A NAVAL OFFICER'S WAR

When our course ended, we all went off to various jobs; some to barracks as divisional officers, some to sea. To our dismay, the three of us who had done best in the course were put in charge of the next group of entries. This however, turned out to be better than it looked at first; we became noticed and, after the next thirteen-week period was over, we were appointed first lieutenants of new corvettes. This was little short of outrageous; keen as we were, we were hopelessly untrained for such a job. But again, it was the best that could be done.

My ship was HMCS Pictou, completing her construction at the Davie Shipbuilding yard at Lauzon, Québec. She was to be my home and my main concern for two years. Off I went to Québec City to live at the Chateau Frontenac and to cross over every morning to Lauzon to acquaint myself with all the intricacies of a ship of war, including ship organization, a subject mysteriously omitted from our training course.

Much has been written about the role of the corvette in the Battle of the Atlantic. It was initially designed from the trawler pattern in Britain as the Flower-class. My knowledge of flowers (rather sparse as a young man) was enhanced by operating with these ships, of which Clover, Crocus, Dianthus, Polyanthus, Nasturtium, Spikenard, Mayflower and Windflower, were the most memorable. The corvettes were 950 tons displacement, 205 feet overall, 33 foot beam and 13 foot draft. Their range was 4,000 miles at 12 knots on 200 tons of fuel, with a maximum speed of about 16 knots. The total complement at the start of the war was about fifty officers and men. But with new weaponry and equipment being added along with personnel to man them, the number soon increased to over seventy-five.

They were great little ships, all 122 of them, built in Canada, manned by Canadians and named after Canadian cities and towns. But enemy U-boats had the advantage of speed and superior training; it was clear to me from the moment of joining, that the gap between the high production of ships on the one hand, and the lack of trained personnel on the other, was at that stage practically unbridgeable.

The captain joined shortly before we left for Halifax. He was a gruff old salt of about forty-two who had spent all his life in the merchant service. Very early it became apparent that he drank, privately as well as publicly. It also became clear that, having learned over a lifetime in the merchant service to keep his ship out of trouble, it was going to be difficult for him to adopt the naval objective, which is to get the ship into trouble: "Naval ships must be handled recklessly." A stimulating injunction; but the court martial was always lying in wait if you took it too literally.

Our voyage to Halifax was memorable only for the entirely new experience of being at sea for the first time, and in a responsible position. We all formed impressions of each other, in my case of the captain and also of the coxswain. He was the senior rating on board, an important personality, responsible to the first lieutenant (myself) for the organization, discipline and management of the lower deck. We naturally saw a great deal of each other and shared, without a word being said, a feeling of apprehension over our captain.

This uneasiness intensified on the voyage to Halifax. When the ship entered the Gulf of St. Lawrence, intermittent fog developed. The captain rang down "slow," but there was traffic about and he became desperately nervous, leaving the bridge periodically to visit his cabin to fortify himself. At one point, the blue sky being visible through the murk, in a feeble attempt to ease the tension I said, "Nice and clear up above, sir," which brought the crushing rejoinder, "Unfortunately we're not going in that direction." He was a dear "old" fellow, straight out of Conrad, and I liked him. But we were into a serious business and I knew he was not up to it. However, I was determined to support and cover him.

On arrival in Halifax we lay alongside for two weeks, taking on provisions and ammunition, testing equipment with the aid of dockyard specialists, embarking many more ratings (we came down from Québec short-handed). We also had gunnery practice and ASDIC exercises with an RN submarine and another corvette. During the testing of our equipment, I had reported to the dockyard that our ship's boats were quite unserviceable, as they were leaking through all the seams and should be replaced immediately. No response from the dockyard after two weeks. The exercise involved transferring the ASDIC staff officer from our ship to another corvette. We told him we would get wet but he dismissed the warning. The boat swamped and there was a row. But our case was clear and, within twenty-four hours, we had two new boats!

Finally we were ready and our sailing orders were received. This was the moment we had been waiting and working for. Along with one other corvette we were to escort an armed merchant cruiser (AMC) to the UK, being relieved in the Western Approaches by an RN group. We were a good ship's company, keen, hopelessly untrained but anxious to do our best. The officers were appointed to the various specialist functions: gunnery, signals, navigation and ASDIC. The Red, White and Blue Watches were organized-four hours on, eight hours off.

Kitty had come down to Halifax with the children and had been in our later house in Shirley Street since my course ended. It was now time for her to see us off and go home. After another tender goodbye, we were suddenly through the narrows and out into a stiff northeasterly. I was quite seasick, for several days. This was before motion sickness remedies of any sort had appeared and the majority of the crew were affected, one or two seriously and chronically. Over the years as a yachtsman, I have largely overcome this affliction with the help of seasickness remedies, but I still feel queasy for the first thirty-six hours, particularly going straight out into heavy weather. Well, at least I could count Lord Nelson as a fellow sufferer!

