Chapter 3 Our Myrtle; Road to Brunei; Whalers Crew captures 3 Japs; Stand Easy

"OUR MYRTLE"

IT was early in March of this year (1945), that we arrived at Seeadler Harbour in the Admiralty Islands.

The weather was calm but very hot, and when we arrived the awnings were brought out of stowage and rigged as soon as was possible. In the harbour were several ships which had just taken part in the Philippines campaign and among them was the Tribal class destroyer Arunta. She had just returned and was on her way south to Australia. She had on board a small black fowl. (Of what breed I cannot say, but she looked more like a bantam than anything else.)

The ship had picked her up at the Philippines, but, because of quarantine restrictions, they were unable to take her to Australia with them. The only thing left to do was to give Arunta, as the fowl was then called, a draft to our corvette Launceston.

She looked a very healthy bird, with fine glossy black, brown-tipped feathers. She was received with diverse opinions amongst the ship's company, but she had come to stay.

After a couple of days aboard, during which time everyone became more or less accustomed to her rather apparent presence, someone thought of a new name for her. It was "Myrtle".

That name has stuck to her ever since.

It really sounded very appropriate for a small black hen, and so the former Arunta became universally known aboard Launceston as Myrtle.

As I said, she was a very healthy bird, and for several weeks after she arrived she continued the normal function usually accredited to a mature hen, namely that of egg production. They were not very large eggs admittedly, no bigger than a pullet's egg in fact. Myrtle was no pullet though, as she has not grown in the least since she came to stay with us.

She was very regular at first, sometimes laying her eggs in a wardroom waste-paper basket or even in any warm spot on deck. I think she even laid one egg in the C.O.'s cabin one day. However, one egg per day was her maximum output at first, but she gradually dwindled to an occasional one whenever she felt inclined.

Time passes now to a period when we were carrying out A/S patrol and the ship was doing a minimum of speed.

Myrtle, who was strutting about as usual, suddenly jumped on to the depth charges and then up on to the guard-rail, and stood there coyly eyeing the overhead Carley float thinking, no doubt, that it would be a better position in which to roost. But her plan of reaching the float was frustrated when she tried to fly from the guard-rail to the float.

There was a strong breeze blowing, and it caught our Myrtle as she ascended and carried her into the drink. The first lieutenant, seeing her plight, dashed to the bridge and reported that Myrtle was overboard. Telegraphs clanged and both engines were stopped.

An able seaman, who had also seen what had happened, was ready and waiting for the signal from the bridge to go overboard. As soon as the signal was given he dived to Myrtle's rescue.

I have never seen, or even heard of, a hen swimming before, but Myrtle did just that. She stretched her neck giraffe-like and held her head above the surface for a good five minutes before her rescuer reached her.

I think everyone was relieved, from the C.O. down, when both the rescuer and rescued were safely aboard again. Anyway, Myrtle was none the worse for her shock, and life went on in the usual way.

She accompanied us on many of our travels in the weeks following this incident, and every night she used to roost up on the coaming, of the engine-room hatch, where she got the' "warmth" from below. (I often wondered what the stoker on watch below would have said had he suddenly found himself capped with one of Myrtle's new laids, had she thought it expedient to go into production there and then.)

Anyway, as I said, life went on as usual for several weeks until we returned to the Admiralties on our way south. We then had to do as Arunta had done before us. viz., to give Myrtle a temporary draft to a ship which was not going south. Which we did.

When we returned after a few weeks, we had hardly been in the harbour ten minutes, so to speak, when, I believe, a signal was received from, the ship which was "taking care of" our little friend. It read: "We are 'de-Myrtlizing' ourselves." Evidently Myrtle had been a nuisance to them, as no time was wasted in returning her.

The corvette on which she had spent her "leave" was hallowed by the presence of a member of the canine species (in plain language a dog), and one day, prior to her return, the aforesaid animal chased poor Myrtle around the ship, and subsequently relieved her of her stern plumage. She looked a different bird when she arrived back, believe me.

One day shortly afterwards she went half "Troppo", which was apparently the reaction of her flight from the dog. She performed a unique back flip, raced madly along the quarter deck, and concluded the episode by plunging over the stern.

When she was retrieved after this second meeting with terra firma's opposite number, she looked very sorry for herself indeed. She has not laid a single egg since, although I think that may be put down to the lack of a correct diet.

Occasionally she gets seasick. Then she looks very pathetic swaying to and fro (she always faces inboard) on her thin black legs.

However, on the whole she takes life quietly, her time being taken up in doing just nothing, and she is quite undisturbed by the fact that probably, by the end of her career, she may be the most travelled hen in this part of the world at least. She may even be considered eligible for the new Pacific Star. Who knows?

"THE SWOOSE"

ROAD TO BRUNEI

"WHAT did the captain say? I was up top when he spoke over the loudspeaker."

"Didn't say much."

