MALTA CONVOY

Bay of Plenty Beacon, Volume 6, Issue 57, 19 March 1943, Page 3

MALTA CONVOY

MERCHANT SEAMAN TELLS * THRILLING STORY

Stress, laid on the Malta convoys by M r A. V. Alexander, First Lord of the Admiralty, adds topical interest to the following thrilling convoy story by Edwin Randall written lor the Sunday Express. We sail from Scotland about. 9 p.m. Fourteen chunky cargo ships, escorted by what looks like ytlic whole British navy. I can't go into details, but what we have aboard is plenty important to MaJ.ta. Probably the most important is a tanker, carrying thousands of gallons of oil. Monday.—We've been out seven days: -Just after midnight we see Gibraltar. The Rock itself is a black mountain, but the Spanish mainland is dancing lights. I -wonder how many Nazi agents have glasses riyetcd on us, counting and making notes;. But, just, the same, I get six> hours' sleep. 4 After breakfast the captain's orders are read to us: "We 1 are on the spot now. Anything can happen - .Good luck." At night I pack my bag with whisky, woollen socks, half a dozen letters, and some lace handkerchiefs I bought in Scotland for presents. Then I lie. down with my clothes on. my shoelaces unloosened,, and try to get some sleep.

Tuesday.—lt starts at 9 a.m. A burst of fire away ahead in the convoy. Pretty soon Ave 1 learn they are firing at an enemy reconnaissance plane. We are in "Bomb Alley" now, the hotspot of the Mediterranean, within easy reach of land-baSed Ger- , man and Italian planes. At 1,.30 p.m. I am walking aft on the well deck. The skipper is pointing' aft, a funny expression on his face. I run to the railing. At first I see onlj' a cloud of yellow-brown smoke. Then a gust of wind clears it away and mj r heart sinks to my boots. Five hundred yards astern, mortally wounded, is an aircraftcarrier, her flight deck almost perpendicular to the. water. She's been torpedoed. t Not a Chance As I watch, a Hoyal Air Force pilot tries to take off. He roars . down the crazy rumvay. His wings lift him pathetically, then he dives into the water. There is a sickening . explosion as the plane, bursts into flames. He must have known he didn't have one chance in a thousand Now men are swarming over the r sides and diving into the oily water, where most arc picked up by destroyers. The carrier goes down fighting. All round her volcanoes of water are erupting. The "boys" are still dropping depth charges at the sub. that killed her. As she. takes the final plunge my stomach is all tied up in knots. A young seaman beside me has his mouth wide open, tears pouring down his cheeks.. He wipes them away without, embarrassment. "Don't laugh at me," he says between his teeth. "You're baAvling too.'' I put my hand up to my eyes.. He's right.

First jplood goes to the sub., but \ within an hour the planes start work \ on us; Between eight and 12 in the. ] first wave. 1 recognise Stukas,. Hcin- . kel Ills, Italian high-altitude bomb- , ers. torpedo planes. Our convoy sends up a hell of a barrage. On our ship seamen are working like, dogs passing the ammunition to the men at the guns,. Circling maybe 5000 feet above us, dive-bombers loom casual, almost contemptuous. Then . two or three peel off and dive. As they roar down you can make out the swastikas on their wings, and you can sec sticks of bombs drop out. I can't decide whether it is worse on deck pr down in the engine-room. Below, you don't want to be. caught Jiikc a rat in a sewer. But,, above, you see ships sinking and men dying, and. you can't do a damned thing about it. Each, attack lasts about 10 minutes, with anywhere from 10 to 30* planes. Unholy Din Then there is an hour's lull be- , fojr<- the next one. The din is unholy. Spitfires and Hurricanes wait outside our barrage and pick off the enemy as they go in or come out of the battle. Later we hear that our gunners and aircraft bagged between 140 and 1(»0 planes as Ave crawled towards Malta. The tanker, with her precious oil, gets hers at 5 p.m. Her guns jsnoick out a Stuka, but the cursed thing crashes right on her forward deck. I can sec flames shootiing up

300 feet: I mutter a prayer for the men aboard and another for the people of Malta. I know lioav much they need that oil. The tanker drops back and we plough ahead. In a convoy you can't afford to wait, for stragglers. The cruisers and two cargo ships suffer direct hits. The stern of another cruiser is blown 20 feet into the air. Sheprobably struck a mine that a sub. had dropped in its path. The evening brings a magnificent sunset, but now we get. the. worst attack of the day, about 60 planes. The Nazis call it a day about 1$ p.m. Wednesday.—Malta seems a couple of thousand miles awav to-day. Jerry punches the clock at 8 a.m. and keeps on the .job until 10 p.mt He is; whittling us down all right. But in the forenoon Ave arc cheered by an amazing sight— the tanker. She's ploughing along behin'd us. At first I can't believe my eyes, ' but an officer on the bridge trains his glasses, and sure enough there is the blackened. frameAvork of that on her deck* In no time the rail is lined *Avitli men staring and cheering. In the afternoon a sub. sneaks up and sends a torpedo into her amidships. When a tanker takes a-to-r----piodo it is usually the end. The tanker drops back again and I keep my eyes on her until she's out of sight. A bomber drops.a stick of

