Paul Gill Snr, WW2

 

SS Nathanael Greene WWII

Unit citation plaque for SS Nathanael Greene

 

Jack riding  the rods on a box car, pre-war

Ordinary seaman far right

Paul Gill and Mary Evans

Fighting Through Podcast WW2 Episode 102 – Arctic Convoy with Armageddon in the Arctic Ocean, in the Second World War

More great unpublished history!

Intros

 

Intro Passage 1 ww2 memoirs

The deck around me was awash with sea water and my mattress, with me on top of it, was

being dragged between the rails and over the stern to a point just above the giant thrashing propeller blades …

 

Intro Passage 2 ww2 podcasts

One of the Ju 88s seemed to have selected our ship for destruction. It dropped its bomb load directly above us, and we waited and waited for the bombs to hit us and send

us to Kingdom Come.

Intro Passage 3 ww2 memoirs

The general alarm had been sounded for submarine attack,

and all hands had rushed to their stations with their helmets

and life jackets, prepared for action.

Intro Passage 4 ww2 history

The enemy planes were flying just a few feet over the

surface of the water on our starboard bow, towards the head

of the convoy. I started to count them: 1, 2...13, 14…“Damn

it! Look at them!” I yelled.

 

Welcome to this ww2 podcast

Voted one of the best military history podcasts by 5000 regular listeners

 

Hello again and another exciting WW2 welcome to the Fighting Through second world war podcast. 

I’m Paul Cheall and the aim of this podcast is to share family stories, memoirs, and interviews with veterans in all the countries and all the forces. I dare you to listen!

You’ll know from the title of the episode that this is still not going to be the promised anniversary special. Reason being it’s just taking such a lot of work to pull it together and it’s not quite ready. I’m trying to make it special and I am trying to make it perfect. So please be patient. And remember, no matter how long it takes, it’ll be out soon!

This episode of my ww2 history podcast

What I am bringing you today is the most exquisite piece of what you might call rare footage. Oh my goodness, if you can’t get excited over this one then I’ll eat bully beef and hard tack biscuits for a month!

 

This is a family story from listener Paul Gill from USA whose father sailed in the Arctic convoys during the Second World War. 

Paul has recently published his Arctic Convoy memoir under the title of Armageddon in the Arctic Ocean. You heard a few short extracts from the memoir in the intro.

 

More later

 

But right now I’m going to share this month’s

Surprise story

The scouts

The late American William B. Breuer was a 20-year-old platoon sergeant, who landed with the first assault waves on D-Day in Normandy, and saw actions in five campaigns. Later he founded a daily newspaper and became an accomplished author and historian, including Undercover Tales of World War II from which book this story came from. Link https://amzn.to/4ch0p9v

And what a great set of secret stories that book contains. This one is about the Boy Scouts during WW2.

Page 60

From one surprise story to another now:

HMS Bulldog and enigma

https://www.facebook.com/share/p/CVw6PEkY7DsUbc2k/?mibextid=WC7FNe

 

On 9th May 1941,the crew of HMS BULLDOG forced U-110 to surface and the crew to abandon ship. The U-boats crew think their submarine is   so do not destroy the enigma machine or code books. The Captain saves a book of poetry he has written about his girlfriend instead. 

 

The Royal Navy board the Submarine that is now starting to sink and seize the enigma and code books. In one move they have manged to change the outcome of the war and assist the code breakers at Bletchley Park in smashing the German codes.

 

To give the illusion that the submarine has been lost, she is sunk and the crews sent to Canada to a prisoner of war camp so the chance of escape back to Germany is impossible. The German High Command never knew about the books from U-110s capture until the end of the war.

 

As a little postscript to this story, I found this item below on Reddit:

 

My hometown has a statue and a hotel named after one of the sailors of HMS Petard who was involved in the capture of the Enigma code books on U-559. Colin Grazier (from Tamworth, UK) was killed when the sub finally sank after passing on all the info they could find to another sailor who was waiting on the conning tower. He was posthumously awarded the George Cross along with Lt. Francis Fasson who also went down with the sub.

Harradin 

So, you may have noticed, different ship, different U-Boat, but let’s not spoil a good story over a few different characters! And clearly HMS Bulldog wasn’t the only ship to capture the Enigma codes from a U-Boat.

 

A bit of housekeeping now:

Reviews

 

Review 1 – Spotify - More ww2 memoirs

The following people kindly left show reviews on the new Spotify comments feature.:

BasBos enjoyed Ep 99/100 the recent D-Day episodes  – great company cycling through Normandy.

Craig likes the show for reminding us about the human side of war.

Ranger FC, Preston Ward, KEN, Owen Hayward, Robin and many more people have posted.

Thanks to all of you.

Strangely atm the Spotify comments section has disappeared from public show, nothing to do with me. Hopefully it’ll be back soon.

Thank you guys, all of you

Shout outs on the best second world war podcast

Emily Papallia

Daughter of long time supporter Frank in America.

I think James enthusiasm for the Podcast seems to have rubbed off on younger sister Emily because she’s become a regular listener to the show.

Frank tells me that Emily is 6, she does not do history in school, however, she’s definitely into it. She loves [learning about] the Presidents and she listens to the podcast and another one James likes when we are in the car.

She watches a lot of World war 2 stuff on tv with us and told me she wants to write a book too. 

Then there’s Ava, Ava is just here for a good time!!  Hi Avaaaaa!

James is working away at book 3, World War 1!  He’s typing it himself so it’s a little slower but he’s been on it!  With a little break for summer fun of course!

Family stories

 

Family stories 1 – Louis Trevett WaHekky - ww2 memoirs

Hi Paul - I recently found out an interesting story from my maori teacher (we don't have latin or french because my school doesn't have the money for latin  - or teachers)

My teacher told me a story about his great uncle (who was Scottish and had such a broad accent that he couldn’t understand him) and grandpa (who was maori and in the 28th maori battalion - he couldn't speak English).

Both of them served in the war as part of the second New Zealand division (it’s the best division). They were both captured and spent the rest of the war in a pow camp.

When my maori teacher was growing up he would go to the pub with the two of them.

He said whenever they went, people were super surprised that neither could speak English properly BUT they could speak German – because they had picked up so much in the pow camps.      

Thanks louis

Family stories 2 Calvados Corner - Don Booth UK

Over to Calvados Corner now, with Don Booth, who has actually taken time out, during his Normandy battleground visit, to drop me an email.

My Dad once told me when he was in France his unit dug in near a farm which was deserted. They found some Calvados in the cellar - they must have been worse for wear afterwards. He told me they had some jocks with them and one of them killed a chicken with a knife - they were living like kings (LOL!) I am going up to sword beach in the morning - there is a chance some vets will be there.

Thanks for that snippet Don. Hope you enjoyed Normandy. Nothing quite like it tbh.

Talking about Calvados, many thanks to Lisa Loftis from Springfield, Missouri

 For buying me five calvados on the buy me a coffee link. Hic!

 

War stuff

War stuff 1 Pressure

A new D-Day movie, Pressure, has cast a huge Oscar-winning star as future US President Eisenhower, in a World War 2 epic movie – Pressure.

It’s a true story ticking-clock thriller set amidst the D-Day landings in WWII.

 

Pressure will see Andrew Scott take on the role of Group Captain James Stagg.

A meteorologist who worked with the RAF during the Second World War, Stagg was the man responsible for persuading General Dwight D. Eisenhower to change the date of the Normandy Landings right at the last minute, saving thousands of lives and changing the course of the war in the process.

 

“In the seventy two hours leading up to D-Day, all the pieces are in place except for one key element—the British weather. Britain’s chief meteorological officer is called upon to deliver the most consequential forecast in history, locking him into a tense standoff with the entire Allied leadership. The wrong conditions could devastate the largest ever seaborne invasion, while any delay risks German intelligence catching on.

 

With only a trusted aide to confide in, and haunted by a catastrophic D-Day rehearsal, the final decision rests with Eisenhower. With only hours to go, the fate of the war and the lives of millions hang in the balance.”

 

Due to shoot in the UK this year,

 

Read more at the Empire website - link.

OK, let’s go - onto the next item! Sorry I couldn’t resist that. It’s the words you were thinking though wasn’t it?!

Main Event

And from one oceanic adventure to another, with the main event???

Background

Here’s some background from Paul Gill Jnr

He says “My father, Paul Gill, Sr., a native of South Boston, Massachusetts, was the 22-year old Third Mate on the Liberty Ship SS Nathanael Greene, which sailed to Archangel with Convoy PQ 18 in September, 1942.

 

His memoir tells the story of Dad's struggle to help support his large family during the dark days of the Great Depression in the 1930’s;

 

-his enrolment in the Civilian Conservation Corp at age 15;

-joining the Merchant Marine and making eight passages to European ports as a 16-year old;

-riding box cars [rails] across the United States in search of work in 1938;

-his return to the Merchant Marine and ascension up the ranks from Galley boy to licensed Merchant Marine officer;

-his participation in the biggest convoy battle of World War II;

-the destruction of the SS Nathanael Greene off the coast of North Africa by U-565;

-and his service in the US Navy and his later graduation from Harvard Business School.

 

The SS Nathanael Greene was one of just nine merchant ships to be recognized as a Gallant Ship of World War II. There is a plaque honoring these vessels and their crews at the American Merchant Marine Museum at Kings Point, New York. Pic in the show notes. 

 

Intro to book

Now follows the Intro from the Book written by Paul Gill Jr

And I think it’s a great scene setter for this remarkable story:

MY EARLIEST MEMORY OF THE SS Nathanael Greene is of the

time in 1957 when my father loaded the family into

our station wagon and drove us to the U.S. Merchant Marine

Academy at Kings Point, just outside New York City. He said

there was something he wanted to see there, a plaque honoring

the Liberty Ship he served on in World War II. I remember

being led into a room and looking at a bronze plaque

describing the heroic actions of my dad’s ship during her

voyages to Russia and the Mediterranean, where she was destroyed

by a German U-boat.

The plaque read:

During a long voyage to North Russia, SS Nathaniel [sic]

Greene was under incessant and violent attack by enemy

planes and submarines. In most gallant fashion, and in

spite of many crew casualties, she consistently out-maneuvered

and out-fought the enemy, finally discharging

her vital cargo at the designated port. After effecting temporary

repairs to her battered hull and rigging, she took

part in the North African Campaign. Bound for her last

port, with limited cargo, she was torpedoed, and in a

sinking condition was successfully beached.

The stark courage of her heroic crew in battle against

overpowering odds caused her name to be perpetuated as

a Gallant Ship.

 

(Unit Citation plaque for the SS Nathanael Greene, Reproduced with

permission of the American Merchant Marine Museum.)

 

We read the words on the plaque in awe, scanned the

other eight plaques in the Gallant Ships collection, and left.

We were very proud to see our father’s ship enshrined in a

place of honor at Kings Point.

Dad was quiet on the drive home. It was as though we had

paid our respects at the grave of a departed family member.

My sisters and I wanted to learn more about the Nathanael

Greene and Dad’s role in the story, but his somber mood discouraged

conversation, and the topic did not come up again

until years later.

In 1960, when I was twelve years old, my parents purchased

an old farmhouse in Southold, on Long Island’s North Fork.

The house had been vacant for many years and had fallen

into disrepair. As the only son, I was conscripted to help

Dad renovate the structure and turn it into a habitable

vacation home. Almost every Saturday that spring and summer,

Dad and I made the long trek out to Southold to work

on the house. We were driving through farm country one

morning when a haunting melody came over the airwaves,

sung in German by a woman with a lovely voice. I didn’t

know a word of German, but the singer repeated what

sounded to me like “seaman.” We listened to the song, and

then Dad, who knew German, told me the song was titled

“Seeman, deine Heimat ist das Meer,” “Sailor, the Sea is Your

Home” in English.