"Well! What about telling us. We didn't hear anything."

Non-committally someone announces, "Second degree at 0600 tomorrow."

"For hell's sake just tell us the little he told you. It's still news to us."

"He said the only thing we had to worry about was suicide bombers, suicide torpedo boats and shore batteries."

Arunta sailed on undaunted. Windy and cold the whole night through, morning freshly bleak, the cold wind blowing from the south where the force heads to cover the operations of the minesweepers off Brunei Bay. They are even now visible, stern to landward, pushing their way through the minefields, appearing like a row of spar buoys strung around the coast for as far south as the eye can see.

"Is that where they are going to do their work?"

"Yes, they're sweeping there until Saturday, when we do the bombardment."

The gunner's mate comes up on "X" deck and is running his hand around in the muzzle of the 4-inch guns. Rust is visible; corroding over night when the muzzle covers had to be

off, though rain fell. Shortly afterwards "X" guns' crews are sponging out.

Soon the sweepers are clearly visible. On their right flank a boomship and a frigate. The destroyer force circles sharply, passing between the frigate and the main body of the sweepers to Arunta's starboard. The cruisers slacken speed, remaining within the perimeter of the destroyers' wakes.

Beam on to the southerly breeze and a large flag-hoist blowing out to port, Arunta stops her mad rush, turns gently to starboard, and resumes with the rest of the force the original form and direction of advance towards the myriad minesweepers. The force pushes past them steadily.

Thoughtful and quiet, the crew relaxes, reading, dozing, talking a little, none animated, just waiting for the events of the next few days to unfold.

About 0930 Lieutenant Fielder spots aircraft.

"Four aircraft-red nine-oh-angle of sight five. Pass that to the bridge, phone number."

They have evidently been identified as friendly, since no further notice is taken of them.

A breath-taking complete turn wakes the drowsy. Water is washing the deck in the

starboard waist as the ship keels over going to starboard from "dead slow" to "full ahead".

Aircraft are everywhere in the sky. Smoke drifts from the ships inshore. Arunta passes close to Hobart's stem, starting another full turn in several hundred yards and then slow again. The extra planes are ours and for all we know nothing has happened.

Ships are lying around in all directions mostly ahead of Arunta-noses pointed out to sea, drifting forward imperceptibly on the ground swell ruffled by the slightest of breezes, pennants moving dejectedly. The heat is becoming more intense, and feels more so since we are in battledress.

The American liaison officer, fire-control officer for the after Bofors, stands by the port Bofors gazing at the land fully 24,000 yards away. Hills, gleaming blue through the laggard clouds, can now be seen in greater detail. Low-lying clouds still cover part of the coastal strip at their feet, and pure white clouds still cling to their seaward side in patchwork.

Night comes. Their work done for the day, the small craft circle in line outward to sea. The task force covers them, hovering around until darkness falls-then turns away, leaving them for the night.

Morning! The force gathers again to steam into the clean-swept outer bay in line ahead, with Arunta second in the lead. The force ,goes past minesweepers towing motor-boats. Semi-naked men stand in the boats leaning on 20-mm. guns, or move about tinkering with small rowboats carried upside down. The rowboats take off parties of three and four men into the shallows, where they swim about locating mines.

"Maybe the Japs aren't too strong here."

"Aha! there's plenty of them here."

"As per usual, the swatties will have to do the hard work."

"Yeah! Every time I see a movie of a landing I'm glad I'm in the Navy."

The immensity of Brunei Bay becomes obvious now.

The colouring of the whole scene reflects the purpose of the day, though relieved by lighter reflections. Steel-grey patches of sky, light mauve of cloud, battle grey of ships, and princess green of the sea close by turning to steely grey approaching the shore.

The whole effect suggests the grim reality of the happenings ashore, close in, and in the sky at times; contrasting with the sluggishness of the inactive task force, centre of it all. To starboard there are rows of low mountains in the background-to port are low timbered isles, looking beautiful and margined by steel-grey shallows in which spurts of water spume where bullets enter. Guns' crews are now alert-though the swishing of a broom can be heard below and people wander casually around on the iron deck-but those were only practice shots.

"Permission for A.B. Stanley to clean the bathrooms? " is heard softly over the headphones. There is a silence on the wire as the person on the bridge phone goes away to secure the necessary permission.

"Permission granted."

Ahead the sun is fighting to get through the clouds about her face, while the fierceness of her rays is reflected in the glare off snow white clouds surmounting the hills. The land seems dead and the clouds aggressive or smothering.

While cleaning guns and sweeping decks, there is yet a tenseness. Hell! anything could happen now if the Japs had air power left in this area.

Arunta stops dead in the water. The southern shore still seems distant. Maybe we will wait thus until the sweepers go in before once more. All ships of the task force are dropping anchor and swinging lazily away from it, coming to rest with cable practically straight up and down.