We made a rendezvous off Chebucto Head with the other corvette, Buctouche, and the AMC. The speed was set at 12 knots. We were hard put to it to keep up, bearing in mind that some zig-zag was necessary. Buctouche was senior to us and we were under her orders. After about eight days, when we were nearing the Western Approaches and about 150 miles from our rendezvous with the RN relief group, the ASDIC operator reported a strong contact which he classified as submarine. I was on watch at the time and called the captain at once, sounded the action stations bell, and headed for the contact. It was a gripping moment for our raw crew, the first taste of action, and it showed on all our faces. The captain properly made a signal to Buctouche, "Am investigating contact" and took over the handling of the ship. He was as white as a sheet. We were at full speed and the "pinging" of the ASDIC with the clear echoes from the contact was increasingly loud and clear.

Suddenly, as we were getting close and the frequency of the echoes was increasing, the captain said "Break it off." I and the other officers on the bridge were astounded; we couldn't believe it. The order to stand by depth charges had been given and we were seconds away from the attack. I went over to him and said in a low voice, "Sir, please reconsider; we cannot back off right in the face of the presumed enemy." He roared at me. "Do what you're bloody well told, number one, at once." So the order was given, and he disappeared below.

Two of the officers came over to me and suggested I should put the captain under arrest. I told them I was sorely tempted, but this would be a very extreme measure, only justifiable on having a clear-cut case. This we did not have; the cardinal principle was the protection and safety of the convoy (in this case the single ship, the AMC). And while we might have our own private views, it was not for us to judge what had been the captain's motive. So we hastened to rejoin.

On return to Halifax, I discussed the incident with a senior, experienced RCN officer who said we had done the only thing possible. The odds are always, and rightly, in favour of authority; an airtight case is needed for disobedience of a clear command. Nelson may have put the telescope to his blind eye in ignoring a flag hoist by his superior, but he himself was an admiral, and his tactic in doing so was brilliantly successful.

Alongside in Halifax after an uneventful western passage, our captain reported sick and left the ship. I was both glad and sorry; relieved that a situation which was clearly unworkable had been dealt with, and sad to see him to with, undoubtedly, a sense of failure. I genuinely liked him and was fascinated by his stories of the sea, tramping to every corner of the oceans and describing in salty language his experiences and his judgements of men and occasions. He was tired of the sea before he even began his life in the wartime navy. When I asked him what he was going to do in civilian life when the war was over, he said, "I'm going to put an oar over my shoulder and walk inland until someone says, 'What's that?' and there I'll settle down for the rest of my days."

A new captain was almost immediately appointed. This one was entirely different. He also was from the merchant service, tall, good-looking, decisive, an attractive personality and a fine seaman with good power of command. But something was missing; we all thought he was not quite straightforward. Moreover, he had a girlfriend in Halifax and did not wish to go to sea, an attitude which he made clear not only to me, but also, more seriously, to the warrant engineer, who he encouraged to find defects which would delay sailing. This high-class warrant officer came close to requesting a transfer to another ship, but I dissuaded him. The officers, myself included, had confidence in the new captain as a professional. This confidence was underlined when we saw his ship handling capability.

We left after a few days in an escort group of the Mid Ocean Escort Force to join an eastbound convoy departing Halifax from Bedford Basin. This is one of the world's great harbours. I shall remember always that huge place in wartime, crammed to the corners with shipping, the masters coming to the dockyard for the convoy conferences, presided over with great authority and élan by the impressive Capt. Dick Oland. And the ships themselves in line ahead, all forty-five of them, moving up the narrow channel past Turk's Head into Halifax harbour and out between the gate vessels which controlled the anti-submarine boom defence, leaving MacNab's Island to port and into the dark Atlantic. And I remember too, thinking of the immense organization which had gone into the collecting of the goods inside all those ships from all over Canada, the loading, the sailing, the order of departure, the positioning of each ship within the convoy and the detailed instructions issued to each master.

During our voyage, the first in actual convoy duty, we learned a lot: station keeping, zig-zag procedures, the critical essentiality of good watchkeep-ing, the total darkening of ship after sunset, the smooth changing of the watches and the wearing at all times of proper clothing, especially the towel around the neck against heavy spray; once the water got in, it was misery for hours. We also intercepted and deciphered many signals to other convoys and ships which gave us more than an inkling of the ferocity of the U-boat war.

The Admiralty had developed early in the war, a method of fixing the positions of U-boats at sea by taking cross-bearings of their high-frequency wireless transmissions to their base in France. This procedure was called High Frequency Direction Finding ("Huff-Duff"). These messages, while not early in the war actually decipherable, did, in a typically German way, follow regular patterns which were distinguishable, e.g., weather reports, efficiency states, fuel remaining and, above all, sighting reports of convoys. The result was a signal from Admiralty to any threatened convoy escort group informing it that there were a given number of U-boats "in your immediate vicinity which may have sighted you." In the long battle of the laboratories between the two sides, the discovery of a method of taking bearings on high-frequency transmissions, considered until then impossible, was certainly one of the great scientific discoveries of the war at sea, equal almost to the later cracking of the German naval "Enigma" cypher.

