Authors: Murdo Morrison
Arriving in Oban he had found the town crowded with merchant seaman. Rumors, always rife, were made more intense by the tight security and discreet bustle of activity.
Mail was being held back. Looking at the build-up of ships and men Donald thought that it had to be something to do with talk of an imminent invasion into northern Europe. If that were true, then the experience might match or surpass his Archangel run.
But with the prickly anxiety in his gut came excitement.
If he survived, he thought, it would be something to tell his grandchildren. Thinking of grandchildren brought May back to mind. Donald shrugged off the pain that came with her memory. He was determined to have a future, and he had long since realized that there could have been none that included May.
The days that followed were busy ones. When he joined his new ship it quickly became clear that this was to be no ordinary assignment. There were but a handful of crewmembers.
The
Vera Radcliffe
was ordinary enough, an old workhorse of about 5,000 tons dating back to the twenties. That she had seen hard use was evident. It was also clear that she would never hold another cargo with all the cement ballast that was being placed in her. The word came to make ready for sea. They sailed south into the Irish Sea and, rounding Land’s End, headed into the English Channel. Under way they had at last been informed of their purpose. Rigged with explosives, the ship was to be scuttled along with over seventy other tired merchant vessels to form a breakwater off the Normandy beaches.
They berthed for a time at Poole with the skeleton crew confined to ship. From the deck Donald looked out over an English Channel filled with ships. Countless aircraft dotted the sky. The invasion was a reality at last. Donald felt a chill of excitement run through his body. The enormity of the enterprise they were embarked upon was staggering, the risk enormous.
There was the whole war in the balance, he thought, every last chip thrown on the table.
Donald had orders to remain ready for departure at short notice but a new dawn found the ship still at Poole.
The final details of their role were revealed in a short briefing near noon. Marker buoys had been placed off the Normandy shore earlier that morning. They were to proceed to their assigned position and scuttle the ship using the explosives that had been carefully placed in her bottom. One by one, each subsequent freighter overlapping the one before, the ships would form a breakwater to create an artificial harbor for the landing of vital supplies
The order to get underway came in the late afternoon. They worked their way out into the open Channel before heading south towards La Manche and the beaches of Normandy. Two mornings ago the largest invasion force in history had stormed this shore at great cost.
From Utah and Omaha beaches in the west to Juno and Sword in the east the issue was still very much in contention. Getting additional troops and materiel ashore was essential before the expected German counterattack.
From several directions came huge caissons pulled by tugs. Countless block ships headed for the Normandy coast. Some would arrive near the American landing areas, others further east in support of the British and Canadian forces. The
Vera Radcliffe
was headed for Juno beach where two days before the Canadian Third Division had come ashore and taken hold with stubborn determination. She was to be scuttled off the town of Courseulles sur Mer, selected as the center point of Juno beach.
Donald was tending the engine with the same care he always applied to machinery he was responsible for. He felt a pang of regret at playing a part in the destruction of a ship, even one that had seen better days. In a short time this living, breathing machine would be cold and inundated with seawater. For a man who had spent his working life building or caring for ships it was a hard thing to endure, no matter how necessary for the invasion.
The
Vera Radcliffe
approached the marker buoy and slowed to a halt. When the FINISHED WITH ENGINE rang on the telegraph, Donald quickly responded. He turned to his assistant. “Quick now, let’s shut her down. We don’t want tae be anywhere near here when those charges go off.”
They carried out the necessary tasks with practiced hands. Donald called up to the bridge to let them know.
“Aye son,” came the response. “Then ye better get yer arses oot o’ there.”
Donald gestured to his assistant to go ahead. He took a last look around the engine room before following him up the ladder. The knowledge of a bomb buried in the ship had made the familiar environs of the engine room a place to avoid.
Donald climbed on to the last ladder with a sense of relief. His assistant was already through the hatch that led to the deck. Donald was about to follow when a loud, rumbling detonation emanated from the bowels of the ship. He felt himself lifted bodily and propelled forward through the hatch. Donald winced as his arm connected with its heavy frame.
He crashed heavily onto the deck.
Donald came around after a few moments to see his assistant’s scared face staring at him. He was elbowed aside by an older man who placed his head near Donald’s.
“Are ye aw right son?” he asked. Donald tried to get up but the man restrained him. “You’re no’ gaun onywhere in that state. Yer erm is broken and who knows whit else besides. You stay doon until we can get something tae pit ye on.”
A stretcher was found onto which they carefully lifted Donald. He scarcely knew the men who were helping him. Donald had joined this ship just days before, and yet they were handling him with great care and concern. A younger man joined them and introduced himself as Alec.
“Ah know a wee bit o’ first aid,” he said. “If it’s awright wi you ah think we should try tae brace that arm o’ yours.” Seeing Donald nod his assent he got to work.
“Listen, son,” the older man said. “We were supposed tae get picked up by a destroyer but there’s nae sign o’ it. Jimmie’s gaun tae see if they can get wan o’ thae landing craft tae gie us a lift oot o’ here.”
Donald nodded and winced as he tried to shift to a more comfortable position.
“Steady on noo, son,” the man said. “Let Alec help ye.” He turned in response to a loud yell. “It looks like Jimmie’s found us a way oot o’ here. Alec, grab a haud o’ the other end o’ this.”
They picked up the stretcher and worked their way over to the side of the ship where Jimmie was having a loud conversation with someone below.
