Authors: Murdo Morrison
At Hvalfiordur, they moved up to their anchorage. Llewelyn and Hugh surveyed the bleak scene. Low hills surrounded a wide stretch of water that was already filled with over thirty freighters and navy ships. “What a God-forsaken place this is,” murmured Hugh Leonard half to himself. “That it is,” agreed the captain, “and bleaker still where we are going.”
Hugh noticed a number of the ships flying the Stars and Stripes. “Looks like we will have quite a few Yanks with us this trip,” he observed.
A convoy conference was scheduled for 1pm. Boarding the launch collecting the captains and first officers, they spotted a few familiar faces among the strangers. Among the British accents that ranged from the soft tones of the outer isles to the more clipped tones of the southern English, were the American tongues that always seemed so exaggerated to British ears.
More than language set them apart. The Americans had directness, a self-assurance and less formal style that sometimes grated on the more reserved sensibilities of the British officers.
The conference was held in a recently constructed YMCA hall.
It sat amidst a number of other structures that all looked thrown up in a hurry. The hall was a long prefabricated hut with rows of chairs on either side of an aisle. A long table sat at the far end. Men in navy uniforms were sorting piles of buff envelopes that contained the secret convoy orders and codes for each ship. Sitting near the front were a number of navy men of higher rank who, Leonard assumed, must be the escort commanders and their officers.
“Don’t you think there’s a bit more brass here than usual?” Hugh observed to the captain.
Llewelyn agreed and observed that there was an unusual amount of bustle and tension in the room. The navy men snapped to attention as a senior naval officer accompanied by several subordinates made his way down the aisle. Many of the merchant captains and officers stood up.
A few remained seated. At the head of the room the naval officer turned to face the assembled shipmasters and asked them to be seated. His eyes caught those of a seated merchant captain, who glared back defiantly.
The navy officer was a distinguished looking older man of about sixty, his appearance as crisp and starched as his manner. He introduced himself as, J. C. Sinclair, Admiral Commanding Iceland. He turned the meeting over to the convoy commodore, R.H. Malcolm, RNR who without preliminary pleasantries launched into a detailed explanation of the convoy’s organization. Despite their diffident manner on the entry of the top brass, when it came to the task itself, the captains and officers were serious and attentive, taking detailed notes and listening carefully.
There was to be a close escort, led by Commander R. L. Stevens as well as a distant one. “The close escort,” the commodore assured the group, “will be a strong one.” And it certainly seemed that he was correct about that. The major strength of Stevens’ force would be seven destroyers and two anti-aircraft ships. Added to this would be several anti-submarine trawlers and minesweepers, a corvette and a catapult aircraft merchant or CAM ship which carried a sea Hurricane.
Captain Llewelyn looked at his copy of the cruising order for the convoy, known officially as the Convoy Form A.1. There were to be nine columns of freighters, each column four ships deep. The rescue ships would take up positions at the rear of columns three, five and eight, where they would be in the best position to pick up survivors from ships at the van of the convoy. The convoy would occupy many square miles of the ocean and represent a challenge even for a ‘strong’ escort force. The bulk of the convoy was bound for Archangel, while a smaller contingent would form a separate group headed for Murmansk.
The meeting broke up and the merchant officers hurried back to their ships to make final preparations for their 4 pm departure. In the launch, Hugh asked,
“I wonder what he meant back there?”
“What do you mean?” Llewelyn responded.
“The Rear-Admiral, when he said, ‘You may well be the cause of another general fleet action – perhaps even another Jutland.’” Llewelyn looked surprised, “I missed that. That’s a damn odd thing to say.”
“There’s something they’re not telling us about this convoy, something out of the ordinary, and that makes me a bit uneasy,” Hugh continued. “It might explain all the brass back there and the extra escorts.”
“You may well have a point, Hugh, but we’ll not figure it out until they tell us or something happens.” Just then they arrived at the ship and were both too busy to give the matter much thought. Later, when they were underway, and Hugh had the watch, his mind took up the matter again.
He found it very difficult to put aside his sense of unease.
The ships left Hvalfiordur in single file. As the
Izmir
raised anchor, the captain murmured to Hugh, “Well, here we go again.” Hugh merely nodded. He knew that they would have no peaceful moment and little rest until they reached their destination, if they reached it at all. Outside the anchorage, the ships formed two columns as they worked their way north around Iceland and passed through the Denmark Strait minefields. The air was cool, causing the men on the bridge to stamp their feet.
Hugh knew that they could add discomfort to the other trials of their voyage. Most of the compartments below decks were unheated. In Arctic waters, condensation from sweat and cooking ran down the bulkheads, making it impossible to feel dry.
Hugh was glad for the summer. He had not forgotten the rigors of winter voyages. Above decks the superstructure would be rimed with frost. In heavy seas, ice could accumulate rapidly. That and the snow from the storms threatened to make the ship top heavy and capsize. Then the crew armed with tools and steam hoses would face the hazardous and backbreaking task of chipping off the ice and throwing it overboard.
Their problems began almost right away as fog settled over the convoy.
In the poor visibility, the
Empire Voyager
, a large freighter carrying aircraft to Murmansk, ran aground on rocks, gouging a large hole in her bows. Almost immediately her skipper ordered a distress call sent out.
This early break in radio silence did not sit well with the commodore, who fumed at what he saw as an unnecessary breach of security. As soon as they emerged from the fog bank, signal lamps flashed sending out a flurry of messages reminding the ships’ masters of the need to be more circumspect in the use of their radios. The enemy would find them soon enough without assistance. A closer inspection of the damage revealed that the ship was in no danger of sinking. She turned around and headed back towards Hvalfiordur, barely making four knots. The convoy had lost its first ship.
