As our speeds through the water were about the same, at
the most about eleven knots, the Lord Austin, Lord Middleton,
and our own ship Northern Gem, decided to stay in each
other's company for mutual protection, and in line ahead we
made to the north to find the edge of the ice. Since the Gem
was German-built it has crossed my mind on more than one
occasion since then as to whether a U-boat skipper, (and one
must have sighted us at some time during the next four days),
from our shape and our silhouette, the ice-breaker bows, and
the cruiser stern, typical of their own fishing vessels,
might have mistaken us for one of their own units, or did he
think that we were not worth one of his torpedoes, or that we
might eventually lead them to bigger game?
Our two lifeboats were now slung out over the port and
starboard rail respectively, ready for a quick getaway in,
the case of an emergency. Owing to the calm sea, there was
very little rolling movement in the ship, and the boats could
be lowered almost level with the ship's rail. Into each one
we put extra food, clothing, and blankets, water, a couple of
gallon jars of navy rum, rifles and quite a lot of ammunition
for those and some revolvers, last but not least we threw in
one or two tins of 'Tickler's', (Tobacco), fag papers and
packets of cigarettes. All of these items were made secure,
along with the mast, sails and oars, in case there were any
accidents, in the event of us having to make a quick getaway.
We had seen too many upturned boats over the last couple of
years which had lost all their equipment, and we were
determined that this would not happen to our boats. The life
rafts of which we had three were also made ready. Two of
these were on small wooden platforms level with the top of
the galley, and over the deck, as they were laid flat on
these platforms, the lashings holding them were released so
that if the ship were hit and went too quickly for us to get
the boats away, they at least would eventually come to the
surface, to give those who had survived something to get into
if they could. The third raft was a different proposition, as
it was secured almost upright on end to the starboard rigging
of the foremast, by quick release grips. But with a ship the
size of the Gem, the chances of anyone being able to get at
these grips to release it would depend on how quickly the
ship was going under. Of course there was always the problem
that a torpedo hit would leave nothing at all, but that was
one of those horrible thoughts that one tried hard to bury at
the back of one's mind. However, we made all the arrangements
that we could to escape as quickly as would be possible under
all but the worst disaster. Now we had to think of ourselves,
as well as the survivors of other ships that we might have to
pick up, and to save time we made certain that the rescue
nets were hung over the sides of the vessel, ready for this
act of mercy should it arise.
Each man put on extra clothing, for the further north we
went, the colder it was getting. Even though the sea was
calm, there was the odd shower of snow now and again; there
were a few fog banks about for the three trawlers to dodge
into, the temperature of the sea being well below freezing
point even though it was summer in the northern hemisphere. A
swim of much more than two minutes and one would lapse into a
deep sleep of unconsciousness, and inevitable death. Apart
from the clothing, we all made certain that we had our
bicycle inner tubes on, the navy issue life belts, our steel
helmets at the ready; also we had our pockets full of
personal things that we did not want to leave behind. One man
even packed a small pusser's suitcase. This gives an idea of
the feeling that was touching every one of the crew. Old
Frampton, the second engineer, who had been called back to
the service after being pensioned off, and now found himself
in a ship that was hardly pusser's Navy, as he had known it
for most of his early life, now had his pension book and all
of his other private papers, hung around his neck in a
well-used oilskin bag, and underneath the few bits of
clothing that those below could stand to wear in the oily
heat below.
The usual ship's joker, Jack Sullivan, when not on the
Asdic set, was helping everyone along with his wit and
joviality. Never seeming to be down in the dumps, he would
always come up with something to make us laugh when we were
feeling low. On our way to the ice barrier, we saw on odd
occasions a ship in the distance either on fire, or lying
abandoned after being attacked, but due to our slow speed and
small amount of armament, we could do little to help. How we
regretted it, we really did. After all, the three skippers of
our small flotilla had about a hundred and sixty men in their
care, and had their lives to consider, as well as their
ship's. Selfish, probably some would say, but those who did
not go through this awful experience have no idea just what
the feeling of self-preservation was at the time, nor how
awful we ourselves felt, knowing that somewhere out there
were probably men in rafts or boats, maybe wounded, but
definitely in serious trouble as the temperatures were
freezing during the night, even though the sun never sets in
those latitudes at that time of the year. Our hearts went out
to those men but we were in no position to give them more.
