Chapter Five

Invasion Threat June – September 1940

On the 5 June 1940 Niger returned to Grimsby and minesweeping. Most of the ship’s company were sent on leave to recover from Dunkirk but Robert was left with the small retard party on board.

Friday, 7th June. Had dinner with the Captain at the Royal in the evening. He asked me whether I would like to take over as First Lieutenant. He said he did not suppose I would want to give up the idea of an MTB, but that if I did and would like to be his Number One he would get in touch with the Admiralty at once and fix it. I was flattered but did not accept because I prefer navigating and think I should very much like an MTB if I can get one. He says he will try again.

I got through to Catherine on the ‘phone. It was lovely to hear her again. I hope for a few days leave when the others come back, but it isn’t certain. I heard from her of Andrew Le Grice’s death in France. Poor Andrew and Ann and the twins. It brings it all home to one. I like the fighting when I get it, but this sort of thing is so sad. Aunt Dorothy and Uncle Harry will be devastated. I hope they don’t lose Charles too.¹

There is one thing I am happy about. If I am killed I know Catherine will bear it very bravely; she is like that over big things and she knows she has the children to fend for, and the children are too young, bless them, to grieve very much.

Saturday, 8th June. The Captain completed his report on our part in the Dunkirk action. It was short and to the point. As it is probably the only time I shall ever have a chance of being mentioned in dispatches, I quote the part that deals with my day ashore:

‘Lieut. R.P. Hichens RNVR was left behind. He moored two yachts as pontoons, secured grass lines to the pier of lorries and organised the boats pully-hauly on these lines. I was later informed that his work made the most tremendous difference to the rate of embarkation of troops, apart from making it comparatively safe and avoiding the risk of drowning soldiers which was extremely high in the early morning when boats were capsizing frequently.’

There was also a short description of my activities on Saturday night in getting in touch with the troops and getting them off.

Monday, 10th June. Italy entered the war this evening. Expected but still a shock. One could not conceive that they would either be so foolish or such cold-blooded jackals. It might mean the Straits² for us. I hope not, I’d rather be in on the party at home, and there will be a party, and I can keep in touch with my family better.

Tuesday, 11th June. We must pray for the French and help them all we can. They must be going through hell. The German armoured columns have reached Rouen. To think that soon they may be rumbling up that lovely road that we have flown up so often in the Aston to the Café de la Foret. Will Monsieur and Madame be still there, or will they have fled?

Wednesday, 12th June. A quiet day sweeping. We cut four mines towards the end of the day. The first we have cut for ages. Again quite like old times peacefully sweeping up mines instead of Dunkirking. I think that in many conditions minesweeping is as dangerous as a trip to Dunkirk, but one doesn’t think so as the danger is so much less evident.

We got back late in the evening to Grimsby. I suppose tomorrow we shall start on Operation Dagger,³ the patrolling of our section of the east coast to give warning of invasion and then to attack the invader. Skippy and I worked out orders for our patrol during the three days Dunkirk leave and it is to start as soon as any necessary mine clearance is effected.

My work on the charts today involved the erasing of a great number of lights all around the coast, preparing for invasion. Le Havre light vessel and the Royal Sovereign light vessel were amongst them. It was only about this time last year that I rounded them in our triumphant Channel race in Marie Victoire. It gives added point to the phrase ‘The lights are going out all over Europe’. I too am afraid it will be a very long time before they are lit again.

Thursday, 13th June. The thirteenth is always my lucky day. I came into the wardroom about 10 o’clock expecting to go to sea at any moment and was suddenly confronted with a signal from the Admiralty: ‘Niger is to be taken in hand tomorrow the 14th for a refit.’ Everybody began fixing things and I agreed to splitting leave so that we could all have the maximum time possible, especially as I hadn’t been out for the short leave. So I went off at four o’clock and caught the last train to town, thereby saving me a whole day extra in Cornwall.

Friday, 14th June. I arrived home to find Barbary ominously awaiting me. From him I gathered that Catherine was not too well and when I got home I found that he had indeed not exaggerated. Poor Catherine had gone down the night before with pneumonia and was feeling like nothing on earth after having the terrific cure that they give nowadays and which Dr Lanyon had luckily applied very quickly. Added to that the news in France was getting graver and graver, so that prospects of fun and gaiety on leave were not exactly promising. But the children were in exceptionally good form. It was very hot and we bathed repeatedly and poor Catherine sweltered. And in the background was the horrible feeling, ‘would France pack up?’

Saturday, 15th June. If it was unlucky that Catherine was ill, it was a very good thing that I did get leave at this time. The ‘phone went at about nine o’clock this morning and who should be on it but Loveday. She was pretty astonished when she heard me. She and Robin were leaving Guernsey by ‘plane on Monday. I was to book sleepers and arrange for them to go out to the farm right away. All very exciting though sad for Loveday. It was nice to feel that I had somewhere suitable for them to go.

