Author: davidt

David Yeager Letter

< BACK TO REPORTS  

May 10th 1941 Camp Bordon, England

Mrs. Rachel Yeager
5348 St. Urbain St.
Montreal, Que., Canada

Dear Ma:

I wrote you last week from Londonderry, Northern Ireland, & I hope that that letter reached you safely. I’m in England now, that’s where I’m writing you from. I arrived in this country Sunday morning from Belfast, Northern Ireland.

I might as well tell you the truth about how I came over. Our ship was torpedoed and sunk somewhere around 200 miles west of Ireland on Wednesday the 30th of April about 10:30 at night. Don’t be frightened now, & because I’m still alive to write this letter, so realize that. I was in someone else’s cabin at that time, when I heard an explosion and all the lights went out. I had no boots on at the time, only socks, and a sweater was covering me. I ran to my cabin to get my lifebelt, but it was so dark, and in the excitement I grabbed a pillow. The floor was covered with water, and already a crowd was going up the stairs towards the lifeboats. I knew where our lifeboat was because only the second day of the voyage we had boat drill. I got into the lifeboat, which had some people already in it and then the ropes were cut, and the boat fell into the water. Water started to come into the boat right away, and we had to pour it out with our hands. Most of the lifeboats, perhaps all of them were lowered. That ship had three torpedoes in her, and as a result she sank in four minutes, before everyone had time to get off. That submarine commander wanted few people to survive. Before she sank, I remember seeing a big flame, then the ship broke in two pieces and sank. Meantime, our lifeboat drifted on, water coming in all the time, and we kept on bailing it out. That action kept us warm. Our lifeboat kept filling up with water, so it was steady work for us to keep it out. David Fitch was in the same lifeboat as I was, and I was glad to see him still alive. Sgt. Saull also survived, although the boat in which he was overturned before it was let down, and he fell out and was forced to swim around before he got on a raft, and then onto a lifeboat. You must understand that every article of equipment, or supplies I had has gone down with the ship. I had only the clothes on my back and my money in my money belt. Everything else has gone. We drifted about all night in that boat, and five people had already given up hope and died. However, before the ship went down the wireless operator sent out an SOS and a British destroyer was already looking for survivors.

The ocean was rough at times, and I swallowed some water. That water is terribly salty, and I had the good sense not to drink any. My feet were numb, and so was one hand. But I would not lie back, as the others had done. David Fitch was in the same boat, and he did not get discouraged neither. We saw two flares in the dark and thought it was a rescue ship, but later we found out it was two submarines signalling to each other. When daylight arrived we were more hopeful. We tried to find a plug to stop the leak, but could not. An American plane saw us and we waved to it, and it signalled back that it had seen us. 10:30 that morning a British destroyer found us, and lowered ropes, and we were rescued. I was soaked in sea water from the waist down, because the leak in that boat was so large a civilian passenger had only his light underwear at the time, and he died of the cold. Five people died in that lifeboat. So soon as I was taken on the destroyer, a sailor gave me some hot tea, took my clothes off, dried me, and hung everything to dry. Then they put me to bed, and I had a good meal, some roast and boiled potatoes and lamb. I fell asleep soon. When I woke up my name was taken as one of the survivors. I put on my clothes, which were dry, and all of us boarded a small destroyer, which took us to Londonderry. From there we took a bus to the local barracks. The military police told us not to mention the torpedoing, because we were near to Eire. We were taken into the barracks, where we had a big plate of Irish stew and the biggest cup I’ve ever seen of tea. I was still dazed by what happened. I tried to sleep but could not. Almost everyone was coughing. Those British Army men were very kind to us, and next morning we had our breakfast in the barrack beds. I had a bath after that which I needed badly. Then I was given a new uniform, two pairs of socks, a pair of boots, a comb and a toothbrush and another set of underwear. Thus a small fraction of my kit had been restored. We had lots to eat in Londonderry. We stayed there until Saturday afternoon, when we were given 8/ spending money. We were taken to Belfast by train, and from there we took the ship to England, across the Irish Sea. We had supper on the ship. Sunday morning I got off the ship. It landed at Heysham, a dreary looking town. Then I set foot on English soil. From there we took the train to Liverpool; we arrived first at Waterloo, a small suburb of Liverpool, and then the army trucks took us to Liverpool proper, which everyone knows, has been bombed quite frequently. We saw some damage. There were still some fires burning, and they were still trying to put them out. We saw rows of houses, whose window panes had been shattered, and then some buildings were just heaps of bricks and lumber. You could see glass scattered all over the street and smoke filled the air. Some of the business section had been hit also. We went to the barracks in Liverpool, where we had tinned herring, chocolate cake (I wondered how they managed to make it) some white bread, marmalade (there’s lots of it here) and tea, which had hardly any sugar, but no one minded. All gas, electricity, and light services had broken down because of the air raids but the food was good. Then we were given 50 cigarettes each, but I gave mine away. We rested in the barracks for two hours, and at 5 o’clock we took the train to London. England seems to be a nice country, but parts of it are somewhat old in appearance. I guess some buildings could be torn down with no harm being done. We had dinner on the train. Those English trains are small, and are they crowded! The train stopped every quarter of a mile it seemed to us. We arrived in London at 11:30 P.M. at Euston Station. We were met there by a Canadian officer, and then we boarded a bus for Camp Bordon which is 45 miles away. The city was blacked out, but the traffic lights were on, but they were dim, and covered up. We did not see much of London, because it was dark and I could not see any damage. I guess we were in the West End. They tell us most of the damage is in the East End. I don’t think I’ll have much of a chance to see London now, because Canadian troops are forbidden to go there. Some soldiers were killed a few days before. I hear that we will get 5 days landing leave, and I’m thinking of going to Edinburgh, Scotland. Train fare is free to the troops. I would have gone with Sgt. Aubin, but he’s disappeared, and so has that poor, shy fellow, Ashworth, whose mother spoke to you on the train at Bonaventure Station. I last saw him, he was shaving. One of our sergeants, Turner, his name is, was killed by a torpedo, which split his head open. Sgt. Saull borrowed $5.00 from me, because all his money was with Sgt. Turner. All our documents have been lost. Sgt. Aubin was taking care of them. I think he was married, and had two children. You spoke to him that night I left. Ashworth was an only child. We arrived at Camp Bordon about one o’clock where we were given a meal and then put into barracks. They told me London gets bombed every night. Next day, I got an extra uniform, some brushes and a great coat. Barrack life is not very comfortable. We had to make our own beds, and line up for our meals at the mess halls. The food isn’t bad. Most of it is greasy. There’s lots of it, but not much variety. The only sugar we get is in marmalade. The sugar in our cocoa or tea is almost tasteless but it can’t be helped. There are lots of potatoes, and spinach, but we don’t see any fruit as apples or oranges. Chocolate costs 2d or 2 ½d a bar, but it can’t be obtained at all times. There are different refreshment stands & recreation stands halls around the camp, and there are free movies twice a week. L They seem to have lots of cocoa here. It costs only 1 1/2d a cup. Chips cost 3d a plate. You can see that there’s not much variety, but what food there is does not cost much.