The fellows drag eyes away from cards, checker and chess boards to watch the bombs raining from above splash up sand and fragments from the nearside Labuan beach.

A cruiser and a destroyer, anchored close in off another of the chain of islands farther up the bay, are pumping in steel on targets chosen there. Detonations rumble all the while from port. Puffs of smoke rise from the firing ships. Bright flashes twinkle through the smoke and dust ashore.

The sun, though it has not yet succeeded in dispersing the clouds, glints like molten steel. Who cares how hot it makes our backs, since the Nips are getting it hotter. Some must be dead and mangled on those beaches. Yesterday's shady trees are now affording them scant protection.

The scheduled number of rounds has been fired and the task force moves back to the mouth of the bay. Arunta remains at anchor, and the minesweepers circle the whole area.

Each of the American cruisers catapults a scout plane to view the damage ashore. Bombs are still being dropped on the shores of Labuan, though the bombers are invisible.

The bay looks open and clean now that the task force has moved out to sea.

Several casualties are being buried as the sun goes down. Their ship, a minesweeper, struck a mine.

Time is 1330 Saturday. "All positions close up" is being piped.

"All hands closed up with the exception of two hands who are cable party" is repeated several times over the wires. Arunta is going in to anchor off the target.

Fires are raging ashore. The trees are now more black than green. The beach is a thin white line plainly visible. A low valley runs back into the foothills behind the first rise back from the beach. A river flows from the valley, entering the bay beyond the spit to the left.

"Target" comes from the control tower. The ship is motionless in the water, but the guns have not received direct notice to prepare to fire.

"Wind from 1-5-5, Force 2" is passed for ballistic settings. The cruiser head on to Arunta, six cable lengths ahead, has fired a shot.

"All guns follow director."

"'A' gun loaded, half cock."

The cruiser fires a second solitary shot. The fire bell rings and "A" gun goes into action. We open our mouths to ease the impact on the ear-drums. Firing continues with changes of target every now and then until Arunta is silent. The cruiser, which evidently has much more ammunition to expend, is still firing regularly.

Farther down the bay the other destroyers are at it. Arunta joins in. This goes on incessantly. A trifle monotonously. There are spurts of water rising between the L.S.Ts astern, as though they are under fire from ashore. Might have been shooting at a released mine.

"Three more salvos to go from 'A' gun."

Arunta switches her fire inland, kicking up dust in a banana plantation screened by the tall trees on the foreshore.

"Ammunition expended on 'A' gun."

And so the bombardment continues. "B" gun, then "Y", until the ammunition is expended. Left and right. Up and down like a slow symphony concert.

Sunday morning is breaking and there she lies, a single troopship-Manoora. Her barges are in the water. L.C.Is fitted out with rockets move around.

Rumblings fill the air. Somewhere around the bay the Nips are collecting more scrap metal.

"First degree of readiness."

"'A' and 'B' guns will not bear."

"Control room to control tower. Have you your own target?"

"Yes."

"'A' and 'B' guns bearing."

The American destroyers are lobbing shells into the channel at the river mouth.

The range is 5,700 yards.

"Shoot."

The first of Arunta's shells are in the air on their way to rendezvous with the enemy.

Purplish-grey smoke hides the mouth of the river from view.

Arunta's shells are falling on the beach opposite the barges. The stench of cordite is more noticeable up here in the after control position today.

A squadron of bombers moves over the target area. L.C.Is closer in are framed before the shell bursts.

In all, the bombardment today touches on the same points as that of yesterday, but more shells are being fired. The land is fast becoming obscured by smoke and dust. The American cruiser is firing at other targets farther south.

Bombers are coming over in waves of five. They must be set on tormenting the Japs underneath, since they are making numerous runs over the target area without releasing bombs.

"They'll have to get a move on if they want to get away six hundred rounds by 9 a.m," says one of the Bofors crew.

"Jammed cartridge in right of 'B'."

The guns crash.

"Right of 'B' caught that one up."

"Good work, right of 'B'."

No amount of bombs and shells seems to be able to increase the pall over the land, as the south-easterly wind rises, drifting the smoke and dust away.

A terrific mound of cloud has risen clear above the level of the low hills in the background. A dive bomber is pulling out of its dive.

"Must have clocked something right in the guts."

Had not one seen the cloud rise from the earth, one could be excused for mistaking it for a rain cloud.

A clumsy floatplane is doing a dance over the target area.

"Look at that duck putting on an act."

Barges are going in now. Moving with them are small craft which are letting go with Bofors and Oerlikons. The beach is under their deadly fire at point-blank range. L.C.Is and barges move parallel to the shore, the barges sheltering behind the fire and smoke screen laid down by the former. Low-flying aircraft are strafing the land from tree-top height.

"There go the rockets!"

The decks of the rocket-firing vessels are ablaze with the trails left by rockets.

Troops landing here sure are getting an even break.

Patches of the beach are completely obscured.

"Spotting to fore bridge: I can't see the land at all."

