Chapter 10 Exploit of an AMC; Stop Instantly; Women of the RAN

LITTLE is known of the exploits of the armed merchant cruisers, even though their work is wide and varied: Sometimes their achievements are belittled by the uninitiated, but the men who man them are justly proud of their ships and the work they are doing.

The following is a brief account of a job accomplished by one of these A.M.Cs, manned almost entirely by Royal Australian Reserves, most of them not yet out of their 'teens.

Picture her in the early hours of August 25, 1941 nosing her way up a certain river in the Persian Gulf to take control of a town and railway which the powers that be deemed of great importance, and to capture five German and three Italian vessels that were sheltered there. Two tugs, a motor driven dhow, and a motor launch had been requisitioned by her and manned by her crew. Some of them were dressed as Arabs. The sun had just cleared the horizon as she rounded the last bend in the river, when she and her brood of wasps were sighted by a lookout on one of the German ships, and the warning was given. Instantly volumes of smoke and fire belched from the three Italian and two of the German ships.

Each of the A.M.C's wasps, as we call them, had a vessel assigned to it and each ranged alongside its own prize, taking the crew prisoner and then fighting like the devil to get the fire under control, while demolition charges were exploding in different parts of the ship.

The A.M.C. herself had several jobs on her hands. She steamed alongside one of the Italian ships that was well ablaze, and as many of the crew who could be spared got busy with hoses and extinguishers in a supreme effort to get the fire under control. All the Italian's accommodation was saturated with petrol. Even her fire-fighting appliances were filled with petrol and when they were used became flaming torches. Opened cans of petrol had been placed in the accommodation in an endeavour to assure that the fire would not be put out.

But the enemy's work was all in vain, for in about three hours the fire was out and the ship safe. While this work was going on the A.M.C. was disgorging Indian troops in her boats, their task being to subdue all resistance ashore. Simultaneously she was firing broadsides of 6-inch ashore to prevent a train from leaving the township and to immobilize the railway, and at the same time using her H.A. armament to keep off aircraft circling round out of range.

The other enemy vessels by this time had all been subdued and taken under control, the fires extinguished with the exception of two. One of the ships was burning furiously. Her oil fuel had ignited and she was one seething inferno. The other, a magnificent vessel, was settling, her sea-cocks having been blown off by demolition charges. Her anchor cable was slipped and the two tugs beached her on the half tide. The burning ship by this time had become untenable, and had to be abandoned. She burned through the rest of the day and night until just before dawn on August 26, when she listed heavily and finally plunged to the bed of the river.

Towing bridles were made of 5-inch wire by the A.M.C's crew, and within five days the three Italian vessels were towed away to be refitted and pressed into service under the British merchant flag. The three German vessels left under their own steam, bound for the same British port, all with the enemy's flag below the White Ensign. The remaining German ship that had been beached was salvaged in the space of a few weeks, by the A.M.C's crew, her valuable cargo was discharged into another vessel chartered for that purpose, and she herself was finally despatched to join the others.

It takes months to build a ship, even at the present accelerated speed of ship building. This A.M.C., in a few weeks, put seven very valuable ships into service for the common cause. Her crew, though tired with the strenuous task, just grinned and said, "Little man, you've had a busy day." She returned to Australia after over two years away on active service just as they all do, unhonoured and unsung. But her crew felt with pride the satisfaction of a job well and faithfully done.

Petty Officer G.R., H.M.A.S. Kuramia.

0N Sunday, September 3, 1939, H.M.A.S. Perth was steaming off the Venezuela coast. For the past twenty-four hours an uncanny stillness had seemed to settle over the whole of the globe. True, for the past three days the Nazis had revealed their beastliness in their merciless and unprovoked attack on Poland. Europe was on the brink of the abyss of conflict.

At 541 p.m., American standard time, the silence of the past six hours was shattered by a message to all British warships from Admiralty. "Commence hostilities at once with Germany." So after a troubled peace of twenty-one years the mad armament race had at last come to a head. We were at war with our old enemies.

