A couple of days later Nairana’s newly appointed captain called in at Burscough on his way north to take command of his ship. Captain Villiers Nicholas Surtees, DSO, RN, turned out to be a short and not very prepossessing man, with a florid complexion and a big red nose – hence his nickname “Strawberry”. In the months to come he was to prove a difficult and demanding captain. Indeed, in scenes reminiscent of The Caine Mutiny, there was serious talk of having him declared unfit for command. It therefore seems to me important to try and establish what sort of a person he was.
I have talked to and corresponded with many people who knew the Nairana’s new captain a great deal better than I did and I believe a balanced judgement would be something like this. Surtees had many of the qualities that are needed to rise to high command in the Navy. He was a man of decision, although his decisions were not always right. He was a man of considerable courage and powers of endurance – during our convoys to Russia he hardly left the bridge. And he was a man determined to do his duty as a naval officer no matter what the cost; the Navy was the be-all and end-all of his life; he had few other interests and no other love. In the days of Nelson he would undoubtedly have made a first-rate commander of a ship of the line, ever anxious to follow his Admiral’s instructions “to lay alongside and engage the enemy more closely.” However, we were not in the days of Nelson, and as captain of an aircraft-carrier in the Second World War Surtees had two serious weaknesses. First, he found it difficult to communicate, especially with those from a different background. This may have been because he was a reserved man, a bit of a loner and a bit of a misogynist. He wasn’t good with people. His second weakness was that he knew little about flying.
So why, you may very reasonably ask, was he given command of an aircraft-carrier? You might have thought that anyone would have been able to grasp the fact that an aircraft-carrier – which operates aircraft – ought to be commanded by a person with at least some knowledge of flying. Yet the Admiralty now saw fit to hand over one of its best escort-carriers to an ex-cruiser officer who had been brought out of retirement by the war and had never in his life served in an aircraft-carrier let alone flown an aeroplane. Perhaps there was no suitable candidate immediately available, but from their decision stemmed a whole series of problems, both for the Squadron and for Surtees.
Things now moved fast. The day after Surtees’ visit to Burscough Jack Teesdale left the Squadron. The next day our new CO arrived, and I got ready to leave.
My successor was Lt-Cdr Val (for Valentine) Jones, RNVR. Val had been the senior observer of 811 Squadron in Vindex, and arrived with a good reputation. He had a quiet, mature manner and a sense of humour – the latter to be sorely tested in the months to come. He was the sort of man I was happy to hand over to.
On the morning of 13 August I led the squadron for the last time: back to Nairana. As soon as we had landed-on, I spent my last few hours aboard showing Val the ropes and introducing him to the ship’s officers. There were a few administrative odds and ends to be tidied up, a few last drinks with friends in the wardroom. And suddenly I was on the quay, alone and staring back at the ship that had been my home for the last six months. I don’t think I have ever felt so lonely in my life. I thought of all the things I had done and wished I hadn’t, and all the things I hadn’t done and wished I had. I had never even had a Squadron photograph taken with myself as CO sitting proudly in the middle. But it was too late now.
I was given two weeks’ leave. Then I found myself appointed to RNAS Donibristle (near Edinburgh) to organize the running of a course for squadron commanders who would soon be on their way to join the British fleet in the Pacific.
For me, flying with 835 Squadron was over. For the rest of the Squadron it was about to restart in earnest, and the rest of this story is their story, told by them, though I have continued to use the first person plural.
* * *
Nairana with her new captain, and the squadron with its new CO, now embarked on the usual period of working up in the Clyde.
Surtees was to prove a demanding person to serve under. The ship was for ever practising emergency fire-drill, emergency this and emergency that; while the squadron was kept flying day and night, practising in particular rocket assisted take-offs and “Glow Worm” attacks with flares.