When I took a spell at the wheel with Leading Seaman Tim
Coleman, as we carried on at top speed to the north, the
showers of snow came down with more frequency, and we could
see far away in the final spells between these showers, a
thin layer of fog low down on the horizon. I told Tim that I
could smell the ice, and that it wasn't so very far away now.
An hour or so later we were in the ice, thin pancake stuff
at first, and then as we pressed further on into it, we got
amongst the smaller floes, and then the larger and more
dangerous lumps. The skippers had to ease down on the speed
of the ships, for safety's sake, and for hours on end which
seemed endless Tim Coleman and myself stayed in the
wheel-house, taking turns at steering the Gem along,
following the open water and leads through the much larger
and more dangerous lumps of ice. Soon there was plenty of ice
between us and the open sea, and we felt that here at least,
we were reasonably secure and safe, from torpedo attacks,
both by U-boat and torpedo-carrying aircraft, should they
find us. What we would do if the enemy bombers found us was
another matter, as there was no room to manoeuvre amongst the
ice, as there was always the chance of being holed, or even
losing blades off the propeller, which would make us or one
of the other trawlers a lame duck. So we were having to take
extreme care when coming upon the much larger floes and small
bergs that were in our path, and we listened intently to
shouts from the top bridge and the men on the forecastle
head, who were keeping a good look-out from both places.
Our CO, Lieutenant Mullender, now let it be known that we
were making all haste for Novaya Zembla, hoping that no
German ships had arrived there before us. If they had, and it
was thought that escape by sea was impossible, then the three
trawlers would be run ashore on one of these God-forsaken
islands. We would then salvage what we could from them and
try to make our way overland and the sea ice, until we found
a settlement, or until we reached the Russian mainland. Not a
very charming or happy prospect to look forward to, but at
least it would be a great deal better than freezing to death
in open boats, if the enemy gave us the chance to get away in
them. Others were now already going through that ordeal much
to our regret. I don't know just how long it took us, but it
seemed an eternity, before we saw on the horizon, two humps
of land rising out of the sea ahead of us, the two islands of
Novaya Zembla.
We made our way carefully out of the ice and into the open
sea once again, all hands now standing at some vantage point
around the ship keeping a good look-out. By this time Tim and
I were having trouble with our eyes, through the constant
staring at the ice for so long. Until getting clear of the
ice we had not needed to use the compass to steer by, but now
in the open sea we found that the only way we could see the
compass points was by almost closing our eyes in
concentration, otherwise we felt as though we were looking
through frosted glass. Distant sight did not seem to be
affected, and later we both found that our eyesight was back
to normal. The order for full ahead was given, and the three
trawlers were soon going full out and making for the gap
between the two islands, the Matochkin Straits. We had at
least made a landfall. The only problem was what was waiting
for us in the straits? Some of our side, or some of theirs?
We kept our fingers crossed very firmly indeed.
When we got closer to the shore, we turned beam on to the
land and the speed of the ships was reduced to allow us to
creep up to the entrance to the straits. This was a vital
period. All eyes, something like three hundred or so of them,
were hypnotized by the sight of the strait opening up like a
page of a picture book. From behind the port side promontory
appeared the bows of a ship, and as the angle of our approach
opened up the straits more of the vessel came into view. In
those first few minutes we thought that the enemy had got
there before us, and were waiting ready to blast us out of
the water, but to our intense relief, an Aldis lamp flashed
in English. We saw that it was a corvette, and the three of
us made our way past the Poppy, for that was her name, to
make for a spot to drop the anchor and come to rest if only
for a short time.