Sailor, Sailor

Your home is the deep blue sea

Your ship is your love

And the stars are your best friends

And though you find your thrills

In the places far away from me

Just remember I'm always waiting

When your journey ends

The poignant lament seemed to touch Dad’s heart and

unleash a flood of memories. He started to tell me about his

voyages to Germany as a sixteen-year-old merchant seaman

in 1937. He made eight passages that year, first on SS Manhattan,

the ship that had brought the American Olympic

team to Germany for the Berlin Olympic Games, and then

on the SS President Roosevelt. He spoke of the fun he had

dancing, singing and drinking beer with young Germans in

Hamburg beer halls, of his beautiful German girlfriend,

Heidi, and learning German from her and his German shipmates.

On the ride home from Southold that afternoon, he

spoke about the Nathanael Greene and her voyage to Archangel

as part of Convoy PQ18 in 1942. He grew excited as he described the ferocious barrage of antiaircraft gunfire the

Nathanael Greene threw up against the waves of Heinkel

111 and Ju 88 bombers that swept down the columns of

merchant ships at masthead height. He described the cataclysmic

explosion of the ammunition ship, SS Mary Luckenbach;

the Nathanael Greene being singled out for praise by

the convoy commodore for shooting down nine German

aircraft; leading shipmates down into the ship’s magazine

to load rounds into ammunition belts in the heat of battle;

a powerful gale in the White Sea; the horrible conditions in

Archangel; getting lost far north of the Arctic Circle on the

return voyage; and Nathanael Greene going down with all

guns blazing after being attacked by U-boats and Heinkel

111s in the Mediterranean Sea.

I never enjoyed laboring on that old farmhouse, but I

was riveted by Dad’s storytelling, which became a regular

feature of our long drives back and forth to Southold. I

learned about Dad’s tough childhood growing up in Depression-

era Boston; leaving home to join the Civilian

Conservation Corps at age fifteen; going to sea at age

sixteen; his pre-war years in the Merchant Marine; manning

picket lines on the New York waterfront; working as a

steeplejack on Manhattan skyscrapers; riding the rails

across the country with his brother, Steve; port calls in

Honolulu, Rio de Janeiro, Buenos Aires, and Le Havre; attending

officer training school and earning his Third Mate’s

ticket; his fourteen war-zone runs on the Nathanael Greene;

joining the Navy; and attending college and graduate school

after the war.

Dad rarely spoke of these matters with other family members,

and never to anyone outside the family. On the rare

occasion when someone brought up the topic of the Nathanael

Greene, you could almost see a mask descend over his countenance.

He would become quiet and withdrawn. He was

not fun to be around at these times, and the rest of the

family learned to give him a wide berth until the dark mood

dissipated. But when he and I were alone together he seemed

to enjoy opening up to me about his youthful adventures

and misadventures, his brushes with death, and his determination

to overcome the many obstacles placed in his

path as a young man and survive poverty, battles with

violent men, and combat, to finally acquire a family, an education,

and a secure place in society.

I sensed that Dad needed to share these stories with

someone, and that I was the only person he felt he could

confide in. He always said that he was going to write a book

someday, to be titled Red Waters, based on the diary he kept

on the voyage to Archangel.

In 1982, Dad retired after a long career in the shipbuilding

industry and started to write Red Waters. He worked slavishly

on the book for many years, and acquired a great deal of research

material from the National Archives, the US Navy,

the Coast Guard, and the Imperial War Museum in England.

The book project got a huge boost in 1990, when Dad

tracked down his best friend on the Nathanael Greene, radioman

John McNally, who lived in Swanton, Vermont. Dad

and John had many wonderful reunions, usually at our home

in nearby Middlebury. The two old shipmates would sit for

hours on our front porch and exchange stories about the

good and the bad times they experienced on the SS Nathanael

Greene. Whenever I could, I would sit quietly and listen to

their enthralling stories about their escapades in Glasgow

and Edinburgh, Scotland; Sunderland and Middlesbrough,

England; the convoy battle in the Arctic Ocean; the long

overlay in Archangel; their return to Scotland; and the last

days of the Nathanael Greene in Mostaganem, Algeria, before

she steamed out into the Mediterranean on her last voyage.

At first, Dad seemed to make good progress on the manuscript.

However, deteriorating vision and other health challenges

prevented him from finishing the book. Shortly before

he died in 2000, he asked me to edit the manuscript and

find a publisher for the book. I promised him I would, but

when I first looked at the manuscript and delved through

the five boxes of notes and research material he left behind,

I was overwhelmed. Many of the chapters were still in

outline form, and I realized that finishing the project would

require an enormous expenditure of time and energy, which

at that time I could not commit to. I decided to put off

editing the manuscript until I retired from medical practice.

By the time I hung up my stethoscope in 2013, I had just

started an ambitious boat-building project, and so I kept

the book project on the proverbial back burner.

It stayed on the back burner until April, 2020, when I

received a call from my twelve-year old granddaughter,

Natalie Gill. Natalie’s 6th-grade class was studying World

War II, and she wanted to learn about my father’s wartime

experiences. I told her that Dad’s ship, the SS Nathanael

Greene, was part of a large convoy of ships that ran a ferocious

gauntlet of U-boats and German warplanes in the Arctic

Ocean in 1942 to deliver desperately-needed munitions to

Archangel, Russia. I told her how the Nathanael Greene was

briefly disabled when a nearby ammunition ship exploded,

and was in mortal danger of being destroyed by German

warplanes and U-boats as she fell behind the rest of the

convoy. I had to fight back  tears as I told my granddaughter

that her great-grandfather and his shipmates got the Greene

underway again and steamed back into convoy formation

with the Stars and Stripes streaming proudly from her mast

and the men in the other ships in the convoy cheering wildly.

 

I ended by describing how the SS Nathanael Greene was torpedoed

by a German U-boat off the coast of North Africa.

Talking to Natalie about the Nathanael Greene reminded

me of my unfulfilled promise to my dying father. I realized

that I had an obligation not only to my father, but also to

my children and grandchildren, to get his story into print. I

dug out Dad’s unfinished manuscript, his diary, and the research

material he had amassed. To my great surprise and

delight, I found copious notes describing his childhood, his

experiences in the Civilian Conservation Corps and the

Merchant Marine, as well as the voyages of the SS Nathanael

Greene. I also found several old floppy disks containing

more notes. As I sifted through this fascinating material, I

realized that I could not put off the editing of Red Waters

any longer. I had to share Dad’s incredible story with the

world. And when I came across this sentence in the manuscript,

“This was Armageddon, the decisive battle of good versus

evil prophesied in the Book of Revelation,” I decided to

change the title of the book to Armageddon in the Arctic

Ocean. Every challenge Dad faced as a boy and young man

had prepared him for what would be the sternest test he

would ever face in mortal combat against a ferocious and

determined enemy in one of the most formidable environments

on the planet. This is my father’s story.

—Paul G. Gill, Jr., M.D.

Middlebury, Vermont

February, 2022

 

SS Halo

Here’s another taster of the book, illustrating Paul Gill’s experience early on in his naval career. This is just one of Paul’s many adventures in the book. And his experience on the Halo surely sets him up well to cope with the rigours of the Arctic Convoy yet to come.

So this is Circa 1936, before the war started and well before war broke out and before America entered the war. PG Snr was aged 16 and got his first job on a ship as a messman on board a ship.

Description of the SS Halo

D Halo’s gangway to the dock, I turned

and looked back for a better look at the first ship I would

sail on in my newly-launched nautical career.

Discharging operations were underway for the ship’s cargo

of 65,000 barrels of crude oil, which was pouring through a

bank of heavy pipes from the ship to the dock and to its

shoreside storage tanks. There was a sense of urgency among

the crew as it hastened to complete the discharge operations

in order to meet the next morning’s departure schedule.

The ship that lay before me was vastly longer, beamier,

and faster than any of the square-rigged or fore-and-aft

rigged sailing vessels my father had described to his children

when he would gather us of an evening and regale us with

sea stories. The clipper ships, Down Easters and schooners

Dad described were beautiful fabrications, designed to

cleanly and quietly harness nature’s forces to propel man

and vessel to seaports around the world, leaving only

smokeless skies and bubbling, clean water in their wakes.

None of us had ever sailed on such a majestic vessel, but

our South Boston house was home port to many scale

models of these beautiful wind ships. Gazing at Dad’s creations,

berthed in their oaken cradles on the sidebar in our

dining room and on tables in the front parlor, it was easy to

let our minds wander to times past when our forefathers

had sailed on such vessels.

The SS Halo, like all modern steamships, was designed to

earn money for her owners, and aesthetics be damned. She

was a functional, 20th-century working ship, and her form

followed her function. Her fore-and-aft catwalks stretched

from the forecastle deck at the bow over the main deck’s

tank openings to reach the midships housing, and then aft

to the poop deck at the stern.

Work-horse that the Halo was meant to be, she was nothing

but an oversized oil tank for carrying “black gold” for her

owners. Her hard years at sea hauling oil were betrayed by the

rust stains bleeding from the surfaces of her decks and from

the skin of her hull and housing above- and below-decks,

from stem to stern.

Never did I foresee that this rust bucket, which would

carry me on my first sea voyage, would carry all but three of

her forty-two crewmen to Fiddler’s Green when she was

sunk in the Gulf of Mexico by U-506 on May 20, 1942.

Farewell, Family

That evening, with little time to dally, I shared my good

fortune at finding a berth on an oil tanker with Phil and my

parents. I then packed what little gear I had and, with their

blessings, returned to the Halo.

At the gangway, the seaman on watch gave me directions

to the sleeping quarters for the steward’s department crew,

which he called the “glory hole.” They were aft, by the ship’s

stern, a deck level below the main deck.

 

Welcome Aboard…Bang!

I found my quarters without difficulty, but before I could

enter I was suddenly hammered with hard-driving blows

from a young sailor who cursed me, called me a “Goddamned

flunky!” and knocked me to the deck, straddling me as he

whaled away at me.

Blocking his blows with my forearms, and at a loss to understand

why he was attacking me, I held back on returning

his punches. I was the newcomer in the crew, and I was

afraid that, while a couple of well-placed retaliatory blows

might have given me the upper hand, they might also have

caused his shipmates to come to his assistance. Soon, the

others watching the set-to pulled him off of me.

From the odor of alcohol on my assailant’s breath, it was

evident that whisky had brought out the pugilist in him.

The next day, he claimed that he was horrified by his actions,

and had no memory whatsoever of what had happened.

I learned from this experience. From that time on, whenever I was in unfamiliar surroundings, I tried to identify potential

assailants who might be on the lookout for a human punching

bag. There were people who would take a whack at you

because your nose was out of joint, or for some other

ridiculous reason. I would be wary, and let new friendships

take their course. Welcome to the galleyman’s Glory Hole!

Bound for Deep Waters

At six o’clock the next morning, the deck hands cast off

Halo’s docking lines and she steamed seaward to the open

waters of the Atlantic Ocean. We were bound for Aransas

Pass, Texas, to pick up another load of crude oil. At 5:00 a.m.,

the cook had me up and at it in the galley, washing pots and

pans and utensils as fast as he finished with them. When he

was in need of a pot, a pan, a ladling spoon, or some other

item, he would call out, “Pronto, Pablo!” and I responded

quickly with “Si, si, senor!”

Sea Watches

Sea watches were set for the Halo’s deck hands and “Black

Gang” before the ship left port. They worked four hours on

and eight hours off, around the clock, a full eight hours

every day the ship was at sea until the ship arrived at its

port of destination.

To signal the ship’s sea-watch time, the ship’s bell was

struck every half hour in the wheelhouse on the bridge,

starting after midnight at 12:30 a.m. with one bell, then at

1:00 a.m.with two bells, on up to 4:00 a.m. when eight bells

were struck.

At the end of every four-hour watch, the ship’s bell would

again sound each half-hour until the new watch had been

completed. The ship’s bell alerted those off watch to be ready to relieve those on watch in the engine room, at the

wheel in the wheelhouse, and on lookout in the crow’s nest

or forward at the forecastle head.

Work in the galley for the cook and his galleyman went on

day in and day out, seven days a week, from five in the

morning until seven in the evening, with mid-morning and

mid-afternoon breaks between meals.

Thanks to my “KP duty” in the CCC kitchen, which served

hundreds of men at a sitting, the galleyman’s work for a

crew of forty was quickly dispatched with expertise, without

pain or strain!