They told us that the civilian population are placed on stricter rations than the military personnel are. Tuesday afternoon we were medically re-examined, and they found out that I have albumen in the urine, which showed that the kidneys are not functioning properly. A few more tests showed that I had to be taken to a military hospital for observation and a long rest. I suspect that I may be sent home, but that is not probable. On Friday afternoon I entered the hospital here, which is very cheerful. I don’t know how long I’ll be here. Its now about 7:00 PM, Saturday, 10th May, and I hope that this letter reaches you in two weeks on 24th May. I’ve got enough money about 6.5s, and besides Sgt. Saull owes me $5.00, at 4/4 to $1.00 comes out to l.l.8. So I’m financially O.K. I don’t know if I’ll be discharged or sent back, but when I’ll know, I’ll send you a list of stuff I need such as handkerchiefs, shaving soap, blades, etc., but don’t send anything until I’ll write you, which will be in about 4 or 5 days. I hope that the Woodhouse and Pay Assignment cheques and War Savings Stamps are arriving O.K. Meantime, I’m here in this Military Hospital having a rest, and perhaps I’ll have my 5 day holiday when I leave this hospital. I hope that you got my cable quickly. I sent it on 2nd May from Londonderry. How is the family? I hope that nothing serious has happened. How is your mother? Has she had another attack of diabetes? Has Polly been put on her feet yet, or is she in another mess? Is the cat still at home? I wonder if she’s had any kittens. There were some cute kittens on the ship, but they were drowned. I’ve nothing more to write now, so I’ll close. Don’t worry. I’m in good hands, and I’ll soon start work. If I’m to be sent home I’ll send you a cable. But now that you have the address, (on the back of this sheet) you can write me now. I’ll write again in a few days. Good-bye, until I hear from you, or until you hear from me.

Your affectionate son,

Davie

P.S. Be sure to prepay full postage on your letter.

Reference: Letter from Len Saull
Written on Salvation Army stationery
Overseas War Services Department
17 Cockspur Street,
Trafalgar Square
London, S.W. l
On Active Service with the Canadian Forces

< BACK TO REPORTS 

Corporal Describes Sinking Of Ship in Which Friends Died

< BACK TO REPORTS  

Two Torpedoes Sent Vessel To Bottom Within Four Minutes

HALIFAX, June 20-(C. P.)-Sinking of a ship including Canadian Military personnel among its complement is described in a letter received here from Cpl. John V. Chisholm, Halifax man now in England with the Corps of Military Staff Clerks.

Two torpedoes sent the ship to the bottom less than four minutes after the first one struck, Chisholm wrote, and he said “many fellows” were lost. Among those who went down with the vessel he named “Cal Leng, Wilkinson, Rose and McGovern.”

(He was believed to be referring to CSM. Calvert Leng of Halifax, Sgt. Farrel McGovern, Ottawa; Cpl. Leslie Wilkinson, Toronto, and Cpl. Lloyd Rose, Sydney, N.S., all members of the C.M.S.C., whose loss has been announced.)

(Cpl. Chisholm was named in a list of 35 survivors of a shipping loss made public at the same time.)

TERRIBLE EXPERIENCE

“It was certainly a terrible experience and one I would not care to repeat,” Chisholm wrote. “It happened about 10.30 at night. I had just gone to bed, as I was on No. 1 morning submarine watch, due at four o’clock.