Once in the strait, with the anchor down, we had time to
take a proper look around, and saw the La Malouine, Pozerica,
Palomares and one of the rescue ships, the Zamalek. There
were also three Fleet sweepers, Halcyon,
Salamander and the
Britomart. Five merchant ships had also found their way in to
uneasy safety of the strait, Samuel Chase, Ocean Freedom, El
Capitan, the Hoosier and the Benjamin Harrison. Later there
was another welcome arrival, the corvette Lotus. Her decks
were crammed with survivors; she had gone back after hearing
reports on the RT of ships being bombed and torpedoed, and
had picked up about a hundred men from the sea, and certain
death. What pluck and courage the crew of the Lotus had
shown, with complete disregard for their own safety. If only
the Gem had been able to give us a few more knots, we might
have been able to do the same, but of course we did not have
those few extra knots under our belt. We had to be satisfied
with being one of the lucky ones who had got this far. It had
not seemed possible some twenty to thirty hours previously,
but then neither had the order for the convoy to scatter. Now
here we were at anchor in the Matochkin Strait, between two
almost barren islands, with what may well have been the only
ships remaining out of that magnificent array of fine ships,
Convoy PQ 17. It was unbelievable.
There were, perched on one side of the strait, what
appeared to be a few wooden shacks, which we were told were a
Russian settlement, and we did occasionally see one or two
people moving about, and I seem to remember at one time some
kind of a boat coming alongside from the shore. We were also
told that the strait was alive with fish, but even if we had
felt like putting out the fishing lines, I do not think that
we would have caught any as there was a very strong flow of
water rushing past the ships, suggesting a very strong tide.
However none of the crew had any interest in fishing, for
there were much more important things to do first. There was
not much else to see of the land, the coast appeared to be
very rocky, and there was not much vegetation to be seen. The
two islands were pretty much the same in appearance; from the
shore line the ground climbed steadily upwards, until it came
to the top of the two large 'mountain' tops, which we had
seen when we were coming out of the ice. I remembered that
there were some great plaice fishing grounds around here and
the Sem Islands not so far away, but this was actually the
first time that I had seen these islands in the daylight.
Usually these fishing grounds were worked by trawlers of many
countries, but mostly in the winter months. During the summer
and when it was daylight the trawlers were mostly working the
Bear Island and Spitzbergen grounds, when the ice receded
back towards the North Pole.
While we lay there wondering what was in store for us
next, we talked of the land we could see, and of what it
would be like if we had to try making our way over it, had we
been forced to run our ships onto the shore. I for one would
have been sorry to have had to leave the Gem on that barren
shoreline, for she had been my home for almost three years.
Some people may think me stupid when I say that I loved every
inch of her, and the affection I had for her is still with me
to this day, I often 'walk' around her in my thoughts, and
can remember how sad I was when I learned that she had been
broken up for scrap in the early fifties.
The officers from each vessel in the group of surviving
ones that were anchored in this barren but welcome place,
which was giving us .at least the chance to get a small
amount of respite, went over to the ack-ack ship Palomares
for a conference about what the next move was going to be.
Some sort of plan of action had to be arrived at, because we
all realised that we could not stay in this haven of dubious
relief for very much longer, without being found by the
German bombers. In here there would be no room for manoeuvre,
and we would become sitting targets. Not only that but the
longer we stayed, there was always the chance that U-boats
would be .gathering for the slaughter outside the Strait. The
outcome of this conference, the CO told us when he came back
aboard, was that first the three trawlers had to coal ship,
for supplies were running low; it must have been fifteen or
sixteen days since we had last coaled at Londonderry, and I
don't recall taking any on board during our stay in Iceland
at all. Each trawler went alongside the Ocean Freedom, and
took on a specified amount of the precious stuff; the whole
of the crew got stuck in to the job, and we soon had our
quota down below in the coal bunkers. The CO also told us
that the conference onboard the Palomares had ended with a
unanimous decision to form a small convoy of the ships
already in the strait, along with any others who came in
before we sailed, and try to make our way along the coast of
Novaya Zembla, and into the White Sea, where it was hoped we
should be able to expect some air cover from the Russian Air
Force, and possibly some help from their Navy.
