Authors: Murdo Morrison
He looked down at the men standing by the hawsers then turned to the captain to report the ship ready to sail. The captain acknowledged by replying, “When you are ready, Mr. Leonard.”
The first officer nodded to the pilot. Relaying the pilot’s commands, Hugh watched as the ship’s bows slowly swung out, edging away from the riverside berth where they had been moored for a faster departure. Engines at SLOW AHEAD, the
Izmir
moved out into the channel, gaining the few knots of headway she needed for steerage. Even in the confined space of the upper Clyde, a ship the size of the
Izmir
could make its way down river without the aid of tugs.
Donald McIntyre had found a quiet spot on the deck from which he could discreetly watch his native city pass by. He felt a wave of apprehension pass through him. The ship approached the Renfrew ferry. Hugh pulled the handle on the steam whistle, as much in greeting and farewell as in warning. The captain of the ferry came out to wave. Donald watched the ferry slip astern. Although he could not see it, his house was so close by that he felt a shiver of loss and regret. He imagined his mother bustling around their little room and kitchen, forceful and determined even in such simple acts as putting on the kettle. Once more he faced the realization that he might never return home or see this city again.
Donald had sailed down this river many times in peacetime. Happy times, when the family would take a day trip to Dunoon or maybe Rothesay.
It was the ordinary everydayness of these landmarks that made his passage back to the war seem all the more disturbing and unsettling. When he reached John Brown’s yard, its slipways filled with ships in all stages of construction, he could stand it no longer and went below.
When the ship tied up at Greenock, the shipyard workers, who had worked like demons to secure the last bolts on the gun mountings and pack their tools, rushed down the gangplank as soon as it hit the dock. While Mr. Leonard set about the task of getting the stores and ammunition on board, Donald was learning about additional responsibilities he would assume when not on engine room duty.
The convoy rescue ships were a recent development born of the bitter experience gained in the early months of the war. The convoy escorts, few in number compared with the need, and strained to the limit, had little time or opportunity to stop for survivors as they tried to locate and destroy attacking U-boats. When they did pick up survivors they were ill equipped to treat the often horribly injured and exhausted men.
When the
Izmir
had undergone modification at Barclay and Curle at the end of the previous year, her passenger spaces had been converted into a small surgical theater and hospital. Ships selected for conversion were of a size and configuration that allowed faster recovery of survivors. At first, some were equipped with booms and nets to scoop up men in the water. It soon became clear that even a short exposure to the cold waters of the Atlantic, or the worse conditions in Arctic waters, left men physically unable to hang on to ropes. Suffering from hypothermia, many would slip beneath the surface within an arm’s length of rescue. The best answer was to get to the men and pull them from the frigid water as quickly as possible. For that, the
Izmir
was equipped with a motorized rescue launch.
Donald’s engine and boat-handling skills made him a natural choice to take charge of the rescue launch’s engine. He viewed his new assignment with a fair amount of apprehension. True, it was an important responsibility and he was anxious to help save seamen like himself from a certain and unpleasant death. Yet, he also knew that it was one thing to maneuver a small craft like the launch in a quiet harbor and quite another in the middle of a convoy defending itself against attack in filthy weather.
Before his first watch in the engine room, Tom Wilkinson had shown him around. Donald was glad for the opportunity to see the layout with an experienced man. He knew from experience that every engine was different and had its own little ways and quirks. The
Izmir
, like many of the ships he had sailed in, had a triple expansion steam engine, a type he was very familiar with. During his watch he would be responsible for the many routine tasks of maintenance that were required to keep a complex engine like this running smoothly as well as oversee the boiler room hands. He had to be alert to deal with any changes in speed rung down from the bridge.
On the bridge, the captain and Hugh Leonard were watching the last of the supplies coming aboard. McAllister, having received word from Hugh to keep steam up and make sure the ship was ready to leave at a minute’s notice, was driving his engine room hands to distraction, making them check and recheck everything he could think of. The
Izmir
would sail for Iceland in the company of HMS
Primrose
, a Flower Class corvette that would become part of the escort force on the convoy they were to join, and another rescue ship, the
Strathcairn
.
Under special orders for a fast departure, they would be allowed to proceed immediately through the Clyde Defense Boom, a line of buoys supporting anti-submarine nets that protected the anchorages of the Upper Clyde. The gangways were put ashore, the lines were cast off and the
Izmir
moved off to join the
Primrose
and her sister rescue ship. The
Izmir
took up position astern of the corvette, with the
Strathcairn
taking up the rear. They headed for the exit of the boom, guarded by a tug. Following an exchange of signals the tug slowly opened the net and they passed through into the open Firth of Clyde.
As he prepared for his first watch, Donald felt his gut churn with that same old apprehension that now seemed to be a constant companion every time he went to sea in wartime. He thought back to his first wartime passage and the old chief engineer, Duncan McPhail, with nearly twenty-five years in engine rooms. He had taken the young man under his wing, as he had a whole generation of young engineers. McPhail, noticing his pale, drawn expression, had said, “It’s normal tae be scared son.”
Donald was mortified to think his fear was that obvious.
“Listen, ye wid be some kind o’ stookie no’ tae be. Ye know whit real bravery is? It’s goin’ doon there and daeing yer job, like I know ye will, even though ye
are
scared.”
Donald nodded. The older man’s words had let him know that others felt the same anxiety even if they didn’t want to admit it.
Donald climbed down the ladders that took him well below the water line into the hot, noisy spaces of the
Izmir
’s engine room. He knew that he would be too busy to give his fears much thought. Even in peacetime, an engine room was no place to be distracted. There were plenty of ways to get hurt or die, never mind the Germans. So far he had been lucky, he thought. He remembered a recent leave when he had run into an old friend in Argyle Street.