“Wilkinson and Rose were my cabin mates and were also in bed. When the first torpedo struck, the force of the explosion threw me out of bed and onto my feet.

“The water was then pouring into our cabin. It was on “C” deck, just above the ship’s water line and nearly amidships.

“I had on only a pair of pants and shirt and I didn’t wait to get any more clothes on. I ran out to the corridor and saw a steward hurrying with a flashlight. So I followed along and got to the boat deck, where the lifeboat was to which I had been assigned.

“Thirty of us had managed to get clear when the next torpedo struck, and I thought the end had come as tons of water and debris of all kinds, including rivets out of the boilers, rained down upon us as she went down.

“We were about 30 feet away when the ship plunged. However, we managed to stay afloat until next morning. At about 11 o’clock a destroyer came in sight and picked us up. I was the only survivor of the local bunch-Cal Leng, Wilkinson, Rose and McGovern all were lost.

(Apparently the four had been stationed here before leaving Canada.)

“I can’t imagine how Wilkinson didn’t come through. The first torpedo put all the lights out, but I heard Wilkinson. He cried out, ‘We’ve been hit,’ or something like that, and he was then moving around all right.

“I called to him to follow, and thought he was behind me. Of course, with the noise and confusion, I couldn’t be sure. His boat was the one I was assigned to, and he didn’t make it.

“Rose, who was sleeping directly above me, may have been hit with something-some of the debris flying about. I was hit myself and somewhat dazed for a few minutes.

“I think a lot of the boys waited to get into some clothes. This proved fatal, as the ship went down in less than four minutes.”

“It seems tough so many fellows had to get it that way. However, I suppose it’s the fortune of war. It all seems more or less of a dream now, but what a dream!”

< BACK TO REPORTS 

Experience of Constable Mara

< BACK TO REPORTS  

We were rushed off from Camp Borden in quite a hurry. We had a miserable train journey, sitting up two nights in filthy coaches. We had a morning in Montreal, and I managed to get a few final things which I now regret buying, as it was just a waste of money.

We reached the eastern Canadian port on Saturday night and when we awoke the following Monday, the ship was out at sea. It was only a small ship of about 5,000 tons and we traveled alone. We reached Newfoundland in a couple of days and spent one day there. As it was St. George’s Day and Newfoundland, being a Crown Colony, had a holiday, there was not much doing….. In this city we had our first encounter with cars driven on the left-hand side of the road. It seemed very silly, too, since most of the cars were American-made.

At this point we got rid of a stowaway-a wire-haired terrier that had come aboard the last trip and had been over to England and back. He was a very affectionate little pooch and when our whistle blew he came running down to the dock and tried to get aboard. Two stowaways did manage to get on, both soldiers, and stayed for the rest of the trip.

I was a little seasick the first day out but I think it was probably the tail end of the flu. Our quarters were good as it was a troopship, we were travelling as passengers. The crew was all English and I’d like to bet the cook had never tasted a decent cup of coffee, let alone made one.

We had the days free and had to amuse ourselves as best we could. There was a canteen aboard at which you could buy beer, soft drinks and cigarettes, and which was open at various hours during the day. Cigarettes were 15 cents for twenty-five or 15 cents for twenty if they were American. I had several hundred stowed away and I sure wish I had them now. The beer was rotten and I didn’t touch it; ginger ale was my favourite beverage until it ran out and then a weak, orange-coloured liquid had to do.

The food was good but nothing like the food on ships during peacetime. We had two sittings for meals, troops eating first. Walking the deck, sleeping, eating, playing cards and reading was all there was to do until we reached the danger zone when we had various watches to do. This usually amounted to about six hours a day, and we were glad of it as it helped pass the time away.

The weather was fairly good all the time and the sea was always calm but the ship must have been rather flat-bottomed as she pitched and rolled continually. There were four in our cabin, the last in the stern of the ship; consequently it was very noisy as the propeller could be heard plainly. Compared to the beds on the train and at Camp Borden, our bunks were quite comfortable, and I slept like a log most of the way. The last two days we slept with our clothes on and had to carry our life-belts with us or wear them all the time. We sighted one or two ships going the other way.

On the morning of Apr. 30, we were told that we were about two days out. A British plane picked us up; all that day we had a plane flying about the ship. About 11:30 (British time) that night, we had just finished playing cards. I had just put my life-jacket in my cabin and gone into the wash-room about four yards away.

Suddenly there was a terrific explosion on the starboard side. We guessed it was a torpedo, and we were right. All the lights went out; I was thrown against the steel partition of the washroom and dazed a bit. I had to strike a match to find my way out. Already there was water in the corridor; men were rushing past my cabin so I couldn’t get in to get my lifebelt. There was absolutely no panic and we got to our boat stations all right, mine being on the port side. Luckily the list of the ship was not great; it did not prevent launching the boat. But all did not go well and down went the stern first with me in it. I got my first sea bath right then and there. As luck would have it, I was holding tight as I had a hunch something would happen. Eventually the bow came down but the boat was swamped. Some of the boys got out and swam for it; two of them were R.C.M.P. lads and they got hold of a raft. The remainder of us, nineteen in all, stayed put because the airtight drums in the bow and stern kept us afloat. With any more in the boat though, they wouldn’t have.