Six scarlet flares are falling among the smoke clouds. Brilliant star shells are bursting over the river mouth.

Where the smoke is thickest, the first wave of barges must be almost inshore now, sneaking through the pall.

"Check-check-check" comes over the headphones, warning all guns to cease fire.

Five smoky-tailed white flares are drifting down from 5000 feet.

The third wave-of four barges-is moving in to the edge of the smoke. First-wave barges are moving out empty.

"That R.A.A.F. Liberator should have the big bloke in it."

Manoora goes by, swatties leaning on her rails.

Reinforcements yell, "Pour it into the b-------s, cobber."

Barges are streaming back from the shore searching for the mother ship.

And there goes General Morshead's plane, down low over the area from which the smoke is clearing.

"Tribal Native"

A WRAN SAYS "FAREWELL"

THE bells of victory have sounded their joyous peal to a waiting world, and already we have grown accustomed to the realization that the war is over. Millions of people all over the world have paused a moment to breathe a prayer of thanksgiving for our deliverance, ere they turn hand and mind and brain to the mighty task of rebuilding the world.

Methinks that among the grateful multitude there can be none more thankful than certain members of the R.A.N. I refer to those gallant men of the "old regime", who can hold up their heads again and let hope re-enter their hearts. Soon the W.R.A.N.S. will be demobilized, and the Navy will be itself again. How bitterly they resented our coming, these men who had sailed the Seven Seas before the majority of us had left school-days behind us. Who can blame them? The Navy has its thousand years of proud and glorious tradition behind it-tradition built up step by step by the deeds of fighting men who gave their lives that Britain might rule the sea. Yes, from the high-ranking officer, who, when called upon to "pass out" a squad of W.R.A.N.S. new entries, strode up and down the drill hall muttering-" Women in the Navy! Never thought we'd come to this! Women in the Navy!" to the chief petty officer who recently raised his hands to heaven and wailed, "Damm this blasted Women's Navy!" - they will all be glad to see us go.

Let us not misjudge them. They are quite ready to admit that we have done a good job. They realize that naval man-power was very short, and that we girls stepped in when we were most needed, and did a real war job. They know we worked hard, and that, for us, the "glamour" existed only in the minds of civilians. Our only crime, in their eyes, is a serious one-we are women! Well, they can have the Navy now. We entered a man's sphere under pressure of national emergency and, now that the need for us no longer exists, we will leave as cheerfully as we enlisted. So everyone should be happy.

While we are awaiting the joyous day of demobilization, it would be well to pause, and ponder a while. What are we going to take with us into our new lives? Surely there are some lessons we have learned during our period of service, which must not be forgotten when we put aside our uniforms.

We have made friendships which have survived the acid test of living together and working together. We have learnt to live in harmony with girls whose upbringing has been entirely different from our own, and who hold views which we have never entertained on all manner of subjects. We have learnt to be tolerant, to argue without heat, to defend our opinions and uphold our convictions. We have learnt something of how the "other half" lives, the people on the land, the orchardist, the sheep farmer, the man who grows pineapples in Queensland or apples in Tasmania.

We have met the daughter of the man who owns a gold-mine, the girl whose father is a doctor, a solicitor, a baker or a soldier. We have learnt to judge a girl-or a man-by what she-or he-is, not by the family background or material possessions. The enforced intimacy of Service life strips us bare of all pretensions, and shows us as we really are. To some of us has come the enlightening, if humiliating, experience of hearing ourselves discussed with complete frankness by hut mates who were unaware of our presence! Wasn't it Bobby Burns who sang:

"Oh, wad some power the giftie gie us

To see oursels as others see us"?

By giving of our best in a cause worth fighting for, we have acquired a true sense of proportion, and a knowledge of the things that really matter. It's good to be able to smile and pretend you like it, when, homesick, cold and weary, you return to F.N.D. from weekend leave and find your bed short-sheeted and your pyjamas tied in knots. It's a different kind of courage that's called for when you are sick at heart, disillusioned and lonely, and you know you must just keep on, for your job is not yet done. You are feeling very blue because the boy friend is on draft, and you talk to the lass whose husband was killed in action last week. You feel aggrieved because

you haven't had a letter from home, and you see a girl sobbing hysterically over a postcard - the first word for two years from a dearly loved brother, now a P.O.W. in Germany. By slow degrees you learn to count your blessings instead of your crosses, and then you have travelled further along the royal road to happiness than many people ever go.

So we gladly turn our eyes to the future, looking forward to the not-far-distant day when civilian life will claim us once more. For all that, though we go with a song in our hearts, we will say one and all:

"It's been a wonderful experience.

Wouldn't have missed it for worlds.

Goodbye, Senior Service.

Thank you for letting us help! "

"SCRAN-SPOILER"

THE FIRST SEVEN DAYS

(As seen by an Australian Rating in H.M.S. EMERALD)

H.M.S. Emerald; 18th June, 1944.

