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Our routine night sweeping
missions continued on a regular basis. There were frequent air raids on
the harbour area. Our Oerlikon gunner, S/T West from Hastings, the only
regular aboard, was awarded the DSM for his continued tenacity and accuracy
against enemy aircraft. A similar award was made to Ldg. Seaman Cargill,
from Gourdon, Kincardineshire, for his leadership and courage in fighting
a serious fire which had occurred on one of our nocturnal sweeping missions.
A petrol leak had ignited on the hot exhaust pipes of the Ford V8 engines,
thence to an auxiliary petrol tank, and quickly the motor room was ablaze.
The Motorman escaped though burned in the process The flames then engulfed
the main 200 gallon petrol tank above, including the 12 pounder gun platform
with its loose and boxed ammunition situated over the tank. The First
Lieutenant and I succeeded in reaching the platform and managed to deposit
all the ammunition overboard. "Jock" Cargill, a fisherman and
a reservist, was an imperturbable Scot of smallish stature, whose undoubted
grit and courage had also earned him the MM whilst serving with the Black
Watch in the trenches of France during WW1. He had also been the recipient
of the TITANIC medal for taking part in the rescue of survivors, so Jock
had the unusual distinction of holding gallantry awards from three different
Services.
Although allied ships had eventually all been fitted
with degaussing protection, any slight deviation from the precise electrical
requirements, which had to be continually checked, could result in a
vessel being vulnerable to a magnetic mine. As a consequence, they continued
to be laid.
At the beginning of May, 1943, coastal radar had identified
E-boats in unusual numbers during darkness in the Straits of Dover.
Minelaying was suspected and an extremely large minefield subsequently
proved this to be the case. At dawn, CLYTHNESS, under the command of
Lieut.Commander Wyatt, DSC.,RNVR., and with the base Commander MS supervising
the operation aboard, led out a flotilla of minesweeping trawlers. By
this stage of the war, enemy activity during daylight had reduced considerably.
A systematic search was instigated, in perfect weather, and as it was
not known what types of mines had been laid, three "Oropesa"
equipped trawlers (for cutting moored contact mines) proceeded in the
van in echelon, followed by ourselves and two other "LL" trawlers
in line abreast. Three others followed at some distance, whose task
was to sink any cut any surfaced moored mines by small arms fire and
be available for any emergency which could arise. All the flotilla had
also deployed their acoustic mine destroying gear. The acoustic mine
had been a later contribution from the Reich, being detonated by the
sound waves set up from a ship's propeller, The British antidote was
a large steel drum fixed to a metal frame on the bow and lowered into
the water. Within the drum the reverberation of an electrically operated
hammer was expected to explode the mine at a reasonable distance ahead.
The first and succeeding explosions astern had indicated
magnetic mines, indeed it transpired that they were all of this type.
When a magnetic mine explodes, a sharp concussive effect is felt throughout
the ship before the water astern erupts violently, and in the normally
shallower water where this type of mine is laid, the spout created can
be an awe-inspiring sight. Occasionally a mine would be triggered off
too close for comfort, and some crockery replacement would be found
necessary. The grid search continued throughout that first day, and
in due course we returned to harbour at dusk in, as I remember, a magnificent
sunset. There were still many weeks of sweeping to be carried out before
the war channel could be considered clear, as German ingenuity had now
incorporated period delay mechanisms into both types of mine which could
be activated up to ten times before the mine would eventually detonate,
and this greatly extended the search time. As we steamed into the outer
harbour, I received a typically cryptic signal flashed from Dover Castle
which read: From VAD (Vice Admiral Dover): "What is the score?",
to which I was instructed to reply in similar laconic and sporting vein:
"Fifteen runs. No wickets lost!" I remember feeling quite
proud of my ship that particular evening as she led in her flotilla,
knowing that there would soon be extra white chevrons displayed on her
funnel indicating her tally of five mines per chevron. During the time
I had served on CLYTHNESS, her officers and crew had been awarded: DSO
(1), DSC (2), DSM(3), Mentioned in Despatches(4). Two of the latter
came my way. The DSO was awarded to the RN Commander previously commented
upon. My particular memory of him was the fact that he always discarded
his "scrambled egg" regulation cap for a quite disreputable
older version of WRNS headgear whiist with us at sea. I had thought
perhaps that he was trying to emulate the sartorial elegance of "Harry
Tates Navy."
I was later to discover that shortly after I had left her in 1943, CLYTHNESS had been recommissioned after a further conversion into a fuel and water carrier, and had spent the winter of 1943/44 supplying landing craft
assembled in the Cromarty Firth. She had eventually left the harbour of
Poole in Dorset on the night of 15 June, 1944, to take part in the Normandy
invasion on D-DAY, being involved at both Arromanches and Omaha beaches.
Xmas 1944 had found her at a small port 20 miles upriver from Brest, from
where she had worked completely on her own on the West coast of France
for the next 3 months, isolated from all contact with the Royal Navy.
At the end of hostilities, CLYTHNESS had been returned to her home port
of Aberdeen from whence she had departed some six years earlier, during
which time she had flown the white ensign continuously, one could say,
with some distinction. She had been a survivor. Almost 500 RN Patrol Service
vessels, indeed a larger number of ships than had been sunk in all the
other branches of the Royal Navy combined, had been sent to the bottom
by either mine, bomb, torpedo or other misfortune, with the loss of 2,385
gallant lives.
That evening in Aberdeen harbour, I had given her one last backward glance
before finally departing, and I can recall inwardly saying to myself:
"Goodbye CLYTHNESS my old Scottish friend. Anyone else seeing you
now would not think you worth a second look, but there is one person
at least who can vouch for the fact that, like the proverbial dog, you
indeed have had your day!"
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