Chapter 11 3 Trips to Crete; Baby Doom: Scrap Iron;

H.M.A.S. NIZAM was commissioned in December 1940,- at Clydebank, under the command of Lieutenant-Commander M. J. Clark, R.A.N. We spent the Christmas-New Year period doing trials off the Clyde, and later served with the Home Fleet in the North Sea and Atlantic. We sailed for the Mediterranean via the Cape, in company with H.M.A.S. Napier in March 1941

Our first close contact with Crete occurred when we took part, in company with R.N. destroyers, in landing 600 special service troops on the island. We attempted to land these troops on the southern shores of Crete, but as the weather was too rough returned to Alexandria and sailed again the next morning for Suda Bay in company with two of H.M. destroyers. We arrived at Suda Bay safely about midnight.

It all seemed strangely quiet on the northern coast of Crete; despite the heavy fighting ashore, all we saw or heard were occasional flares and short bursts of machine-gun fire. Nizam proceeded alongside the pier at the head of Suda Bay, after having avoided the numerous wrecks in the harbour, which were luckily silhouetted against a blazing oiler. We disembarked our troops, feeling rather sorry for them, and embarked about 120 walking wounded. These wounded, having been bombed out of their hospital, had spent three or four days in caves, and that night had walked over four miles from their shelters to the pier; consequently they needed considerable medical attention on our trip south, as some of their wounds were in a shocking condition.

We were ready to sail 20 minutes before zero hour (0300) and slipped from the pier shortly after. Although we did not know it at the time, we were the last British ship to leave Suda Bay, as the Germans occupied the pier at 0700 that day. As we cleared the harbour enemy torpedo aircraft attacked the pier, hitting it in three places where we had been berthed.

However, we were left alone, apart from two high-level bombing attacks by single aircraft. We entered harbour at 1700, oiled, and embarked provisions and ammunition throughout the night.
Nizam, Napier and two R.N. destroyers sailed at 0900 the following day for the southern coast of Crete.

As we cleared the swept channel the ship stopped, owing, we soon discovered, to water in the oil fuel tanks-, inspection revealed that we had two tanks affected, as a result of underwater damage from near misses the previous day. We soon changed over to another tank and proceeded to catch up the division. The engineer officer then endeavoured to calculate whether we could get to Crete and back again on the remaining oil at 30 knots, a total distance of 800 miles. He announced that we would just do it, but I don't think any one believed him until we were secured to the buoy after the trip. Our first casualty occurred at 1200, when one of the R.N. destroyers informed Captain (D) that she could not proceed at more than 20 knots owing to damage to machinery caused by near misses a few days previously. She was ordered to return to Alexandria. It was difficult not to wish we were in a similar state, as no one was looking forward to the trip.

We knew that we would meet another force, including H.M.A.S. Perth, returning from Crete with troops embarked the previous night. Everything proceeded smoothly until we sighted them at 1530. They had the usual escort of enemy high-level bombers. We were more than annoyed when some of their bombers attacked us, for we had had an unusually quiet time until then.

The effect of the attack was apparent when the last R.N. destroyer turned back as the result of three near misses, which completely obscured her from view. This left Napier and Nizam alone, steaming north. I was afterwards informed by several officers in the southbound force that they had not really expected to see us again, and I must confess we felt a bit like that, too, at the time. However, we were lucky and continued on our course without further interruption from the air, hoping hard that through some strange chance darkness would occur a few hours earlier than usual. Our luck continued, and we arrived safely at Crete at midnight. As only half the number of ships expected had arrived, it was obvious we would be overloaded. Both ships embarked troops as fast as possible, our boats being ably assisted by two motor landing craft that had been left there the previous night.

We later discovered that we had 850 troops on board, while the Napier had over 800. Most of our passengers were Maoris. Dawn broke at 0530, and we still seemed to be very close to Crete, as our course lay along the coast for about 40 miles. We loaded every gun and waited for the inevitable attacks. At 0700 we had our first dose of high-level bombing by about five aircraft, without any damage to either side. It was obvious that the Germans knew that we had only one 4-inch A.A. gun, as they persistently remained overhead out of reach of our 4.7-inch low angle armament.

We were being shadowed by one enemy aircraft, and knew that the dive-bombers were not far away. They came at 0845 and at 0930, in two waves of 12 aircraft, out of the sun. The first attack was unsuccessful, but during the second the Napier was damaged by two near misses, and had her speed reduced to a questionable 20 knots. Our score was two Junkers shot down into the sea, and two heavily damaged. We continued on our way wondering whether Napier would make it, and whether our fuel would last. The prospects at the time were not encouraging, as Napier could be seen to have a list and had once been forced to stop completely.