Seven days, seven fateful days in which the flame of hope burned furiously in the French people's hearts and in which the torch of freedom was a near reality.

H.M.S. Emerald lay at anchor on Sunday, the 4th June, with the knowledge that D-day, the day that we had been waiting f or impatiently, was at hand. Groups of the ship's company were congregated on the upper deck surveying the vast armada of shipping which represented only a small proportion of the gigantic invasion force destined to play a leading part in the breaching of Hitler's allegedly impenetrable Western Wall; at the same time speculating on the probable time and place of the invasion of the Nazis' European fortress by the Allied armies of liberation.

They were not left long in doubt for that same morning H.M.S. Emerald steamed out in company with Belfast, Argonaut, Diadem, Ajax, Orion, escorted by four destroyers, and proceeded in a southerly direction. After being at sea some little time, the captain spoke over the loud speaking system to the ship's company. In a quiet and unhurried voice he told of the ship's job at zero hour on D-day, primarily the destruction of a coastal battery. The part of France and its beaches where the projected invasion was to be launched was also carefully explained, together with messages from General Eisenhower and Admiral Ramsay.

The weather did not augur well for a gigantic manoeuvre of this kind and it was with no surprise we learnt that D-day had been postponed till the following day. That night we patrolled up and down in increasingly rough weather; it was bitterly cold, with a moderate swell and a biting wind.

Monday passed quietly although the seas were still too heavy for small craft, and at 2200 in the evening we speeded by a group of L.S.Ts (American invasion barges) at anchor. Their barrage balloons were clustered together like silver eggs in the sky several hundred feet above the now quiet sea.

At 2200 action stations was sounded and the ship's company occupied their respective posts
with the almost certain knowledge that they would be in this state of readiness for days
to come. Several convoys varying in size, type and number steamed by in both directions and the Isle of Wight soon became a faint hazy blob on the horizon.

As darkness descended over this relatively small gathering of ships, the captain, addressing the ship's company, told of zero hour and the time we would start bombarding.

Approaching enemy minefields, the minesweepers took up their position ahead of the convoy and commenced the rather dangerous work of sweeping in utter darkness. Soon after a line of lights on Dan buoys denoted the successful completion of their task. As we drew closer to France, the peaceful stillness of the early morn was disturbed by the rumble of the earth as the R.A.F. systematically carried out their softening-up process.

Three A.m. The flashes from bombs exploding, generally preceded by countless flares, was clearly discernible, resembling from a distance a port in peace-time with lights aglow.

Five A.M. Zero hour! Destroyers cut in and out of unswept waters probing for targets, while the minesweepers went about their job of sweeping a bombardment anchorage for the cruisers. We took up our position. Dawn was breaking and many fires were raging on shore. With the approach o daylight line after line of L.S.Ts surged past the ship with their cargoes of tanks, guns and other impedimenta. From all directions invasion barges of every description with their human cargoes forged towards the landing beaches.

At 0542, having contacted our spotting aircraft, we opened fire on the pre-determined enemy battery. The first salvo fell short, but the next three broadsides were direct on the target. The din from the guns was terrific. Cruisers and destroyers dotted around us were firing unceasingly; closer inshore partly hidden by a smoke screen was a line of craft mounted with rocket guns. Their barrage on the beach, shore and cliff positions commenced in earnest. Streaks of red fire from their projectors formed an unbroken line along the landing beaches.

Overhead Thunderbolts and Spitfires in great numbers patrolled over all the shipping engaged in the landing. It was a great and heartening sight for us below to look into the sky and see an air cover established so quickly. Reports of successful landings on three of the beaches soon came in with the news that Vers-sur-mer was in our hands.

Orion had annihilated a M.T. (motor transport) concentration and the battery which we had silenced was now absorbed by the infantry. Strong opposition was encountered on one of the beaches and gun barges hurled in their barrage with success.

As the morning progressed and the haze lifted, a huge concentration of shipping was unveiled before our eyes. To the west of us American forces were attacking. An American battleship, surprisingly close to the shore, was firing salvo after salvo into the Nazi defences. The approaches to their landing beaches were jammed with hundreds of invasion barges and ducks. Farther out destroyers, cruisers and battleships fired continually, while farther out again merchant ships, tankers, troopships and supply ships waited for their time to move in and unload. Early in the afternoon the long-expected air-raid warning red was sounded, but our fighters accounted for any would-be raiders.

So far everything had been carried out with faultless precision; the heads of staffs responsible for the planning of this landing are to be commended for the masterly manner in which they had overcome practically insurmountable difficulties. The force to which we were attached reported advance going to plan at 1900. The sea was choppy, although not seriously hampering the work of the small craft, while visibility was good. Our guns had been silent a little time while our sector was quiet. The cruisers and destroyers to the west of us were still shelling from close inshore. Progress reports coming through regularly told us that the white flag was hoisted at Arromanches. With that piece of good news came the report that strong panzer divisions were moving towards the coast. Orion was ordered in closer to engage, and opened fire at 1930 hours, followed an hour later by Emerald and Ajax.