 

The Crew of the SS Halo

I slowly became acquainted with the Halo’s crew and

officers, their work, and how they lived aboard ship.

The deck hands included sailors who steered the ship in the

wheelhouse on the bridge, served as lookouts in the crow’s

nest high up on the foremast, maintained the ship’s rigging,

and kept the lifeboats ready for emergency launching.

 

The Black Bang was made up of the oilers, wipers and

firemen who manned and maintained the ship’s engine room.

The steward’s department consisted of a cook, a galleyman,

messmen for the crew’s and officers’ mess rooms, and

stewards for cleaning the officers’ living quarters.

 

The master of the ship and his officers, the mates, engineers

and the radio operator, were quartered in cabins in the

ship’s amidships housing. Here they had their washrooms

and mess room separate from those of the unlicensed crew.

 

While in the Civilian Conservation Corps CCC, there had been a close relationship between

the officers and the men, with a strong informal

dialogue and shared meals in the mess hall.

Things were

different aboard the Halo.

 

There was a significant difference

in the living conditions of the ship’s officers and those of

the unlicensed crewmen, and what little dialogue there was

between them had strictly to do with the ship’s operations

and management.

 

The Crew’s Quarters

The fo’c’sle and Glory Hole for the crew were aft, at the

ship’s stern. They were one level below the main deck, next

to the noisy ship’s steering room, where its engine over the

rudder post grinded and groaned continuously with every

turn of the ship’s helm by the sailor in the wheelhouse.

 

The crew’s living quarters were overcrowded, with double-

tier bunks, and straw mattresses covered with blue linen

to extend the time between launderings. In stormy weather

with heavy seas, the portholes in the crew’s living quarters

were dogged to shut out the sea, leaving the fo’c’sle and

Glory Hole with inadequate illumination. The lanterns on

the walls were too dim to read by.

These cramped sleeping quarters were a breeding ground

for tuberculosis, a disease with which I was soon to become

familiar.

 

It was warm in the Glory Hole that night, so I moved my

mattress to the open main deck at the ship’s stern for my

 

first night’s sleep under the stars. The sailors had pointed

 

out some of the constellations, and from where I lay I could

 

make out the North Star, the Seven Sisters and Orion’s Belt

 

in the heavens above me. With the gentle vibration of the

 

mattress caused by the propeller and the ship’s steering

 

engine below me, I was soon asleep.

 

 

Halfway through the night, I was rudely awakened by the

 

ship struggling against a sudden head storm. Its bow was

 

climbing and plunging wildly as its stern dragged in the

 

trough of the giant waves.

 

Before I was fully awake, the deck around me was awash

 

with sea water and my mattress, with me on top of it, was

 

being dragged between the rails and over the stern to a

 

point just above the giant thrashing propeller blades. I

 

clutched desperately at the upper railing and climbed to

 

safety on the poop deck housing as the mattress disappeared

 

into the sea below.

 

Perilous moments were to be expected, I was learning,

 

sailing merchant vessels with unknown shipmates, some of

 

dubious character, and in unfamiliar waters, most of which

 

were unpredictably treacherous. Few mariners could decide

 

which of the two was more dangerous.

 

Chapter 11 – The SS Nathanael Greene

I’m now going to turn to Chapter 11 of the book, Armageddon in the Arctic Ocean. The Navy is now at war stations – 1942 – and the SS Nathanael Greene beckons.

Backstory to the Arctic Convoys

The Arctic convoys of World War II were oceangoing convoys which sailed from the United Kingdom, Iceland, and North America to northern ports in the Soviet Union – primarily Arkhangelsk (Archangel) and Murmansk in Russia.

Between 1941 and 1945, 78 convoys and 1,400 merchant ships delivered essential supplies to the Soviet Union escorted by ships of the Royal Navy, Royal Canadian Navy, and the U.S. Navy.

Eighty-five merchant vessels and 16 Royal Navy warships were lost 

Nazi Germany's Kriegsmarine lost a number of vessels including one battleship, three destroyers, 30 U-boats, and many aircraft.

The convoys demonstrated the Allies' commitment to helping the Soviet Union, prior to the opening of a second front, and tied up a substantial part of Germany's naval and air forces.

Convoy PQ 18

Convoy PQ 18 is the subject of Paul Gill snr’s memoir and was an Arctic convoy of forty Allied freighters from Scotland and Iceland to Arkhangelsk in the Soviet Union.

The convoy departed Loch Ewe, Scotland early September 1942, rendezvou’d with more ships and escorts at Iceland and arrived at Arkhangelsk 3 weeks later.

An exceptionally large number of escorts was provided by the Royal Navy, including the first escort carrier to accompany an Arctic convoy.

Detailed information on German intentions was provided by the code breakers at Bletchley Park and elsewhere,

In late September PQ 18 was attacked by bombers, torpedo-bombers, U-boats and mines, which sank thirteen ships at a cost of forty-four aircraft and four U-boats.

The convoy was defended by escort ships and the aircraft of the escort carrier HMS Avenger.

United States Navy Armed Guard and British Naval and Royal Artillery Maritime Regiment gunners were embarked on the freighters to operate anti-aircraft guns and barrage balloons, which made air attacks more difficult but because of inexperience, they occasionally wounded men and damaged ships and cargo, with wild shooting.

So, thanks to Wiki for that background.

As a prelude and scene setter for the pending voyage, I’m going to read the last paragraph of Chapter 10:

Main TR

Preview of the end of chapter 10

Back to Loch Long

On August 3, 1942, we weighed anchor and steamed in

convoy formation on a southeasterly course, bound for Loch

Long. The convoy zig-zagged and maintained a speed of 7

knots. The scuttlebutt was that we were headed for Russia

by way of the Persian Gulf. This was wishful thinking, as it

turned out. We ran into heavy fog as we passed the Hebrides,

and the convoy went into two-column formation. We arrived

in Loch Long on August 8 and anchored. Liberty launches

made two trips daily between the ship and Gourock. From

Gourock we walked to Greenock, and from Greenock we

took a bus to Glasgow, about a half-hour trip. In Glasgow,

we generally stayed at Mrs. Maxwell’s Bed and Breakfast,

near the Hotel Beresford, a favorite watering hole for visiting

American seamen and servicemen.

 

Listener just a little side comment from me here. It’s interesting that Paul arrived at Port Gourock in August 1942 – for just three months later my own father would be sailing out of that same port bound for Egypt on the Queen Mary. Back to the Americans …

 

Several large American army transports pulled into Loch

Long while we were anchored there, including one ship, the

U.S.S. Wakefield, that I immediately recognized as the former

S.S.Manhattan, the passenger liner I had made two voyages

to Europe on in 1937. The Manhattan had been requisitioned

by the U.S.Navy, renamed the U.S.S. Wakefield, and converted

to a troopship.

On August 20, Captain Vickers attended a commodore’s

conference with the masters of the other thirty-two merchant

ships anchored in Loch Long. At 3:00 p.m. the next afternoon,

we weighed anchor and sailed for Loch Ewe. The morale of

the Greene’s crew was poor at this point, as we seemed to be

just moving from one desolate anchorage to another and

not accomplishing anything.

We arrived at Loch Ewe at 9:00 a.m. on August 23, 1942.

The next day, S.S. Empire Morn and the Liberty Ship S.S.

Patrick Henry joined the forming convoy, and the S.S. Benjamin

Rush arrived on August 28.

On August 26, officers of the British rescue ship Copeland

came aboard the Nathanael Greene to tell us what to expect

from the Germans on our voyage to Archangel.

It was clear to every member of the Nathanael Greene’s

crew that, four months after arriving in the United Kingdom

loaded to the gunwales with war materiel, and after swinging

at anchor in one remote anchorage after another day - after

endless day - the balloon was going up.

Transition

 

ELEVEN

ARMAGEDDON IN THE

ARCTIC OCEAN

Wednesday, September 2, 1942

AT LAST THE DAY HAS arrived to sail for Archangel, U.S.S.R.,

our destined port of discharge. Five months ago yesterday

we sailed from New York, thinking that, at the longest,

the trip would take about three and a half months. But we

were in for disappointment. I had hoped and planned for a

short voyage. But now, tired of speculating and hoping

against hope, I am inclined to be fatalistic, so let come what

may. The decision has at last been made. We were now en

route to Archangel, Russia, by way of the North Atlantic

Ocean, the Arctic Ocean, the Barents Sea, the White Sea, and

the Dvina River.

The Loch was bustling with activity as the convoy’s

merchant ships and naval escort vessels readied for the

voyage. Last-minute tasks included loading fuel, taking on

water, replenishing ship’s stores and supplies, checking armament

and ammunition readiness, final dispatches of

ship’s mail and crew correspondence and, lastly, attendance

by all captains and senior officers at the commodore’s conference

for receipt of their final sailing orders.

Captain Vickers returned from the commodore’s conference

early that afternoon and we weighed anchor soon after. We

maneuvered into convoy column position and proceeded

seaward, bound for Archangel, Russia. By nightfall, we had

cleared the minefields and were well out to sea. Winds of

gale force from the southwest,  with heavy squalls and a

rough, heavy, confused sea and ground swells shielded the

convoy from enemy craft throughout the night.

When I was relieved of my watch at 8:00 p.m., I turned in,

clothes and all, ready for any emergency that might occur

during the night. Though I was very tired, I found it difficult

to sleep. My thoughts rambled through the recent past, and

I wondered whether I would ever return home or see [my Fiancee] Mary

again. Before leaving Loch Ewe, I had written and mailed

letters to Mary, her mother, Mom and Dad, and my sister,

Jean, and her husband, Jim. These letters could have been

my last. I did not know what to write; I didn’t want to

frighten them.

Thursday, September 3, 1942

Vessel rolling and pitching in rough, heavy southwesterly

sea and swell. Moderate southwesterly gale with heavy rain

squalls prevailing throughout the day. Late in the afternoon,

the vessel started shipping water over her decks and hatches.

Laboring and straining, rolling 20-25 degrees at times. Visibility

lowering. About 9:00 p.m., we shipped a heavy sea

forward which shifted the deck cargo. The strength of the

wind increased to a strong gale. Cargo was dangerously

adrift in #4 hold after a heavy roll of the vessel, so the

master decided to “heave to” to wind and sea for the safety

of the vessel. Other vessels in the convoy were also having

difficulty and hove to as well.

 

Within a few hours, we had lost sight of all other convoy

vessels. The menace of enemy aircraft was then added to

the stress of severe weather conditions. We were in a

precarious predicament. Our vessel was well armed and

prepared for enemy action under convoy conditions, but

under the present circumstances we were no match for an

enemy submarine or surface vessel attack.

 

Friday, September 4, 1942

At dawn, wind and sea let up some, so the master ordered

the helmsman to bring the ship’s head around to the northwest,

and orders were given to ring up FULL AHEAD on the

engine room telegraph. The Nathanael Greene needed to

move fast to catch up to the convoy. We maintained a sharp

lookout for enemy aircraft throughout the day, but none

was sighted. The main body of the convoy came into view

two points off the port bow at around 7 o’clock that evening.

By 8:30 p.m., to the immense relief of all hands, we were

back in position in the convoy.

Saturday, September 5, 1942

Various courses and speeds maintaining position in the

convoy. Moderate southwesterly gales prevailing with intermittent

rain squalls. Wind hauled around to the northwest

about noon. Vessel continually rolling and pitching, shipping

heavy seas over the decks and hatches. A warning was received

from the commodore that enemy submarines were in the

vicinity. Destroyers continuously dropping depth charges.

Sunday, September 6, 1942

Wind and sea conditions remained the same throughout

the day. Vessels of the convoy endeavoring, with extreme difficulty,

to maintain their proper convoy positions, yet this is

generally impossible due to the severe weather conditions.

Monday, September 7, 1942

The weather conditions improved within the lee of Iceland,

which was sighted at 7:30 a.m. The convoy remained in

sight of land throughout the day.