The sub came around to our side of the ship and passed within fifty feet of us. They leg to another torpedo and it passed under our boat blasting into the stern of the ship, just opposite our cabin. The third charge struck just before the boilers blew up. The whole middle portion of the ship exploded leaving the stern and the bow afloat for a few seconds. It was just luck that we weren’t hit by bits of the ship flying about; we picked up pieces of it in the boat next morning.

There was absolutely no suction when the ship went down, as I came across a Negro the next day who had been swimming when the bow went down, narrowly missing him.

The sub came to the surface about half a mile away, showing all its lights; I’m glad to say we didn’t drift near it. It came to the surface again about three hours later and signaled to other subs with flares. Not knowing at first what it was, we tried to signal to it with our flashlight.

We had only two of the ship’s crew with us-one a steward who went mad and died within an hour, the other the ship’s doctor, who didn’t speak all night; apparently he didn’t know much, if anything about lifeboats. They are fitted to carry a lot of equipment but we didn’t know where anything was and because the boat was awash, the floor boards were loose and made it difficult to find things. The plug was out of the bottom so we had to stand in water up to our waists the whole night until we were picked up-eight and a-half-hours later. All the time we bailed water out with our hands and thus managed to keep about two inches of the gunwale in view most of the time. It didn’t do much good but the exercise helped to keep us warm and the big weaves only came up to our chests instead of going clean over us. Most of the night it rained, but there was little wind.

After a few hours some of the men started to go, and by the time we were rescued we had lost seven of the nineteen. Our feet were so stiff we could hardly move. We managed to get only two bodies overboard, the rest were floating about in the boat. It wasn’t a pleasant sight. There were three of us R.C.M.P. chaps in the boat, all standing side by side. We kept in touch with the other boats and rafts by flashlight, and it was certainly comforting to know that someone else was about, even though we were nowhere near enough to them if anything happened. The signaling sub was an encouraging sight too as all we could see was the flares, and we thought possibly it might be a rescue ship. We started to sing for a while but decided it was a waste of energy, and we needed all of that we had.

I hardly stopped bailing at all from 11:30 p.m. until 7:30 a.m., when the rescuing destroyer was first sighted. About 6:00 a.m. our would be escort plane spotted us and gave our exact position to the destroyer; we learned later that it had been sent the night before, after our ship’s SOS had been picked up. At dawn we could see the other lifeboats and rafts; we were all bunched together pretty well, within about a half mile radius.

We were the first bunch the destroyer came upon, about 8:00 a.m. but they passed by us, much to our disgust, and came back later; most of us had to be hauled aboard with ropes. Never have I seen such a welcome sight as that destroyer! And the treatment they gave us when we got aboard-it was wonderful; something I will never forget. My fingers were so numb from being in the water, I had to be undressed. After a good rubdown, they put dry clothes on us, gave us breakfast, hot tea and a good shot of rum-and so to bed. All our clothes were taken away, dried, and given back in the afternoon.

We lost Charlie Johnstone. He was with us up on the boat deck where the lifeboats were, but no one saw him after that. Only a very small number of all the people aboard the ship (including the crew) survived.

I sprained my ankle sometime during the night; but it was not till the following afternoon, when I started to get some feeling in my legs and feet, that I noticed it. We reached port late in the afternoon and transferred to a corvette, which brought us here. We were admitted about 10:00 p.m. I didn’t feel too bad as I had a good sleep in a hammock on the destroyer. I think it was one of the most comfortable things I’ve ever slept in.

There are four of us R.C.M.P. men in hospital, two with colds and the other with badly cut up legs and feet. I was wearing my battle dress and canvas shoes at the time, but the shoes came off somehow. All my personal kit went down. It was quite an experience but not as bad as it sounds as we knew we’d be picked up next day when the escort plane came out to meet the ship.

The food here in hospital is ten times as good as it was at Camp Borden. Apparently it is not so scarce here as we thought; or perhaps in hospital, one gets better rations. I’ve had afternoon tea twice in Londonderry and had all I could eat with lots of sugar and butter. Cigarettes are hard to get though and all the shops have signs up to that effect.

The Force will be very sorry to hear about Charlie Johnstone. He is the first casualty of our unit. However, we had the highest percentage saved of any unit by a long way and we are all extremely lucky to be alive. We were told that the next night they got the sub that did us in. It deserved the worst fate possible, for if there had been only one torpedo, which was sufficient to sink the ship, I think most of the people would have been saved. But using three made the ship go down in about five minutes.

Reference: R.C.M.P. Quarterly, Vol. 9 No. 1, July 1941

< BACK TO REPORTS 

Experience of Constable MacPhee

< BACK TO REPORTS  

Dear Mother and Dad:–

I suppose you have already heard quite a bit about our experiences in crossing.