When all was ready, anchors were hove up, and each ship
made its way out of the Matochkin Straits, and back into the
open sea once again. The six merchant ships which included
the rescue ship Zamalek, soon formed themselves into a small
and compact convoy, and the escorts took up their allotted
positions around it. There was a cold wet fog covering the
area, and the visibility was not too good, though we welcomed
it at the time as being heaven sent. Our position in the
screen this time was on the port quarter of the convoy, so we
were between it and the land. We found ourselves alongside
the Ocean Freedom, but there was no freedom in this bloody
ocean. As we steamed along the fog got thicker, and we edged
nearer to the Freedom; at times all that we could see of her
out of the bridge window, despite our close proximity, was
the white foaming water rushing past a dark patch of her
hull; her upper structure could not be seen at all. The ships
in the middle of the group were streaming fog buoys at the
end of a cable, so that the next in line could follow at a
safe distance,. but in this lot there must have been some
very near collisions at various times. My job at the wheel
was to keep as near as I could without actually hitting the
Freedom, and with Tim Coleman keeping a wary eye open
alongside me, it wasn't a hard job.
After steaming along in these conditions for a
considerable period, during which Tim and myself spelled each
other at the wheel and on lookout, we broke out of the fog
into brilliant sunshine and clear blue skies. It was like
walking along a blacked out street at home and opening the
door of the house to walk into a brightly lit room. On
looking around, apart from the Ocean Freedom and ourselves,
there were no other ships to be seen at all. The others had
vanished. At some time in the past hour or so we had got
separated in the fog. That old feeling came back, once more
we felt fear, and this time something else which I find hard
to describe. Only people who have been in, and experienced
that sort of situation can know what I am trying to explain.
It was a horrible lonely feeling of being watched akin
probably to being locked in a haunted house at the dead of
night all on your own.
There were ahead of us to port and starboard banks of fog
lying low in the water, but which of these the other ships
were in was anyone's guess. After a hurried conversation over
the loud hailers, the two skippers decided to make for the
fog bank on the port bow. It seemed to be the nearest and
would also keep us closer to the land, so we steamed for it,
still close alongside each other. It turned out to be a real
pea-souper, and once again we huddled close up to the side of
the big merchant vessel, just close enough for us to be able
to see the dark bulk of her hull at the water line. Both
ships went on in this way for some time, until suddenly on
the water under the fog there was ice, masses of it, too
close to avoid. I was at the wheel, and, as we both saw it,
Tim reached out for the handle of the bridge telegraph,
anticipating the order to go full astern even as he made the
move. There was no order for an alteration of course, and in
the bridge Tim and I stood there, bracing ourselves for the
inevitable crunch, for there was no time to do anything else.
The old Gem hit it stem on, and with the forward momentum
of the ship, the ice-cracker bows started to lift up into the
air, and right on to the thick layer of ice. The order came
down the voice pipe to stop engines. She had gone onto the
ice almost up to the foremast, and stayed in that position
for a few seconds, then broke through and was afloat once
more along the whole of her length, shivering from the shock
of the impact, and the way she had launched herself back into
the sea.
The voice pipe from the top bridge came back to life
again, with the CO shouting down it, 'Coxs'n, go forward and
see if she is taking any water in, and check for any signs of
damage'.
