.
that will bear.
2330 Algonquin has hit two freighters and one escort, enemy on starboard beam 800 yards – one ship just blew up – tanker – shell passed between us and director – shore batteries opening up.
2335 Another ship blown up.
“It was horrible, horrible, to see those ships burning and know men were struggling for survival in the icy water. Under different conditions we’d have picked them up but no way could we risk losing our own ships and men by going in that close to shore. Their 8 inch shore guns were blasting away and when Admiral McGregor signalled from the cruiser HMS Kent to the effect – ‘Come on boys, let’s get the hell out of here’ – we were off.
“A real boost came on the way back to Scapa Flow when we received a personal message of congratulations and thanks from Winston Churchill.”
In February 1945, a year and a lifetime after her commissioning, Algonquin was taking her original crew back to Canada.
“We ran into the worst storm of my experience. Some of her plates separated and water was rushing into the magazine. There was ice everywhere and when we came out of that, one of the crew developed appendicitis and instead of going straight to Halifax we had to put in at St. John’s, Newfoundland.”
Davies said goodbye to Algonquin in Halifax. It was home for leave, some marking of time in barracks, and then a job on the minesweeper, HMCS Ungava. After being sent aboard to straighten out the books, he stayed on that ship for several months.
Then VE Day arrived and with it, the Halifax riots.
“My impression was that nearly everyone was drunk that day. The navy felt that it had been treated shabbily in the war by some storekeepers who hiked up prices for the sailors. And then again, everything was shut up tight. They couldn’t get home and there was nowhere for the thousands of young service people to buy a drink and celebrate the great occasion. They were frustrated to some extent but it was no excuse for the sort of behaviour that erupted. The mess and damage on Barrington Street was unbelievable. Disgusting. Unlimited drinking and the results. They’d broken into breweries and liquor stores, lugging out as much booze as they could carry. Members of the three services were there although the majority were navy. Some would pick up bottles, full or empty, swing them around and let them go smash through plate glass windows. It was a miracle that your shoes and feet were not cut to ribbons as you walked. Glass was everywhere. The servicemen did most of the damage but the civilians were quick to reap the benefits. They appeared with trucks to cart away the loot, even to three-piece chesterfield sets.
“The victory parade had just passed and my friend and I had seen enough. On our way back to the dockyard, we were passing the cemetery when a sailor stopped us and opened a club bag with ‘Wanna buy a watch?’. The bag was half full of watches with price tags attached. We’d barely got a look when he closed it in our faces and took off. The Shore Patrol had just turned the corner.
“It wasn’t long before the Shore Patrol arrived on our minesweeper; they were searching all vessels thoroughly and finding stuff hidden in air vents and other odd places. Those forewarned threw stolen articles overboard.
“After the chaotic day feelings were running high between the navy and civilian authorities. To help defuse matters the navy moved most of the ships out of Halifax Harbour. We sailed to Charlottetown for a few days.”
Mervyn Davies left the RCNVR in November 1945 and returned to his textile job, later retiring to Picton, Ontario.
King George is piped aboard HMCS Algonquin at Scapa Flow, 1944.
3
Sinking of the S.S. Sinkiang
Radio Officer Stanley Salt was in the British Merchant Navy. In 1941, when only nineteen, the Derbyshireman encountered his wartime ordeal which he describes in this graphic account.
When april 1942, arrived the inhabitants of Calcutta were facing life with a sense of grim determination. Defence preparations were proceeding with the utmost expedition, the Japanese were pushing northward in Burma, and reports were circulating that the penal colony of the Andaman Islands had been occupied by the enemy.
“I was a Radio Operator at the time and assigned to ships operating in Indian coastal waters. I’d just returned from a short trip to Madras and during the trip it had become increasingly clear that the Bay of Bengal was no longer the peaceful, serene expanse of water that it had been at the beginning of the year. I began to envy fellow seafarers who were operating on the West cost of India; despite the heat of the Persian Gulf it was far healthier than the East coast where enemy subs lurked close to the beaches. And so, on 3 April it came as a welcome relief to me when I was assigned to the S.S. Sinkiang. From information I mustered after reporting for duty, I understood she was bound for Colombo and possibly the West Coast.
“She was a small ship even for coastal service. Tonnage 2646 and she carried a mixed crew. Her firemen and seamen were Chinese, the stewards Indian, and the officers British.
“We sailed the next morning, Easter Saturday. The Sinkiang nosed her way downstream through the muddy waters of the Hooghly shortly after dawn. Our first intimation of a troublesome voyage came after we’d been under way a little more than two hours. I picked up distress calls from ships anchored downstream between us and the estuary, in Diamond Harbour. They reported an aerial attack by a long range enemy seaplane. We arrived at Diamond Harbour late in the afternoon and anchored for the night. We could see little effect of the plane’s visit, only one ship appeared slightly damaged.
“Aldis lamps began to blink at dawn the following morning as messages were exchanged. Shortly afterwards, one after another, sixteen anchors were hoisted from the mud and the ships fell into line ahead station, heading toward the open sea. Midday found us passing the pilot vessel stationed at the mouth of the Ganges. Emerging from the river, each ship took up its convoy station; four columns of four with the commodore ship, the Tak Sang, a fast China coaster, taking station number 31, i.e. third column from starboard, leading ship. We were joined by our only escort – two Blenheim bombers which flew in wide arcs to the eastward.
“Late that afternoon I was on watch listening to the incessant tropical static when loud distress signals suddenly came through the headphones. From their strength it was obvious the victim was not far away. She was the Harpasa, some forty miles astern and reporting that she was being bombed. One hit had disabled her steering and she was being abandoned. The Sinkiang was primarily designed for sailing around the China coast and was not fitted with voice-pipe communication from radio room to bridge. When I had a message on hand the only means of informing the bridge officer was to go outside and yell. Stepping outside to call for the quartermaster, I noticed the Tak Sang out in front of the convoy and altering course to retrace our own course. She was heading in the direction of the stricken Harpasa. We learned later that Harpasa should have been in the convoy but she had been delayed with engine trouble and was endeavouring to join us when the attack occurred. Sailing back through the columns, the commodore hoisted the signal ‘All ships break convoy at sunset’. Those orders were executed. The ships scattered and slowly the gaps between them widened. We sailed on, southward through the night.
“Shortly before the first streaks of dawn appeared in the eastern sky, I commenced my watch. When our troubles began the sun was in full sight, the weather was perfect, and there was the slightest suggestion of a breeze over the deep swell of the calm sea.
“At approximately 6 a.m. distress calls started. This time from our companions of the previous day. One after another four ships reported being attacked by enemy aircraft. The attacks were uniform. It was zoom in, drop one bomb and then beat it. After the fourth there was a lull and I waited anxiously for the next transmission. The sudden noise of an aircraft skimming over our topmasts