We were getting along fine until we got near this side. Just a day or two from making it, I had a feeling that something was going to happen and was sort of uneasy. Slept in the afternoon and got up about 10:20. Had my trousers and boots on. At 10:25 I was in the saloon and a minute later there was a terrific crash and the lights went out. I did not have my lifebelt on. The explosion knocked me down and stunned me, but I knew we had been torpedoed. I got up as quickly as I could and started for the deck. We were down below. I had about twenty-five yards to go. It was pitch dark and the water was rising quickly. I passed right by my room but did not dare go in for my lifebelt or tunic. When I got to the bottom of the stairs the water was up to my knees. Got on deck and another torpedo hit us on the other side destroying some of the lifeboats or breaking the ropes and rendering them useless for lowering. I started for my boat but there were about forty around it, so I started back for the one in the rear and was the second last getting into it. We cut the ropes and by this time the lifeboat did not need to be lowered. The boat itself had gone down far enough to make the lifeboat level with the water. We got out about twenty feet and our boat was filling with water when another torpedo hit the ship. There was a terrific explosion as everything blew up. Some of the debris went up a hundred feet in the air and showered down on us, along with tons of water. Our boat was now full of water and thirty of us in it. We put the plug in the bottom and got her bailed out with a bucket and a mess tin; got the oars out and started rowing to keep the boat headed into the waves so we would not again fill with water. The cries and screams of those left behind was terrible. After the last explosion I fished a lifebelt out of the water and put it on. We were now adrift in the North Atlantic in an open boat. We were much overcrowded and could scarcely move. Spent a night I would not want to go through again. At daylight we heard a plane in the distance and we felt very helpless, not knowing whether it was British or enemy. It proved to be British and we were so glad. It circled low around each of our boats, letting us know that we would not be there much longer. Some hours after, two British destroyers came racing to our rescue and were we glad when we saw them in the distance. They had been going at top speed all night. We had got in an SOS before the boat went down. Our ship went down very fast less than three minutes from the time we were hit. Lucky to be here. I forgot to mention that after we had pulled away from the ship we very nearly came in contact with a floating mine. Many of my friends are gone. Only one of our unit got “it,” slept in my room, was on deck when the ship blew up. Last I saw of him. We landed in Northern Ireland. Never saw such beautiful country, everything is so green. Even more beautiful than the island at its best. Got thawed out there. I never saw more friendly and sympathetic people anywhere. The Dean of Londonderry came to see us and knowing that we had lost everything, gave us (about twenty-five of us) eight shilling apiece-about two dollars in our money. They gave us free cigarettes and did everything possible to make us comfortable. Only two of us, both R.C.M.P., did not go to the hospital. We are now in England. Saw Belfast, Liverpool, and London. We sure think a lot of the British Navy and Air Force. They spotted us first and flew over us directing the destroyers toward us. Two of our gang, R.C.M.P., still in hospital. I will never forget the hospitality of the people of Londonderry. Met many members of the police force, known as the Royal Ulster Constabulary. A Sergeant Galloway took me all through the barracks and introduced me to many of their men. They think a lot of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police. I have lost everything I had, handkerchiefs, which by the way are rationed here; my Christmas things and everything. But I am lucky to be here at all. Please don’t worry, anyone as lucky as me, and to go through what I did is too lucky to get hurt on land. We get all our mail in bunches. Would be glad of some cigarettes; they are very dear here. Saw some islanders, Lieutenant Stewart, from Charlottetown; Jack Hallet, who is a lieutenant in the R.C.M.P. Provost Co. Don’t worry about me.

Love to all,
(signed) Jack

Source: R.C.M.P. Quarterly, Vol. 9 – No. 1, July 1941

< BACK TO REPORTS 

Eyewitness Account of Torpedoing

< BACK TO REPORTS  

City Soldier Spent Night in Half-floating Boat

Details of the sinking of a British merchant ship in April, 1941, with an estimated loss of 300 lives, including 122 Canadian soldiers and sailors, 11 of them Victorians, were told today for the first time by Sgt. Vernon Bruce, 1325 Johnson Street, who is now convalescing from the after-effects of a grueling night in a half-filled lifeboat tossed by the ice-cold waves of the north Atlantic.

Bruce is one of Victoria’s unsung World War II heroes. On arriving in Canada he was sent to various military hospitals to undergo further treatment and only recently received his discharge from the army.

The unassuming youth, who was born in Victoria and educated at Oaklands and Victoria High School, told his story Wednesday afternoon in the living-room of his parents’ home.

The story began at the outbreak of war on Sept. 3, 1939. Bruce joined the army here the next day and was posted to Work Point as a member of the Corps of Military Staff Clerks. He was here until the spring of 1941.

LEAVES FOR BRITAIN

Bruce in company with six other staff clerks from Victoria, left for the east coast of Canada, en route to Britain.

The other six youths were Sgt. Fred Harding, Pte. William R. Bateman, Sgt. Stanley L. Lock, Cpl. William F. Budell, Sgt. Maj. Owen Bentley, and Cpl. John L. Leadbetter. They were all killed or died following the sinking.

Arriving at an eastern Canadian port, the group went on board the ship the next day on the start of a voyage which took 10 days and which only 72 of the total of about 375, survived.

Bruce and the other staff clerks from Victoria occupied two very small cabins adjoining each other on one of the lower decks of the ship. Everything went fine and the youths arranged when they reached the danger zone off Ireland to have one of them stay up each night so that should anything happen they would be warned immediately.

The night of the sinking, Bruce went to bed early as usual in his clothes. The others were elsewhere in the ship.

Without warning there were two explosions. “I heard the first,” Bruce said, “and I felt the second”. He was knocked out by the explosion.

