(1) ‘Brief Encounter’
On joining Coastal Forces, after a stint in the RNPS, [Royal Naval Patrol Service] I was issued with a white woollen frock and a pair of leather sea boots.
We commissioned HDML 1287 at a boatyard near Hampton Court on 23 June 1943; our destination was Glasgow via the East coast.
When we arrived in Aberdeen I discovered that both my sea-boots were left feet. As we were tied up near the stores, I took them over there to see if I could get a right-footed one. The Wren at the counter wasn’t quite sure of the procedure in a case like this, and as we were discussing the matter a smashing looking Wren (officer I think)
appeared on the scene and took charge of the situation. ‘Follow me,’ she said, and made her way to a ladder affixed to the wall which led to an upstairs room. This was not the run-of-the-mill ladder, but one of those you usually find in stables, an upright plank of wood with hand and footholds carved into it. She started to climb up, with me
following.
Now, with the best will in the world and having to look where the next handhold was, I could not avoid getting glimpses of those elegant legs climbing above me. Anything above the knee was a rare sight to the males of our era. We arrived in the room above, and she seemed oblivious to the emotions she had unleashed in her follower. By this time I was madly in love with her.
After ferreting around, she found a pair of boots to suit me, and led the way back down again: a natural leader, my loved one. Handing me back to the Wren at the counter to do the paper work, she walked away into the blue, out of my life without so much as a backward glance.
Incidentally I never did get to wear those boots, as we went to the Far East and bare feet were the order of the day there. What happened to them, I forgot; perhaps I swopped them for a bottle of arrack.
On joining Coastal Forces, after a stint in the RNPS, [Royal Naval Patrol Service] I was issued with a white woollen frock and a pair of leather sea boots.
We commissioned HDML 1287 at a boatyard near Hampton Court on 23 June 1943; our destination was Glasgow via the East coast.
When we arrived in Aberdeen I discovered that both my sea-boots were left feet. As we were tied up near the stores, I took them over there to see if I could get a right-footed one. The Wren at the counter wasn’t quite sure of the procedure in a case like this, and as we were discussing the matter a smashing looking Wren (officer I think)
appeared on the scene and took charge of the situation. ‘Follow me,’ she said, and made her way to a ladder affixed to the wall which led to an upstairs room. This was not the run-of-the-mill ladder, but one of those you usually find in stables, an upright plank of wood with hand and footholds carved into it. She started to climb up, with me
following.
Now, with the best will in the world and having to look where the next handhold was, I could not avoid getting glimpses of those elegant legs climbing above me. Anything above the knee was a rare sight to the males of our era. We arrived in the room above, and she seemed oblivious to the emotions she had unleashed in her follower. By this time I was madly in love with her.
After ferreting around, she found a pair of boots to suit me, and led the way back down again: a natural leader, my loved one. Handing me back to the Wren at the counter to do the paper work, she walked away into the blue, out of my life without so much as a backward glance.
Incidentally I never did get to wear those boots, as we went to the Far East and bare feet were the order of the day there. What happened to them, I forgot; perhaps I swopped them for a bottle of arrack.
Member No. 1858 Clyde C. Rothery, Ex POMM [Petty Officer Motor Mechanic]
(2) The Final Chapter of the ‘Sixes’
MTB 666 was under heavy fire from two heavily armed trawlers, one on each side of us. They were using quite a lot of their new anti-personnel shells. We had been hit several times. All engines had stopped, there was a fire in the engine room, and we were getting an increasing list to port. Our guns were out of action owing to lack of
power from the engine room.
After what appeared to be ages, but must have been only minutes, the trawlers ceased firing, but they held their stations. When two of our flotilla tried to reach us to give us aid, the German trawlers left to meet them and presumably to join in the fray. The respite must have given our skipper Lieutenant Commander D. N. Buller time to ascertain casualties and damage. With at least fourteen men requiring hospital treatment, some very urgent, and a boat that could not defend itself, appeared to be
sinking and was on fire, the order ‘abandon ship’ was given.
It seemed like a lifetime in the water before we were picked up by a German armed trawler. It was cold, I will never forget. They did what they could for us. They had a lot of their own wounded to attend to. It was while on board the German trawler that I saw Lieutenant Clive Maclntyre, RN; he with Lieutenant James Linley, RNVR came on board the ‘sixes’ just for a trip on a ‘safe boat’. I’m afraid we let them down especially as I understand that Lieutenant Maclntyre had just been passed fit for sea after being ill and was going on leave as soon as he got back.
