HMS Rodney opens up on Caen, encounters with sea mines and F-Rations
When Rodney fired her 16” guns on Caen¹ about 12 miles inland we had a busy time taking the VIPs to the party. The shells were over a ton in weight so it’s no surprise that with a thousand bomber raid backed up by the capital ships that a great number of French civilians perished in that city.
We also had casualties, but it was damage to ears. We were informed to tie up alongside Rodney, away from the gangway but we were not warned that the guns were going to open fire. Luckily the Skipper was on the Rodney and the crew were below on “Stand easy”. I had the watch on the bridge and when the 16” guns fired I took the force of the blast concussion and was carted below unconscious with severe ear damage.
I was fairly useless from deafness in both ears and one was discharging blood from a perforated eardrum. For a long period messages that are normally given orally had to be written down by the officers for my convenience to avoid confusion.
A short while later, around a week or so, we were tied up behind a destroyer as we preferred not to use our hook and departed about 0400 to prepare for laying smoke. Having cast off we eased away well clear and then surged the engines to full power. This exploded a sea mine in the vicinity off our starboard beam. Everybody was taken unawares but was not too bad with the boat keeled well over to port, which the Skipper estimated at 47 degrees.
The first explosion detonated another mine on our port quarter that felled everybody on the bridge. I must have been facing aft as I fell on a casket that contained six hand grenades, severely injuring my chest. Once again I was carted below, a bottom bunk was commandeered, as normally my abode was a hammock. With very little improvement after a few days, arrangements were made for me to visit the cruiser HMS Scylla. I saw a host of doctors and a specialist Sir Edward Something-or-other (don’t recall surname) but according to his jacket on the chair back he was a commander. He was a Scot and I was informed by one of the many doctors present that in Civvy Street it would have cost me 25 guineas to see him. My chest was a mass of black, blue, orange and diffused red, all interwoven in a truly horrendous fashion on my chest
X-rays were taken and a very good examination took place with Sir Edward and three other doctors with a host of hangers on all in white coats. During the process he had to repeat quite a few instructions and ask what was wrong with my hearing. I told him about the incident with the Rodney and he said:
“You’re in the right place; all the people here are doctors and we are looking for something to do. When I am finished they will look into your ear problem.”
This was so and in the process special sound equipment was used together with a big selection of tuning forks some the largest I had ever seen.
He called me in the afternoon and gave his verdict. My sternum had been compressed in the chest and I was extremely lucky, a shade more and it would have been curtains. The ears were in poor state and would probably recover in nine months with care. He was writing a letter to Haslar Hospital, Gosport, for further examinations as he was returning me to Haslar Creek forthwith. The general impression given was that I was suffering from exhaustion and in very poor health. “What do you think of that, as there will be sick leave?” He sat back waiting for my thanks and reaction.
I said thanks, but declined the offer, as I could not accept it, as that would only leave one sig. on board. He said orders are to be obeyed; “Your chest is in a dreadful state, coloured like a sunset gone mad. You are on a small ship and as such every movement of the boat will be agony. You state yourself you can’t climb a ladder. How will you get in and out of the mess? There will be a relief in time.” That I said was virtually impossible only a week before we had scoured Gold Area for Bulolo asking for sigs and coders but to no avail. I must have put a good case up as he said:
“I will give you a week back on board and I bet you’ll be begging to be returned to base!”
I was collected after nine hours on board Scylla and when the Skipper asked me about it I could not remember the word sternum. So he sent Jimmy on board for the information. He came back with a copy of the letter to Haslar Hospital and we had a heart-to-heart in his cabin over a beer. He said he appreciated my aims but did not think it very wise but agreed to put me up in the cabin of the wheelhouse that had a bunk for the navigator. This bunk had only been used once on the eve of D-Day. Carpenter brought up my grub, but at least I was close to the bridge.
It was impossible to climb a ladder and get out of the mess deck, so initially I was hiked up on a seaman’s shoulders, my arms could not support my weight owing to the tension on my chest. This was the reason for me residing in the wheelhouse.
The going was pretty rough. I had utmost difficulty to hold up a 6” Aldis lamp at the most for five minutes, so used the 4” instead. The 4 on, 4 off watches had been revised after the great storm on the 19th June and night watches were cancelled with the telegraphist standing in as much as possible and the RT sets helped which gave the sigs. a break.
The coxswain, being the right old navy type, did not like the messing about with watches and the Skipper had to convince him that signalmen were not running his ship. But it was sensible as after the first three weeks traffic was extremely light during the night, for us anyway.
After a week, an improvement was evident and Sir Edward was correct in thinking the sea movement might be a weird form of physio but a very painful kind. The bruising lasted a long time. The ears were causing trouble and were a constant source of agony in many respects. Hygiene was difficult under the conditions and the hearing was slow to recover. Here ends the hero’s epistle – the VC is in the post!!!!!