At about 1000 two high-level bombers made a final unsuccessful attack. As we had then used two-thirds of our ammunition we were beginning to wonder what we would do should we be again attacked in force. The consumption of ammunition was considerably increased by volunteer Maori supply parties who, in the lulls, entertained us with gory details of how they had treated the German parachutists.

We sailed on and entered the searched channel without further incident, apart from a stirring attempt on our part to shoot down two British aircraft that had arrived on the scene. By this time we viewed anything that flew with the greatest suspicion.

As we entered harbour both Napier and Nizam were cheered by one of the R.N. destroyers that had departed with us the previous morning. We felt that it was really worth while, after all. Our complement of over 850 passengers proved to be easily a record for destroyers 'in both the Greek and Crete evacuations.

LIEUT.-COMMANDER S.C.C.

BABY DOOM (An Ode to "Turk")

THERE'S a man we call Turk in Vendetta's brigade,

Well-known in the boats for the skill oft displayed

To ensure that his doom babes would shatter and blast

The undersea vessels at which they are cast.

He weeps when he's forced to lose one of his pets,

Yet for those down below he has no fond regrets;

He worships his dumplings, yet it puzzles me

Where he gathers the strength to bounce one on his knee.

They are heavy to lump, and as plain as can be

They loudly protest when they're dipped in the sea,

The water erupts, there is trouble below,

For the Turk's baby doomers are stunning the foe.

He keeps two in their cradles, close by the ship's side,

When contact's established, they overboard glide,

It's then that the Turk is heard loudly to bawl

For the loss of his babies, cradle and all.

When the D69 nineteen doomers did rain

It must have caused old Father Neptune some pain,

For the loss of his subjects put him in dull gloom.

Now he's gunning for Turk, since the Depth Charge of Doom.

T. D., ex Vendetta.

"LET go aft, let go for'd." Just one more oil ship finished. The boiler hours were mounting up and how we counted them; boiler clean meant about thirty six hours in harbour and a spell ashore for most of the war weary crew.

H.M.A.S. Voyager had left Sydney on Sunday, November 3, 1939, on a twenty-four hours' patrol outside the Heads, and here we were acquaintances of the Mediterranean-April 1941- We were still getting back from that patrol, and with nothing in our future outlook to say we would get back. Getting back wasn't everything, but a spell would have been heavenly. Forty-six days up the
Libyan coast, out with the fleet, out with convoys, up on a stunt with commandos, trans-
porting prisoners .. rescuing crews of sinking ships, sinking enemy subs, offensive sweeps,
tedious patrols, rushing urgent despatches, carrying troops and wounded. These were
just a few of our jobs.

To-night we had just returned to Alexandria after two days up the coast where, in company with H.M.A.S. Stuart and a naval auxiliary and assisted by a H.M. submarine, we had landed a large party of commandos who had blown up a lot of important places in Bardia, and then withdrawn and returned to Alex. After oiling we had expected to go to sea again as usual, but instead made fast to a buoy in the harbour. During this period the paper headlines were reading, "Germans Being Slaughtered in Thousands", "Greeks Fight On Gallantly", "Australian Troops Make Brilliant Stand", "Germans Throwing In Wave After Wave of Fresh Troops", "Advance Reported On All Fronts". It told its own tale to us. Most of the fleet was at sea the next day, but we stayed in harbour. Cargo and passenger ships began to arrive full of civilians-men, women, and children from Salonika, Greece.

The world seemed nice and peaceful to us, all quiet in harbour. A hot sunny day, and leave until 2245 hours that night. Those who weren't on duty-half the ship's company-went ashore. That night things started to move. As we neared the ship in the inky darkness the noise of the racing engine-room fans meant half an hour's notice of full speed. The "buzzes" went round quickly-"We are going to evacuate our troops from Greece." At daybreak we left in company with a H.M. cruiser, H.M.A.S. Stuart, and two naval auxiliaries, and steamed at 118 knots for Suda Bay, Crete.

Stuart gave them everything she had, and the result was four misses, so we proceeded on our way.

All was quiet and peaceful as we proceeded. Nice warm sunshine, pretty green islands. Who would have thought there was a war on?

