The submarine base section of the harbour housed at this particular time Royal Navy S Class submarines, two of which had just come in off patrol. They were to spend Christmas, which was just about a week away, in the harbour. The third had orders to sail and the ship's company was busy provisioning the submarine for a three week patrol (it was HMS Sickle).
I was the Petty Officer responsible for incoming goods and stowage in various suitable compartments, I was approached by the First Lieutenant (the Captain's right-hand man). He shouted out from the jetty "Petty Officer Rose, send a few hands down to unload this van". He then opened the back door, looked up at me and said "I've managed to get hold of some goodies for Christmas Day". The goodies referred to consisted of large hams, turkeys, fresh vegetables, plum puddings, fruit and cream. I then called for our chef to take charge of the latest consignment. I did say 'chef', but that was only a title; he was in fact an Able Seaman. Submarines didn't have the privilege of a qualified chef, but our chef handled a tin opener exceptionally well.
Our meals normally consisted of tinned food, herrings in tomato sauce, tomatoes, sausages, beans, powdered potatoes (sometimes even an egg or two). We looked forward to our Christmas dinner. Our refrigerator was now tightly packed.
Our submarine slipped unobtrusively out of harbour that very evening, and after a couple of days we arrived in our patrol area in the Aegean Sea on Christmas Eve.
It is now Christmas Day, daybreak just about in its early stages. We had run on the surface throughout the hours of darkness, our batteries sufficiently charged. Our noisy diesel engines were now stopped. Connected up to our batteries, our electric motors took over the propulsion of our propellers. The submarine was then manoeuvrable for surface running, or as their main reason intended, to drive the submarine whilst underwater. The diesel engines demanded air, which is not practical in a dived submarine.
So it was we were ploughing along, in all respects in a ready-to-dive situation, the sky lighting up now, and we were all standing by in readiness to dive, when our listening operator picked up propeller noises on his equipment and reported his findings and estimation of many ships on our starboard bow to the Captain, who was on the bridge conning tower. The Captain concluded that it was an enemy convoy, and before long the ships were sighted a couple of thousand yards away. We could see them but because we were low in the water, they couldn't see us or even hear us. We were now on our batteries, practically silent running (our diesel engine noise, had we started them up, would have betrayed us). So, fortuitously for us, we were on battery mode. The Captain altered course and took a short cut to intercept the convoy; but first, before attacking, the Captain decided to check the convoy for size and type of ships, but most important, type of escort. His binoculars swept the small convoy of about 12 ships and with an amazed tone of voice, reported down to the First Lieutenant that the convoy did not have an escort. "No bloody escort", he repeated, "Close up to 4 guns crew", he ordered, also adding "I am not wasting torpedoes on this little lot".
So it was that the guns crew opened fire at very close range scoring instant hits on the small supply vessels. At least three blew up and a couple caught fire. One of the guns crew remarked afterwards that it was like shooting at clay pipes at the fairground.
Christmas Day, bang, bang, the guns spoke, peace and goodwill to all men.
The convoy was now split up and scattered, going in different directions. I was down below in the control room when the First Lieutenant was informed by the hydrophone operator that he was picking up hydrophone effects, fast moving ship approaching our position. I was instructed to inform the Captain of this development. On hearing this news, the Captain ordered: "Dive, dive, dive!" I pressed the claxon and we were diving immediately. The mere fact we were already connected up to our batteries meant no delay in stopping diesels and connecting batteries.
We used full power on our batteries to try to escape the inevitable (destroyer approaching us at full speed), the sound of their propellers becoming very loud as the destroyer passed immediately over the top of our submarine. We were now at a depth of about 300 feet as the threshing sound of the destroyers receded (a cat and mouse game was being played, we were the mouse). The specialist operator on the hydrophones removed his earphones, reporting the obvious, HE (hydrophone effects) receding. The Captain acknowledged; he knew, as we all knew that we could expect another visit from the attacking destroyer. This time our enemy reported to where we had estimated our position to be and he wasn't far wrong, only this time with cat-like stealth, slow and deliberate, listening intently for sounds that we would offer. The submarine was now in a silent routine which meant that all fans, pumps, anything with moving parts, even our fridge, had to be switched off. Absolute silence was required. We all just sat or made ourselves comfortable as best we could, inadvertently casting our eyes to the deck (or ceiling) above us. Our propeller was turning exceptionally slowly, slight movement through the water, giving us some sort of control.
