Читать книгу Fragments of War - Joyce Hibbert - Страница 14

5

To the Far Shore

The son of a deep sea captain, Iver J. Gillen was born in Victoria, British Columbia and moved to Vancouver at an early age. He joined the RCNVR (Royal Canadian Naval Voluntary Reserve) and when war was declared, he became a full-time sailor at the age of thirty.

Concerning the period a week after D Day, the following excerpts are from papers containing his on-the-spot observations from 4 June 1944 until 7 September 1944. Based on his diary, this clear-cut account of events from a particular perspective, was donated to the Public Archives of Canada by the late Iver J. Gillen, ex-Leading Signalman V14253.

“This is an account of the activities of one of Canada’s corvettes in the English Channel during and after the invasion of the Continent. It is based on a diary kept by the writer; it contains no stories of big engagements, of heroic deeds; its mission, if it can claim one, is to show what life in the little ships was like. Those who served in similar ships – even some of my former shipmates – may disagree with me on certain points, but to the best of my knowledge I have kept to facts; I hope that which follows will prove of some interest to the reader whether he was there or not....

“To begin, the keeping of diaries or personal records of any sort is forbidden for obvious reasons in the Navy. A short time before the invasion began we were told that we might keep diaries if we wished, presumably to provide at a later date additional material for official records. If the latter were true, no advantage was taken of the chance to preserve our records for posterity, to my knowledge.

“My ship, HMCS Camrose, was one of the older corvettes, and had served in the Mediterranean during the North African campaign. Her type was laid down to carry a complement of about forty-five officers and men, and her armament consisted of a four inch naval gun forward and a light A/A gun aft. Revised, with the forecastle extended aft to the ‘mid-ships superstructure, she carried between ninety-five and a hundred crew all told, and the armament was increased to 4 inch gun, pom-pom, and six 20 mm Oerlikons (A/A guns), – not to mention a great number of depth charges and certain other antisubmarine weapons. The Commanding Officer, Lieutenant Commander L.R. Pavillard, RCNVR (‘The Mad Spaniard’) had been with the ship since she had been commissioned, as had some of the crew. Prior to the opening of this record, Camrose had been one of a ‘support group’ on escort duty in the Bay of Biscay, running out of Londonderry. Late in April 1944 she was sent down to the Channel, and arrived in Portsmouth, 1 May. For about a month thereafter she was engaged in escort duty in the Channel, based in Portsmouth and Sheerness. Some of the escorted craft were ordinary merchantmen, but some were like nothing seen on earth before – parts of the prefabricated ports, and other odds and ends to do with the big event.

“My ‘story’ opens on 4 June 1944. We are at anchor in Weymouth Bay, off Portland; arrived here 28 June, and have had no contact with the shore at all. This is generally thought to be because we are about to take part in some large-scale operation; none of the officers seem to know what is in the wind, and we can think of no reason for keeping the ship so long in one place, after having been so busy the past four weeks. The harbour is quite a bustling place, crowded with American and British ships of many types, including the ubiquitous merchantmen. Landing ships and landing craft come and go hourly, and in fact everyone seems to be on the move except one group which remains quiet at anchor. It consists of Camrose, two other corvettes – Lunenburg and Baddeck – the old French battleship Courbet, and two tugs, Samsonia and Growler. Courbet is no longer a proud fighting ship; built in 1909, of 22,000 tons, she was scuttled in a port in Africa during France’s dark days. She had been completely submerged, and the mark of the waterline was still visible on her towering foremast when we first saw her. No effort had been made to clean her up, and most of her big guns have been cut off at the turrets. Some new A/A guns have been mounted on her but this gives us no idea as to why she has been raised and brought here. We made several trips to her in our whaler, the first time on a legitimate search for fresh bread and vegetables – we have no yeast for baking, and get no supplies from shore. The first party to board her found her crew most hospitable, and possessed of a plentiful supply of rum and wine. They were an odd lot in a way; there were about a hundred Free French matelots, and a smaller number of British A/A gunners. Both made us welcome, being as glad as we were to have a change of any sort. A few of the huge mess decks had been cleaned up enough to provide temporary quarters, and the refreshments came up in all sorts of odd dishes and jugs from one of the huge dark caverns in this dead ship. None of the men aboard knows where she is going but they are all ‘travelling light’, with a minimum of kit and equipment. We did get a little bread the first trip, and it became necessary to make similar calls on succeeding days – until the First Lieutenant noticed something odd about the boat’s crew after one visit, and put an end to the business. Today, Sunday, was a special occasion in our ship – we had ‘Divisions’ for the first time since leaving our own country. ‘Divisions’ is a sort of ceremony designed to make a sailor truly grateful for the Sundays it is omitted. It means all hands turn to and clean up the ship or establishment, while every man heckles and harasses his junior. Then, when so ordered, you change into your number one uniform, and clean up the mess you have just made doing so. Then, while giving your uniform a final brush over, you try to think of a place to hide or a legitimate excuse for dodging ‘Divisions’. The effort is usually in vain, so when the quartermaster pipes ‘Hands Fall In’ away you go with the rest and fall in with your own division (seamen, stokers, etc.). A corvette has no clear deck space large enough for this purpose, but we assembled in some sort of order on the forecastle head. After being inspected, we were addressed by the ‘Old Man’, who told us we will soon see some real action.... In the afternoon a privileged few, myself among them, were told enough to make it quite clear why we are waiting here. We have aboard secret orders for ‘Operation Neptune’, (Code name for naval part of ‘Overlord’) the invasion of the continent. Our part in the opening phase is relatively small, but of many such small parts a mighty machine has been built. We are to escort Courbet across the Channel to a place in the Seine Bay, the site of one of the two proposed artificial harbours – the ‘Prefabricated Ports’ which are the foundation of the plan. Our destination is known by the code name ‘Mulberry B’, and Courbet is to be sunk to form part of a breakwater there.... We now await the signal which will tell us to carry out our orders.