We immediately increased speed and sped towards the islands of the Dutch West Indies, where it was known that at least twelve enemy ships were lying. "Lower deck" was cleared, and "Articles of War" read by the captain, who at the conclusion called for three cheers for H.M. the King. Never in my life have I heard such a rousing response, and it came as from the bottom of the men's hearts with the will to serve. Within three hours of the commencement of hostilities we sighted a vessel which, on sighting us, turned away. We immediately altered course to intercept her.

The vessel completely ignored our signals to stop and to reveal her nationality by hoisting her ensign. Gun crews were closed up at their stations and the order was given to train our secondary armament on the defaulting vessel. This apparently had the desired effect, and the Dutch Tricolour fluttered from her ensign staff. Ascertaining that her destination was Curacao, D.W.I., we allowed her to continue her voyage.

Passing the island of Aruba, one of the Dutch West Indies group, it was noted that four Nazi freighters were lying at anchor within the safe limits of territorial waters, looking very sorry for themselves.

At 5 p.m. a suspicious vessel was sighted within the three mile limit of Curacao. The vessel held her course, hugging the coast. We immediately moved over to intercept and scrutinize her. Her funnel and markings, also her masts, had been recently painted. This alone was enough to arouse suspicion, as this trick was being employed by Nazi

merchant ships, masquerading as British steamship lines in the hope of evading British patrols. On drawing nearer, this dirty little tramp ran up a brand new Panamanian ensign. This confirmed our suspicions. By means of a large telescope we ascertained that her name was S.S.. Tachira. On looking up Lloyd's Register it was found that Tachira was listed as an American vessel. Checking the funnel marking we learnt she was wearing the distinctive markings of the Grace Line, an American line of luxury tourist ships. This dirty little tramp didn't seem to fit into the picture at all.

With skilful maneuvering, we managed to get between her and the neutral shore, forcing her out to seaward. We hoisted the international code signal "Stop instantly". Ignoring our signal she kept her course. Notwithstanding the fact that she hadn't even answered our signal, we hoisted a further signal warning her not to use her wireless. At 5-46 p.m. our patience was at its limit of endurance and a blank round was fired in her direction. She called our bluff and still held her course. Only when the secondary armament was brought to bear directly on her, did she realize her folly. Her Morse lamp j spluttered, "My engines are stopped" - and stopped they were.

Boarding parties were by this time manning their boat and, decreasing speed, the boarding boat was lowered and slipped and was soon pulling rapidly towards the rusty sides of the Tachira.

As darkness was beginning to fall we did not wish to prolong the operation and ordered Tachira to have a jumping ladder ready.

Within ten minutes of her engines stopping, the boarding party were scrambling up her sides and had taken charge.

The signalman and one able seaman immediately went to the bridge, and whilst the crew and passengers (amongst whom were several women) were lined up before the boarding officer, another officer and several A.Bs opened the hatches and checked her cargo, which happened to be flour.

On board Perth there was much speculation. Was she a prize?

In the meantime, the boarding officer had inspected all the passengers' and crew's visas, and found all to be correct with the exception of the chief engineer's. This man was a German, but was now a naturalized American and under the protection of a neutral flag. The master, who was an American, explained that the ship, although an American, was now under the Panamanian flag and registered at Colon, Panama. Asked to explain why he had failed to answer our signals, he replied that he did not carry the international code of signals. He was reprimanded and told to be more prompt in answering signals in the future or he might suffer considerable inconvenience at such a repetition.

The boarding officer then reported to the ship that all was in order and was told to release the vessel. It was soon learnt throughout the ship that our prize was a perfectly harmless neutral. So ended our first day of the war at sea and our first disappointment, which we were to learn was only the forerunner of many during the trying ordeals of warfare.

The following is an excerpt from a Washington press statement published in August 1942:

Mexico City Newspaper Novedades reports that five were killed when the 2,325 ton Panama vessel Tachira was torpedoed by an Axis submarine on July 17, while en route from Columbia to New Orleans. Survivors were landed on the Mexican Gulf coast.

YEOMAN OF SIGNALS R.