Strong resistance from the enemy was now the general report from all sectors. To the west three destroyers were engaging a 6-inch battery. Spouts of water around the destroyers showed that there was still a sting in the victim. At 2230, as the light gradually faded, the battery was silenced.

There were no targets available for us at the time. However, we were standing by to open fire if required. Half an hour before midnight enemy bombers were reported closing at low level. Five minutes later the first bombs were dropped amongst the shipping. The concussion of the explosions clanged against the ship's side as the bombs exploded harmlessly in the sea. Waves of hostile aircraft closing on our sector were reported.

Out of the haze and murky darkness a low-flying plane emerged at high speed over the stern. It was met by a concentrated barrage from all short-range weapons, but flew unswervingly at a height of thirty feet and unloaded its missile. By an extraordinary stroke of luck the bomb, having glanced off a hatch, knocked a support and crashed through a Carley float, fell into the sea and exploded. The blast was felt throughout the ship. Men closed up at their action stations in the bowels of the ship glanced at each other with apprehension. Their doubts were soon dispelled by the reassuring voice of the torpedo lieutenant over the loudspeaker saying, "We have had a very near miss, and as far as I can ascertain there is no damage."

The Luftwaffe was using the skip-bombing technique, which in all probability explains why the bomb did not explode on contact. In a matter of minutes a stick of three bombs was dropped off our bows and another two aircraft, again at low level, passed over our stem. They released their missiles-aerial torpedoes. Once again luck was with us as the torpedoes, much to our relief, narrowly missed our stem. The anti-aircraft gunners were doing a great job and for a considerable time their guns were firing. From time to time the sky was a maze of tracer patterns of several different colours. What a sight! Wherever we looked the sky was lit with tracer, bursting ack-ack shells, exploding rockets, batches of flares and occasional flashes as bombs exploded near the beaches.

For the better part of the night this terrific din of ack-ack intermittently broke out. Our night fighters accounted for quite a few of the attackers and no serious damage was sustained by shipping. At 0415, with dawn break over the beaches, two Focke-Wulfe winged their way over the unloading barges. They were met with an intense, murderous fire; one of them, whose petrol tank was hit, burst into flames, making a death dive on to the beach. This blazing mass of mangled machinery crashed at a high speed, followed by the pilot floating down to be captured and made a prisoner of war. The morning brought fleet after fleet of Allied bombers flying over the shipping at a great height to bomb enemy communications and troop concentrations. Meanwhile ships with priority cargoes were moving in to pre-selected positions, disgorging their cargoes and returning for further supplies.

Early In the afternoon we shifted our position to bombard a crossroad and junction of strategical importance to the enemy. We opened fire at 1500. Once again the gunnery was accurate, no correction being needed after the first salvo. The target was simultaneously strafed by Typhoons. From the ship the bombs were observed bursting all over the target area, the Typhoons encountering feeble resistance from Jerry's ack-ack. Several fires; were started, and the order to cease fire came through at 16oo. The F.O.B.'s (forward observation bombardment officer) report on the shoot was "Splendid!"

The sea was exceedingly calm and visibility excellent-ideal for the smaller craft. Ships steaming over the horizon towards us included Ramilles, Warspite and Nelson.

In the American sector, where American forces were striving to make contact with the British, four or five destroyers at close range were firing at Jerry's strong posts and pillboxes entombed in the cliffs. Jerry was answering spasmodically, and occasionally spouts from bursting shells would appear in the water near the destroyers. The afternoon was not without a few air-raid warnings, but our fighters saw to it that we weren't disturbed. Four thousand yards away a stiff battle was being fought for possession of Port En-Bessin. Our guns were standing by in case they were needed, but Royal Marine commandos had the situation well under control,, and the port was soon in our hands.

Conditions had improved considerably in the last twenty-four hours. Now they were perfect. Calm green seas, a clear blue sky, not a breath of wind, and a warm sun, completed the picture. A situation report to hand stated the forces in our sector (British and Canadian) were meeting with very stiff resistance. Our part of the job had been comparatively easy and it now rested with the Army to carry on. Their progress in all sectors was closely followed by each and every one of us with patient confidence. As a grim and realistic reminder of the bloody struggle going on inshore, a dead American floated by the ship's side. He was one of so many ...

Throughout the day it was possible to look overhead at several formations of fighters constantly patrolling the beachhead. Air superiority, a thing which we had lacked in several previous campaigns, was now a factor in our favour.

Slowly and reluctantly the sun set. With the dusk came hostile aircraft. The dark heaven admitted an intruder into its domains -a full moon.