“5 June: Looks as if the big event is not far off; all day shipping in the bay has been passing the boom, outward, in a steady procession. By evening there is only our little group left, and without the Lunenburg, she having been sent out to another job. Just before supper we received the signal which told us in a few short words that the big job begins before dawn.... At about 2340 we were privileged to witness part of what must have been the most dramatic and beautiful spectacle of the whole war – the first of the great air armada, the vanguard of invasion, leaving the shores of England for Normandy. Out of the dusk, over the hills they came, flying low – bombers, troop transports, gliders in tow, in groups of 35 to 50. Each plane was burning red and green sidelights, white light in tail, and bright white Morse light under the fuselage; the combined effect of these made each group look like a cluster of brilliant jewels floating through space. Hour after hour, through the night, they roared off into the darkness; and the sight of them – the thought that here was history being made, found most of us with little to say.

A line of blockships were sunk at high tide to form a shallow breakwater.

“Gooseberry”, a line of blockships laid off the beach to form a reef before the rest of the Mulberry was assembled.

“6 June: ‘D-Day’. Formations of our aircraft still passing over until about 0400 by which time a good many of them had returned empty to base.... At 0700 the BBC gave the world the news it had awaited so long – that the landings had been effected on the coast of France, near the Seine estuary, and the first phase of the invasion was a success.... We now are told that we do not sail until tomorrow, and I guess most of us feel a bit of a letdown at missing the first act. However, since we know little of what actually went on over there, we might count ourselves fortunate to be still safe in harbour. In the evening, about 1950, formations of planes towing gliders began passing over, bound for France, and kept on continuously for three and a half hours.

“7 June: At 0700 weighed anchor, and proceeded out of harbour, with Baddeck (we are Senior Officer), and two tugs towing Courbet one on each bow, speed about three knots. Planes towing gliders again overhead; continuous activity in air all day, planes going to, and returning from France. Day uneventful otherwise; weather fine, but not very warm.... Our ship’s company had been put into two watches (known as defence watches) for dark hours and emergency of any kind. We closed up at our action stations tonight at dusk 2230. At the same time had to reduce speed, as we are ahead of schedule. About midnight some E-boat activity near, but not involving us. We have ships all around us, literally, and one just astern of us got an E-boat in the beam of her searchlight. When she opened fire we could see the fall of shot with the naked eye. Then after a moment of darkness something – presumably the E-boat – burst into flames which were visible to us for nearly an hour. There followed almost continuous explosions from the burning vessel, and we could see a ship standing by her.... On this and subsequent nights there was so little W/T and R/T traffic that we could never tell what went on around us, even within visual range.