LITTLE SHIPS

We pray our prayers for our fighting men, ashore, aloft, at sea.
- "Out there" we each have someone, fighting for you and me.
- Men in navy or airforce blue, and soldiers with stern set lips,
- But the men on whom our fate depends, are the men in the Little Ships.
We cheer our men as they march away, embarking to meet the foe,
- And hearts are aching with pain and pride, as we watch our loved ones go
- In crowded transports, through perilous seas where the lurking U-boat slips,
- They are taken safe to their distant goal, by the men in the Little Ships.
The ships that carry a nation's food go ever upon their way,
- Through ocean lanes where, but hours before' the murderous minefield lay.
- Those globes, that wait with their loads of death, where the reeling forefoot rips,
- Are all discounted, and brought to naught, swept up by the Little Ships.
The men who handle the Little Ships have got no band to play,
- And spend their lives in an endless watch, ceaselessly night and day
- The little craft turn somersaults, where the liner only dips,
- And crashing seas make music for the men in the Little Ships.
Now, some will ask, the Little Ships, what can these vessels be?
- Destroyers, sweepers, sloops, corvettes, the wartime family.
- And we'll win this war, not in the fight when Leviathans come to grips,
- But by dogged grit, and the endless toll of the men in the Little Ships.
And so to-day, as the nation fights to right a ghastly wrong,
- From every heart the cry goes out, "How long, Oh Lord, how long?"
- So let us live with the well-known hymn for ever upon our lips,
- "From rock and tempest, fire and foe, protect our Little Ships."

Petty Officer, D. C. R.

DURING the Great War of 1914-18 several new auxiliary services were formed in England, among them the Women's Royal Naval Service. The women recruited into this organization rapidly' proved themselves thoroughly efficient and reliable in many branches of naval work, and played a worthy if not a spectacular part in the winning of the war. Accordingly, when 1939 found England once again at war, the W.R.N.S. was speedily enlarged, and its activities extended to embrace many branches of work hitherto undertaken by men of the Royal Navy.

It was not, however, until early 1941 that women here in Australia, who were trained and qualified as telegraphists, were given an opportunity to join the Navy. A service was inaugurated under the title of the Women's Royal Australian Naval Service, with a view to enlisting women for duty in the naval wireless transmitter stations to release more trained men for service at sea. Twelve girls were entered at first; I was one of the twelve.

My first, main, and lasting impression is one of honoured tradition, rigid discipline, and everything comme il faut. The Navy is the senior service and the silent service, and the memory of Drake, Nelson, and Jellicoe is evergreen. Unaccustomed to discipline as we were, at first, we found this textbook approach to everything rather irksome; but we soon realized that there is no place in the Navy for procrastination, dilettantism, or laissez-faire policies. We know we have a job to do and that "England expects . . ." and we're not going to let her down.

We live under the same conditions as the men. On this particular station, we are accommodated in modern, well furnished cottages, with large gardens and well-paved streets. We are victualled in a general mess and meals are of excellent quality. We work watches side by side with a rapidly diminishing number of men, for as soon as we girls are experienced, the men are released for the more arduous duties at sea. Our time off

is our own-except for divisions, working parties, church parties, cleaning stations, and an occasional "clear lower deck!"

We found it highly amusing to be told to swab the deck or wet the plu, and the idea of "catching a liberty boat to go ashore" seemed fantastic and incongruous when we merely wanted to go down the street for some shopping. We were moved to merriment at being addressed as "station crew" and instructed to "stand by", or hearing the driver of the official car being told to "go astern". However, we soon became accustomed to the curious jargon, and would now never dream of referring to the galley as the "kitchen".

In the work we found interest, enjoyment, and the thrill of doing a real job of work. We have, with our increasing numbers, already replaced some go per cent of the men previously stationed here, who have been drafted away where Wrans are as yet unknown.

The hours are exacting, but it's the old principle of the "roundabouts and swings"; and oh! the blessed comfort that comes at the end of a "48 on" when, heavy of eye and light of head after the morning watch, we see the reliefs appear at 0800. Surely there is no greater joy in all the world! Before I started watch keeping, my bed was to me a necessary evil - now it is an ecstatic luxury, a haven and a cherished friend.