Leaving Tim in the wheelhouse, I ran down the ladder and
onto the deck, and forward to the fore-peak hatch. Lifting it
up after knocking away the wedges holding the tarpaulin cover
on, I peered down expecting to hear water gushing in from a
hole, caused by the first explosive meeting between the
ship's bows and the solid layer of ice, but I could hear no
more than the sound of the lumps of ice, hitting the ship's
side with the motion of the swell. Going down the ladder into
the fore-peak with a couple of the seamen, I left them to
have a look around, while I made my way into the cable locker
where the anchor chain is stowed when it comes inboard as the
anchor is hauled in. I could see no signs of any damage by
the light of the torch that we always kept handy down there,
nor was there any water, except for the usual amount that was
down there at any given time. So breathing a sigh of relief,
I made my way back onto the deck, from where I shouted up to
the CO on the top bridge that she was dry, and that
everything was OK. She was snuff dry. The old girl had
brought us through again. What a fine ship she was; they had
certainly built her well in Bremerhaven. Thanks jerry, I
thought to myself.
While I was inspecting the fore-peak, some conversation
had been going on via the loud hailer, with the Ocean
Freedom. Apparently she had not been as fortunate as the Gem.
With her square cut stem and her huge dead weight of cargo,
plus the speed at which we both had been going through the
water, she had not been able to ride up on to the ice as we
had done. She had gone right into it and had finished up with
a fair-sized hole in her bows. This, although it was not too
bad, was serious enough for her to have to cut her speed down
by a knot or two. Eventually we both went astern to get clear
of the ice, and with the Gem again taking up station on her
port side, the Ocean Freedom, now having to keep down the
flood of water which was entering through the hole in her
bow, set off in the general direction which would we hoped
take us to the entrance of the White Sea. The fog was still
thick, but skirting the edge of the ice which we could still
see faintly, and keeping a weather eye on the spot ahead
where the fog met the sea, we both plodded along at a reduced
speed.
As had happened before, we shortly burst out of the fog
into the blue skies and sunshine, and there a few miles ahead
of us were the rest of our small convoy. They were under air
attack. We could see the black specks of the aircraft and the
flashes of sun glinting on perspex noses and cockpit covers
as they wheeled about over the ships, and in the water
alongside them we could see huge fountains of water rising
into the air from the bursting bombs. Later we were to find
that the Hoosier, and the El Capitan had been sunk, and that
all the other vessels had suffered from near misses. The Gem
and Freedom now went along at the best possible speed to
rejoin the other ships. The sky over them looked as though it
was now clear of aircraft, and we hoped that the planes had
gone for good. But they did not give up so easily. When we
got to within a couple of miles of the convoy or what was
left of it, we saw coming up over the horizon some six or
eight aircraft, and we noticed with not a little apprehension
that this time they were making for us and the Ocean Freedom.
In no time at all they were on us, and bombs were falling all
over the place. The Ocean Freedom vanished from our sight two
or three times, and we thought that she had gone, but each
time she came out of the deluge of foam and spray caused by
the near miss explosions of the bombs. We wondered how long
the luck would last. Answering an enquiry from our CO, her
Captain shouted across that she had suffered some damage but
nothing that they could not handle. Almost as quickly as it
had started, the attack finished. The silence after the noise
of the bomb explosions and the chattering of the guns was
startling. Now there was just the noise of the sea rushing
past the Gem's hull as we made all speed to get back into the
company of the other vessels. Finally we made it, and away on
the horizon ahead of us we could see land. It must have been
around midnight because the big red orb of the sun just
touched the horizon for a few minutes and then started its
climb back into the heavens to start off another day. It was
11th July 1942.
During the next few hours before we reached the White Sea
there were a couple of half-hearted attacks by the Luftwaffe,
but none of the now much smaller convoy suffered any further
damage. We were met by two British fleet sweepers, and a
couple of Russian ships which helped to escort us out of the
Barents Sea, and into the confines of the White Sea proper.
We were almost at our destination, though not quite for we
now had to wait for the Russian pilots to come on board to
take us up the River Dvina, and up to our moorings at
Archangel, or wherever they decided to put us.