On seeing him, the man had started and looked shocked.
“Whit’s the matter wi’ ye, man?” Donald had asked. “Ye look like ye’ve seen a ghost.”
“Ah think ah have,” the other man replied. “Weren’t you on the
Empire Tiger
?”
“So I was,” said Donald, “but I didnae like her so I left her.”
“When was that?”
“Back in December. I just had a bad feeling aboot that ship. I didnae like the way she handled the seas. Why, what about it?” Donald demanded.
His friend looked at him a moment. “She was lost in February. She was out of Halifax heading for the Clyde.
Late at night they sent out a distress call saying that the ship was badly down by the head in heavy weather about 300 miles south of Iceland. Then, a while after that, they sent a message saying all of the boats were washed away. That’s the last anyone ever heard from her.”
Those poor sods
, Donald thought. So his instinct had been right about her. Lost on her next trip. If he hadn’t left her when he did he would be on the bottom of the Atlantic along with them. Even with boats they would have stood little chance in the North Atlantic in February.
He had been lucky that time. But how long could his luck hold? The
Empire Tiger
had shown what every sailor knows, that the sea is a dangerous place before you add in the U-boats and bombers. But torpedoes greatly increased the vulnerability of the engineers. Donald knew that if one struck anywhere near the engine room they would have virtually no chance of surviving. If the blast didn’t kill them outright, there would be broken steam lines and hot, heavy equipment tossed around in confined spaces. Donald had seen an engineer killed once when he walked into a super heated steam leak. It was totally invisible and completely lethal. He never knew what hit him. And even if you survived all of those dangerous possibilities, it was a very long climb to the deck and the open air. It was no surprise that engineers and stokers were among the heaviest casualties when ships went down.
Up on the bridge, Captain Llewelyn had his own worries. He was discussing their voyage with Mr. Leonard and the second officer, Allan Ballantyne, a newcomer to the
Izmir,
who had joined them only three weeks before.
Well, he will get an education on this trip
, thought Llewelyn. They were rounding the Mull of Kintyre and heading into the North Channel. From there, their passage would take them through the Minch and round the Isle of Lewis before heading west of the Faeroes to their destination at Hvalfiordur in Iceland.
“We need to get everyone back on their toes,” urged the captain. “Keep a close eye on things tonight, both of you. Make sure the watches run smoothly.” Llewelyn looked up at the moon. It would be full in four days, just after the convoy was scheduled to sail on the 27
th
. In Glasgow, the night before, it had illuminated the city like a great light bulb hanging in the sky. It hardly mattered. At this time of year in Glasgow, sunset was late and sunrise early. It would only get worse as they went further north. After Iceland, in the Arctic waters on the way to Russia, they wouldn’t be able to count on darkness at all.
The
Izmir
raced along at full speed in company with
HMS Primrose
and
Strathcairn
.
On paper she was capable of twelve, maybe thirteen knots. McAllister and his engine room crew were intent on getting her best performance yet. Amid the heat and deafening noise, Donald McIntyre, in a way that would seem strange to the outsider, felt completely at home. He had sole responsibility for this great monster of an engine, which despite its size was a machine built to fine tolerances. The rhythmic pounding of the pistons was comforting, like the heartbeat of a mother to her baby. And there was the smell, that aroma of hot metal, steam and oil that was like perfume to the true engineer. Donald knew full well that this engine was a harsh mistress who demanded every moment of his attention. At least the level of concentration required made his watch go quickly.
Hugh went around the different departments of the ship, giving an encouraging word here, a suggestion there, assessing the state of readiness and making his presence felt. A good officer, he felt, managed with a light hand but knew how to be firm when needed. Although most of the crew had been together as shipmates long enough to have worn down the rough edges, it didn’t hurt to make his expectations known after their recent inactivity ashore. Besides, the crew knew that only the best of them would last on Richard Llewelyn’s ship. Out of respect rather than fear they strove to meet his high standards.
The refit had resulted in new equipment and new departments. Hugh visited the radio room. The
Izmir
had become one of the first rescue ships to be fitted with high frequency/direction finding radio equipment, commonly called huff-duff by the seamen. This gave the
Izmir
the capacity to get a fairly precise fix on an enemy signal and locate the source when compared with bearings obtained by similarly equipped ships. To operate the HF/DF, the
Izmir
had taken on three new radio operators who were highly trained in its use. Hugh found Chief Radio Officer Colin Wilson intent on checking the set and introduced himself. Colin acknowledged Hugh’s presence without letting his attention stray from his equipment. After a few minutes of disjointed conversation, Hugh left, thinking,
well, he seems to know what he is doing
. He went aft to visit the new gun crews.
The
Izmir
had acquired a veritable arsenal of weaponry. Most merchant ships were lucky to have an antique four-pounder. In addition to the Bofors gun, the shipyard had installed machine guns, four Oerlikons, and even something called ‘pig-trough’ rocket launchers. The guns were manned by naval personnel. They had swarmed over their new equipment as soon as they got on board, checking their installation and making sure they were ready for action. Finally, satisfied that the ship was a ready as she could be, Hugh went to his cabin for some well-earned rest.
Despite their apprehension, the voyage proved to be uneventful. Captain Llewelyn was grateful for the opportunity presented to ready his ship and crew for the rigors ahead. He had been pleased by the first officer’s report. Once they joined the convoy and moved into Arctic waters they would be tested to their limits. Every man would need to meet the challenge without hesitation or uncertainty. Rounding Lewis they entered the rougher waters of the North Atlantic, where some of the seamen found they had to recover their sea legs.