The familiar voice of the ship's commentator, the torpedo lieutenant, gave warning of enemy planes "coming in off the port beam". As if waiting for this announcement, the pom-poms, Oerlikons and other short range weapons opened fire together at a single Heinkel flying in low. The tracers cut angrily around this daring plane. The next moment four geysers of water, pillars of frustration, appeared close to the ship. In a flash, the plane disappeared and in its place a smoke screen quietly formed. Two minutes later visibility was reduced to zero. Some parts of the ship were even invisible, the gentle lapping of a slight swell on the ship's side being the only indication that we were afloat.

Still farther to the east Jerry was making attempts to dislocate unloading facilities. So fierce and concentrated was the ack-ack from light and heavy weapons, supplemented by rocket guns, that his efforts were rendered ineffective. His bombs were jettisoned outside his target, exploding harmlessly on barren cliff slopes. Two searchlights installed by our forces on the cliff tops, ceaselessly played the sky in a vain effort to catch these elusive raiders.

Throughout the night there was slight enemy air activity at infrequent intervals. Bombs were dropped haphazardly with no noticeable success. The general reaction of the crew after these futile efforts on Jerry's part was: "If that's the best Jerry can do, he's had it!"

Thursday dawned, and on this day naval bombardment dominated the invasion scene. Targets which had hitherto not interested us were bombarded with fierce thoroughness as our forces advanced. Throughout the day the crack of guns firing and the brownish smoke from exploding shells could be heard and seen. Battleships, cruisers, gunboats, monitors and destroyers of the Allied navies all had a field day.

On the cliff heights the rat-tat-tat of machine-gun fire sporadically echoed across the bay. Occasionally a group of Germans would emerge from their holes and hide-outs in the ground and surrender to a soldier menacing them with a Tommy gun. The soldier would then march these dejected, nerve-racked specimens of humanity back to G.H.Q. In the course of the day there were many warnings of "enemy fighters in the vicinity". Not one, however, penetrated the fighter screen covering the operational area.

The weather, which hitherto had been fine although slightly unfavourable for 100 per cent efficiency in unloading, changed drastically. Clouds gathered ominously overhead. An hour later, at 17oo, a drizzle set in. The thermometer dropped several degrees, compelling sweaters, pull-overs and mufflers to be universally donned where personnel were exposed to the elements. Two hours later it ceased raining.

The nightly nuisance raids began at 2350. This night, three nights after the initial landings, ten searchlights pierced the sky, searching for the Luftwaffe The ack-ack barrage ashore had now assumed sensational proportions. The tracer from the Army's ack-ack guns formed a heavy box barrage which promised death and destruction to any man or machine who dared defy it, as one Jerry soon found out. In the middle of this wall of lethal fire, he met his doom. His plane, hit in several places and with flames and smoke belching from it, came crashing down. Its high-pitched whine increased into a scream and ended with dramatic suddenness as it crumpled up on the ground.

An hour later a similar performance was repeated, only this time Jerry was hopelessly trapped in the searchlight beams. His methods of evasion, well known to the searchlight crews, were unavailing. Inevitably he followed his predecessor to a burning death.

The most spectacular success was that of the Americans. Their beams converged on to a Junkers 88 and the ack-ack directed a stream of fire at their hapless victim. With a brilliant flash which momentarily dazzled our eyes, it exploded in mid-air and made a burning descent into the sea.

The hot reception Jerry was accorded after three days of fierce conflict would dispel any illusions he may have had as to the might and power of the Allies in Normandy.

In the early hours of Friday morning two German destroyers, seemingly with fanatical determination, attempted to infiltrate through our vigilant patrols, without success. Our destroyers intercepted them with the aid of star shells and in the following melee's one was sunk and the other made good its escape under cover of darkness. H.M.S. Tartar played a major and gallant part in this action. From our position close inshore we could only observe the exploding of the star shells and hear the distant rumble of firing and explosions.

One E-boat was reported to have successfully passed the patrols. Lookouts were doubled and precautions taken accordingly, but as no further reports of any E-boats were forthcoming, it could safely be assumed its mission was a dismal failure.

The forenoon passed uneventfully except for the report of a U-boat sighted by our aircraft well outside the patrol. A destroyer departed immediately to investigate. She dropped several patterns of depth charges, the sea reverberating to the dull boom of the underwater explosions. There was no enemy activity in the afternoon so far as the landing beaches and unloading areas were concerned.

Dusk and low clouds afforded Jerry an admirable cover from which to make a series of air attacks on the shipping. These attacks continued during the night at irregular intervals. German air attacks met with failure on the beachhead. In one case we noticed seven bombs bursting in an uninhabited area. The ack-ack defences accounted for one plane, while the night fighters, who were ever increasingly active, accounted for many more.

These dissipated attacks of the remnants of the Luftwaffe were proving costly to the enemy and yielding almost fruitless results. How long he could maintain these attacks was impossible to foretell, but it was certainly proving good sport for the ack-ack gunners and the sharp, eager guns of the night fighters.