We also had casualties, but it was damage to ears. We were informed to tie up alongside Rodney, away from the gangway but we were not warned that the guns were going to open fire. Luckily the Skipper was on the Rodney and the crew were below on “Stand easy”. I had the watch on the bridge and when the 16” guns fired I took the force of the blast concussion and was carted below unconscious with severe ear damage.
I was fairly useless from deafness in both ears and one was discharging blood from a perforated eardrum. For a long period messages that are normally given orally had to be written down by the officers for my convenience to avoid confusion.
A short while later, around a week or so, we were tied up behind a destroyer as we preferred not to use our hook and departed about 0400 to prepare for laying smoke. Having cast off we eased away well clear and then surged the engines to full power. This exploded a sea mine in the vicinity off our starboard beam. Everybody was taken unawares but was not too bad with the boat keeled well over to port, which the Skipper estimated at 47 degrees.
The first explosion detonated another mine on our port quarter that felled everybody on the bridge. I must have been facing aft as I fell on a casket that contained six hand grenades, severely injuring my chest. Once again I was carted below, a bottom bunk was commandeered, as normally my abode was a hammock. With very little improvement after a few days, arrangements were made for me to visit the cruiser HMS Scylla. I saw a host of doctors and a specialist Sir Edward Something-or-other (don’t recall surname) but according to his jacket on the chair back he was a commander. He was a Scot and I was informed by one of the many doctors present that in Civvy Street it would have cost me 25 guineas to see him. My chest was a mass of black, blue, orange and diffused red, all interwoven in a truly horrendous fashion on my chest
X-rays were taken and a very good examination took place with Sir Edward and three other doctors with a host of hangers on all in white coats. During the process he had to repeat quite a few instructions and ask what was wrong with my hearing. I told him about the incident with the Rodney and he said:
“You’re in the right place; all the people here are doctors and we are looking for something to do. When I am finished they will look into your ear problem.”
This was so and in the process special sound equipment was used together with a big selection of tuning forks some the largest I had ever seen.
He called me in the afternoon and gave his verdict. My sternum had been compressed in the chest and I was extremely lucky, a shade more and it would have been curtains. The ears were in poor state and would probably recover in nine months with care. He was writing a letter to Haslar Hospital, Gosport, for further examinations as he was returning me to Haslar Creek forthwith. The general impression given was that I was suffering from exhaustion and in very poor health. “What do you think of that, as there will be sick leave?” He sat back waiting for my thanks and reaction.
I said thanks, but declined the offer, as I could not accept it, as that would only leave one sig. on board. He said orders are to be obeyed; “Your chest is in a dreadful state, coloured like a sunset gone mad. You are on a small ship and as such every movement of the boat will be agony. You state yourself you can’t climb a ladder. How will you get in and out of the mess? There will be a relief in time.” That I said was virtually impossible only a week before we had scoured Gold Area for Bulolo asking for sigs and coders but to no avail. I must have put a good case up as he said:
“I will give you a week back on board and I bet you’ll be begging to be returned to base!”
I was collected after nine hours on board Scylla and when the Skipper asked me about it I could not remember the word sternum. So he sent Jimmy on board for the information. He came back with a copy of the letter to Haslar Hospital and we had a heart-to-heart in his cabin over a beer. He said he appreciated my aims but did not think it very wise but agreed to put me up in the cabin of the wheelhouse that had a bunk for the navigator. This bunk had only been used once on the eve of D-Day. Carpenter brought up my grub, but at least I was close to the bridge.
It was impossible to climb a ladder and get out of the mess deck, so initially I was hiked up on a seaman’s shoulders, my arms could not support my weight owing to the tension on my chest. This was the reason for me residing in the wheelhouse.
The going was pretty rough. I had utmost difficulty to hold up a 6” Aldis lamp at the most for five minutes, so used the 4” instead. The 4 on, 4 off watches had been revised after the great storm on the 19th June and night watches were cancelled with the telegraphist standing in as much as possible and the RT sets helped which gave the sigs. a break.
The coxswain, being the right old navy type, did not like the messing about with watches and the Skipper had to convince him that signalmen were not running his ship. But it was sensible as after the first three weeks traffic was extremely light during the night, for us anyway.
After a week, an improvement was evident and Sir Edward was correct in thinking the sea movement might be a weird form of physio but a very painful kind. The bruising lasted a long time. The ears were causing trouble and were a constant source of agony in many respects. Hygiene was difficult under the conditions and the hearing was slow to recover. Here ends the hero’s epistle – the VC is in the post!!!!!
¹ Rodney engaged targets around Caen on June 26 & July 7 1944.