Tuesday, September 8, 1942

This morning, ten more merchant ships joined the convoy

off the west coast of Iceland, bringing the total number of

merchantmen in the convoy to forty-three. The escorting

warships apparently include twenty destroyers, two Anti aircraft cruisers, two light cruisers, two submarines, and three rescue

vessels. The convoy was now headed northeast after an alteration

of course this afternoon off the northwest coast of

Iceland. The waters that the convoy was now steaming

through were treacherous. They were heavily mined, and

many of our own convoy vessels had ended their voyage at

this point. Strong northeasterly winds with heavy rain squalls

prevailing, with a rough, heavy sea and swell.

Wednesday, September 9, 1942

Convoy steaming through dense fog banks. Frequent heavy

snow squalls with blinding sleet from the north as the

mercury dropped to 32 degrees Fahrenheit. Vessel rolling

and pitching heavily and shipping seas over the foredeck.

Thursday, September 10, 1942

Wind and sea moderated in the early hours of the

morning, as the convoy passed through occasional patches

of fog. Destroyers commenced dropping depth charges.

Convoy continuously maneuvering to evade U-boat attacks.

Depth charges are being dropped so relentlessly and the

explosions are so powerful that the ship is in a constant

state of vibration. This keeps us in a state of heightened

anxiety, not knowing whether an explosion is a depth

charge going off nearby or we have been struck by a

torpedo. A British aircraft carrier, HMS Avenger, joined

the convoy. The inner group of escort destroyers and

cruisers formed a tighter ring around the merchant ships,

endeavoring to form an impregnable defensive ring against

enemy submarines.

Friday, September 11, 1942

While communicating with the commodore in Morse code

at 4:30 this morning, we could hear an aircraft circling over

the convoy. Dense fog made it impossible to determine the

approach bearing of the aircraft. Suddenly, it dove to a height

of about 300 feet over the Greene, and then immediately ascended

to a higher altitude. It was only visible for two or

three seconds, but it had all the markings of a German Dornier

long-distance bomber. Two hours later, we received a message

from the commodore telling us that we could expect an air

raid attack that night or the next day.

The Nathanael Greene was experiencing difficulty maintaining

our assigned column position because of the poor station-keeping

performance of the vessel ahead of us. The commodore

approved our request to switch positions with this vessel, the

SS John Penn, from position #72 to position #73.

The convoy fought heavy seas and swells most of the day

in a moderate northeasterly gale and blinding snow squalls.

We dreaded the thought of taking to our lifeboats in such

conditions.

Saturday, September 12, 1942

Prevailing weather conditions unchanged. The convoy is

now north of the Arctic Circle (latitude 66 degrees, 33.00

minutes north) and in the Arctic Ocean. We have passed

many half-submerged lifeboats and liferafts, with oars, life

jackets and flotsam close by. They were badly damaged by

enemy action, and we cringed at the thought of what had

happened to their former occupants.

Sunday, September 13, 1942

From this day until our arrival in the U.S.S.R., we were involved in the biggest convoy battle of World War II, according

to the British Admiralty. We were attacked night and day

from the air and from the sea. Forty-four out of about 120

attacking Luftwaffe aircraft were destroyed. The S.S. Nathanael

Greene was credited with the destruction of nine enemy aircraft,

and was recognized by the commodore as the fightingest

merchant vessel in the convoy. The convoy’s escorts destroyed

at least four U-boats.

U-boat Attack

After being relieved of my 4:00 a.m. to 8:00 a.m. watch

and having breakfast, I walked out to the boat deck to see

how the vessels astern of us were holding their stations in

the convoy. It was about 9:00 a.m., and other members of

the crew were walking the decks and casually studying the

positions of other vessels in the convoy.

Without warning, the cold still morning air was split by

the sound of a thunderous explosion on our starboard

quarter. A Russian vessel, the Stalingrad, had been torpedoed

by a U-boat. What remained of her crew could be seen

swimming in the ice-cold, white-capped water. Destroyers

raced to the vicinity of the sinking vessel and dropped depth

charge after depth charge. Minutes later, another horrendous

explosion ripped through the air, again from the starboard

quarter. An American vessel, the Liberty Ship S.S. Oliver

Ellsworth, had been torpedoed by another U-boat. Her crew

quickly took to the lifeboats and abandoned ship.

The Stalingrad was going down fast by the stern. Suddenly,

her bow tilted up to the heavens, as if begging God for salvation,

and then quickly disappeared beneath the waves.

The Oliver Ellsworth was sinking slowly. After her lifeboats

cleared the fatally-wounded vessel, destroyers moved in

and shelled her, sending her to the bottom so that the

enemy couldn’t salvage her.

The convoy maintained its course and speed during the

enemy action, and the Stalingrad and Oliver Ellsworth survivors

were picked up by the rescue craft that steamed astern of

the convoy.

The general alarm had been sounded for submarine attack,

and all hands had rushed to their stations with their helmets

and life jackets, prepared for action. I was in charge of ammunition

readiness for the four-inch surface gun and the

machine guns at the stern gun stations. Lieutenant Roy

Billings of the Naval Armed Guard had advised me that over

20,000 rounds of ammunition had been clipped and readied

at my gun station, and that there was no need to clip any

more in the magazine.

A sharp lookout was maintained for U-boats. Sporadic

machine gun fire could be heard from vessels astern of us

which were shooting at the water. The destroyers did not let

up on their depth-charge attack against the submerged submarines.

The air temperature dropped to well below freezing,

which added to our misery. The U-boats continued to harass

us until about 11:30 a.m., when we were dismissed from our

gun stations. We went to the messrooms amidships for lunch,

leaving the Naval Armed Guard on the lookout for the enemy.

 

No sooner had we left our gun stations than the general

alarm sounded for enemy aircraft attack. We raced to our

stations and searched the horizon for the enemy. We found

them. God almighty! They were approaching from the south,

the convoy’s starboard side. They were coming right out of

the sun, and we were almost blinded when we looked in

their direction. It looked like a swarm of giant black locusts

was coming to attack us!

There was a warning shout from amidships. A submarine

was sighted close by on our starboard bow! Our three-inch

AA gun at the bow station opened fire at it, followed by machine

gun fire from all of our gun stations. The gunfire

quickly forced the U-boat to dive.

The enemy planes were flying just a few feet over the

surface of the water on our starboard bow, towards the head

of the convoy. I started to count them: 1, 2...13, 14…“Damn

it! Look at them!” I yelled. There were too many to count.

My God! The way they maneuvered, too! Hedgehopping

over the seas and zig-zagging. Our anti-aircraft defense and

gun-laying training at the Royal Navy base in Sunderland

was most comprehensive, but did not prepare us for this

mode of attack!

The AA cruisers and destroyers steamed at flank speed to

position themselves ahead of the convoy, and then turned

broadside to the enemy aircraft. Suddenly, the enemy formation

altered course and started flying down the columns

of merchant ships. The escort vessels unleashed a furious

barrage of AA fire at the attackers, which were in turn

spitting machine-gun fire at the merchantmen.

We identified the attacking aircraft as Heinkel 111 torpedo-bombers.

They approached the convoy line-abreast, and then

separated into groups that flew comb-like down the columns

of merchant ships. Flames erupted, first from the guns of the

destroyers in the starboard, outer ring of escorts, and then

from the warships of the inner ring of defense and from the

merchant vessels. Every naval and merchant vessel in the

convoy opened up on the attacking planes with every weapon

that would bear: 4-inch deck guns, pom poms, 20mm Oerlikons,

Bofors guns, and machine guns. But still they came, dropping

their torpedoes and strafing the ships’ crews as they flew

overhead at masthead height. God! This was Armageddon,

the decisive battle of good versus evil prophesied in the Book

of Revelation.

The Heinkels were decimating our side of the convoy formation,

the starboard flank. They were coming in so low

and close that we could have thrown our ammunition at

them!

Dead ahead of the Greene, a Heinkel 111 launched its torpedoes

directly at us, but they went astray and missed us.

The plane barely cleared our mast as it flew overhead. Every

gun on the ship concentrated its fire on this plane: our Oerlikons,

50-caliber Brownings, and 30-caliber Marlin machine

guns poured thousands of rounds of ammunition into him

and tore him to pieces before he plunged into the water.

None of the crew emerged from the wreckage. All that could

be seen where it hit the water on our starboard quarter was

its rudder and part of its fuselage with a large swastika.

We were expending ammunition much faster than we had

anticipated we would, and it had to be replenished. The

magazine was three decks below our stern gun stations,

well below the water line, and crammed with tons of shells

and machine-gun bullets. It was not a place any sane person

wanted to be while under enemy attack. Nevertheless, I got

three of the crew to go down there with me to clip rounds

into belts. We alternated tracer and armor-piercing shells. A

red one...two black ones...or a black one...two red ones...We

laughed and joked like crazy men about how nice it would

be if a torpedo hit the magazine, as we would never know

what happened. To calm ourselves, we sang “Praise the Lord

and Pass the Ammunition!,” “Hallelujah, Here We Come,

Right Back Where We Started From!” and “The Battle Hymn

of the Republic.” The tension was nearly unbearable, and

our emotions were at the breaking point. Our odd behavior

reflected our state of near-insanity.

Suddenly, the vessel lurched and we were thrown over the

ammunition cases and sent sprawling over the deck. Assuming

we had been torpedoed, we jumped to our feet and ran up

the three sets of ladders to our gun stations. The men in the

gun nests pointed to starboard, where we could see a patch

of flames on the water’s surface.

I immediately thought of the English vessel that had been

abeam of us, four ship lengths distant, and asked where she

was. No one said a word. The vessel had been loaded with

ammunition, and a torpedo-bomber had flown over her,

dropped her “fish,” and then PHTTT! Plane and ship blew

up together. Not a damned thing was to be seen of either

ship or plane.

This devastating explosion was what had thrown us off

our feet down in the magazine. I stood there for a moment,

stunned. There was nothing to see but the dust of death settling

on the water. I was shocked that a 10,000 ton ship and

an airplane had just disappeared into thin air. Then, I turned

and looked at the havoc that was being wreaked in and over

the sea all around me. What destruction! Vessels ablaze and

sinking all around us. Those damned Heinkels, still roaring

in to attack us! I thought for sure this was the end. My God,

those bastards! All our guns were blazing, but still they

came at us, attacking again and again! This was Hell. I can’t

say just how I felt, but I thought I would never live to see

another day.

To be alive at this moment was an indescribably intense

experience. I had no hope of surviving this Hell. To hope

that there would be another tomorrow would be asking the

impossible. In England, I went to church for what I thought

would be the last time. I wanted to be on the right side of

God if I was to go through Hell on this voyage. I must have

had a presentiment of some kind, although I surely did not

have the imaginative powers to conjure up the Hellish

scenario that I was now a part of.

Before leaving home and embarking on this fateful voyage,

I had exuded confidence that I would return, and assured

Mary, my betrothed, that all was well and that I would be

home before Christmas. Never did I think that I would be

sailing to Russia on a virtual time bomb! Facere pax pro deus,

familia, et alia. Make peace with God, one’s family, and with

all. This thought was foremost in my mind before we departed

Loch Ewe. I wrote to Mary, her mother, my parents and

siblings, and my friends, to tell them that I loved them dearly

and wished that I was back home with them. None of them

knew where I was, where I was going, what perils I would

confront, or whether we would ever meet again in this world.

My house was in order, so let come what may. Not only was I

fighting for my ship and my country, but for my very life as

well. I had so much to live for. I would never give up!

What nerve the Nazi pilots had! They flew so low over our

ship that we could clearly see their faces. Time after time, I

was certain a Heinkel passing overhead was going to strike

our mast or stack and come crashing down onto the Nathanael

Greene’s deck. As close as they were, no more than fifty feet

at times, we couldn’t miss them with our gunfire, although

most of our 50-caliber machine gun bullets just bounced off

their thick armor. But our 20mm Oerlikons were tearing

huge chunks right out of their wings and fuselages. When a

bullet-riddled Heinkel crashed into the frigid sea, there were

rarely any survivors.