At that moment he was lying on a top bunk in the seaman’s mess with a hole the size of a saucer in his back. What beat me was that he was still as cheerful as if he had a cut finger. He was just the same in hospital. At times he had us in fits of laughter. By the time we reached Ijmuiden it was daylight.
Those who were able to walk were taken away, I believe to an empty school room. The remainder of us were put into the back of lorries with straw to lie on, a most uncomfortable journey to hospital. The German hospital staff looked after us reasonably well. It was the guards that I did not care for. They were from the Herman Goring Regiment.
We heard, how I can’t remember, that the ‘sixes’ had been towed into Ijmuiden harbour and had blown up while the German top brass were inspecting her. CPO Les Stanton, motor mac, said ‘that the scuttling charges had been set but both had failed to fire.’ Poor old Les was badly crippled and was immediately repatriated. Frank Heath and Jock Macky, both from the engine-room, died within a few days.
We left the hospital after approximately four weeks and were taken to an interrogation camp in Germany for another six weeks, then to the main POW camp where we were reunited with the rest of the crew and there we stayed.
MTB 666 was under heavy fire from two heavily armed trawlers, one on each side of us. They were using quite a lot of their new anti-personnel shells. We had been hit several times. All engines had stopped, there was a fire in the engine room, and we were getting an increasing list to port. Our guns were out of action owing to lack of
power from the engine room.
After what appeared to be ages, but must have been only minutes, the trawlers ceased firing, but they held their stations. When two of our flotilla tried to reach us to give us aid, the German trawlers left to meet them and presumably to join in the fray. The respite must have given our skipper Lieutenant Commander D. N. Buller time to ascertain casualties and damage. With at least fourteen men requiring hospital treatment, some very urgent, and a boat that could not defend itself, appeared to be
sinking and was on fire, the order ‘abandon ship’ was given.
It seemed like a lifetime in the water before we were picked up by a German armed trawler. It was cold, I will never forget. They did what they could for us. They had a lot of their own wounded to attend to. It was while on board the German trawler that I saw Lieutenant Clive Maclntyre, RN; he with Lieutenant James Linley, RNVR came on board the ‘sixes’ just for a trip on a ‘safe boat’. I’m afraid we let them down especially as I understand that Lieutenant Maclntyre had just been passed fit for sea after being ill and was going on leave as soon as he got back.
At that moment he was lying on a top bunk in the seaman’s mess with a hole the size of a saucer in his back. What beat me was that he was still as cheerful as if he had a cut finger. He was just the same in hospital. At times he had us in fits of laughter. By the time we reached Ijmuiden it was daylight.
Those who were able to walk were taken away, I believe to an empty school room. The remainder of us were put into the back of lorries with straw to lie on, a most uncomfortable journey to hospital. The German hospital staff looked after us reasonably well. It was the guards that I did not care for. They were from the Herman Goring Regiment.
We heard, how I can’t remember, that the ‘sixes’ had been towed into Ijmuiden harbour and had blown up while the German top brass were inspecting her. CPO Les Stanton, motor mac, said ‘that the scuttling charges had been set but both had failed to fire.’ Poor old Les was badly crippled and was immediately repatriated. Frank Heath and Jock Macky, both from the engine-room, died within a few days.
We left the hospital after approximately four weeks and were taken to an interrogation camp in Germany for another six weeks, then to the main POW camp where we were reunited with the rest of the crew and there we stayed.
Member No. 112 Stan Cross, MTB 666
War-time Stories
by Veterans of the Navy’s Coastal Forces.
by Veterans of the Navy’s Coastal Forces.
Introduction
Until its disbandment in 2007 the Coastal Forces Veterans Association (CFVA) published a quarterly Newsletter which included stories, comments etc written by veterans for the general interest of their shipmates.
The Newsletters quickly became known to people outside CFVA and were copied to many parts of the globe, including to our old adversaries the German “Coastal Forces” veterans.
As I believe that many of these articles would be of interest to our readers I intend copying a selection from these old Newsletters for publication on this web site.
In 1994 many Newsletter items were extracted by shipmate Harold Pickles DSM and compiled in his book entitled “Untold Stories of Small Boats at War” (Pentland Press).
Many of the authors will have now “passed to calmer waters”. We do not have the resources to trace survivors, to seek their permission to publish, but if a valid objection is raised about the publication of an article, I will quickly retract it, with any due apology of course.
Ken Gadsdon
==============================
This time, for starters, I present two stories: ‘Brief Encounter’, by shipmate PO Motor Mechanic Clyde Rothery, then followed by Stan Cross’s report of the fate of his boat, MTB 666, and its crew.
(More coming soon)
Index
(click on Title)
(click on Title)
