is an awful experience for those who suffered from it, and to understand what it entails is difficult to describe. In a naval mess after about 12 hours of rough weather, the vomit is all over the place and to cap it all generally the cupboards break open and spill their contents onto the deck. This can be flour, boxes of biscuits, red and brown sauce from broken bottles, salt and pepper, rice and other ingredients all in a confused mess. There never seemed to be a storage locker that stood the strain of a heavy sea. This conglomeration of the puke and various goods combined with the dampness and heat in the mess produced a smell that affected the strongest of stomachs. Some individuals passed out altogether and were in a terrible state that even affected their duties. They passed out in the most unusual places such as corridors and companionways causing enormous problems.
Expanding somewhat on the conditions aboard these V & W destroyers is worth a few lines, as it is never portrayed truly in the many naval books I have read.
Constructed of steel sheets and rivets, these destroyers were built during the Great War (1914-18), completed their task and were mothballed until the second world war and then re-commissioned. Their names all began with either a V or a W – hence mine was the Vesper. They filled a very important gap when there was a shortage and did a valiant job. To live on them was very uncomfortable indeed, it was all trial and error as very little information was ever shared about what to expect or how to do things. A typical example that I lived through was the lee and weather sides of a ship.
Leaving Liverpool on my first convoy the weather was rather roughish and we proceeded north to pick up the main convoy off Iceland with the weather deteriorating day by day.
As a greenhorn I experienced severe headaches but no seasickness thankfully. After three days I was shipshape but many men who had been on her months were suffering very bad seasickness. After clearing the top of Scotland we ran into very heavy seas and I learned about lee and weather sides on a ship in a storm.
From Liverpool, I had always used the same route starboard to get onto the bridge. When it is moderate it’s difficult but possible without mishap, but when the waves reach about 40 feet high a lot of water comes on board a destroyer and surges around the obstacles it never crosses your mind there may be an easier way and no bugger bothers to tell you.
Clad in lots of clothing, duffle coat and oilskins, heavy leather sea boots, it is very difficult to climb a 30-foot ladder whilst being constantly battered and buffeted by high waves. Clawing my way up the ladder I eventually poked my head above the deck level of the bridge. The man I was to relieve saw me and exclaimed - “Jesus Christ Almighty – try the other side next time!” Needless to say I was absolutely sodden through and had to face four hours like that in near freezing conditions. Not that the other side is much better but there is a difference and when one picks up the practice of putting a towel around your neck to avoid a thousand gallons of freezing seawater hitting your privates, you learn pretty fast. However, once your gear is wet it’s damp for 17 days while you’re out there because there’s no priority for drying for greenhorns – all the best drying spots are always taken.
The process of going up the ladder is something else to learn. Timing the waves, judging the position and angle of the ship, the necessity to wrap your arms right around the ladder, clamping it with the crook of your elbow as just holding the uprights isn’t sufficient as the sea will tear your grip away and you will have had it. Don’t relax when reaching the bridge decking thinking you are safe either, that’s the top of the safety list as the final wave is a few yards away waiting to pluck you off. My arms ached for days and were badly bruised for half the voyage due to the clamping action required to climb those ladders.
Once on the bridge, life is just the beginning, to hear that the weather is worsening and it was true that waves of 60 to 70 feet were recorded on my first convoy. January 1944 is down in naval history as the worst weather month of the year – a great baptism of fire. Water was everywhere, companionways, mess decks, and it was difficult to move or stand on the bridge with the wind and waves sweeping all before them. A destroyer appears to cut through the top of the wave instead of riding over it like a corvette. The shudder of the meeting plus the levelling off and then the rushing screw is something to experience and the sliding and wallowing into the next sea valley. One often thinks – “we’ll never make it! Where’s the kye!!”
¹ V & W was the naming system, all ships names either began with a V or a W.
² Naval slang name for cocoa.
² Naval slang name for cocoa.