500-pounders; so close to our port that I can almost reach out and touch them. "Nice Try" A seaman picks up a monkeywrench and lets fly at him with a beautiful side-arm delivery. I feel like telling him not to be a< damned fool throwing away equipment, but I know how helpless he feels, and say, "Nice try." he grins, sheepishly. As .usual our heaviest, attack comes at dusk when the flashes of our guns help the Nazis to spot,us. More than GO planes come at us this time. Ships are hit all round usLate in the. evening the cargo ships still afloat are ordered to break formation and make a run direct.for Malta. It is too risky to stay bunched together. By midnight we are alone, death lurking J in the darkness ahead and astern. Thursday.—Now we are. through ' "Bomb Alley," but facing something ! worse—"E-boat Alley"—the narrow stretch between Tunisia and Pantellaria., where, are based speedy Ital- : ian M.T.B.'s in. sub-terranean caves. ' No.w we. are fair game for subs.. planes, mines and E-boats. [ I turn in. A friend, drops i'n for a drink. "A funny thing," he says, : "both our cats, have been hanging : round the lifeboats all the evening." I am not superstitious, but as I doze off that begin l : to sound like an • omen. ' Machine gun fire awakens me. I » glance at my w r atch. It is 5.J? a.m. 1 and I leap to the. porthole. Something is wrong. Tracer bullets slant down 5 into the water about 100 yards away, t I step up the' companionway. At that instant there is a sicken-

ing lurch. What has happened, is that the. first E-boat turned out to be a decoy. While we are blasting and blasting her another slips- up on the other side and sends a torpedo into us. Already the flames, have cut off the forecastle, and we are listing 40 , degrees. Twenty men are jammed round by the boat station. We try to launch a raft, but some fool has tied the pelican hook with a knot. After a couple of "centuries'' we get a landing net over a boat and climb down. We are' to windward and have to row like hell to> get I away from the ship. | Somebody shouts: "Here comes a boat.'' We watch her come over the horizon, fascinated and fearful, until we recognise her as one of our destroyers. She heaves to and we all swarm up a short ladder. The flaming ship we have abandoned disintegrates before our eyes. I curse roundly, because T have just remembered I left behind my bag so carefully packed. It is a madhouse; aboard the destroyer. She has already picked up the crews of two other cargo ships, and there are J550 survivors. For a week the crew have been living on short rations, hard tack and, bull}* beef. J3ut these sailors give us a cheery greeting and gladly share their food with us. Suddenly I 1 have to rub my eyes. Ahead stands the indestructible tanker, alive, but. not kicking. We throw her a line and start towing. Twice P we cut the line with axes when

Jerry comes over, and it snaps five times more. Friday.—Malta only 60 miles,, but before the day is over I doubt if we will get there. We are still towing the tanker at three knots. Soon Jerry comes over and scores a lucky hit. A 500-poundcr .strikes the tanker amidships. Why she doesn't blow sky-high I Will never know. The bomb explodes but doesn't even start a fire. New Trick Now we try a new trick. Another destroyer overhauls us. Both destroyers turn alongside the tanker and make themselves fast to her. Then we put on steam and drag her along between us. Wc don't febl too comfortable. Here we are, 800 men or more, inching along making a perfect target for German planes. But the commanders of the destroyers, have plenty of nerve. They are going to get the.tanker in or go down in the attempt. During the afternoon I begin to lose my affection for her. It .looks as if she is going to cost us all our lives. Wave after wave of planes dip at us. Bombs straddle the three of us, scoring near-misses Jmt no direct hits. The strangest sight I have seen occurs while the attack is at its height. Survivors think the tanker will go down sooner or later, so" climb aboard and start salving gear. My pants are spljt in the rear: J am overjoyed, to find a brand new pair of officer's pants. Other men return to our '.destroyer, staggering under loads of clothes, cigarettes, canned goods and coffee. All this while overhead the Nazis are busy dropping bombs, that may send us all to kingdom come at any second. We are still celebrating at dusk when Ave get a real reason to celebrate- The first British planes out from Malta circle protectively over us. What a cheer goes up from hundreds of throats. Maybe we'll make it, after all. Soon British M.T.B.'s cut circles round us. Saturday, 8 a.m.—We are heading for Malta's Grand Harbour. We are the tail end of the convoy. We are guarding the tanker which the Nazis would rather have' sunk than all the others put together. And | she lias lost only one tenth of her' precious oil. On deck first. I could see the old Moorish bastions and seawalls. As we get closer, I! can see' they are black with people—the indim-itab-le people of Malta., Across the water comes the rumble 1 of a band playing and people singing. It is "God Save the King." I turn away and my eyes arc misty. Only during the 1 next few days; I realise what we have" done. At sea, in the face of bombs, torpedoes and death, you just do your job. But here,, in Malta, the faces of ordinary people tell a story. They make me feel proud and humble, these Maltese. Their homes, schools, churches, have 1 been bombed to rubble, yet they are grateful to us.