Our numbers are drawn from all walks of life. We are mainly former business girls; a few come from the circle known vaguely as "society"; but one and all are pulling their weight and standing on their own feet probably more firmly than ever before. We do our own housework, washing (dhobying in ' naval parlance), gardening etc., and we take our turn at camouflaging, slit trench levelling, and anything that comes along; and we are all the better for it. Recently a number of girls have been recruited into our ranks as teleprinter operators and cooks, and it appears that more and more Wrans are to be enlisted.

There have been many precious things in my life, but none that I treasure as dearly as my insignificant little title - A Wran. (So says Telegraphist-Wran-S.V.T.)

And now-Telegraphist-Wran-D.G.H., has a few words on the subject:

We girls of the W.R.A.N.S. often hum the music and words of the Gilbert and Sullivan immortal H.M.S. Pinafore:
- I cleaned the windows and swept the floor
- And polished up the handle of the big front door.
- I polished up that handle so successfullee
- That now I am the Ruler of the Queen's Navee.

as we go about sweeping, and doing lots of other things not attributed to the cabin boy in the opera. Our ambitions, moreover, don't reach so high as the Gilbert and Sullivan boy. We do not aspire to be rulers of the King's Navee. Our only desire is to give service in the traditional way of the Navy.

Yet, like the "ruler of the Queen's Navee" in Pinafore, the Wrans are likely to "stick to their desks and never go to sea", though the idea of women going to sea is not new. Indeed, the time-honoured call of "show a leg" originated in the days when women went to sea. In the days before Nelson, wives used to accompany their husbands on voyages. When the morning call was piped it took this form: "All hands, all hands, all hands. Show a leg. Show a leg." All were required to thrust out a leg. Masculine legs were quickly detected and their owners pulled out of their bunks unceremoniously. The wives slept on.

Happiness is the keynote of the Harman wireless station. Lovely surroundings and excellent conditions prevail. Wrans at Harman, and no doubt everywhere else, have an administration which treats them with every kindness and consideration consistent with discipline.

And Harman upholds the tradition of the Navy in all its truest and noblest aspects. On Sunday there is a church service. Parade for church is an event of importance. It marks the end of a week of usefulness and good purpose. The service is simple and direct, and carries a message of loyalty and faith. All emerge mentally refreshed and ready for another week's work.

TELEGRAPHIST S. V. T.

TORRES STRAITER

0WNERS of small boats in a north Queensland port were requested under the National Security Regulations to deliver their vessels into the safe-keeping of the Army authorities. Some confusion ensued, however, and a few stragglers inquired from the local naval depot whether they could keep their craft in cases in which it would be very inconvenient to lose them. One of these inquirers, a broad-built Torres Straiter, former fisherman and at this season a cane-cutter, lived and prospered under the name of Charlie Sailor.

Although this grinning husky had pursued for some years the occupation of a landlubber, his nickname had been well earned by his long ~eriod as a commercial fisherman, and he was the owner of a fair-sized boat. His problem was simply that his boat, which had been put up out of the water, was infested by borers and so full of holes that it would sink immediately on launching. He was told politely to write a letter to the Army authorities concerned. His face was at once a picture of dismay and helplessness.

"Me no write letters," he said.

As a gesture typical of the friendliness for which north Queensland is justly famed, an officer offered to write the letter on Charlie's behalf.

The day was very warm and it was some time before the perspiring Good Samaritan had finished typing out the letter written in the first person and purporting to be a figment of Charlie's imagination. Typing had been punctuated by the sound of Charlie slapping each arm alternately and killing in the space of minutes (providing, of course, they were direct hits) all the mosquitoes in the neighbourhood. These sound effects were helped by half-muttered oaths.

When the letter was finished, Charlie muttered contentedly, and with great precision he expectorated through the open window.

When asked to touch the pen in the usual native fashion, while a cross was made in lieu of signature, Charlie grunted pompously and neatly signed his name.

The perspiring officer said nothing, but what he thought would not bear printing.

S.P