The destroyer came in closer to us and began to drop depth charges set to explode shallow at 150 feet, but we were at 350 feet. We were shaken up, nevertheless. The next run, the depth charges were set to explode at 500 feet. We were not there either, but once again we were shaken up. Every time the depth charges exploded, our Captain altered course and took advantage of the effects of the rumble that took place, the turbulent water rendering their listening devices ineffective. So it was that after twisting and turning at full speed every time the depth charges exploded, we had received more than our fair share at this stage. There was a lull in the attack on us; the cat had given up the hunt. It was about 1 pm now, also Christmas Day 1943. We couldn't relax like normal people and sit down to Christmas dinner; that would have to wait until nightfall when at about sunset we could surface.
The Captain ordered another listening sweep to be conducted on our hydrophones before he would relax our silent routine. It was very hot in the submarine, no fans, as everything was switched off and had been for about 10 hours. The hydrophones recorded HE increasing coming our way. Full power to the propellers as we tried to outdistance our enemy and position ourselves for a torpedo attack on the destroyer at an appropriate time.
The cat was playing with the mouse, once again staying at a distance as we twisted and turned. If we could only hold on until it got dark, a couple or more miles away when we would be able to surface. It was very hot and stuffy inside the submarine. Our breathing air was becoming less and less oxygenated, with levels at a very extreme low being shared between us. It was dark now and everyone was wishing that we could surface, open the hatch and gulp in some fresh air. Instead, now we were gulping like goldfish do.
We welcomed the report that the enemy had now retired and gone home. The Captain made doubly sure before ordering stations for surfacing. My job was on the wheel that activated the foreplanes, giving the submarine the upward movement to the surface and fresh air.
Fresh air is just what we didn't get for a minute or so. The Captain opened the conning tower hatch, the Signalmen immediately behind him. The mere act of opening the hatch caused the air pressure in the submarine to escape, thus equalising the air on the outside. This expulsion caused the interior of the submarine to be engulfed in a fog-like cloud and what a foul smell it was. A smell of rotten foodstuffs pervaded the escaping air. Fortunately it dispersed the moment the diesel engines started up and sucked the fresh night air down into the interior of the submarine into the greedy mouth of the diesel air intake. Standing underneath the control room hatch was a most coveted spot as one's body interrupted the air rushing downwards. Looking upwards towards the conning tower and the bridge one could see the officer on watch, binoculars hanging around his neck, and the two lookouts with him. Above this setting, one's eyes took in the night sky, stars twinkling, the swaying movement of the submarine adding to this changing pattern as the bow cut through the oncoming swell of the surface waves.
Time for the feast of the day. Oven is ready for the turkey and other goodies in the refrigerator, but we had overlooked the fact that we had switched off our refrigerator 12 hours ago! (silent routine requirements). Upon opening the fridge door, the stench was indescribable. Contents were hurriedly bagged up and taken up onto the bridge and quickly heaved over the side into the Aegean Sea.
Back to our normal evening dinner, herrings in tomato sauce, coupled with the inner section of a loaf (the outside was mouldy).
The remainder of the patrol was uneventful. Yes, I will always remember dinner on Christmas Day 1943.
Torbay (S 90) |
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| Class: | 1983 - 2025: Trafalgar Class |
| Built By: | |
| Build Group: | SSN 4b |
|
Fate: HMS Torbay was decommissioned at a ceremony at Devonport Naval Base on 14-07-2017. |
|
Originally designed in 1934 for anti-submarine training, by the end of the war 72 U-Class subs had been commissioned; 17 were lost to the enemy, and 3 in accidents.
Manned by crews from seven nations' navies, they served worldwide, and never more successfully than in the Mediterranean. This book is the definitive study of this class of submarine and the men who serve on them.
14 pages added or updated in the last Array month
Please help to maintain this site by reporting any Errors, Broken Links, Information or Site Issues on this page using this button
If you find this site useful, please consider supporting my work with a small Donation.
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Thankyou for your support.
Torbay (S 90) |
|
| Class: | 1983 - 2025: Trafalgar Class |
| Built By: | |
| Build Group: | SSN 4b |
|
Fate: HMS Torbay was decommissioned at a ceremony at Devonport Naval Base on 14-07-2017. |
|
Originally designed in 1934 for anti-submarine training, by the end of the war 72 U-Class subs had been commissioned; 17 were lost to the enemy, and 3 in accidents.
Manned by crews from seven nations' navies, they served worldwide, and never more successfully than in the Mediterranean. This book is the definitive study of this class of submarine and the men who serve on them.
14 pages added or updated in the last Array month
Please help to maintain this site by reporting any Errors, Broken Links, Information or Site Issues on this page using this button
If you find this site useful, please consider supporting my work with a small Donation.
Please Note: Donations made using this option go directly to the site owner and not to the Submariners Association.
Thankyou for your support.
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