Only then, as they passed Straumness Point, with the open seas of the Arctic ahead, did they form up into cruising formation and set course for Jan Mayen Island. The close escort force led by Commander R. L. Stevens had set out from Seidisford and would not join the convoy until the following day. For the moment they were under the temporary protection of two minesweepers and four anti-submarine trawlers.
The convoy moved forward through fog banks that descended and dissipated, at times cutting visibility to a few yards. Early the next morning, Hugh Leonard was on the bridge, stamping his feet in a vain attempt to keep out the early chill. He tried to make out the other ships in the dense fog. Several ships were trailing fog buoys, hoping to alert those coming up astern of their presence.
He thanked a seaman for the hot cocoa fresh from the galley and was anxious to derive some warmth from it before it cooled. He had just started to sip it carefully when he heard a great commotion of sirens start from the fog ahead. The muffling of the fog and the number of sounds swelling in all directions made it impossible to tell immediately where danger lay. At that moment the fog began to lift and the scene that met his eyes sent shivers up his spine that exceeded anything the cool air had managed thus far.
The convoy had blundered into a field of thick floating ice. Leonard watched ships maneuver to avoid the floes and each other. His cocoa fell to the deck forgotten as he activated the alarm bells and reached for the voice pipe to the captain’s cabin. The noise had already alerted Llewelyn who shortly thereafter appeared on the bridge.
The fog continued to lessen. Ahead, Hugh saw two ships slowing. Despite the four hundred yard separation set out in the convoy orders, the low visibility had resulted in their bow lookouts failing to see the stern of the ship in front until the very last moment. “Look there,” Llewelyn exclaimed. Hugh swung around just in time to see a large freighter two rows away scrape down the side of the ship in front. The scream of grinding metal came clearly across the intervening water.
Now their attention was drawn back to the
Izmir
as it
began to close the distance on the ship in front. Ships ahead were breaking formation right and left. “Slow ahead, on the double, Mr. Leonard, starboard five degrees,” the captain ordered.
Hugh hurried to comply. Despite the engine room’s prompt response, they continued to close on the other ship.
“Full astern, rudder amidships,” Llewelyn called out.
In the engine room, Mr. Wilkinson, well aware of the urgency of such a telegraphed command, quickly answered and rushed to the main regulator valve. Frantically he spun the wheel to close off the steam pressure and slow the engine.
As the speed dropped off, Tom ordered Donald to stand by the reversing engine. It was critical, he knew, to time this just right to avoid damaging the engine. Tom watched the revolutions come down then pointed to Donald, yelling “NOW!”
As the piston of the reversing engine pushed the valve gear to the astern position, Tom spun the regulator valve open again. The engine hesitated for a moment, locked in place, then reversed direction. Tom breathed a sigh of relief as the pistons picked up speed.
On the bridge, the captain and the first officer relaxed as they felt the ship slow and begin to pull astern. When a safe distance had opened up they ordered the
Izmir
back to slow ahead. Hugh whistled down to the engine room. When Tom answered he said, “Well done down there.” With the risk of collision behind them they now had an opportunity to witness the results. Two freighters had hit floating ice and two others had collided.
Four ships damaged in just a few minutes and they were not even in contact with the enemy yet
, Llewelyn thought. Only the quick action of his crew had avoided a similar fate.
The convoy reassembled. Two ships with severely damaged bows were barely maintaining headway and fell behind the convoy. They were attended by one of the minesweepers that had detached from the escort.
The captain of the
Blair Atholl
was adamant that his ship would have to return to Iceland. The ice had opened up a long gash in her starboard bow. She would be unable to maintain more than a few knots. Her sister casualty, the
Loch Awe
, was in worse shape, her bow crushed backwards for ten feet at the water line, having hit a floe head on at eight knots. She was in no immediate danger of sinking, but with the damage to her bulkheads, this could change at any time. It was clear that neither ship would be able to proceed and would be lucky to make it back to Hvalfiordur. As the minesweeper sped off to catch up with the convoy, the ships received the signal, “Proceed to Iceland and good luck.” No vessel could be spared to escort them.
Later that day the main escort force joined with the convoy. Each ship took up its station in a screen around the merchant ships. Two of the anti-submarine trawlers were sent ahead to guard the port and starboard flanks. Behind the trawlers, the destroyers took up formation around the head and flanks with Commander R. L. Stevens in HMS
Arran
taking the lead. The anti-aircraft ships,
Hengist
and
Alfred
were positioned between the outer columns on either side of the convoy while three minesweepers and HMS
Primrose
took up station behind the rescue ships. Bringing up the rear were the two remaining anti-submarine trawlers.
The merchant captains were happy to see the full escort in position but their relief was short lived. In the middle of the afternoon, a lookout on
Strathcairn
heard an aircraft in a fog bank astern of the convoy. The radar operator on
Hengist
reported a contact closing from the rear. Moments later a large, four-engine Focke-Wulf 200 emerged from the fog. It veered away to circle the convoy out of range of its guns. The enemy had found them.
Chapter 8
No Safe Place
Maryhill, 1941
Ellen sighed and looked at the clock. Still another half hour until she could have a break. Her friend Pearl gave her a friendly poke in the ribs. “It’ll no’ be long now, Ellen. God, ah could use a fag masel’.”
But Ellen wouldn’t be mollified. “Ah canna stand this stupid job, Pearl.”
“It’s no’ that bad,” Pearl replied. "An’ we are daeing something tae help the war effort after all.”
“Ah don’t give a damn about the war effort.” Ellen spat out the words, her mouth twisted into a sneer. “Ah’m fed up tae mah teeth wi’ this bloody war.”
Pearl knew that when Ellen got into one of these moods, it was better not to contradict her. “Are ye gaun tae the dance at the church the night?” she asked, hoping to change the subject.