“8 June: Shortly after midnight we began hearing the big guns near the beaches, the Old Man estimates our position as about 14 miles off the coast, and some of the reports or explosions made our little ship shake. About 0100 an enemy air attack on the beach ahead of us began, and they were soon dispersed by a very heavy A/A barrage. We saw one plane brought down in flames.... Considerable activity at sea in our vicinity during the dark hours preceding dawn – bursts of Oerlikon tracer and many star shells. At daybreak we were quite close to the shore, but it was hidden by mist. At 0800 the mist was gone, and we got our first look at the coast of France – what was visible through and over the ships of the great invasion fleet. Very little confusion; a great movement of small craft, but all the big ships – the men-of-war, hospital ships, supply ships, etc., seem to have found their places in the pattern and settled down to await orders from NCXF (Naval Commander Expeditionary Force). We cruised up and down the beach area in search of this or some other senior officer: Courbet having gone to her ‘berth’, our job is finished, and we do not know what we are to do next.

... Within the limits of the beach area we can see what appear to be three towns; our officers think the larger one is Ouistreham, and neither it nor the others appear much damaged. We can see tanks, trucks, and other vehicles moving up the slight incline from the beach as they leave the landing craft. Weather fair, but a moderate wind and sea is hindering landing of men and equipment a little. Some of our heavier ships – Rodney, Nelson, and some cruisers, are shelling the country back of the beach-head.... About 1330 a great column of smoke arose from one of the towns.... There are few signs from seaward of German resistance to the landings, except for several wrecked landing craft on the beach. Some distance off shore, but in shallow water, is the wreck of the R.N. ‘Captain’ class frigate Lawford. Sunk while at anchor yesterday, she broke in half amidships; the broken midships section now rests on the bottom, with the bow and stern above water. We learned later that there was little loss of life – and also that the cause of the damage was not known; just a heavy explosion that could have been mine, torpedo, or bomb.... We finally anchored near one of the Control ships which direct traffic; got orders from her to sail with Baddeck for Portsmouth; under way at 1515. Weather is deteriorating. Passed many landing craft and tugs with tows of various types bound for far shore. (This latter was the term for the French coast used in all official communications, and soon came into common usage.) At 2215 we passed the Nab Tower, receiving orders from the signal station there to anchor at Cowes. Anchorage full of merchantmen ready to sail.

“9 June: Weighed anchor at 0900, proceeded to Fleet Oiler Teakwood to top up with fuel oil. Returned to anchorage at Cowes about 1500, on two hours notice for steam – which means that the ship must be in all respects ready to put to sea within two hours after being ordered to do so.

“10 June: Saturday. Usual routine carried out – everything above and below decks cleaned and squared up in morning, ‘Make-and-Mend’ in afternoon. The new ‘revised’ type corvette Louisburg is anchored near us, and we were able to exchange visits with some of her crew. Very nice ship, not much like the older ones.”

Incidentally, Louisburg replaces the first corvette of that name, sunk in the Mediterranean in a torpedo-bomber attack on a convoy; Camrose was in the same group, as was Kitchener, the ship on which Iver Gillen was serving then.

“11 June: Prospect of a quiet Sunday spoiled by receipt of a signal in late afternoon ordering us to proceed out of harbour. Under way with Baddeck by 1140. We are to patrol Channel 56, one of the routes to the far shore, and escort part of the way any tugs with tows, or convoys, that come along. Weather fair – cloudy, with occasional rain. At dusk we picked up two pairs of tugs with ‘Whale’ tows (parts of the prefabricated ports) and stayed with them during the night. All during dark hours displays of starshell and tracer shells visible.