Apparently Bruce recalls the second torpedo struck the ship very close to his cabin. On awakening, Bruce found himself in the corridor outside where his cabin had been. The corridor was rapidly being filled with water. Timbers were crashing. Bruce floated up on the tide as it swept [ illegible ].

“I decided to try to swim against the water coming into the ship,” he said but it was to no avail. I was swept backwards and eventually found myself in the engine room.”

The crew were struggling to get out, he said, and finding himself by a ladder, Bruce began to climb upwards.

“I might say there was no panic,” he said. “They all seemed cool, knowing what to do.

At the top of the engine-room ladder, Bruce found himself on the boat deck.

A lifeboat was just leaving. I jumped in. I had no life preserver. I tied myself to the boat.

The lifeboat apparently had been damaged by the torpedo explosion. On striking the water it went right under, but rose again, half full of water. The men pushed away from the side of the ship. There were 21 persons in the boat.

SIGHT SUBMARINE

When the boat was about 300 yards from the sinking ship, some of the men noticed what they thought was a raft. They tried to go towards it when they noticed it was not a raft but a submarine conning tower.

Before their eyes, the submarine jockeyed into position on the other side of the ship and fired a third torpedo, which broke the ship in two.

While the ship settled into the water the captain (Bruce does not remember his name) shot rockets into the air to mark the position for possible nearby ships.

The captain, a veteran of three or four torpedoings in the first World War and two or three of the present war, shouted “good luck, boys”. He went down with his ship.

The night in the open boat, half filled with water, the oars broken or still lashed to the boat, was the most horrible experience Bruce ever went through.

None of the men were properly clothed. The wind blew icy cold. Waves continually broke over the lifeboat. Then it rained and the sea became calmer.

ADRIFT 12 HOURS

The survivors sat in the ice-cold water for 12 hours. Not realizing the air tanks of the boat would keep them afloat, all night they bailed the water with their hands. They were 350 miles north of Ireland. There was no land. There was no light except the infrequent lantern flashes of other lifeboats, made so the survivors would not become separated.

Although the bailing of the water from the boat did nothing to keep the boat floating it saved the lives of 12 of the 21 in the lifeboat. Those who did not exercise died of the cold.

Bruce said all those who survived owed their lives to an unknown eastern Canadian sailor who, sitting with the rest of them up to his waist in water, kept shouting at the men to bail harder, struck anyone who stopped bailing or who showed any signs of sleepiness.

“It was darn cold,” he said “But there was no crying or signs of emotion. Everybody took it calmly. We tried to talk and sing all night.”

FRIEND DIES

Bruce’s friend, Cpl. John Leadbetter, who was in the lifeboat died of the cold.

“We were singing the Beer Barrel Polka at the time,” Bruce recalled. “Suddenly Johnny just pitched forward. He was dead.”

Three other Victorians, Pte. John H.F. Mara, L.Bdr. Lionel P. Cockrell and L.Bdr. Peter L. Cockburn, also in the lifeboat survived.

As soon as it was light a Hudson bomber which the day before had escorted the ship towards Ireland, but had left before the torpedoing reappeared. By 10.30 two British destroyers approached.

Then, while aid was in sight, the sailor broke down, worn out by his efforts to keep the others busy. He died in the arms of two of his companions as the destroyers neared to pick up the survivors.

Bruce’s lifeboat was the last one to be picked up by the destroyer, but once on board the men were quickly stripped of their wet clothes and wrapped in warm blankets.

Bruce said nothing was so welcome as the shot of navy rum they gave him as he came aboard the destroyer. He was soon asleep.

The survivors were well treated by the British navy boys who rescued them. Bruce himself lost everything, including his trousers. When he went ashore in Ireland it was in a pair of sailor’s pants, a gift of one of the destroyer crew.

The survivors were sent to hospital in Ireland. Bruce was there two weeks. On being released he went to the Canadian military headquarters.

He was soon back in hospital again, suffering from pleurisy. As soon as he was better from that he was brought to Canada on a Red Cross ship. Since he arrived back home he has still been taking treatments for some of the after-effects of the bitter night at sea in an open boat picked up, and spent three months in hospital following the ordeal.

A graduate of Sandhurst Military College, England, Lt. Cockrell was presented with a Sam Browne belt, which is given to top-ranking officer cadets.

Reference: Vancouver Daily Province 1941

< BACK TO REPORTS 

Lt. Russell Paul’s Account of the Sinking

< BACK TO REPORTS  

We left London, Ontario in the early hours of 18 April 1941 with a certain amount of trepidation. After all it was the first war any of us had been in, and we were heading into the thick of it. The blitzes were in full swing over England, and at that time there was no indication of any slackening. Presumably a lot of things would happen before we saw that part of Canada again.

I was in charge of a party of five other ranks from M.D.1 [Manning Depot No. 1 – London, Ontario]. Their wives and sweethearts were down to see them off, which incidentally is a mistake. You’ve said all there is to say long before, and the few minutes waiting for the train to move seems like years, with everyone endeavouring to be cheerful and making a hash of it, and at five in the morning one’s spirits are hardly at their peak.

I had said my goodbyes the night before, so when the train did get underway I was in perhaps the best shape. I suppose everyone at one time or another realizes the possibility that they might not come back. One or two of my group must have had a premonition. They were in the dumps for some time.