After sustaining heavy losses from the withering combined

gunfire of the escorts and merchant ships, the torpedobombers

flew off, re-grouped, and started circling the convoy,

as though gathering their strength before delivering the

final blow.

The temperature had dropped steadily throughout the

day, and it was now well below freezing. None of us was

dressed appropriately for the bitter cold weather, but we

didn’t dare leave our gun stations to fetch warm clothing.

Heavy snow clouds hung over the convoy, and we prayed for

a blizzard to hide us from the enemy and bring an end to

the fighting for that day.

Ju 88s Take a Swipe at Us

Suddenly, through a break in the dense cloud cover, we

saw a formation of high-level bombers flying directly overhead.

Instantly, all our guns swung around and trained skyward.

These aircraft were Junkers 88 bombers. The cruisers and destroyers

quickly maneuvered into firing position and released

a deafening barrage of AA fire at the bomber formation.

The Greene’s forward three-inch AA gun was within firing

range of the high-level bombers, but our other guns were

not. Bombs started to drop on the convoy, all apparently

missing, but casting up mountainous geysers when they

struck the sea and exploded.

We could see the bombs coming down on us in groups of

three, emitting a spine-chilling whistle as they fell. We

could only watch with dread and a feeling of complete and

utter helplessness as they grew larger and larger, wondering

which bomb was meant for us.

 

One of the Ju 88s seemed to have selected the Nathanael

Greene for destruction. It dropped its bomb load directly above

us, and we waited and waited for the bombs to hit us and send

us to Kingdom Come. But the bombs cleared our ship and now

were on a path to hit the S.S. John Penn, the vessel four ship

lengths astern of us. The first two bombs hit the sea just forward

of the Penn, but the third bomb went right down the smokestack!

There was a thunderous explosion as the ship’s boilers erupted

and sent a geyser of steam hundreds of feet into the air. The

Penn slowly fell astern of the convoy and started to sink. This

was the vessel that we had switched positions with two days

previously. But for that switch, it would be the Greene and not

the Penn that would be gliding down to her watery grave in

the frigid waters of the Arctic Ocean.

One of the AA cruisers was so intensely engaged in evasive

maneuvering that it appeared to be completely inundated

as bombs exploded in the water around it. We thought this

ship had had it, but it came back into view again, its guns

blazing away.

The 20mm Oerlikon on the flying bridge deck immediately

above me opened fire towards the stern, and the shells were

whizzing by just inches from my body. Vessels all around us were

firing all of their guns, and our vessel was caught in the crossfire.

It was too dangerous to risk running across the afterdeck to my

gun station, so I fell to the deck for cover. Looking astern, I could

see the target of the gunfire, a lone Heinkel 111. It had absorbed

thousands of rounds of AA, but somehow remained airborne.

The gunfire subsided for a few moments, and I took this opportunity

to rush to my gun station. Since this gun station

was in an elevated position on the poop deck, well above the

main deck, it was very exposed to the continuing crossfire.

We were forced to seek cover until the gunfire subsided.

 

The Heinkel 111 was trying

to escape by flying to the rear

of the convoy. I could not understand

how it managed to

stay aloft. It seemed to be moving

at 30 knots or less, just gliding

along a few feet over the

surface of the water, apparently

oblivious to its inevitable fate.

Escape was impossible. Finally,

its fuel tanks were hit by gunfire,

she exploded into flames, and

disintegrated after plowing into

the sea. Her crew was caught in

the flames and could not escape.

When the gunfire stopped, a

vigilant watch was maintained for a brief period, and then

dismissal from gun stations was sounded on the ship’s

whistle. Before turning in, I joined my shipmates for some

hot coffee and a cigarette. We discussed the action we had

just been through. Of the men who had been in combat

before, none could say that they had ever seen such intense

action as they had witnessed this day. Some of the men had

been torpedoed or bombed before, but none of their previous

experiences were as nerve-wracking as this. It was something

they would never forget.

Morale was high, but every one of us was fully alert and

prepared for whatever Hell the enemy might bring next.

That evening, German radio claimed that the day’s battle in

the Arctic Ocean was the beginning of another convoy catastrophe

for the Allies. But the Germans had another

thought coming, for there was plenty of fighting spirit left

 

in the men of the convoy, despite having lost today’s battle.

The Navy and merchant crews had displayed plenty of

courage in the face of an enemy Hell-bent on dealing death

and destruction to the convoy. Despite being repeatedly

strafed by machine gun and cannon fire, our naval armed

guard and merchant crew remained in their gun stations

and fought like demons.

In order for the Heinkel 111s to launch their torpedoes,

they had to fly close to the surface of the water and directly

at their targets. At that height, they were level with the

ships’ decks, so the raking of our crossfire across each

other’s decks was unavoidable.

Monday, September 14, 1942

At about 1:10 a.m., the general alarm sounded for submarine

attack, and I ran like Hell to my gun station. With the ship

in complete blackout, I was unable to see in the dark

alleyways. As I started to pass through a doorway to the

open deck, a heavy blackout curtain hindered my progress. I

tore down the curtain and raced to my station.

We searched the water for submarines for an hour or so, and

then were dismissed from our gun stations. Around 2:30 a.m.,

the alarm for submarine attack was again sounded. When we

reached our stations, we heard an explosion on our port quarter.

A U-boat had torpedoed an oil tanker. Vessels astern of us

sighted the submarine and fired at it, but the machine-gun

bullets just ricocheted off the surface of the water like ping

pong balls. The U-boat vanished and the gunfire stopped. Once

more, those of us off watch made our way back to our quarters

to get some well-deserved sleep. We were worn out. The

enemy would just not leave us alone; he attacked relentlessly.

Hell from the Heavens

I reported for duty on the bridge at 4:30 a.m. It was

bitterly cold, with occasional snow flurries. The darkness

yielded to the first rays of the rising sun around 5:00 a.m.

To the north, I could make out the loom of the land--Spitsbergen.

It looked like a giant iceberg, and certainly no place

to be shipwrecked. The day before we had passed Bear Island

to the south. Spitsbergen was the last land we would see

until we arrived at the entrance to the White Sea. If we

survived that long.

At 6:17, the commodore sent up a flag hoist to warn us of

approaching enemy planes. The crew mustered to our gun

stations, but no enemy planes materialized. We were dismissed

from gun stations and I returned to the bridge. When I was

relieved at 8:00 a.m., I went to my cabin and, without

bothering to undress, quickly fell into a deep sleep.

At noon, I was jolted awake by the general alarm. I jumped

out of bed and joined the frantic rush to gun stations to

fend off an attack by high- and low-altitude bombers. I had

thought heavy cloud cover would afford us protection from

bombers, but I was disabused of this notion by the sight of

bombs falling in the openings between clouds. The only indication

we had that there were bombers overhead was the

hum of their engines and the whistle of the falling bombs.

Occasionally, we would see a plane in the openings between

clouds.

The naval escorts opened up on the raiders with all of

their guns. HMS Avenger, our aircraft carrier, steered into

the wind and sent six of her Sea Hurricane fighters aloft. As

the fighters took off, they dipped their wings in salute to

the convoy before flying off to engage the enemy.

None of Avenger’s aircraft participated in yesterday’s battle

and, so far, had only flown scouting missions. But now that

they were airborne and in hot pursuit of the enemy, we

cheered them wildly from the decks of our merchant ships.

The AA fire from the Royal Navy cruisers and destroyers

forced the Ju-88s above cloud level, and the Sea Hurricanes

forced them back down into the naval gunfire, or drove

them away from the convoy. After the last enemy bomber

disappeared, we were dismissed from our action stations

and returned to our amidships quarters.

But only briefly. No sooner had we started to unwind than

the general alarm sounded again for another air attack!

Back in our gun stations, we spotted the enemy planes on

the starboard side of the convoy. “My God!” I said. “Look at

them come! There’s no use trying to count them.” They

were torpedo-bombers, squadrons of Heinkel 111s that from

a distance looked like swarms of attacking hornets. All of

our guns trained on them as they flew in tight formation

ahead of the convoy.

We wondered whether they would attempt to split the

convoy in two, as they had tried to do yesterday. Luckenbachormation

and were starting to hammer them with every gun they had.

As the enemy formation flew over the first line of escort

vessels, it split into two separate formations. One attacked

the escort ships, and the other started to fly at low altitude

down the columns of merchant ships and launch torpedoes.

The Nathanael Greene’s forward 3.5-inch gun fired the

first shot by a merchantman at the oncoming torpedobombers.

It made a direct hit on the squadron leader, blowing

his fuselage in two. The other merchantmen then opened

fire on the attackers.

Perhaps provoked by our destruction of their squadron

leader, seven Heinkel 111s attacked the Greene. But we

threw up a wall of lead with our 3.5-inch AA guns, our

20mm Oerlikons, our .50-caliber Brownings, and our .30-

caliber Marlins. We gave them everything we had. What a

blaze of gunfire! Our guns tore the Hell out of them, and

every Heinkel that flew over our ship passed by us in flames.

S.S. Mary Luckenbach Explodes

I was in the port side machine gun nest with Blackie. He

manned the gun as I directed the gun laying. I would find a

target for Blackie, he would fire on it, and I would find the

next target. There were many to choose from. But we had to

move fast. There was no time for indecision. The Heinkels

were spraying us with machine gunfire, and were just as determined

to kill us as we were to kill them.

The Greene was zigzagging now, as bombs were dropping

all around us. Captain Vickers sighted two torpedoes coming

right at us off our port bow. “Hard left wheel!” he ordered.

The quartermaster responded instantly, and the ship's bow

swung sharply to port to dodge the torpedoes. As the ship

swung into the turn, her stern turned toward the S.S. Mary

Luckenbach, which was falling back from abeam of us to our

starboard quarter. I was looking at the Luckenbach directly

astern of us when a sudden giant ball of fire erupted from

her. As the shock wave of the explosion hit me, I yelled

“Duck!” at the top of my lungs and we both fell to the deck

of the gun nest.

The force of the Mary Luckenbach explosion was terrifying.

Our vessel was lifted from the sea and shook violently as

the obliterated ammunition ship rained down on us in the

form of shrapnel. We were enshrouded in a dense cloud of

black smoke. The air was saturated with dust and fouled by

the acrid smell of gunpowder. We didn’t know whether the

Nathanael Greene was going to remain afloat or plunge to

the bottom of the Barents Sea.

We climbed over the gun nest wall onto the poop deck,

and then dove over the rail to the main deck below and

crawled under cover. Ten thousand tons of ship and cargo

had been pulverized and blown sky high in an instant and

were now falling from the heavens, covering our ship and

the sea around it with what had once been the S.S. Mary

Luckenbach. Tons and tons of shrapnel continued to fall

about us in every size and in cruel and grotesque shapes

and patterns.

The smoke around our gun nest gradually cleared, but the

bridge and midship housing were still invisible. The afterdeck

rigging was in ribbons. The crates encasing the fighter

planes, which had been chained to the cargo hatches, had

disintegrated, and the tanks destined for Stalingrad were

adrift of their anchor chains. Everything within sight was

battered by the concussion and vacuum created by the ex-

plosion. Our clothing was ripped and torn by the blast, and

saturated with shrapnel. The forward part of the ship must

have been blown to bits.

I looked over the ship’s side and saw the propeller slowly

turning. Not knowing whether we were going to sink or

remain afloat, I didn’t know what we should do: dive overboard

and swim clear of the sinking ship’s suction, or hang on and

wait for rescue by a destroyer. The latter seemed unlikely,

considering how quickly the enemy pounced on and destroyed

crippled merchant ships during yesterday’s combat action.

As I pondered our fate, the dense black smoke started to

dissipate and the rain of shrapnel subsided. Looking forward,

I could make out the outline of the bridge. I was surprised

that it was still there. Then, I heard the ship’s whistle

signaling us to report to boat stations. I made sure that all

the men in the after gun stations were accounted for and on

their way to the lifeboats.