The Germans are entering Paris today. There is to be no miracle of the Marne this time. I wonder if the French can possibly hold together.

Sunday, 16th June. Very hot again. Been bathing twice with the children and had a good look round the farm. Somehow I have an uncomfortable feeling that France is going to pack up, reading between the lines in the news. The suspense is horrible.

I rang up Loveday and she said there was no room on Monday and she would be coming either by boat Wednesday night or by ‘plane on Thursday.

Monday, 17th June. The eight o’clock news said that Reynaud had resigned and Petain and Weygand virtually taken over. That seemed to indicate that the army had taken over and one hoped, but at one o’clock the blow came. How could Petain⁴ and Weygand do it? Poor France! Somehow I feel better now I know. I wonder why it is, but uncertainty is always worse than the actual news however bad that may be. Now we know that we have got to look to ourselves only. I have an idea that England will respond wonderfully to this setback. She is always greatest in taking reverses.

Tuesday, 18th June. The ‘phone went at about six thirty this morning. It was Len to say that he was trying to get Loveday and Robin off by boat that night, but that things were difficult and if he couldn’t manage it, would it be possible for me to do anything about it. I said I thought I might and would see about it and he was to let me know as soon as he got anything fixed, or if he wanted me to come over.

I thought of all the people I might get a boat from and decided that the only hope was a fishing boat from Porthleven or Mousehole. I went into Falmouth and met George Angove⁵ who told me that he understood that they had all been called up by the Admiralty and were lying in Falmouth waiting to go, and that volunteers were being called for to take them to France. So I thought that this was my chance and went along to the base and volunteered to go to France provided I could get back by Thursday when I had to rejoin my ship. They kept me waiting a long time and then said that the boats would not be going yet, but that they would probably have another job for me soon. So I gave them my number and left.

Churchill made a fine speech in Parliament today. The bit about Dunkirk I thoroughly endorse, although I have heard many naval officers disagree with me. The thing that impressed me most about Dunkirk was the lack of German aircraft, taking things all in all. The other piece concerns our particular job in ‘Dagger’. We patrol to intercept an invading force. Our primary duty is then to give warning by wireless and when that is accomplished to attack the enemy regardless of odds. I fear we may suffer heavily before the main British supports can arrive, but it will be a rather glorious affair, and if it occurs I can think of no way in which I should prefer to meet my end, and meet it some day I must, a thing one is rather inclined to overlook in one’s youth. We are in a tight spot, but we are relying on no one now except ourselves, and so we know where we are, and I think at bottom we are rather thankful.

Wednesday, 19th June. The ‘phone went again at six thirty. This time it was Len to say that he had got them off by the boat the night before. I promised to let him know they arrived safely.

Still very hot. At twelve o’clock the ‘phone went again. This time of all incredible things it was Mort⁶ on the ‘phone. He was waiting at Falmouth station having just arrived from France. He looked well on the whole and as red in the face as ever. I spent a hectic two hours with him, seemingly almost totally connected with beer. I took £2 worth of beer up to his men who were sitting in the hot sun near the station. The second case I left in the car with Bob, while I went to speak for a moment with Mort, and when I returned I could not see the car at all for the pack of soldiers. All that was visible was Bob’s head sticking out of the sunshine roof, handing out bottles as fast as he could. He didn’t seem a bit frightened and I thought he did very well.

Mort left and the next excitement was Loveday and Robin arriving. After a good deal of dashing about I finally got them only about an hour late, which really was very good considering the number of troop trains operating. Considering that Loveday is really a refugee, I thought she was wonderfully cheerful. One could hardly realise that she had been forced out of her home, leaving virtually everything she has behind, possibly never to see it again. It seemed much more like a visit somehow. Robin was in great form, bicycle and all. I finally deposited them at the farm about ten o’clock of a lovely moonlit night.

Thursday, 20th June. The last day of my leave. Still glorious weather. We had a lovely bathe at Durgan.⁷

The time for the train seemed to tear round and alas the taxi I had ordered just did not come. So I had to take a most hurried and blasphemous departure in the Rover which of course elected to break its throttle connection on this particular occasion, with the result that I shot into a completely full up 1st class carriage just as the train was going, with my hands covered in oil and sweat pouring from my brow. I think I was more concerned than my fellow passengers, who had all just arrived from France and could not be surprised at anything.