The journey to Halifax was uneventful. As we went along we picked out and became acquainted with other members who were proceeding on the same draft, until quite a sizeable group had accumulated.

We arrived at Halifax at 2300 hrs. 20 April 1941, and while waiting for our baggage heard that our ship was a small one and would be unescorted. It hurt our ego to think they would take such chances with such important persons, so we didn’t believe such silly tales.

After much waiting and a long trip in a crowded car, we finally got aboard and found that the rumour about her being small at least was correct – “Nerissa – 5,000 tons”.

Before turning in, the following information was extracted from various sources:-

The Nerissa’s speed was 14 knots, 15 if she was chased.

We would probably be leaving sometime during the night.

We would be going alone.

This was her 13th crossing during the war, in view of which she was called “lucky”. If only her luck would hold!

In all it wasn’t a rosy picture. I wrote a letter to my wife just in case, and gave someone on the dock two bits to post it.

We slipped away during the night. I heard the engines start, but there seemed no point in getting up. There would be no bands or cheering crowds to wave us goodbye. This secrecy business takes a lot of the joy out of a war.

In the morning we were out of sight of land, and realized fully that we were really on our way. I was placed at the Purser’s table with the Purser, an English F.O. returning from Africa via Canada, a conducting M.O. Lieut Parks, Lt.-Col. Smith and Sam Robertson, Canadian War Correspondent who had been home on leave.

We spent a day in St. Johns, Nfld. and incidentally picked up a couple of stowaways – soldiers anxious, no doubt, to see some fighting.

Passengers included 100 Canadian troops and 15 to 20 officers; a number of British navy, air force and army officers and men, and possibly twenty or thirty civilians. In all, including the crew, about 300 persons.

Our armament consisted of a stern 4-incher, a Bofors ack ack, and a number of Lewis guns, the latter to be manned by us.

After four days out we were advised to sleep in our clothes, carry our lifebelts at all times, and have a panic bag packed. All of which we did religiously.

On the night of 29 April the Admiralty ordered a change of course. The Captain was perturbed, and he evidently would have preferred to continue on his own. It was the first time he had been interfered with. Still we changed course to come down the West coast of Ireland.

On 30 April we had a plane escort all day. I was on lookout duty on the bridge in the afternoon. I saw a swamped lifeboat and some wreckage, which impressed on me the fact that things do happen at times. The wind was quite high.

The Purser had a cocktail party that night, which the Captain honoured with his presence. It was the first time he had been off the bridge for three days. He admitted he had been worried, but he figured we were O.K. then and would sight land in the morning.

Naturally he made us all feel good. We had crossed the ocean all on our own, and we really enjoyed the cocktail party and dinner as well.

After dinner four of us adjourned to the lounge for a game of bridge. At approximately 1030 I was playing three no trumps and having a difficult time of it. The lounge was comfortably filled. Some air force chaps were playing and singing at the piano, and there was that hum of conversation above the steady beat of the propeller. Our journey was nearing completion, when suddenly an explosion occurred, not a stunning one, but the lights went out immediately, and for half a second there was complete silence while everyone caught their breath. I remember thinking “well, here it is”.

I made my way along the passageway to my cabin, realizing too late I had forgotten my lifebelt under my chair. There was no sense in going back in the dark. Passed a steward in his white coat running along the passage, he was the only person I saw downstairs.

My cabin was the far end one and should have been easy to find. I went in what I considered was it, but couldn’t find my bag, which I had placed in an accessible place, so I assumed I was off the track, and decided to let it go.

The door to the stairs leading to the boat deck was jammed and I realized I would either have to go back to the bow or across to the other side. Decided on the latter. I remember very vividly the smell of cordite.

I made the boat deck O.K., but my boat was No. 1 on the starboard side and it now necessitated walking more than half way around the ship. I passed one lifeboat being filled and remarked that there was no sign of panic whatever. The first lifeboat I passed on the starboard, No. 8 I think, was hanging crazily from its davits. I presumed it must have been directly above where the torpedo hit.

No. 3 was being loaded, and I walked on and finally reached No. 1. It was fairly well filled. No one seemed in any particular hurry. People were still getting in, although now with some difficulty as the ship had taken on a list, and the boat was swinging out a couple of feet from the ship side. Talked with Pithart, my cabin mate, who was very properly dressed with his greatcoat and haversack slung. He said he had been in the cabin, and I asked him why he hadn’t brought my bag. I was wishing I had it and my coat.

One chap was using a torch. About 50 people yelled to him to “put it out”.

Someone suggested that I had better hop in, so I hopped in the stern. The boat was lowered at once, and we reached the water without incident. I unlocked the rear fall, and the others got out the oars. The Captain, still on the ship, kept us close by. I heard later he was waiting for the stewardesses, who never did show up.

Suddenly there was another explosion – another torpedo. I thought “the dirty bastards”. It seemed that two torpedoes was sort of picking on our little ship.

Then things happened fast, and I haven’t a clear idea of the events for the next few minutes. The boat next to us was loaded and two thirds of the way down. Someone must have become panicky and let his rope go. At any rate the front end dropped, spilling all the passengers into the water. The ship itself seemed suddenly to fall over towards us – I could have reached out and touched the boat deck rail.