Looking aft from my gun station, I was stunned to see the

mate lying prone on the afterdeck, sobbing hysterically and

trying to claw through the steel plating to escape the shells,

bullets and falling shrapnel. Captain Vickers looked down

at the man from the bridge and shouted at him to get up

and return to his post. When the mate failed to respond to

his command, Vickers ran into the wheelhouse and emerged

with a Colt .45 pistol. He ran down the ladder, rushed over

to the prostate figure, pushed the barrel into the back of the

mate’s head, and cocked the trigger. Seeing what Captain

Vickers was about to do, I ran over, pushed his arm away,

and gave the hysterical man a mighty kick in the ass. That

did the trick. The mate rose to his feet, rubbed the backs of

his hands over his cheeks, and walked quickly away without

looking in our direction.

I returned to my gun station and Captain Vickers returned

to the bridge. Thinking the Greene herself had been torpedoed,

he ordered ABANDON SHIP, and the crew manned the

lifeboats. Before leaving the gun station for the lifeboats, I

remembered one last thing I had to do. When I was on

watch the night before, Captain Vickers said to me, “Mr.

Gill, during today’s battles I noticed that none of our

American ships, or those of our allies, flew their ensign.

Now, if we had our Stars and Stripes flying from the gaff…”

I replied, “Aye, aye, Sir!” and promised that when we went

into battle again I would make sure the Stars and Stripes

were flying. In the chaos of today’s combat, I completely

overlooked my commitment to the captain. Now that the

ABANDON SHIP alarm had been sounded, and the crew was

manning the lifeboats, I remembered my orders and made

my way to the mainmast. I removed the ensign from its

locker, bent it on its halyard, and aloft she went! When the

men saw the Stars and Stripes flying from the gaff of the

mainmast they broke out in cheers. I felt a lump in my

throat and was overwhelmed with emotion. I thought, What

heroes! We have so much to fight for!

Captain Vickers gave orders to the chief engineer to stop

the ship’s engines and make a quick survey of the mechanical

equipment  - and the integrity of the watertight compartments.

I mustered the men assigned to my lifeboat, made sure they

were all there, and awaited further orders from the captain,

whom I could see on the wing of the bridge.

Some of the men were seriously injured. One member of

my aft gun station had a huge piece of shrapnel embedded

in his back and another had an arm that had been shredded

by enemy machine-gun bullets. But there was no time to

fully survey and document all of the crew’s injuries.

322 ARMAGEDDON IN THE ARCTIC OCEAN

Several of the injured men had made it to their lifeboats

and collapsed to the deck. The two ship’s cooks suffered

severe head injuries, and two of the naval armed guard

sailors were all shot up by enemy machine gun fire. When I

looked around, I could see even more casualties. Someone

reported seeing Willy, one of our messmen, being blown off

the foredeck into the sea by the explosion. Many men had

had their helmets torn from their heads by the violent concussion,

and all that remained was the chin straps and

cotton padding. Helmets worn by crewmen in the interior of

the vessel were rippled like washboards, stark evidence of

the violence with which the explosion had tossed these

men around inside the steel confines of the ship.

We did our best to control bleeding from the most grievous

wounds and to splint fractured limbs. We gave morphine to

the most seriously wounded men, and were amazed to see

that many men with serious injuries had no idea they were

injured. Meanwhile, we still didn’t know whether or not we

had been torpedoed. The ship’s engines were still working,

the propeller was turning, and the steering gear was working.

Maybe there was hope for the Nathanael Greene!

Captain Vickers sounded the ship’s whistle for dismissal

from boat stations, and then he rang up FULL SPEED AHEAD

on the engine room telegraph. We were going to attempt to

catch up to the convoy. Those who were capable of standing

watch were ordered back to their gun stations. The air was

heavy with suspense. Would the Greene make it back to her

position in the convoy, or would enemy aircraft circle back

to administer the coup de grace, as we had seen them do repeatedly

in yesterday’s fighting?

The men on the other ships in the convoy cheered and

cheered as we caught up with them! The Stars and Stripes

were still flying over this Yankee, so horribly scarred from

battle with the enemy, with rigging hanging from the masts

in threads, portholes blown in, heavy exterior oak doors

blown off, life rafts blown away, and its decks strewn with

debris from its shattered deck cargo and the shattered

remains of the Mary Luckenbach. All that mattered to us

now was that we were still alive and afloat, and that we

were going to make it!

The surviving Nazi aircraft flew back to their base in

Norway. On this day, victory was ours. We lost two vessels in

today’s fighting, but the enemy was made to pay dearly for

his victories of the day before. The Heinkel 111 pilots had

displayed unbelievable courage when they flew their planes

324 ARMAGEDDON IN THE ARCTIC OCEAN

straight down the columns of armed merchantmen, through

blistering AA fire, sometimes releasing their torpedoes mere

yards from the vessels they were attacking. No less heroic

were the Heinkel pilots who flew headlong into the ferocious

gunfire of our naval escorts. Some of these torpedo-bombers

disintegrated in mid-air after being struck by 4-inch shells,

while others were torn to shreds by a steady stream of

20mm Oerlikon shells and plunged head-first or cartwheeled

into the cold waters of the Barents Sea.

When the ship's alarm signaled DISMISSED FROM GUN

STATIONS, the men off watch returned to their quarters to

find them completely devastated. Compartment doors were

blown off their hinges, furniture and equipment were wrecked,

and clothing and furnishings were in shreds. I was lucky. My

cabin was the least damaged of the officers’ quarters. When

the British destroyer HMS Onslaught came alongside to take

off casualties, her men were stunned at the devastation

caused by the explosion of the Mary Luckenbach. They marveled

that we were still alive and our ship was still afloat.

After regaining our station in the convoy, we realized that

nearly all of the vessels in the column on our starboard side

had been destroyed. But for Captain Vickers’ skillful maneuvering

to dodge the torpedoes launched by avenging

Heinkel 111s, we would have been among the missing merchant

vessels. After the ship’s head swung to port, the four

torpedoes passed beneath our bow and went on to strike the

TNT-laden Mary Luckenbach.

Before we departed Loch Ewe, I went aboard the Mary

Luckenbach to visit her second mate and bosun, both of whom

were good friends and former shipmates with me on her

sister ship, the S.S. J.L. Luckenbach. The thought that they

had been atomized shocked me. I couldn’t believe it, despite

PAUL G. GILL 325

having seen the catastrophic explosion with my own eyes. I

was numb. Would the Nathanael Greene meet the same fate?

The Royal Navy escort that protected the convoy consisted

of anti-aircraft cruisers, an aircraft carrier, destroyers, submarines,

minesweepers, and rescue trawlers. The British sailors on these

escorts were a fighting breed, men Nelson would have been

proud to number among his crew on H.M.S. Victory. We held

them in the highest regard. No less formidable were the Royal

Navy pilots who flew Sea Hurricanes off the deck of the Avenger

to defend the convoy. Again and again they flew headlong into

formations of Heinkel 111s, causing them to take evasive

action and blocking their attack lanes. When the Nazis sent Ju

88 bombers to attack the convoy, the Sea Hurricanes’ gunfire

forced these high-altitude bombers beneath the clouds, where

many of them were destroyed by naval gunfire.

One of these Sea Hurricane pilots radioed to the Avenger

that he was out of ammunition. He had the choice of either

being shot down by a squadron of approaching Heinkel

111s or flying directly into the formation to break up their

attack on the merchant vessels. He chose the latter option.

The Heinkel 111s, no doubt shocked and caught off guard

by his seemingly suicidal maneuver, were forced to take

evasive action and regroup. Against all odds, the dauntless

pilot returned safely to the carrier.

I reported to the bridge at 4:30 p.m.. The only thing that

was not smashed was the ship’s wheel. The magnetic and

gyrocompasses were useless. If we lost sight of the convoy,

navigation would be impossible. Continuing heavy overcast

made it impossible to take sun and star sightings for celestial

navigation, so we had no way to correct for compass error.

I climbed up to the “monkey bridge” above the wheelhouse

and saw “Sparks,” John McNally, our radio operator and one

of my closest friends on the ship. We embraced warmly. We

were so fortunate to be alive. John was so convinced that we

had been torpedoed that he had sent out a radio message to

that effect immediately after the blast wave hit our ship.

During that watch, the convoy altered course and headed

due south, having rounded the North Cape of Norway. The

crew was elated, as this meant that we would be entering the

submarine-sheltered waters of the White Sea, and would soon

arrive in Archangel, our port of destination in the U.S.S.R.

After I was relieved of my watch, I returned to my gun

station with my gun crew to survey the damage done by the

Luckenbach explosion. A large section of our 4-inch surface

gun base had been blown off. We got quite a surprise when

we checked the ammunition-ready box for this gun, which

was full of 4-inch shells. A piece of shrapnel about six inches

long and two and half inches wide had penetrated the armor

plating of the box and the casing of one of the shells, but had

failed to explode! What a miracle! There were over seventy

of these 4-inch shells in the box, live and ready for action,

powerful enough to have blown the stern of the ship to Hell

and all of us in the crew with it. Someone “Up There” had

been watching over us, of that we had no doubt. We had all

been at Death’s Door the past few days, yet had survived.

When I turned in that night, I thanked God for protecting

me, my ship and my shipmates. I know that I was not the

only one communing with the Almighty that night.

Tuesday, September 15, 1942

When I reported for duty at 4:00 a.m., there had been little

change in the weather. It was overcast, sea and swells were

confused and moderate, and visibility was excellent. About

5:00 a.m., the commodore blinkered to us AA--AA--AA, the

general call [signal] in Morse code to visually communicate messages

between vessels at sea. I acknowledged his call with an Aldis

lamp, and he asked how badly we were damaged and the

number of injured men. Captain Vickers, who was at my side

with Jones, the Chief Mate, wrote out his reply. The commodore

answered with the message: “Reverence at your gun laying.

You are at the top of the class.”

The commodore had to send the message a couple of

times, because I could not believe that our ship and crew

were being cited by a British admiral for our performance in

enemy action! I was overwhelmed with emotion thinking of

the Hell we had gone through to earn this compliment.

Captain Vickers was just as excited as I was, and he had me

relay his appreciation to the commodore for his recognition

of the ship’s fierce fighting performance in battle with the

enemy. The ship’s crew and naval armed guard sailors were

very excited and extremely proud of the admiral’s battle citation.

To be singled out as being at “the top of the class”

for our fighting performance was a great honor.

There were a couple of alerts that morning for submarine

attack, but depth charges scared the U-boats away from the

convoy. Around 2:00 p.m., we went to our stations to fight

off an attack by high- and low-level bombers. A low-level

bomber flew over us pretty low and I emptied the ammunition

box in him, but he just flew on.

The enemy dropped quite a few mines on parachutes, and

the men tried to detonate them by shooting at them. As the

bombers flew over us, the fellow assisting me at the gun

would get excited and yell, “Shoot! Shoot! Let him have it,

he’s coming right at us!” But I couldn’t, for he was a little

out of range. I didn’t want to waste ammunition. Then,

another plane flew right over us, and I let him have it. I

328 ARMAGEDDON IN THE ARCTIC OCEAN

could see the stream of tracer bullets disappear right into

his nose. I was excited, and yelled, “I got him! Dammit, I got

him!” I emptied a lot of ammunition into him, 180 rounds

at least, and then he disappeared in the heavy overcast.

That raid lasted for three hours, and we were frozen by

that time. We were called out several times that night for a

submarine attack. Too tense to sleep, some of us spent the

night in the magazine clipping shells in ammunition belts

in preparation for the next enemy attack. “A red one...two

black ones...red...black...red...black….” On and on it went

until, unable to keep our eyes open any longer, we returned

to our quarters amidships and dropped off to sleep in our

filthy bed sacks.

Wednesday, September 16, 1942

We were now passing through heavily-mined waters, and

we had to navigate with extreme caution. As if the mines

weren’t enough of a threat, we regularly came under attack

by enemy planes and submarines as well. Heavy rain squalls

and low visibility made it difficult to maintain a sharp

lookout for U-boats. I was so exhausted from lack of sleep

that I was in a daze most of the day.

Thursday, September 17, 1942

Submarine alerts and harassing attacks on the convoy

continued throughout the day. Russian planes are constantly

patrolling for enemy submarines. The weather is stable,

with air temperatures around 40 degrees. We have passed

so many mines lately that every man has the jitters.