Without looking at them he carried on talking to the helmsman of the landing craft, inserting an explanation for them in softer tones. “GIE’S A CHANCE MATE, WE HAVE AN INJURED MAN HERE….he says he’ll take us off but he has tae go tae the beach….WE’RE COMING DOWN NOW….ah didnae want tae take a chance on him no’ coming back so ah said we wid go with him now…..STAND BY DOWN THERE TAE HELP US WITH THE INJURED MAN…so get a move on before he changes his mind.”
The older man turned tae Donald. “It sounds like the man is in a hurry. We’ll
have tae get ye doon the ladder under yer own steam. Dae ye think ye can manage it?”
Donald nodded and asked “Whit’s your name?”
The older man looked impatient for a moment then smiled. “Aye, we havnae been properly introduced, have we? Wullie’s mah name and if ye don’t get a move on we’re both gaun tae be stuck here for a while. Ah’ll let Alec go first tae steady ye and ah’ll come on behind. Jimmie, you grab a haud of that stretcher. We’ll need it when we get doon there.”
They worked their way slowly down the ladder trying to ignore the impatient suggestions that drifted up from the helmsman. As Wullie dropped onto the deck the helmsman spun the wheel and powered the landing craft away from the ship. They took a course parallel to the line of scuttled vessels before turning shoreward through a gap into the harbor they had created.
As they approached the shoreline, Wullie asked the helmsman, “Dae ye have any idea how we’re daeing?”
The man appeared irritated and Wullie thought his question was to be ignored or receive a sharp response.
“We don’t get much information,” the man finally replied, his voice tense, his eyes looking straight ahead. “What I do know,” he continued, “is that they got ashore and pushed inland fairly quickly in the beginning. Now I hear they are up against some stiff resistance from the Germans. Don’t worry,” he said, turning briefly to look at Wullie, “you should be safe enough where we’re going.”
Closer to the beach the sounds of the struggle inland came to them sporadically through the winds that scurried up and down the shore. The pulled into a temporary pier and Wullie marveled at the speed of the unloading. Everywhere was frenzied activity and bustle. The waters inside the artificial breakwaters were alive with vessels bringing supplies or returning. In no time it seemed they were heading back to the line of scuttled ships.
The helmsman steered the landing craft through the gap in the breakwater and headed for a destroyer.
“I raised your destroyer on the RT. They’ll pick you up and give your friend some medical attention.”
The man seemed more relaxed now, appearing happy to be getting rid of them. Wullie thanked him and crouched down beside Donald to give him the good news.
“We’ll soon get ye fixed up, son. It’ll no’ be lang.”
In minutes they came up alongside the destroyer. In no time, the navy men had lowered a sling for the stretcher, strapped Donald in and raised him to the deck. As soon as Wullie and the others were on the ladder, the helmsman swung his craft away without a backward glance.
“That’s a man that disnae waste a minute,” Wullie muttered, lowering the arm he had raised to wave his thanks.
Their stay on the destroyer was short. Donald and his crewmates were soon transferred to a supply ship bound for Poole. When they disembarked, Wullie accompanied him to the hospital.
“Ah’ll just wait and make sure ye’re awright, son,” he told Donald.
Wullie found a seat in the dingy waiting room and promptly fell asleep, slumped against the wall. He was bone-tired from the events of the last few days. Wullie fell into a deep, dream-ridden sleep until awakened by a nurse. He sat up, embarrassed to be caught unawares by the prim looking girl who was casting an unsympathetic glare in his direction.
Ah must look a right sight tae her
, he thought, conscious of his grimy work clothes that smelled of oil and grease.
“Are you the man waiting to hear about the young sailor?” she asked.
“Aye, how is he?”
“Well, he’s awake from the anesthesia,” she replied. “He’ll be all right,” she quickly added, seeing the question forming on his lips. “But he will be laid up for a while. He’s asking for you. You can go in and see him, but just for a few minutes,” she cautioned.
Wullie thanked her and followed her into the room where Donald lay on a hospital bed. He pulled the solitary chair up beside Donald and sat down.
“The nurse says ye’re gaun tae be awright, son,” Wullie said.
Donald was still groggy and the words came slowly. “So ye were right then, it was more than my arm?”
“Aye,” Wullie agreed, “But they havnae telt me much. Ah’m lucky the nurse let me in here. But ye’re gaun tae be awright, that’s the main thing. Wid ye like me tae let anybody know?” Wullie asked.
Donald knew that his mother had received no word from him in a long time. “Aye, wid ye?”
“Nae bother at aw, son,” Wullie told him.
“Could ye send word tae ma mother?” Donald asked. “I’ll give ye the address and some money.”
But Wullie would have none of it. And so Bessie received a third telegram telling her that her son was safe and no longer in the war.
Chapter 13
Hearts and Hurts
Maryhill, 1941
Pearl’s relief at escaping from her violent father was soon replaced with a deep and relentless sadness.
Why
, she wondered,
had she been cursed with such a family?
It was beyond her understanding. She thought of Jimmie and the love she felt for him. What should have been her happiest moment had been transformed into an aching misery over the loss of her family. It did not help to realize that the loss was inevitable, born in the long years of her father’s mistreatment.
She lay awake that first night under Mary’s protection, replaying the chaotic scenes of her departure in her mind. The early dawn light woke her, only moments it seemed, since falling into a restless sleep. Pearl stirred, fighting her reluctance to get up. Remembering it was Sunday, she sank back to her pillow. She lay there for a moment before rising again. There’s no point lying here endlessly reliving the fight with my father, she thought.