About 9 p.m. we had slight relaxation from action stations to get a bit of dinner and a little later nosed our way into Nauplia. The night was inky black, and what appeared to be flares lit the way in for us, but progress was deadly slow.

Collisions must be avoided at all costs. The flares turned out to be several of our shi s sunk and
sinking, and blazing from stem to stem. An oiler was just a blaze of flame. Even the water around
was afire.

The calques began to come out laden with soldiers, and in the darkness could not find the ships they were detailed to go aboard. The crews were Greek men, and after some jabbering and pointing, we gave them the general direction. The sea had a slight swell, planes could be heard droning overhead, mines had been laid in the vicinity, and burning ships were our only landmarks.

As one caique came alongside, we inquired, "What ship are you detailed for?" -"Voyager," came the reply, so we made her fast and the troops poured aboard, throwing their gear before them. Caiques clustered alongside, port side, and soon troops were cluttered about our upper deck. A caique was having trouble, starboard side, being towed alongside. The usual shouting was going on-"Hurry and make that b- bow line fast, what the - hell are you doing up there? Come on, caique, pass your b- stem line over." Then she bumped alongside. "Hey," to the black depths of the caique. "Are you b---- coming on board this ship?"

"Too right," came several female voices.

"Gawd! Women!" someone said. "Right-o, girls! jump up! Give us your hand, mind the guard rail."

So we got about 149 nurses and about 141 soldiers aboard, and then came the terrific job of stowing them and their belongings. Stowing men was all right, but women this was different. As many as possible were stowed below out of the wet and spray and dew. All officers' cabins, wardroom, and compartments aft were filled, petty officers' mess was full. We made them cocoa, tea, and sandwiches with our meagre supplies, gave the nurses soap, towels, toothbrushes, roped and screened off a toilet place, and bedded them down for the night. And so we left them and went up on deck to stand around all night.

It was impossible to get all the nurses below decks on the destroyer, so those on deck (some girls didn't want to go below-the air was too foul) just huddled together on the deck and we did the best we could with tea and Navy cocoa. Some nurses were wounded but had been attended to. With the exception of Stuart, our ships had loaded up with troops. Stuart was detailed not to take troops, but to stand by to pick up survivors in case one of us was sunk, but nevertheless one lone soldier found his way aboard, and he was their only passenger.

Every one had settled down by 03oo, and before daylight nearly all of Voyager's ship's company had shaved and put on clean clothes. There were nurses on board, and the desire to create a good impression was evident. The officers and petty officers were not able to clean up until later, but in true naval style all hands were called about o8oo and breakfast was prepared in buffet style, every one getting what he could when he could. Our cooks did a marvelous job.

The nurses, after having a clean-up as well as circumstances would allow, found their way on deck, and many very interesting tales were told on either side. Of the nurses aboard, about half were Aussie girls and the other half New Zealand and English girls. They all spoke with admiration of matron, and the valour of the nurses who volunteered to stayed behind to nurse the wounded.

Nurse Casey was talking to some of us about those "so and so Germans" when the alarm rattles sounded their vibrant note-action stations-air raid. Guns were quickly manned and opened fire at one lone plane-a German reconnaissance plane which flew off. We remained at action stations and about two hours later sighted two coming over -Junkers 88s. We opened fire as they came round our bow to attack the two auxiliaries. The nurses and soldiers scattered from under the gun muzzles as we opened fire. Steel helmeted womenfolk urged on the gun crews: "A little lower! That nearly got him!" They were as pleased as Punch. The soldiers, who had mounted two Bren guns on the deck, opened fire.

The Brens and other weapons on the naval auxiliaries opened fire as the planes dived in to the attack. Some hits must have been scored as the planes wobbled and dodged, let go their eight bombs and sped off. The bombs missed ahead.

Two of our Blenheims appeared and sped after the retreating Huns, but reappeared later and afforded us protection, with the result that we had no more attacks from the air. Hours later, as we neared Crete, Vendetta and Waterhen passed us on their way to Greece.

PETTY OFFICER A.W.C., Ex Voyager.

DESPITE his big failing, he always tried hard-although not always with the best results-to retain his "monarch-of-all-I-survey" air. In his moments of sobriety he never let anything ruffle his majestic brow. You may dismiss him with a disdainful "Only a darn rooster!" But he was more than that. He was an important and entertaining member of a certain naval establishment in Darwin before the blitz ended his eventful career.