I must break Robert’s breathless narration of the effect that the fall of France had on him while on his leave in Cornwall. Almost every reader will remember that the collapse of France followed hard on the heels of Dunkirk. It was all over at Dunkirk on the 4 June and the Germans entered Paris on the 15 June. Petain signed an armistice on the 17 June, ending the fighting. Falmouth was an obvious destination for many refugees from France, including that part of the BEF that had retreated westwards rather than to Dunkirk, and Robert found himself in the thick of it during his leave. The coincidence of the arrival of his old co-driver from Le Mans days, Mort Morris Goodall, apparently accompanied by some of his soldiers from France, must have made an extraordinary week seem even more amazing.

Friday, 21st June. We were an hour and a half late into London, but I had my grilled sole at Browns Hotel soon after nine even so. A tribute to the GWR⁸ in these troubled times. London was looking lovely in bright sunshine, but with a fresh cool breeze. Regent Street, with all its flags flying, was looking as only Regent Street can. It is the only big city street that I can think of with a curve in it. I think perhaps that is why it is so fascinating. But London was ominously empty.

Nelson’s prayer:

May the Great God, whom I worship, grant to my country and for the benefit of Europe in general, a great and glorious victory; and may no misconduct in any one tarnish it; and may humanity after victory be the predominant feature in the British Fleet. For myself, individually, I commit my life to Him who made me, and may His blessing light upon my endeavours for serving my country faithfully. To Him I resign myself and the just cause which is entrusted to me to defend.

I know of no prayer more appropriate for the present times. It seems exactly to fit the position of the Navy today. It is interesting and encouraging to think that England was in just the same danger then and that Nelson realised the vast implications of his defeat or victory at Trafalgar. The same will apply exactly when we meet the invasion of the German and Italian (+ ? French) fleets and fight it out, as now seems almost inevitable. Let us hope we shall be granted another Trafalgar.

I arrived at the ship about eight thirty, to find her in dry dock. The trouble is we are all expected to go ashore when an air raid warning goes and go into the nearby shelters. These are just concrete rooms on the surface with nothing in them and therefore frightfully uncomfortable. As the air raid warning usually lasts for about four hours the prospect is pretty bleak.

Saturday, 22nd June. Sure enough there was a proper air raid. The siren went about eleven thirty. I went with the rest to the nearest shelter, but after about twenty minutes, nothing very much having happened, I returned to my trap. I’d rather risk being bombed than sitting in such discomfort for hours. It is very true that shelters should be made as habitable as possible. Soon after I had dozed off the bombs began to drop. It was a rather uncomfortable feeling because if one had dropped at all close, the blast would have knocked the ship off her struts and she would fall over in the dry dock and if she came on my side it would kill me. So whenever a bomb dropped near I would hop out of my trap and go and stand in the middle of the ship until all seemed quiet. A tiresome performance. Two salvoes dropped pretty close; out in the river I should guess. The all clear didn’t go until about 4am. How everybody in the shelters stuck it I don’t know. They must be very frightened of bombs.

Thursday, 27th June. An order has come out that naval officers may not keep a private diary, I presume for fear lest it should fall into the hands of the enemy and prove of use to him. Alas therefore I must give up my diary. I propose, however, to jot down notes on happenings of interest and my personal thoughts and reactions to them, avoiding any reference to matters that would be censurable.

Fortunately for historians, the order that officers should not keep diaries was widely ignored, the best possible example being set by General Sir Alan Brooke, shortly to become Chief of the Imperial General Staff, who kept arguably the most important diary of a serving officer in the Second World War, without which our understanding of what really happened at the highest level of decision-making would be far more deficient. Robert felt that he had to obey at least the letter if not the spirit of the order, so that we have an entirely different narrative, commenting on the events around him and his experiences but without dates. It is inevitably hard to follow the precise sequence of events, but Robert remained in HMS Niger until the beginning of October 1940, a period in which, although Niger continued to conduct her normal duties as a fleet sweeper, she was also part of the initial naval response to any German invasion of the British Isles, known as Operation Dagger. The threat of that invasion dominates the narrative.

The diary proper resumes on Monday, 24 December 1940 when he was given command of MASB14. Presumably by then whatever sense of discipline had caused him more or less to obey the order finally evaporated and he resumed his private journal. Perhaps widespread disregard of the order had come to his ears.

July 1940:

My last bit of refit leave went pleasantly and all too quickly. It was lovely out at the farm, and being there I saw much more of Catherine who was still unable to do anything much. The air raids on Falmouth began while I was there. It was interesting to see the reactions of all the people I knew, and who as yet had not been touched actively by the war. I felt quite like an old campaigner. It was extraordinary the way the German bombers came over our farm. There I would stand in a field, goggling up at them and quite helpless. Almost a dispassionate observer, because one felt they would not bomb a farm when they had Falmouth in view. The children, of course, were thrilled, and knowing nothing about the terrors of bombing, looked upon it all as a great excitement.