RATOG (rocket accelerated take-off gear) was now needed because the Swordfish Mk III, overladen with weaponry, was so heavy that, unless there was half-a-gale blowing, it had difficulty getting off the deck. So a pair of booster rockets was fitted beneath its wings. These were activated by the pilot as he came abreast of the bridge – not sooner, in case one rocket only fired, and the plane was blasted sideways into the island. It was, as one of our pilots put it, “a bit like being catapulted from an accelerator: as though a giant hand had thrust the plane into the sky. However, once the rocket had burned out and its impetus was lost, the poor old Stringbag was left hanging by its propeller, trying desperately to build up sufficient speed to stay airborne.”
The idea of “Glow Worm” was to illuminate surfaced U-boats at night. Two rocket projectiles in the outboard racks had flares attached to their warheads. As the pilot dived onto his target, he was expected slightly to ease up the nose of his Swordfish and fire his outboard rockets first, so that the flares were lobbed over the U-boat and illuminated it; he would then continue his attack, firing the rockets from his inboard rack.
In a week of intensive flying the TBR pilots carried out eighty-three practice flights (twenty-three of them at night) and the fighter pilots twenty-nine. The old hands in the Squadron took this in their stride, but for our newly-joined aircrew it was a tough initiation; some ended up in the barrier, some ended up half-way over the side. Six Swordfish and two Sea Hurricanes were damaged.
This was the sort of thing which resulted from the diminution of our experienced aircrew. For there were now a lot of new and younger faces in the Squadron. As well as a new CO, we had a new Senior Pilot, Pat Urwin, and a new Senior Observer, Charles Legood; both had plenty of front-line experience, but not in escort-carriers. We also had two new Hurricane pilots, Pete Blanco and “Dusty” Miller; five new Swordfish pilots, Sub-Lts Brown, Defrates, Murray, Pitts and Provis; and six new Swordfish observers, Sub-Lts Beal, Bevan, Eames, McEwan, Ravenhill and Rose. Of these, only John Defrates had done much operational flying. We also had a new Batsman, Bob Mathé; he replaced Bill Cameron, who was appointed Chief Deck Landing Control Officer at Arbroath.
Inevitably it was the less experienced aircrew who had the accidents. Sub-Lt(A) Mick Murray, RNZVR, kept a Diary of his hazardous first few days aboard the Nairana,
“14.8.44. Night landings very shaky!! Did a ten-minute circuit, then stalled and pranged on my first landing. On advice of M.O. and Cdr “F”, went up again almost at once. But on take-off the port brake jammed and I had difficulty getting off the deck. Half-toppled over the bow, but just managed to pick up airspeed before I hit the water. Was then kept circling Nairana, because the plane supposed to land ahead of me (flown by Ron Brown) had crashed. It took them 50 mts to clear the flight-deck. At last was given permission to come in. But on touchdown, swung to stbd and right wheel went over the side. Ended up in the catwalk. What a night!
“15.8.44. Had a full medical for flying and passed A1. Saw Cdr “F” and the Captain. They said I would be taken aboard Ravager to practise more deck-landings. … What a lovely big flight-deck compared to ours. Did a couple of afternoon landings – piece of cake. Then a couple of dusk landings followed by six night landings. All OK. Very efficient night landing system – strip bars at sides of deck, American style bats etc. These Yankee escort-carriers seem streets ahead of ours.”
A couple of days later Mick Murray returned to Nairana, his confidence restored. And a couple of days after that the carrier joined the 4th Escort Group to provide air cover for yet another convoy to Gibraltar. This was MKF34, one of the last outward-bound Atlantic convoys of the war, and, seeing that Val Jones was now leading a squa
dron about a third of whom had little operational experience, it was as well his first assignment was uneventful. This is how Mick Murray recorded it in the Diary he wrote up each evening in his cabin:-
“Friday, 25 Aug. Picked up troop convoy off Eire: about 40 ships. Weather fine, with clear sky and calm sea. Our fighters took off pm in pairs to give a morale-boosting display of low flying and aerobatics over the merchantmen. Everyone impressed!