Whether it was the lurch of the ship, or a wave set up by the second torpedo I don’t know. In any event our boat very quickly turned over, and those of boat No. 3 had company in the water.

I grabbed my nose because I always get mouthfulls of water if I don’t. I seemed to be under the water a long time. When I couldn’t stand it any longer I took a breath and found I was above water. The overturned boat was right beside me, so all I had to do was climb aboard – all out of puff.

In the meantime the ship had straightened up and I was just in time to see her tip up and go down by the stern. She was quite discernable against the skyline. As soon as she disappeared there was a strange silence and a terrible feeling of being alone. In addition it was fearfully dark. Cries of those in the water could be heard, but they didn’t last long. Perhaps we drifted away quickly. There was nothing we could do.

The bottom of our boat was well loaded, 25 I counted. I pulled one chap up behind me who seemed to be in bad shape mentally. Another chap showed up and said he had been trapped underneath our boat when it overturned. He also said there were others still there. I am sure they all got out.

It was cold and we did a lot of shivering. We were packed tightly and it was very hard sitting on a two inch wide keel. Someone up front thought we should sing; the chap that I had pulled up behind me thought we should be praying. Neither idea went over very big. My friend in the rear, however, seemed to be all to pieces. He just gave up and in a very few minutes his head was dragging in the water. I cut off his identity disc and his lifebelt and we let him slip away. We needed the room and the boat was riding fairly low in the water. I used the lifebelt to sit on.

Talked to the chap in front of me and found he was my cabin mate. We wondered if an S.O.S. had got away – only 3 ½ minutes to do it. I wasn’t particularly worried, there seemed other things of more importance.

We began to feel a little more comfortable, although the water was up around our knees. The sea was calm, and we could see flares in the distance and the lights of the odd raft flickering. Another overturned lifeboat drifted alongside with only two occupants. Three of our chaps transferred. We were still heavily loaded.

The wind started to rise about 3 a.m. and the sea got rough. The boat would come up on a swell and just about overturn again. A little later the waves got quite high and we were wet and cold again.

I think it was about this time that a number of the boys started to slip off. By daylight there were only a dozen of us left. And the worst was yet to come. The wind increased and the waves, at times, would wash us off and it was quite a job to climb back on. Fortunately a little later the sea moderated considerably.

I remember one chap, he had hung on during the worst of it, and then for some reason he just let go. We pulled him back on, but it is darn hard work, and a moment later he was off again. He was smiling vacantly and bobbing up and down in his lifebelt. He gradually drifted away. All we could do was watch him go.

By 7 a.m. we had dwindled to five. My cabin mate was getting nearly to the end of his tether and I was forced to hold him on for the last hour or so. I must have considered the possibility of letting go myself, but I can remember thinking how disappointed in me my wife would be if I didn’t make it.

I have often tried to analyze my thoughts and feelings from the time we sighted the destroyers that eventually picked us up, until we were actually safe on board.

Many accounts of similar situations would indicate that a feeling of relief and exultation sweeps over one. If that is true I missed it entirely. I remember one of our crowd drawing attention to the two ships on the horizon, but I can remember no speculation amongst us as to whether or not we would be located, or in fact whether they were even searching for us.

It is true that sighting the ships was not a complete surprise, for shortly after dawn a plane circled us and flashed a signal which was, no doubt, suggesting that we keep our chins up and that help was on the way.

At any rate I did not see the ships from the time they were first seen until one of them stopped a few hundred yards away to pick a few occupants off a raft. Then I had a feeling of resentment that we were second on their list, rather than first.

Looking back now I suppose there is no doubt that we were fairly near the end of our resources. When 20 out of 25 were unable to hold on, the remaining five probably are approaching the point of exhaustion. At any rate when the destroyer finally drew up alongside, none of us could even come close to climbing the very short ladder. So they hoisted us aboard like sacks of corn on the end of a rope.

We officers were taken to the ward room. Our wet clothes were shed and we were wrapped in blankets. A shot of Navy rum stopped shivering, and then ham and eggs and coffee, gallons of coffee – it is quite true that salt water makes one thirsty – and a cigarette. It really seemed worth it all to enjoy these few comforts.

Afterwards we were given a bunk, but it wasn’t so easy to get to sleep. I was awfully tired, but also awfully stiff and sore. But I did obtain snatches of sleep until around 2 p.m. when we were approaching the coast of Ireland. I am sorry that I didn’t have another opportunity to investigate a destroyer while it is on active service. There are so many things that would have been interesting.

We were transferred to a corvette at the closest port, and then taken up the river to Londonderry, where we were quartered for five days with a British regiment. Although everyone was very considerate, they were not pleasant days for I felt so utterly all in. I remember the first night trying to take a bath. I think it was the most painful operation I have ever undertaken. But gradually sleep and rest helped, and by the time we left most of us were fairly well back to normal. Out of 35 military survivors, however, we had to leave eight in the hospital for varying periods.

In any event that ended my first crossing of the Atlantic. It was an experience that I would not willingly repeat, and yet one that I am not sorry to have had.

Lt. Russell G. Paul,
Royal Canadian Army Pay Corps.

< BACK TO REPORTS