The last day is always rather terrible. And then going round to see the children just before leaving for the train. They are always asleep and look so attractive. It is unlikely that life can provide much worse partings than these. With the invasion of England so imminent and in the position I am, so to speak in the very front, the outer line. And yet I wouldn’t have it otherwise. To be safely in a shore job would be impossible now.

The journey up to London was good and I slept well. It seems to me a great tribute to our air defence that the train was so well up to time, more than three weeks after the collapse of France. Breakfast as usual at Browns. After spending sometime at Mackrell’s, I went to Hatchards⁹ and bought the family presents, books seeming the most sensible things these days with them out at the farm and winter coming on. Altogether I spent quite a long time in the shop and was served by some nice old men of about seventy-five, just the sort of people you would expect there. One of them, while suggesting books, said ‘Do you like Robert Hichens?’ He was much impressed when I said that I did not much, perhaps because I was his nephew. We then had quite a long chat about him as he is well known there evidently. It was a rather attractive little interlude in a lonely day in London. It seemed to take one back to pre-war days and beyond. Talking of my family to these nice old men, and in my uniform, on my way to sea, in I suppose England’s darkest hour. It seemed to make vivid the contrast between the present and the past.

Back on the ship I found myself very busy again at once. Lots of chart work to get on with. As I did chart corrections today the sun was shining and there was a hard wind. The country around looked lovely, in spite of being low and flat. ‘Coot Club’ country, and I couldn’t help being reminded of Bobby’s book and the description of the country. I thought of my last reading in bed to him. In these days when death for me may come suddenly from above or below at any moment, those times are incredibly precious. It is impossible to put one’s feelings into words. It makes one put first things first, and realise how at bottom the only thing that really matters to you is your family. Everything else could go provided one was left with their company. At any rate it makes it easy in a way to fight and if need be die in preserving them.

The strong wind outside reminded me suddenly of the same strong wind almost always blowing at Treworval. How it blasted round us in the fields while we were pulling the plants a week or two ago, and how if Bobby pulled one just windward of me, the wind would often blow bits of the earth off the root into my eyes. And then a destroyer would come by at speed and I was brought back to reality. She looked a fine sight though on that bright morning. Whenever I see a destroyer I think with joy how Hitler must dislike ships and the sea.

I still revel in the feeling of being in sole charge of the ship especially at night. It was fun too swinging her for compass adjustment. I found I could handle her very well, it making all the difference in the world to have a little head or stern way on before putting the other screw astern or ahead. It is fun that feeling of control of a biggish (to me) ship. You feel isolated high up on the bridge and lord of all you survey.

The other night I had the first watch during Churchill’s speech, and so did not hear it, which was rather tiresome. Afterwards the Captain came up and told me all about it. I suppose our position is about as dangerous as is possible in view of the threatened invasion, but I couldn’t help being full of joy at being in that position. Being on the bridge of one of HM ships, being talked to by the Captain as an equal, and knowing that she was to be in my sole care for the next few hours. Who would not rather die like that than live as so many poor people have to in crowded cities at some sweating indoor job. There is perhaps a peculiar irony that I should be able to appreciate my good fortune even now, but it is better than being glum. Furthermore it does one’s companions good.

It is a funny life this wondering almost academically how long one is going to survive. I bought an expensive bottle of hair oil in London some months ago, the first I ever have. It is nice because it is spirit and therefore not at all sticky or greasy and it has only the slightest of smells. Every morning when I take a drop I wonder whether I shall live to finish the bottle; a sort of feeling of academic interest.

I record this funny little fact, because in days to come if we do survive to peace again, it will be interesting to look back to and analyse one’s main impressions and reactions while living in these times. One of the chief things that impresses me is that I am not afraid of death and therefore I welcome any action. The only sort of feelings of fear that I get, (if you can call it fear, it being more a sort of pessimistic and disturbing wondering) is when say I am lying in my bunk and I think supposing the torpedo, or the mine, or the bomb comes now. Would it twist me up in the folding shattering metal, or would it knock me out mercifully at once without feeling? Would there be agonising moments while one was drowned in a trap or while one saw the blood leaving one with an arm or a leg torn off? It is no use speculating on these things and it only occurs when not in action. But one cannot help thinking of them sometimes. The matter is so important and ever present. One will never know the answer in time to set it down for those that come after.