Nothing was sacred to Rupert, not even someone else's beer. Every day he could be seen strutting majestically up and down on the canteen counter and dipping his beak into every pot in sight. That was Rupert's big failing. He was a confirmed soak and the matelots did nothing to reform him. On the contrary, they found him a never-failing source of amusement when he was properly tanked, almost human in his ludicrous attempts to appear sober, when actually he had great difficulty in even keeping his feet on the deck. I used to think that if he could speak he would mutter thickly, "I'm not drunk. Soberasa judge (hic)."

Even the most amorous fowls used to keep their distance on the morning after the night before, when Rupert suffered from alcoholic remorse and a sore head.

One of the funniest incidents that it has been my fortune to view occurred on one of these selfsame mornings after the night before. Having awakened with a sore head and a nasty disposition, he looked around bleary-eyed for something on which to vent his spleen. Suddenly he pulled himself together and a crafty gleam crept into his left eye (the only one I could see; no doubt the other one also registered the same expression). There, no more than 20 yards away, was a cat peacefully drinking from a saucer of milk. This animal's hindquarters were invitingly turned in Rupert's direction.

With infinite caution, which would have done justice to a black tracker, the rooster crept up behind the unsuspecting cat. The moment was tense. Oblivious of all else I watched the drama being enacted before my eyes, shifting my position ever so slightly in order to command a better view of the fast-approaching climax. Rupert, by this time within a few inches of pussy, hesitated as though searching for the most vital spot on which to launch his offensive, then peck ! right on the spot where the back changes its name. With a screech that rudely shattered the tense silence the cat hit the horizon, and as far as I know has not returned to its favourite haunts.

The speed and alacrity with which Rupert regained his air of lofty detachment and majestic bearing amazed the onlookers. His victory over pussy, and the satisfaction contained therein, seemed to buck him up no end, and once more he was his former self-esteeming self with the hangover completely forgotten.

I am unable to say what eventually happened to our friend, but I have heard rumours that he arrived at a given spot at the same time as a Jap bomb. There was
not room enough for both of them. R.I.P.

CODER L.H.K. "Coonawarra."

ONLY THE ADMIRAL

MANY funny incidents have arisen over mistaken identity. One of the strangest occurred in Alexandria early in ig4ii. It concerned the C. in C. Mediterranean, Admiral Sir Andrew Cunningham, or "A.B.C." as he was to us all.

The Australian Vs and Ws had motor boats which really had to be seen to be believed. They were nearly twenty-five years old, and looked it. The Waterhen's boat was leaving the famous "No. 6 gate" one afternoon when a dapper little man in plain clothes came down to the boat wharf, looked as if he were expecting a boat, and then asked the coxswain if he could drop him at the Warspite as he passed.

The coxswain explained afterwards that he thought he was probably the canteen manager.

At that time the Waterhen's boat was suffering from clutch trouble. She couldn't de-clutch, which meant that to stop they had to switch off the engine and risk not getting it started again.

They reached the Warspite all right, and the coxswain told the "canteen manager" that he couldn't stop, but that he would cruise slowly past the gangway for him to jump off. This he did with remarkable agility, and reached the deck without mishap.

The dapper little man, of course, was "A.B.C.", one of the hardest fighting admirals of this war. He played up to the situation magnificently, and never said a word until he told the story amidst roars of laughter in his address at a dinner for the commanding officers of the fleet.

It was actions like this that won for "A.B.C." the respect and devotion of every man in the Mediterranean Fleet.

G.K.S.

DUTY BEFORE DECENCY

WE had had repeated "alerts" most of the morning in a certain blitz port in New Guinea, and spirits were still very high, though getting lunch down during the alerts was a difficult problem. Among the keenest on board for action stations was the -engineer officer, nicknamed "Honest Artie" by his shipmates.

He was always there, complete with gas-mask and other gear, and with a rifle if possible. The alerts had died down, and a period of blissful quiet had set in, when Honest Artie decided to have a shower. It was during the shower period that the gongs went again. All hands at stations were silent and expectant. But suddenly the silence was shattered by a voice. It was Honest Artie's, demanding in loud tones: "Where are the ------s ?"

Every one looked in the direction of the indignant outcry, and a gale of laughter went up to the Zeros. There was Honest Artie, with a very short singlet, negative pants, a "battle bowler" and a rifle. He was thirsting for gore, and on top line again.

D.C.N.