Saturday morning proceeded peacefully with the arrival of more ships loaded with supplies. As we moved to take up our bombardment position, we passed the focal point of shipping in the eastern sector, congregated

off the mouth of the River Orme. Amongst these ships was the Largs, which had carried out some splendid work in the Sicilian invasion. Joining this group were lines of L.S.Ts, miles long, escorted by M.Ls that had just made the crossing.

Another minor human tragedy occurred inshore, where a soldier was noticed to have fallen on a booby-trap. He staggered with the impact of the explosion and collapsed in a jumbled heap. In a matter of minutes, with figures hurrying to and fro, he was being borne up the cliff on a stretcher to the field hospital.

We dropped anchor and were now in company with Ramilles, Mauritius and Scylla.

Nearby ack-ack barges mounted with Oerlikons and pom-poms lay peacefully at anchor, their crews making the most of a quiet day by resting, ever on the alert after dusk for the raiders of the Luftwaffe. The weather had improved considerably and the visibility was excellent, so good in fact, that with the aid of binoculars the cranes and warehouses on Le Havre's quays were clearly discernible. This sector, from Ouistreham to Le Havre, was enemy-occupied territory, except for a strip held by the British Army. The famous Highland Division, with the triumphs of the Libyan Desert, Sicily and Italy behind them, were making preparations to attack Caen. Farther west, Stirlings, heavily escorted by fighters, were dropping supplies to our paratroopers behind the enemy's lines.

At 1750 in the afternoon we started bombarding an enemy battery at extreme range. Results of the shoot, as was customary, were signalled by spotting aircraft. After the target had been plastered with several salvos, a terse communication came from the spotting aircraft: "Am being attacked by enemy fighters." However, her avoiding action must have been successful, for she was back ten minutes later on her job of spotting. The second target, a tank concentration heading towards the coast, received the same attention as the battery, causing it to disperse and resulting in general confusion.

Again as was our nightly task we shifted our billet to the anchorage, where we acted as ack-ack guard ship.

The sea was slightly choppy, with a cold wind necessitating the donning of woollens. Aircraft on their way over to the beaches reported two enemy destroyers leaving Le Havre harbour at 2300, Mauritius and Scylla put out to sea in an endeavour to intercept them.

The night on the whole was quiet. The only signs of enemy activity were indiscriminate dropping of flares at scattered points and a warning of E-boats at 3 a.m. but nothing eventuated.

H.M.S. Belfast had a narrow escape early on Sunday morning. A lone Focke-Wulfe swooped on her. The next moment she was engulfed in spray, and pillars of water formed up alongside her but, much to our amazement, she appeared undamaged after the water had subsided.

We continued bombarding at selected targets in the morning and afternoon. The bombardment was mainly of a plastering nature, in one case causing an enemy battery to be set on fire, in others causing widespread destruction.

An interesting duel took place inshore when a L.C.G. was engaging a mobile enemy battery. At first Jerry's replies to this impudent form of attack were rather wild, but shortly afterwards lie found the range and the small L.C.G. met stiff opposition from the shells, which lobbed all round her. She was hopelessly outclassed and a destroyer came to her rescue with several rapid salvos. Ramilles, off our starboard bow, commenced bombarding a bridge over the River Orme, while one of our Typhoons bombing in the same area was brought down by Jerry's ack-ack. Nelson joined up with Ramilles, the whine of her shells screaming overhead being discernible until the projectile landed, when a dull and muffled crump signified that the ton of H.E. had exploded.

Jerry did not put in an appearance till one o'clock Monday morning. His stick of eight bombs, aimed at Nelson, succeeded in shaking us up, as we were lying parallel and close to her. The R.A.F. started a large fire near Caen. The angry flames, which rose to a great height, cast a ruddy glow over the countryside for miles.

The better part of Monday was spent under beautiful conditions. The sea green and calm, a cloudless sky, and Old Sol completed the picture. Late in the afternoon we were requested by the paratroopers to bombard an enemy stronghold of resistance. On completion of the shoot, the following signal was
sent to the ship by the brigadier of the paratroopers: "Bloody fine shooting!"

Nelson fired salvo after salvo throughout the day and continued well into the night, irrespective of the intermittent appearances of the Luftwaffe. Her tracer shells at night flashed across the sky like meteors, and continued with monotonous regularity. The night passed the same way as the preceding ones. German aircraft were invariably in the vicinity, but their attacks on the shipping were few and far between.

Tuesday dawned-exactly one week after zero hour on D-day. During that time thousands of English, American and Canadian troops had been landed, complete with supplies of every description. The beachhead was stabilized, troops were pushing inland after consolidating their hard-earned gains, and the Americans were striking out towards Cherbourg. The whole undertaking had been carried out with such inventive thoroughness that the scale of losses was entirely out of proportion to the great results achieved. A good omen for the work lying ahead.

"NAUTILUS"