Until I knew something of the workings of these things I thought that people got DSOs and DSCs and VCs for being outstandingly brave and devoted to duty in the face of danger. I find now that the great majority of them are just handed out to fairly senior officers once there is a war on, entirely regardless of whether they are particularly efficient or brave or not. The Captain of the dan-laying trawler who used to follow us when we were sweeping up at the Tyne got a DSO when that field was cleared, although his was the one ship that was absolutely safe, as it simply followed where the sweepers had cleared the water and dropped dans. Then I find that the Captain of the Halcyon got a DSO for Dunkirk, when in fact he was actually on leave at the time and never went there. They meant it for M/S 4, our Captain, and thought he was still Captain of the Halcyon and leading the flotilla from that ship. It just shows how much notice they take about enquiring into people’s conduct if they can actually dole it out to someone on leave.

With the prospect of increased fighting, both aerial and surface, the Captain has appointed me Flotilla Gunnery Officer. I take it as a great compliment though it will mean a good bit more work for me. He is trying to get a fully qualified Gunner and in the meantime I must do my best, with little or no training. Fortunately it seems that my common-sense will take me quite a long way and has done so far. I shall have to go round to the other ships in the flotilla and try to shake things up a bit. I have also had my Watchkeeping Certificate sent in, and the Captain has said that I am qualified for watchkeeping in a destroyer if need be. So I feel that I am beginning to be quite a useful member of the Navy, a thing that seemed a very long way off six months ago, soon after I joined my ship.

End of July:

Today we went forth to swing compasses. We were starting up from anchor in the roads. I was in the chartroom correcting charts, the Captain was ashore and Pilot was in charge. Apparently a trawler got under way rapidly with her anchor ball still up and made a blackguard rush at us, ramming us just opposite the wardroom and making a large hole above water. I came out of the chartroom, just before the crash, to see about a signal to do with the recognition signals that I deal with. I saw the trawler very close to just as Pilot started his avoiding action. I cannot help thinking Pilot must have seen it after he should have, but the trawler could have avoided a bad crash by turning to port or going astern, both of which he apparently failed to do.

Anyway the result was that instead of going on patrol and thence to Harwich where the rest of the flotilla were congregating to sweep mines laid by German E-boats, we had to be in dock for nine days undergoing repair. I got a week’s leave and went straight to Cornwall where I have all that I love, my wife, my children and my land. It is so heavenly there by comparison with being at sea in this war that one goes into a sort of daze as the time goes by, hoping so much that the time will not pass that you almost cannot appreciate the joy of being there.

I had a glorious week working most of the time on the farm. That is the life for me if I can ever get back to it. I drove the tractor to cut two of our fields of corn. I loved it except for the time when the poor little rabbits were caught at the end. I used to wonder sometimes whether my dislike of inflicting pain or anxiety or even seeing it done on something helpless was a sign of being a rather soft sort of man. The more normal one, who didn’t seem to worry about the feelings of a fox or a bird or a rabbit was a tougher and braver man who would be more use than me in a tight corner. My motor racing experiences began to make me see that it was not so and my war experiences have now convinced me. Cruel and so-called tough men are not usually brave when it is their bodies that are threatened. The man with finer sensibilities has the finer spirit and can stand up to it better when it is he that is in danger. I am convinced of that from my present observations. I hope my sons will not be cruel, but will be brave. Those two traits cover half the duty of man I think.

On returning from leave I had my usual breakfast at Browns and then went to the Admiralty. I saw a very nice Lt. Commander who implied that I was doing a useful job where I was. I said I was enjoying my present job alright but that I was very keen on MTBs and what chance was there. He said he couldn’t promise anything, but that I was on the list of people recommended and had a pink mark against my name which meant that I was thought specially suitable. I have at least satisfied myself that I am well on the list and specially marked and that is the best I can do. I must wait until the boats are built.

Back at Grimsby again I very quickly slipped back into the old routine with a lot of work to do. I have come to the conclusion that if the guns are to be used effectively on this ship it is entirely up to me. I must push everything on and get training forward. I took the 0.5 under my wing and fitted it and trained until I think it is one of the best equipped about. Now I must do the same with all the rest of the gunnery, including the controlled side of it as opposed to high angle stuff. I got protection put at all the guns which pleased the men very much and gave them more confidence. I got their sights made right and fixed rapid action control at the gun in case of sudden air attack with no warning. All these things have pleased them and given them confidence so that I feel we are coming on.

The air battles over Britain are intensifying and I believe that they will prove to be the crux of the war. Sixty-one German planes downed yesterday, with seventy-eight, one hundred and sixty-nine and seventy-one in the previous three days. Can they stick it? One feels an immense joy at being British, the only people who have stood up to the air war blackmail. We’ve got to take it and beat them at their own game. I keep training my guns’ crews and if I get tired or fed up I think of that. We may be able to bring some down if we get efficient. Who knows? The Navy’s role in the war can be summed up in the reply Joffre¹⁰ made to a question as to ‘Who won the battle of the Marne in 1914?’ (meaning which commander). His reply was ‘I don’t know who won the battle, but I can tell you who would have been blamed if it had been lost.’