“Sat, 26 Aug. Weather deteriorating. How quickly it changes! Took off on my first operational patrol at 1200 hrs. Weather bad. By the time I got back at 1400 hrs full gale blowing. But landed OK. Pm weather got worse: v heavy seas. 1900 hrs Action Stations! Enemy aircraft approaching the convoy. Turned out to be a shadower. He closed to within 3 miles and circled round and round us. Weather too bad for us to fly off our Hurricanes, so not a lot we can do. Expect attack by subs tomorrow.
“Sun, 27 Aug. Duff weather. No sign of expected subs – I suppose the weather is too bad for them to find us. Another shadower picked us up pm. In spite of terrible conditions 2 Hurricanes flown off (George Gordon and Pete Blanco). They managed to intercept shadower, a Ju 290, but he escaped into cloud. Took off at 1700 hrs on my second patrol. What a trip! A 2½hrs search continuously in cloud. Apart from taking off and landing I hardly saw the sea. After a couple of hrs my Air Speed Indicator iced up. Coming in I had to guess my speed; but Bats got me down safely.
“Mon, 28 Aug. Weather improving, and the old hands say we should now be out of the danger area. Stood by 1200 hrs – 1600 hrs, then changed into tropical gear and sunbathed. A/S patrols continued.
“Tues, 29 Aug. More A/S patrols. Took off at 1300 hrs on search ahead of convoy. Picked up contact, range 100 miles. Reported, and went to investigate. Turned out to be the Portuguese M/V Gaza. Circled her and took photos, then resumed search. Picked up another “contact”, but it turned out to be a rain cloud. Coming in to land caught the Jesus Christ wire (the last of the arrester-wires) and ended up only inches from the barrier.
“Wed, 30 Aug. Rumour that 15 U-boats on passage out of Bay are only just ahead of us. Never saw a trace of them! Wonder how these rumours start? Sqdn Duty Officer for day.
“Thurs, 31 Aug. Lovely day, sea v calm. We now have air cover from Gibraltar, so patrols called off. Took off to fly Lt Byrom to North Front, Gib 150 miles away. Landed North Front in 90 per cent crosswind – only one runway. Transport into town. Saw the legendary Juanita sing ‘Solitude’. Back to HMS Cormorant for the night.”
During this relatively quiet and uneventful passage, the Swordfish flew thirty-one patrols and searches (thirteen at night), and the Hurricanes eighteen patrols and interceptions. No enemy planes or U-boats were destroyed. None of our aircraft was lost or seriously damaged. No ship in the convoy was attacked.
The squadron spent nine days in Gibraltar, the fighter section taking up residence at North Front. From here they did a fair amount of “local flying”, an euphemism which covered a multitude of sins. Sam Mearns was involved in two unofficial sorties, the first of which very nearly cost him his life.
He was anxious to visit Casablanca (a couple of hundred miles to the south, on the coast of Morocco). Officially, his excuse was that he wanted to see if he could collect some spare Hurricane tail wheels; unofficially he was keen to survey the local beauties and collect some fresh eggs for the wardroom. An RAF pilot offered him a lift in a Beaufighter, and since this was a plane which had a crew of three, “Chiefie” Banham was invited to go with them. Sam was told to sit in the navigator’s seat behind the pilot; Banham, immaculate in his starched and ironed denims, was eased into the cramped space beneath the astrodome. After the plane had taxied to the end of the runway, Sam settled back to watch the RAF pilot’s take-off with professional interest. He was not impressed! Halfway down the runway, a little before it should have become airborne, the Beaufighter started veering to port. The pilot tried to counter this by activating the boost over-ride on one of his engines. But something went decidedly wrong. Instead of straightening up, the Beaufighter swerved even farther to port; it went careering through a Spitfire parking bay – which was mercifully empty and ended up smashing into the stone wall which borders the old Trafalgar graveyard. The three men scrambled with some difficulty out of the shattered plane, to find themselves surrounded by tombstones. It was some seconds before they realized that although their time may have been near it had not yet come!
A couple of days later, nothing daunted, Sam tried again. He borrowed a Swordfish, and, accompanied by the ever-trusting Banham, set out a second time for Casablanca.