Pictou's first convoy also gave us a taste of Atlantic weather, though far from the ultimate experience of midwinter weather which came later. We soon realized that these small ships were hard on personnel ("One hand for the ship-one hand for yourself" was the watchword). I took off nearly twenty pounds in my first couple of voyages. This was partly attributable to the diet and the execrable cooking. Our cook was a blacksmith in civilian life!

Our return voyage took us to St. John's, Nfld. When our group left the Western Ocean Meeting Point (WESTOMP), after many exchanges of friendly signals with our relief group, we proceeded in line ahead to St. John's. I will always remember my first impression of St. John's, coming upon it after twelve days, a tiny entrance through a high rockbound coast, with great suddenness from the tempestuous, limitless expanse of ocean into the very narrow channel, past the imposing height of Signal Hill on the right and, again suddenly, the tiny harbour so calm and peaceful, yet crowded with shipping, mainly naval, and dominated by HMS Forth, a huge depot ship moored in the middle of the harbour. One had the feeling that here was a real focal point of the Atlantic battle. I was charmed, fascinated and stimulated by St. John's in that early stage of the war. As a naval base it was developed from nothing, everything had to be improvised; the dockyard was in its infancy, called upon by the rigours of war to deal with defects and damages to ships well beyond its notional capacity. Everybody, ashore and afloat, gave the impression of being in the front line.

On arrival, our captain was successful in getting drafted to a shore job in Halifax and we were once again left alongside, waiting for a replacement. This was bad for the ship, but good for me, since I was in total charge. I was examined for my watchkeeping certificate by my friend and RMC classmate, Lt. Debby Piers, and talked endlessly with other "career" officers about organization, custom, handling of ships and men. I developed a quite unwarranted confidence in my ability to take command, faraway as that likelihood then appeared to be.

As it turned out, the timing was surprisingly different. We had been alongside for over a week, which had seemed like a month, when one morning a signal arrived from the Commodore Commanding Newfoundland Force, requiring the first lieutenant to attend on him at 1400 that afternoon. This was Cmdre. Leonard Warren Murray, a distinguished RCN officer who was shortly after promoted to Rear Admiral, and his appointment upgraded to Flag Officer Newfoundland Force (FONF).

This summons was unusual. All the escort ships were under the command of a senior officer known as Captain D (for destroyers). Captain D Nfld. was Capt. Rollo Mainguy, a top-class officer of great personality, who was responsible for the efficiency, training and fighting capability of all the anti-U-boat ships in the Newfoundland command. So I wondered why my summons had come from the Commodore, but I was on my mettle when I reported promptly and was ushered into the presence by his secretary.

The Commodore, very quiet-spoken but direct, motioned me to a seat, asked me about my background and questioned me in some detail about the state of morale in the ship, bearing in mind the experience of having had two commanding officers come and go within only a few weeks. I reported favourably but added how keen we all were to get going and have some battle experience. In retrospect I thought his eyes lighted up at this statement, and he talked for several minutes about keenness and offensive spirit being the two essential ingredients of not only an efficient, but a happy ship. Finally he said: "Well, Griffin, my main purpose in having you come and see me today was to tell you that while the difficulties in finding suitable commanding officers are, as you know, prodigious, your ship has top priority. But you may have to wait another week or two at least. So keep up the good work and remember, my thoughts are with you."

At this, on a wild impulse, I looked him in the eye and said, "Sir, let me take her." He swung around in his chair and looked out over the harbour for what seemed like minutes; then swung back and said, even more gently, but with great emphasis, "By jove, I will." Then quickly added: "I'm taking a big chance on you and you must not let me down." I could only answer, "Sir, I will do my best." We shook hands and I left.

The signal notifying Captain D and other shore establishments of my appointment as in (temporary) command arrived in the ship shortly afterwards and I was happy to receive congratulations from the wardroom officers and from the coxswain on behalf of the petty officers' mess. This was a great moment for me. I knew this appointment had little to do with merit but only reflected the desperate shortage of qualified candidates from the merchant service. It would now be strictly up to me to vindicate the confidence which had been placed in me. I was conscious of my inexperience; RCNVR officers who obtained command even years later went through command courses and had served for two years or more at sea in hard learning conditions.

Almost immediately a signal arrived: "Being in all respects ready for sea, you are to sail at 1800/19 and proceed at best economical speed to the Straits of Belle Isle, conducting a two day anti-submarine patrol in the area of your discretion. You are then to return to St. John's signalling your ETA not less than six hours ahead."

This of course, was only-and deliberately-a "shakedown" cruise. But I was profoundly grateful for it since it enabled me to establish myself as captain, issue standing orders and work with my new first lieutenant, a mate RCNR who was also navigator.

I soon realized that, first-class navigator and good shipmate though he was, he was not up to the job of first lieutenant. He was not at all a naval type, had no feeling for the navy, and was scornful of naval discipline.

HMCS PICTOU, January 1942. Not the best quality photo, but nevertheless, one that clearly shows her early-war appearance with short fo'c'sle.

Lt. Tony Griffin RCNVR on the bridge of HMCS PICTOU, First Convoy, early 1941.

episode 1

(Originally Published in Vol VII, No. 7, Sping 1999 Issue of Starshell)