That is the position of the Navy. The RAF may seem to win the war for us in the end but the Navy would have lost it if it failed to do its stuff.

When we were at our buoy with Salamander alongside us, I was sitting sprawled in a chair in the wardroom with a gin as I was pretty tired. In came Price, the doctor of the Salamander, and rather a friend of mine. As he came in he shook hands with me and said ‘congratulations’. I didn’t know what he meant and thought he was being funny. Nothing more happened for some time and then he said quite casually ‘What does it feel like to be a bloody hero’, or something like that. I said I didn’t understand him, and then he said ‘Surely you’ve got a DSC. I’m sure I saw your name in the list’. He dashed off to get the Times when he gathered that I knew nothing whatever about it, and sure enough there it was. The Commanding Officer and Engineer Officer of Salamander had the DSO and DSC respectively so the two ships started a party. I remember rather little of it I fear. My last recollection was taking a beautiful shot at a teed up glass with a mashie, and I understand that I was sitting happily for sometime with people knocking glasses off my head. I do not remember this, but I am assured of its truth. However these things don’t happen everyday.

Everybody seemed to think that I had well deserved my decoration, though I am inclined to doubt it and certainly had not expected it for a minute. They have been very liberal with them and I heard a number of the other decorations much criticised.

Apparently my efforts are being appreciated by the guns’ crews themselves, because the Chief Gunner’s Mate was talking to me yesterday and asking whether I could do anything to get the crews trained in Hussar, a ship in the 6th MSF which is working with us at the moment, because he had been aboard there and they were complaining that they were getting no instruction. He then said that he thought our crews were getting on very well and feeling quite different about air-attack and much more confident because at last they had mastered the idea and technique of modern A.A. firing and felt that they could do something. It makes all the difference to morale once they get that sort of interested hopeful attitude, instead of the uninterested, bored outlook I had to deal with first of all.

I think that to have got this result is the most satisfactory thing I have done so far in the Navy. A real concrete result. As the Captain said when we were discussing my DSC over a glass of port, ‘Although you thoroughly deserve your decoration for the Dunkirk affair, I think really your work in training the guns’ crews is more deserving’. I am a very lucky man, as I do not consider that I did more than thousands of others, and some poor sods got killed for their efforts instead of decorations. But then so much of life is luck!

Another night out with sweeping at dawn. We also practised night sweeping. I like these nights at sea. There is a solitude and quietness which is pleasant and not possible to find during the day or on land. There was a bright moon from two o’clock onwards and I was on watch. I walked up to the extreme bow of the ship. It is always lovely in that position. You feel isolated and can only hear the murmur of the water on the bows. We have one quite young lad on the flag deck, a future yeoman of signals. He is a very good type. He does his work well and never complains. They are the backbone of our Navy, chaps like that. They have nothing but discomfort and danger, and very little to look forward to, but they just go on cheerfully doing their work. They are the real seamen that England can count on.

There is one lovely story of Dunkirk that I have just been told. As it is true I must put it on record. I was told it by the Captain of a corvette. He was returning from one of his trips to Dunkirk and came across a lifeboat packed with soldiers. It turned out afterwards that they had been afloat for thirty-six hours and had lost their way. As the corvette drew past them to stop ahead the Captain sang out ‘Haven’t you got any oars aboard?’ A cockney voice replied immediately. ‘We ain’t got no (wh)’ores aboard, but we’ve got a fucking sergeant major’. That’s the sort of spirit that is going to give Hitler his quietus. Those men had been through it before ever they got into the boats.

Out again at 18.30 on Sunday. We went down to the Downs by night and swept up through the channel until dawn. It was rather exciting sweeping at night. You couldn’t of course see if you were cutting mines. One has some rivalry with the signalmen as they are trained all their lives at spotting things through glasses and our yeoman is very good. It is very tiring being up all night and on the lookout. We had all guns closed up for fear of E-boat attack.

This is the second reference that Robert makes to E-boats, his ultimate enemy once in MGBs. They were about 110 feet long, capable of nearly forty knots and armed with both guns and torpedoes. The Germans called them Schnellboote (Fast boat). The British called them E-boats, the E being thought to be short for Enemy!

We swept all day. We swept the Southbound convoy through and the Northbound convoy back. We took them to and from the mouth of the Thames where the greatest air battles of history were going on. They were big convoys with a lot of large ships, all going to and from the port of London under the noses of the Luftwaffe and within forty miles of their air bases. It seemed very impudent and it made one realise how vital sea power is compared with almost anything else. It would have taken train upon train to carry the contents of one of those big steamers. Germany would give a lot to have one of those convoys in a week from the outer world and we have two a day into London alone. It makes one realise what a potent long term weapon the blockade is.