Friday, September 18, 1942

We entered the White Sea early this morning and now are

within sight of land. We should arrive at our destination

within a few days.

The enemy staged another all-out attack on the convoy. It

was Hell all over again. The Nazis were doing their damnedest

to destroy the convoy. The Russian naval escort can’t be

compared to the superb Royal Navy escort that protected

the convoy until a couple of days ago. When I saw the

barrage of gunfire they put up, I felt sick. The Russians

refused to open fire until the Heinkel 111s practically flew

down the barrels of their guns! I was afraid that, after the

Hell we had gone through to deliver our cargoes to the Russians,

they were going to let the German aircraft destroy

what was left of the convoy right under their Bolshevik

noses! Whenever a Russian destroyer did shoot down an

enemy plane, it would steam over to it and remain there

until it disappeared beneath the surface of the sea.

Saturday, September 19, 1942

The convoy’s merchant ships formed two columns during

the morning, as instructed by the commodore. The wind increased

to gale force, with a heavy fall of snow and sleet. We

arrived at the Dvina Bar approaches at 7:00 p.m. We were

close to our destination port, but our troubles were far from

over. There was a whole gale blowing; the sleet was blinding,

and the visibility was poor. Not ideal conditions for crossing

the treacherous river bar.

In view of the adverse weather conditions, Captain Vickers

decided that it was useless to try and anchor, as the anchors

would not hold in gale conditions with rough and heavy

seas and swells. For the safety of the ship and cargo, he

ordered the quartermaster to heave to the wind and sea,

with the ship’s engines at full speed ahead.

 

As we hove to, three other vessels closed in on us, putting

all four vessels in dangerous proximity. Each of the merchant

ships carried ammunition in their bottoms, and a collision

between any two vessels would trigger a chain detonation,

blowing all four vessels to Eternity! When I turned in that

night, I was more nervous than during any of the enemy

attacks.

Sunday, September 20, 1942

There was little change in the weather overnight, although

visibility was improved. Three merchant ships had gone

aground during the night, vessels that had attempted to

anchor but lost one or both anchors. The heavy sea and

swell abated, so Captain Vickers ordered both anchors

lowered and the engines SLOW AHEAD.

That afternoon the convoy was attacked by both highlevel

and dive-bombers. The high-level bombers dropped

their bomb loads all around us, and we were completely

helpless, as they were beyond the range of our guns and

were hidden in the clouds. The JU 87 Stuka dive bombers,

however, were repulsed by convoy gunfire and Russian AA

batteries. The grounded vessels were sitting ducks and their

crews wisely abandoned them and sought cover beyond the

river banks. After what seemed like an eternity, the enemy

bombers flew back to their bases in Norway.

Monday, September 21, 1942

At daybreak, the weather had improved enough for us to

start the final leg of our long journey. The Russian pilot

boat came alongside and the pilot came aboard. We weighed

anchors and proceeded up the Dvina River to Molotovsk,

where we docked and prepared to discharge our cargo.

The docking facilities were unlike anything I had ever

seen. Bleak and primitive were the words that came to mind

as I surveyed the scene from the bridge of the Nathanael

Greene. All of the piers, docks, warehouses, streets, and administrative

buildings were constructed of logs. Swarms of

women cargo handlers descended on the ship. Their clothing,

too, was primitive, at least to my Western eyes. Their heads

were covered with scarves; their outer garments appeared

to be of quilted burlap; and their feet were clad in padded

cloth, rather than proper shoes or boots.

The commissars were easily recognizable, with their better-

quality dress and the red star insignia emblazoned on

their tunics and hats. Red Army soldiers seemed to have

everyone under surveillance, especially the slave-labor

political prisoners they were guarding with rifles and machine

guns. The heavy overcast only added to the gloom of the

Molotovsk waterfront.

It was a great feeling to have arrived safely at our destination

after having run a gauntlet of fire and fury in the Arctic

Ocean. But foremost in all of our minds was the question,

“When will we leave for home?”

 

Well, what can I say? That is the end of Paul Gill Snr’s memoir. I’m out of breath. I’m not sure I could take any more Heinkels and Junkers!

End of chapter 11 and this family story for military history podcasts

 

I posted a short heads up on the Facebook page (Link in the show notes) so anyone following me on Facebook would have got advanced warning that this was coming out. I was rewarded with one or two comments that I’ve actually used in the show. Thanks to Wayne Howard for the hot tip to wear a duffel cost – or is that a cold tip?

 

And Dek Whittle informed:

“They didn’t get paid when they got hit. 

God those arctic ones must have been pure hell”

I checked this out and found out about the British Merchant Navy fleet.

Did you know:

- That the death rate amongst merchant mariners in the Second World War was proportionately higher than in any of the armed forces and

- The Merchant Navy were not included in the official Remembrance Day parade until 2000

- And finally, to confirm what Dek said:

Ship sinks, pay stops

Astonishingly, under British law when a ship was sunk the obligations of the shipowner to pay the crew's wages went with it.

Those whose ships went down, including the relatives of those killed, would, unless they were fortunate to work for one of the more philanthropic lines, only receive wages due up to the day of the sinking.

There's loads more on this topic at the Gathering Voices link in the show notes.

https://www.gatheringvoices.org.uk/post/ship-sinks-pay-stops-why-we-were-inspired...

 

I’ve got to say to

Paul Gill Jnr,

thank you so much for your efforts and perseverance getting your Dad’s story to publication. I know you had to do a lot of work in polishing off the memoir and filling in a few blanks. Massive amount of dedication and focus – well done that man.

And of course thanks to your late Dad Paul Gill Snr for writing his memoirs up in the first place. And I thank him for his service in the war too. You know there are so many unsung heroes in the war and when you think of all the action your father took part in it’s kind of surreal to hear about it now – as if such stuff could actually have happened, but obviously it did.

There’s an Amazon link to Paul Gill’s memoir in the show notes. That’s all about the WW2 Arctic Convoy and much more with the book Armageddon in the Arctic Ocean by Paul G Gill. There’s a link in your show notes.

History of WWII podcast

Paul Gill was interviewed recently on the History of WWII podcast with Ray Harris Jnr. So if you want more stories about his father’s life it’ll be a great place to pod surf to next, that’s episode 392 of that show. Link in the show notes.

Movie Arctic Convoy WWII

And for those of us who just can’t get enough of the cold feet and fingers that typically came with the Arctic Convoy role, I notice there’s an Arctic Convoy movie called … The Arctic Convoy. It’s Norwegian with English subtitles.

 

In 1942, the leader of a convoy carrying vital military supplies to a Norwegian outpost decides to proceed through treacherous, enemy infested waters to bring much needed support to soldiers on the front lines.

 

Available on a streaming platform near you.

 

There’s a promo link for the Arctic Convoy WW2 movie in the show notes.

 

And When I talk about links in the show notes, don’t forget I’M REFERRING TO the notes in your listening app, where I always stick the various links referred to in the show. That includes a link to the web site, Buy Me a Coffee, social media and much more.

 

Round up

As ever, if YOU want to contact me about anything, go through the contact page on my WWII podcast website.

Thank you so very much for your support and for making the time to listen to me.

And please – this week - SUBSCRIBE OR FOLLOW THE SHOW for free forever by ticking the boxes in your listening app – If you’re already doing that I thank you very much. It helps me enormously in the podcast rankings.

 

Next episode

Will be a chat I had recently with the owner of one of the fabled Dunkirk little ships. But it’s not any old little ship because it’s got a unique heritage connected directly to Dad’s rescue from the Dunkirk beaches in 1940. I went down to Henley-on-Thames in England to see a regatta and meet with Matt  - the owner of the Lady Of Mann lifeboat No 8 - oof my word!

And after that I’m hoping to get my special anniversary episode out!

 

For now, please do hear me next time but only after the PS, coming now

 

PS’s!

This PS is a WW2 memoir I found on the BBC PW website. It’s another Arctic Convoy story and it complements Paul Gill’s memoir really nicely IMHO.

Donald Harman

Joining the Navy

One of the lessons Hitler had learned from the First World War, was to avoid fighting on the Eastern and Western fronts at the same time. This would enable him to concentrate his forces on a single enemy.

To the dismay of the Western powers, Germany and the Soviet Union signed a non aggression pact in 1939 making a European war almost inevitable, but in June 1941 when France had been occupied and Great Britain was absorbed in organising itself for offensive, rather than defensive action, Hitler broke the pact and invaded Russia.

Anxious to keep Russia in the war, Churchill promised his new found allies, war materials which he could ill afford to let go, and the means of getting this war material to Russia was to be the Arctic Convoys who were to make the long and dangerous journey round the north of Norway, to Murmansk and Archangel. The first convoy of ten merchant men and supporting vessels from the Royal Navy left in September 1941.

I got involved at the end of 1941, beginning of 1942. I joined the Destroyer, HMS Savage, and Savage was one of the ships which was arcticized for the Norway climate. In other words all the pipes and so on were lagged.

The ship was I suppose, about 200ft long, and it had a crew of about 200. A gunnery tower where people who used to control the guns and actually sat, and an aircraft tower. In actual fact our ship was a peculiar one in a sense, that it had an experimental 4.5 inch remote controlled gun forward.

It had a speed of 30-40 knots, oil fired and it had eight torpedoes. It also had on board depth charges and they were kept aft, for dropping on U-Boats, so this was the equivalent of the submarine.

A U-boat could be found by what was called Aztec which is a name given to the electronic ping, which goes out from beneath a Destroyer. It strikes an object and hopefully sends a ping back, and that pin pointed a U-Boat, though not always because it often pinged back on a shoal of fish or something like that and we got all excited about nothing, but that’s how the Savage and other ships of the same kind fought against U —Boats..

The Captain by his experience I suppose, decided exactly when he was over the top and dropped his depth charges.

We would watch for results, sometimes we would get bits of ship coming to the surface, oil occasionally but sometimes nothing at all, but nevertheless we had obviously frightened it, if not actually sunk it.

I was amazed how small the living quarters were, and I used to live in a rather small cabin, of which there were two bunks an upper one and a lower one and I was designated to go in the upper one.

The food was very good, I mean really stupid sort of meals. We used to have a slice of bread with some sugar on it and that kind of thing. We were never short of food really.

Trying to keep warm was a real problem when we started to go on the convoy, because the temperature was absolutely below zero most of the way so you kept warm by having arctic clothing and when you went on watch you had to dress up in all this arctic clothing some of which you didn’t discard once you were off duty because it was such a problem to get it on. Once we got the arctic clothing on we kept warm enough. We were never very warm and some of the things we had to do on board ship were in very exposed places, some of which were very cold indeed, and there was ice you had to axe the ice off the folksail before you could move ropes and so on.

The seas were enormous. The great thing was that you got informed that there was a storm. More often than not there was a storm and more often than not they would say from the Admiralty, ‘storms in all areas’, and it was diabolical, and the wind was anything from force eight to ten. Ten being the highest. It was a problem but we didn’t mind the problem so much because the rougher it was and the higher the wind, the less likely we were to see U-Boats and Fokker Wolf aircraft.

Convoy Duties

We guarded the convoy by ringing it on all sides. They would go in the centre and we would go on the outskirts. A bird class Sloop shall we say, three of them would be more likely to be right at the head of the convoy in case there were any U-Boats advancing from the front to surprise us. Also more or less in the middle of the convoy usually there was an aircraft carrier and a Cruiser so that was the convoy escort, not always the same but mostly the same and usually the Aircraft Carriers had been made in America, cheaply, and were useful for taking off and destroying a U-Boat on the surface but of course the weather was so ghastly that it was almost impossible for these aircraft to get back so you had a tremendous admiration for the pilots of these aircraft.

The Cruisers were less dangerous in a way because they weren’t battered around quite so much but nevertheless everyone played a part and we used to zigzag. Zigzagging is the art of not going in a straight line to any given point and to that extent, hopefully throwing enemy U-Boats and aircraft off the course.