NOT a breath of wind disturbed the waters of Port Moresby harbour, where Australia's smallest cruiser, the Adelaide, lay at anchor. The sun beat down remorselessly on the 20-year old ship's steel plating while her ship's company, engaged in their various tasks, blessed the canvas awnings which the captain had ordered to be spread over the upper deck. The men were happy, and an occasional burst of song came from some busy seaman. The ship had just completed the first part of a job, having escorted from the south a merchant ship bringing troops and anti-aircraft guns for the port-those guns which were to fire with such devastating effect in later months, to earn for Moresby the title of "the Tobruk of the Pacific".

In the wardroom, the officers had just finished their breakfast when the signal officer pinned a pink signal on the notice board, from the Naval Board, which read: "Commence hostilities with Japan."

One by one the officers read it and walked quietly away. There was nothing to be said. They all realized the implications of such a decision prolonging of the war and much bloodshed-yet of what avail were mere words. An impetuous sub. said, "Now the fun starts", and a lieutenant who had traded to Japan for many years in the Merchant Navy remarked, "I've been waiting for this day for a long time"; but otherwise a pregnant silence prevailed.

On the quarter-deck, the officer of the watch, in the intervals between running the ship's boats and routine, stared out to sea past the headland with its signal station and battery. Giving his imagination full play he could see a Japanese invasion fleet suddenly rounding the promontory, could almost hear the drone of escorting aircraft overhead. They would be certain to attack New Guinea first, he reflected. Suddenly the telephone to the compass platform rang loudly. A side-boy leapt to answer it, his voice floating plainly to the officer, "A flight of bombers approaching from the land, look like Japs."

Wasting no time, the officer pressed the alarm rattles, and all was instant activity.

Running to the guard rail he could just discern a dark "V" in the sky, wide on the starboard bow. Behind him the captain, complete with binoculars and tin hat, sped forward, his pace increasing as the officer told him what was afoot.

Then a further message from the compass platform. "The yeoman of the watch apologizes, but what he saw was merely a flight of seagulls." Racing along the deck, the officer of the watch informed the captain of this fact. The captain stood still for a moment, his face a study of mingled disappointment and relief, then swung on his heel and retraced his steps to the after hatchway.

On word spreading around the ship that it was a false alarm, an able seaman, busy washing paintwork in the main-top, remarked to an able seaman of the gunner's party, who was checking the fuses of the 4-inch ready-use shells, "What a ruddy pity they weren't yeller bellies." And with this remark he spoke for every man in the ship.

But no enemy planes came over. Darwin's aerial blitzes were still to come, although not so very far ahead.

Adelaide shepherded her flock safely to an advanced base almost in the centre of the Dutch East Indies, having one of the newer corvettes as anti-submarine escort during the passage. There were some anxious moments, yet the sleek little cruiser lived up to her reputation of never having lost a ship in convoy. It was later learned that the morale of the local inhabitants shot up to surprising heights when Adelaide arrived with the Diggers. Little did they realize how soon, and in what force, the little brown men were to come.

There were bombings of nearby islands; but Adelaide was unmolested, even on her voyage to Port Moresby. En route there, passing through the barrier reef, she ran down to a merchantman bound west for the comparative safety of the waters inside the reef - with evacuees from the Papuan capital on board. In such gloomy days it must have been reassuring to see the white ensign, and the merchant ship's passengers lined her deck and cheered Adelaide as she headed for the open sea.

After fuelling at Moresby, a southerly course was set and the cruiser commenced the zigzagging which was to become a mere matter of routine. There was disappointment, but also some subdued cheers, when it was piped around, "Ship is proceeding to Port Jackson." The men were sorry to leave the danger in the north, and yet were overjoyed at the prospect of seeing home again. They left New Guinea on December 21, and had their Christmas Day at sea off the east coast, thus robbing the occasion of most of its customary gaiety.

Decorations were banned owing to the danger of fire, but most messes succeeded in having a jolly time. Every one made a mental reservation to celebrate the season properly on return to harbour. Despite the fact that it was Christmas time, returning home after a month in the tropics was in itself sufficient cause for celebration, as an able seaman could have been heard observing to the rest of his mess at dinner.

Late on Boxing Day, Adelaide secured to No. 5 buoy in Sydney harbour. Back home after another job well carried out, during which period Australia had declared war on four countries, and giving the lie to rumours that she had been hit by bombs and badly damaged.

However, she was not destined to swing around a buoy for long. There was soon another job waiting for her to do.

LIEUTENANT W.N.S., RANR(S), H.M.A.S. Adelaide.