When we had finished with the convoys we went to search another area farther offshore about thirty miles out where it was suspected that E-boats had been laying mines. While we were on this search we had double Oropesas out and about four thirty I was on watch alone. I saw what looked like a bit of wreckage floating about a couple of miles off on the starboard bow. I took no more notice until about eight minutes later something suddenly sat up in the bit of wreckage and started waving and shouting. It was a little rubber float with an airman in it. I reported to the Captain and went hard astarboard and began to get in our sweeps.

Even after he must have realised that we had seen him the poor chap went on waving and shouting. When we had got our sweeps in we lowered a whaler and the Captain sent me away in the boat armed with a revolver in case he was a balmy Jerry. I was to wave my hat if he was English, and just wave my hand if he was German. We rowed up to him. He had a flying coat on and his face was all queer and twisted so that I could not tell at once whether he was German or British. So as we approached I got my revolver ready in case. I sang out to him and then waved my hat.

He was rather a ghastly sight because when he crashed he had broken in the right hand side of his upper lip below the nostril and one half of his lip was in place and the other half all smashed in. However he was able to climb into the boat and we returned towing his rubber boat. He seemed quite normal and calm and I was amazed to find that he had been in the boat since two o’clock on Sunday night. It was then 5pm on Wednesday. He had been in the boat for sixty-three hours, wet and with this wound and yet he could talk and behave coolly and normally and climb the monkey ladder into Niger without help. His name was Pilot Officer M.S. Burberry, RAFVR. Apparently he was returning from a bombing raid over Hanover on Sunday night and was getting quite near Harwich and was coming down to see the sea when he thinks he must have dozed at the controls because the next thing he realised they had crashed into the sea. He scrambled into the boat and saw nothing of the rest of the crew except one man who was swimming wildly away shouting ‘mercy, mercy’. He could do nothing and thinks the man was badly concussed and understood nothing. This was on Sunday at 2am. When it got light he found that the boat was attached to some of the wreckage of the aeroplane and as he went to remove it he got a nasty shock because he found the head of the other pilot bobbing about just below him. He said it was the one time he felt really sick.

Then he proceeded to drift about for sixty-three hours. He had some iron rations and a little water and a flask of rum which he was reserving for the last to get really tight on when he thought there was no more hope. He was wet and cramped and could get no sleep because he had to bail out frequently. He saw a number of ships in convoy but some way off and no one saw him. Towards the end his rubber float began to leak and he realised that it could not last much longer. Altogether I should surmise that I have never been so welcome to anyone as I was on that occasion. Poor devil he must have had a hell of a time, but I take my hat off to him. He was cool and quiet and answered questions normally and without exaggeration, and physically I think he was marvellous to be able to clamber about after all that. We took him straight in and landed him about eight o’clock. He sent off wires to his people who must have known that one of our planes had not returned for several days.

I was just turning in very tired at about nine thirty having been up and feeling bloody with this inoculation since three o’clock in the morning, when Bang! There was a loud explosion which shook the ship. I had to put my rubber boots and mackintosh on over my pyjamas and go up to the 0.5. I found the whole of Parkeston Quay lit up with a fire raging on it. The bang had been a bomb dropped just astern of us. I went to the 0.5 and waited there with the crew. There were a number of searchlights, about twenty, all playing over a patch of sky to the north of us. Presently they got the plane and held him there firmly. Guns went off and there were quite a number of bursts near him. Meanwhile we appeared to be in grave danger as a lot of silly trawlers alongside Parkeston Quay were firing right over us and as the plane sank lower the bullets were getting quite close. You could see the tracers just over our masts. I thought if someone made a slip or the plane got any lower we should be for it. Presently the plane went away seawards dodging and some British recognition flares shot out showing that fighters were on his tail.

We now go to instant notice for speed each night and that’s about all we do. It’s most trying this hanging about waiting for something to happen. I wish they would lay some mines or send us on patrol. I hate not being at sea. And there is no prospect of anything else except Purge.¹¹ If that happens, as it well may any night, I am afraid our chances are poor. What with the invading German forces, the dive bombers, and our own guns ashore, we shall have a poor time. I suppose really we are just a bit of an outpost, so to speak. The intention is that we should engage them for a little while and destroy as much as we can before we are ourselves destroyed, while the big stuff is coming up from more distant and safer parts. I wonder whether they will invade? If they do, I do not think they will succeed, but I rather doubt if I will survive to know.

Meanwhile we just wait. The air warfare is pretty intense. Last night was the first real large-scale bombing of London by night.¹² It was bound to come sooner or later if Hitler’s other plans did not succeed. I think it is a sure sign of weakness and that his other plan of going for military objectives has failed.