“12 June: About 0430 saw and heard numerous heavy explosions in direction of French coast and some A/A fire in same place; looks like many another air attack. Left our tugs and tows at daybreak. At 0730 came upon two more tugs with a Whale tow, having some difficulty with same. As near as I can describe them, ‘Whales’ were heavy sections of floating roads or ramps, buoyed up by big steel tanks; there were usually four or five sections in a tow, and in this case, the after two tanks had leaked and sunk. The towboat skippers said further towing was impossible, as one tank was already on the bottom. They could not just cut it loose and leave it as it was a menance to navigation, and they had no alternative but to stand by until someone came to assist them. Our Old Man decided to sink the lot by gunfire, after salvaging what could be removed. Sent a small boat away, but it was found that of all the valuable gear stowed on top of the whales (small landing craft, coils of wire cable, miscellaneous Army equipment) most was too heavy to move. The tug captains assured our CO that the bouyant tanks were filled with petrol, so we stood well off before opening fire. The first hit released only air, so we closed in and used all our guns. It took nearly three hours to sink the thing – which could be a tribute to the builders or a reflection on our gunners. Hardly the latter, as many direct hits were scored with little effect. Difficult target to hit, low in the water, rising and falling in the slight sea, and many shots just glanced off the tanks.... During this bit of war effort two R.N. destroyers passed us at high speed, bound for far shore. They asked us by light what we were doing, and on being told, asked us to hold our fire until they were past. (Later found out that one had aboard Winston Churchill, on his way to visit the beach area.) Today forenoon we passed five bodies floating on the surface – two airmen and three seamen. One of the former was sitting bolt upright as if in a chair, held so by his lifejacket, head and shoulders out of the water. An occasional wave now and then washed over him, smoothing back his hair as if with a comb. This gruesome sight seemed to fascinate some of the newer members of the crew, to whom a casualty was something one read about in the papers. It brought home to them rather abruptly the fact that war is more than bands and uniforms, seeing the world and being a hero in the home town. For a few it also emphasized the fact – more than our officers had been able to do – that it might be smart to stay wide awake on watch. Easy now too, to enforce the standing orders regarding wearing or carrying of life-jackets. Some criticism of the Old Man for not stopping to recover, attempt to identify, and properly bury the dead, as we know one other Canadian CO has done. However, our Skipper is wise; aside from the fact that the Germans have been known to attach mines to floating bodies, submarines are becoming active in the Channel, and a ship hove to would be an easy target. Passed much fresh wreckage, and two lifeboats which we took alongside and stripped of equipment. Weather better and getting warmer. In forenoon met tug Growler with Mulberry tow, and escorted her to end of Channel 56. About 1600 we were ordered by signal to return to Portsmouth. Had been about two hours on way when we received another W/T signal to meet and escort two more tugs with Mulberry tows for far shore, speed four knots. Met them about 1830, and were joined by Baddeck and Louisburg. Just after dark starshell began to go up all around us, some much too close for comfort since it illuminated us. We learn by signal that there are about eight E-boats in our vicinity. About 2230 there was a tremendous barrage of A/A fire along the French coast, and we saw many bombs exploding, lighting up the sky; the detonations can be felt aboard us, though we are about 15 miles off shore. The attack kept up all night, and the noise was added to by gunfire from our big ships at the beach area – they have some target not very far inland. Some very colourful tracer shell displays in our vicinity, but as usual we do not know who is firing.

“13 June: A few minutes after midnight Louisburg, on our starboard quarter, got a radar contact; she reported it to us, and illuminated with starshell. The latter were laid accurately over two E-boats making for our little convoy. Owing to their speed and evasive action she soon lost them, but we picked them up a few seconds later by radar and also illuminated them with starshell, some distance from the first position. Got away a few rounds of 4 inch and a lot of Oerlikon, and appeared to score more hits with latter, the range being close at times. Lost target when starshell burned out, and tried again with illuminating rockets; found target again, and opened fire, but this time they were going all out, half hidden in spray from their bows, and they were soon out of range and sight. The enemy hereabouts seems disinclined to take risks, and our two did not even return our fire. They might have done us some damage, as they have much greater speed and are armed with 40 mm guns. We investigated several radar and asdic contacts later, but nothing developed. Just before dawn a ship in another convoy near us was sunk, but we did not learn how, nor who she was. Made very poor time all day as the tow is very hard to handle. Nothing of interest during daylight; dark hours same as before....”

Editor’s Note: The Royal Canadian Navy grew from thirteen vessels and 3,600 personnel at the outbreak of war to a force of 93,000 personnel and 939 vessels (373 categorized fighting ships). The RCN contributed 110 ships and 10,000 men to the Normandy landing operation.

Naval vessels built in Canada in the war period; 487 escort ships and minesweepers, 391 cargo vessels, 254 tugs and auxiliary vessels, 3,300 special purpose craft.

At the war’s end Iver Gillen transferred to the Merchant Service and eventually joined the Canadian Customs and Immigration Department. Upon his retirement in 1972, he and his wife Anne, went to live on Salt Spring Island, British Columbia where he died suddenly in October 1981.

Iver J. Gillen is on the far right of his four shipmates from across Canada.