“I flew low along the beaches,” he writes, “admiring the scenery, and in particular the expatriate young ladies from France improving their sun tan. What a shame, I told myself, I had to be fighting a war. We arrived safely, had a leisurely lunch, then collected a small number of tail wheels and a much larger number of eggs (the latter being a welcome change from the usual wardroom fare of ersatz egg powder). These eggs, bedded down in straw, were packed into crates, and the crates were then loaded into the rear cockpit. On the way back the slow speed of the Swordfish and the good view from the open cockpit enabled me once again to enjoy all things beautiful. However, part of my mission might well have failed. For on landing at North Front we found that the slipstream had sucked all the straw out of the crates, leaving the eggs unprotected. We feared the worst, but on inspection found to our amazement that not one had been broken.”
It must have been the smoothest-ever landing!
The Swordfish aircrew too found plenty to occupy them. John Defrates writes:
“Gibraltar was familiar ground to most of the squadron, and pilots and observers now blossomed forth in immaculate white uniforms and set out to try their luck with the all too few Wrens. The best I could manage was Khaki shorts and shirt. However, I consoled myself with the belief – confirmed by Norman Sargent – that I wouldn’t have had much luck in any case because the Wrens were never known to speak to anyone below the rank of Commander! … I went to the obligatory bullfight. And wished I hadn’t. Due to a misunderstanding we arrived at La Linea early, and spent our first hour sitting in the sun outside a tavern drinking sherry and eating salted almonds. This gave me a thirst, so as we went in to watch the bullfight I bought another bottle of sherry. If a brave bull had had a sporting chance of survival, I might have been less disgusted and less inclined to drink. As it was, I finished off the bottle, and returned to the ship with much difficulty and some assistance. Once aboard, I disgraced myself by being violently sick. It was many years before I could tolerate even the smell of sherry.”
At the end of a week we reckoned from the increased activity in Gibraltar harbour that another convoy was in the offing. And sure enough on 9 September we were told to provide air cover for the fast homewardbound MKF34. Among the escorting warships were the battleship Ramillies, a survivor of the First World War, and the American aircraft-carrier Reaper, which had just delivered a consignment of Corsairs to Malta.
This convoy turned out to be another non-event, although the powers that be did their best to trigger off some action. For instead of heading west into the Atlantic before setting course for the British Isles, Convoy MKF34 followed a shorter but potentially far more dangerous route close inshore; for the first couple of days we could see the Portuguese coast quite clearly. Rumour had it that five German destroyers were lying in wait in one of the Biscay ports and that our new route was designed to tempt them out and give our Swordfish some practice with their rocket projectiles and “Oscar”.
As though to give credence to this, as soon as we left the Rock our patrolling planes were armed not with the usual depth charges but with acoustic torpedoes.
“Oscar” weighed 850 lbs. That would have been no problem if the wretched thing could have been carried in a central position beneath the fuselage. However, the centre of the fuselage was where our new ASVX was housed; “Oscar” had therefore to be carried somewhere else and was slung beneath the starboard
wing. This made the plane not only heavy but lopsided. To quote one of our pilots:
“Whenever we carried ‘Oscar’ we needed RATOG to get us off the deck; and because one wing had less lift than the other, the plane on take-off tended to be flung not only upwards but sideways. Once airborne, you needed quite a lot of strength just to keep flying straight and level. One arm got stiff and tired continually pushing the control column in one direction. One foot got stiff and tired continually pushing the rudder in the other direction.”
(Hence the evolution of Homo Swordfish(P): page 21.) We were all thankful when, at the end of a couple of days, it became apparent that the German destroyers were not going to be tempted out, and our Swordfish reverted to carrying depth-charges.
On 13 September, still following our easterly course, we sighted the Scilly Isles, and forty-eight hours later Nairana dropped anchor in the Clyde. Since leaving the Rock four days earlier we had flown fifty-two patrols, searches and interceptions, without suffering either damage to our aircraft or injury to our aircrew, and, for the thirteenth convoy in succession, not one of the ships that we were guarding was lost.
Alone on a Wide, Wide Sea Page 16