We were not very often allowed to signal to the other craft because of the danger of it being seen, sop Radio Telegraphy was the way we communicated. We had radar as well so we were able to pinpoint all the ships in the vicinity with the 270 or the 290 radar and that was a means of communication.

One of the major problems was if a merchant man broke down or slowed down and fell out of the convoy. More often than not we would possible deploy a small ship anything from a Destroyer to a small sloop, anything to keep it company until we thought it was safe to get it to port or back to base, but occasionally we would send an engineer on board to see if we could rectify the problem, in order to keep it in the convoy.

Keeping together as a convoy was absolutely vital, because the one convoy that was split up — PQ17 - suffered a terrible disaster in 1942.

We were well aware of it and the Admiralty were felt to be responsible for stupidity and bad decisions. It was understandable in a sense because occasionally we heard wind of big German Cruisers and Destroyers getting out of port to tackle the convoy rather than the U-Boats and Aircraft.

This didn’t happen very often but there were three or four times when they were threatened or they were lucky to break out and I think it was this fear that caused the Admiralty to make the bad decision.

The problem was that the Germans had occupied Norway and they had good bases from which they could operate aircraft, and submarines so that when we were on the winter trek, which was very close to Norway we were very vulnerable.

On our trips - mostly when we had the return journey from the north of Russia back to Scapa Flow - we would take a little time off on the way back to see if we could get any radar contacts and occasionally we used to make them and I think we used to frighten them off.

We frightened them off, but we never actually sank any and on one occasion we were about to sink a U-Boat on the surface to discover it was a British Submarine. This didn’t happen infrequently in the Navy but nevertheless we fortunately withheld the guns and fire or the torpedoes.

The arctic winter lasts for many months and it was often that we went into Russia in the dark and come back in the dark, and it was a bit frightening and a rather unusual life that we spent so many hours in the dark. We had so little time to think about light and darkness and so on because the weather was so disastrous. We were battered around on duty to such an extent that when we were off duty we immediately got our head down and if possible fell asleep, because this was the only thing that kept us going - so to be honest the day passed in that way.

Murmansk

We eventually made it to Murmansk and in those days it was a grim city, I don’t always blame the Russians for this because it was almost like a Russian landing in the Orkneys or the Shetlands, and hoping that it was all singing and dancing, which it wouldn’t have been. Yes it was absolutely grim in the extreme and it was also, very much under the thumb of the then Russian Secret Service (NKVD), which was the name at that particular time.

Whenever we were in the Polyarny near Murmansk which was on the Kola peninsula, we would tie up the ship and sometimes would have a bit of exercise. We used to amaze some of the Russians watching by the fact that we used to play things like, three legged races with the officers and men joining in together — they thought that was so amusing. They also invited us to go to the Red Navy club and that was pretty grim and it was always surrounded by NVKD people.

The thing I remember most about Murmansk was that there was always a broadcast blaring away which was obviously a government sponsored broadcast to the people, about the wonderful things the Russian government were doing, and it had such an effect on the locals that they never had a life of their own.

They couldn’t accept chocolates from us or have a dance with us without them being criticised if not worse by the NVKD. So we got very little contact with the Russians. Very occasionally we used to have one or two Russian officers on board and one of the tricks we used to do was to change the time on one or two of the clocks, so they would get back to wherever they had to go late, and they would get into terrible trouble.

My worst moment was when the ship Lapwing was sunk ahead of us. We stopped and picked up some sailors because they were fortunate that the ship had spilt some oil at the time it was sunk, so they were able to survive in this very very cold sea, covered in oil.

 

We put a scrambling net down, picked them up and the Doctor, who was called Peter Murray Kerr, I remember, pulled them round and gave them a new life and this was almost unheard of, and he got the DSO for it because it was a marvellous feat of medical ability.

But on the whole it was unwise to stop because if a ship very close to you had been torpedoed, the submarine wasn’t far away from you. It would have been very hard, seeing sailors in the water and not being able to do anything about it.

You would survive for only about 5-10 minutes in those cold waters, if that, it was so so cold, it was absolutely freezing apart from the fact that you probably had all your arctic clothing on, and that would probably soak up water and you would sink. It was most unlikely that you would survive.

There was another bad moment when a force ten gale blew on the way back from Murmansk, and the seas were absolutely mountainous and we were eventually forced to turn back and head north into the teeth of the gale for safety and it was in the turning that the danger lurked, because you were likely to be broached because of the seas hitting the side of your ship.

Listener that’s a loss of steering when the rudder comes out of the water in a big wave.

I do think about my time with the Arctic convoys from time to time without any worries. I thought it was a worthwhile thing to do. I occasionally think about my life in those few years. Some of the people that were on board whose names on the whole I’ve forgotten. Some of the ships that were in the same flotilla, we used to sing a song about the Savage to the tune of Lilly Marlene which went something like this:

Listener before I read the song, Lily Marlene was a classic song of the day sung by Marlene Dietrich. Mar-leen-a Deet-rich

 It went something like “Outside the barracks, by the candlelight ……..”

So, your task for this week is to work out how the heck the following words fit the music.

Battleships and Cruisers lying there in state
Why is it always flotilla number twenty three?
Passing through the gate
Battleships and Cruisers lying there in state
Watching for Destroyers passing through the gate
Why does it always seem to be?
Flotilla number twenty three
Up in the Arctic Ocean
Up in the baron sea

And that was a song we used to sing occasionally when we had a bit of off duty and it was very appropriate, I thought. Listener you can hear Lily Marlene on the FT wartime spotify playlist at the very bottom of my home page. It’s got all your favorite war time tunes in it.

Recognition

I don’t know why we had to wait so long for the Russians to acknowledge our contribution - I was amazed when it happened. The British weren’t acknowledging it either for that matter. We didn’t get any commendation from the British government for the Russian convoys, no medal or anything at all. Just all part of the days work. I didn’t think much about it at the time, but looking back I thought the Russians were slow and I think the British were slow.

I can’t think why they suddenly decided to do it, unless there was pressure put on by somebody. I think SAGA had an article about it which started people thinking, and there were letters written and so on, and I was recommended to write to the Russian Embassy by somebody who was on the Russian convoys, and strangely enough I got invited to the ceremony and he just got a medal through the post!

It all was very strange and peculiar to us. There were forty veterans at the ceremony, and I knew none of them. It was a very good ceremony. The Russian Ambassador made an excellent speech, and it was all very well done, and somebody handed us some red tulips and so on. One of the criticisms I might have was that they didn’t mention the name of the ship that each individual had been on, and therefore if anyone had been on the Savage, and I hadn’t recognised them I wouldn’t have known, unless I had met and spoken with them afterwards, and I didn’t meet anybody who had been on a ship that I recognised.

The medal is very Russian, basically red, with three black stripes, and an orange band in a sort of inverted V, with a golden medal underneath 1945 picture of Red Square, Moscow and the Kremlin on there and it says something in Russian, and the citation says The Russian Federation Certificate. To the commemorative medal of the 50th anniversary of the victory in the great patriotic war 1941-1945, which of course we know as the 1939-1945 War.

I would call it the Russian Convoy Medal, that’s what it was for, and that’s what I remember doing to get it. It’s very precious to me.

Looking back on it now it was worth it, you did feel as if you were doing something worthwhile. Undoubtedly we brought some stuff up for them. They didn’t appear to be too grateful at the time, but nevertheless it must have been helpful because they won the battle of Stalingrad with that help - I’m sure with some of the equipment we brought up, and yes we did feel as if we were doing a good job.

(The Battle for Stalingrad which took place between August 1942 and February 1943 was fought in the most unimaginable conditions of a fierce Russian winter. Although the German 6th Army was already surrounded, Hitler refused to give permission for it to surrender. By the time the fighting was over, Stalingrad was little more than a heap of rubble. One hundred and ten thousand German troops had been killed or had died from starvation, and ninety one thousand were taken prisoner. Russian military and civilian casualties were never published.)

Wow – what a great little memoir to be put up so modestly on the BBC People’s War website. I’ve looked around for a published version but couldn’t see one – basically because I think it was too short but no less worthy for it.

Donald Harman has no doubt passed away by now, but thank you for your service Sir, and thank you for writing up that precious bit of history.

PPS

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by BBC Learning Centre Gloucester

You are browsing in:

Archive List > Royal Navy

Contributed by

BBC Learning Centre Gloucester

People in story:

Harry Wright

Location of story:

Arctic

Background to story:

Royal Navy

Article ID:

A7998781

Contributed on:

23 December 2005

 

Harry Wright by twin Oerlikon gun on board HMS Kent

 

This story has been contributed to the People’s War by the BBC Learning Centre on behalf of Harry Wright’s son John, with his permission

 

I think that’s almost it. It just remains for me to say …

Does anyone remember seeing the Mamma Mia movie about pop group ABBA? I do.

We’d all had a joyous thoroughly entertaining sing song and the film ends. And everyone is getting up when up suddenly pops Meryl Streep – this is in the movie – and she says “Do you want some more?! Totally unprompted everyone in the audience shouts Yessss and sits back down to hear an encore medley of some of the best tunes.

Well just when you think this episode of the FT second world war podcast is over – Do you want more!!!? Oh go on then – just one short story.  But Only if you listen right to the end though to keep my listening stats healthy.

This is such a poignant little story – but I’ll let you be the final judge:

This is another one from BBC People’s war.

Harry Wright – Navy

Life on HMS Kent in the Arctic

Written by son John Wright

My father Harry Wright died in 2001. He was a petty officer on HMS Kent, a county class cruiser in the Russian convoys. Kent joined the Fleet in Scapa in October 1943. From then until 1944 she patrolled the Northern approaches to the Atlantic and escorted more than 18 convoys to Russia.

He would never talk about if afterwards unless I pressed him about it so I only heard snippets about it over the years but he left a fantastic collection of photos.

He wouldn’t go to reunions or be drawn to talk about it in any detail, He said: “Living it was bad enough without talking about it afterwards.”

I tried to get him to apply for the medal that the Russians awarded. I don’t know why our Government didn’t give them a medal. “I don’t want a medal” he said but I thought he should have had it.

Once they shot down a German plane and took the pilot captive. They had to feed him of course and a couple of the crew objected - wanted to do something to him. Dad said to me: “Hitler put him in a plane and told him to go and bomb the British and he probably hasn’t got any idea why. “

In the 1970s I got a job and went to work in Germany for a while and I asked Dad if he minded me going but he said: “That’s what we fought the war for, so that you could have the freedom to do that.”

I heard a few stories. Before they sailed to the Arctic he was with a mate in Plymouth and they went to a hotel but they only had one vacancy and as they wanted to stay together they decided to go somewhere else. The first hotel was bombed in the night and the next day they were pulling out the bodies of their shipmates from the wreckage.

Another story was that the ship was up in Scapa Flow in the Orkneys one day, and a German battleship went across the top of Scotland to get to the Atlantic and they’d only loaded corned beef on the ship when it had to sail to give chase, and they had corned beef for every meal, fried for breakfast, stewed for lunch and for their tea, too. They couldn’t have outgunned it so the captain said “If we find it, we’re ramming it,” so my Dad hoped to goodness they didn’t find it, and they didn’t.

The ship had a mascot, a bull mastiff which looked like Churchill, and he was called Happy — it was an ironic name because he looked so miserable. He would lie on the deck and his ears would go up and he’d start whining and they were at action stations before the German aircraft came. He heard them before the crew knew anything.          

 

PPS

 

I’m Paul Cheall

 

In a recent vote by me, the fighting through podcast was voted one of the best military history podcasts

Links for this WW2 podcast and memoirs

Amazon

Armageddon in the Arctic Ocean,

https://amzn.to/4fg1i4K

Paul’s Interview on The History of WWII Podcast

https://overcast.fm/+LvdQWGmuk

The Arctic Convoy Movie

https://www.imdb.com/title/tt27724113/

Pressure movie
https://search.app/sjW3qVWy14Rpeo428

Undercover Tales of World War II

https://amzn.to/4ch0p9v

 

Ship sinks, pay stops - Gathering Voices

https://www.gatheringvoices.org.uk/post/ship-sinks-pay-stops-why-we-were-inspired...