We sometimes almost continuously hear aircraft going overhead, and on moonlight nights you will suddenly see the dark and ominous shape of an aeroplane appear silhouetted pitch black in a rift in the clouds. They look like some evil bird of prey at night, especially if seen close to amongst dark ragged clouds flying across the face of the moon.

We often go down off Ramsgate and the flak (A.A. fire) at night visible over London and the French coast is fascinating. Every now and then it flares up to a crescendo of fireworks, large flashes, orange flares and clouds of red and green incendiary bullets. Bob would love to watch them.

Well another and one might think particularly crucial week has gone past and so far (touch wood) no invasion.¹³ The weather is now turning our ally. This perpetual standing by, and calls to instant notice in the middle of the night, become rather wearing. One would rather have a good battle and get it over with! I wonder if we shall live to be old men and tell our grandsons how we stood by day after day, week after week and even month after month waiting to fight the Germans if they should dare to entrust themselves to the sea. I wonder if we shall, or if they will. The answer to one is probably dependent on the answer to the other!

A sudden flap this morning. We are all to sail forthwith for Sheerness, a very unpleasant prospect these days. Well we sailed and I found it very interesting at last proceeding up the entrance to the world’s most famous river. I have sailed in most of the waters around England now, but not here. It is in a way attractive, quite high cliffs alternating in a curious way with low lying marshes. There were a lot of H.M. ships in Sheerness. It is good to see the concrete signs of Britain’s resistance and sea power in the shape of large convoys moving regularly in and out of the Thames in spite of the Nazi’s boastful nonsense.

Well we hadn’t been there many hours when the purpose of our visit was made apparent to us. There is to be a sort of Zeebrugge blitz on Calais and Boulogne. Two large oil tankers have been prepared and each filled with seven thousand tons of oil and kerosene. These will be taken, manned by seven brave men, into the respective harbours and set fire by explosives on a time fuse. The explosives will blow out the sides of the ship and all the oil will spread flaming over the water and be taken up into the harbours on a flood tide. If all goes well we shall see such a blaze as never before and one which will burn up everything in the basins and docks. We minesweepers have been split into two groups of three ships each, one group to sweep each fire ship into a port. We are for Boulogne. It is just like the old story of Drake’s fire ships burning the Armada off Calais, only the party will be just about one hundred times more terrific than in those days. The seven men after setting their fuses in the entrance to the harbour will leap aboard an MTB and hope to make a clean getaway.¹⁴

We have chiefly to contend with shore batteries and what the Germans call ‘Flakshiffs’ which are hulks fitted with heavy A.A. and low angle armaments which are stationed off the entrance to harbours. The RAF are to co-operate and almost the entire bomber command are turned onto the job of working the bombing of the two ports up to crescendo at the time we make our entrance. It is very thrilling and ought to be a magnificent spectacle. I wouldn’t miss it for anything. We are to rendezvous off Dungeness with the oil ship and some destroyers at about midnight to start our sweep in, we, of course, heading the ‘party’.

During the afternoon, making the final preparations, it is all rather tense. The CBs (confidential books) have to be landed. Great bags of them. We get all the charts teed up and then try to get a little rest. I was reading ‘Flowering Wilderness’ by Galsworthy and happened just to come to the part where Dinny Cherwell falls in love with Wilfred Desert. It is very well written. Dinny reminds me so much of Catherine. Beautiful in a very unusual and nymph like way. Attractive to men but not wishing to attract them physically and therefore finally falling in love much more spiritually and mentally than physically, though capable of real physical love if it is finally brought out. She falls in love with Wilfred at once. She realises that she is thrilled by him in a way that she has not been by any other man.

I suppose being in a state of tension and excitement at the evening’s prospects one’s thoughts become more vivid and roving than usual. Reading of their falling in love and proposal about a fortnight after meeting and having always seen the resemblance of Dinny to Catherine, I began to think of our courtship. It took about the same time. I remember asking Catherine quite suddenly, as Wilfred does, to marry me while I was cutting bamboos at Enys.

I kept on thinking of our first meeting at the Sycamores¹⁵ and trying to analyse my feelings exactly. I was tremendously stirred, but I suppose would not have admitted at the time that I had fallen violently in love at first sight because I was so young that the idea seemed rather precocious and I never for a moment imagined that she would fall for me. I wonder whether Catherine felt thrilled by me at once, like Dinny, in a way that she had not been by other men. It is a funny thing, but very real, this intense attraction which in cases like ours, as portrayed by Dinny and Wilfred, is almost entirely a spiritual rapprochement only helped by a natural physical urge. I am convinced that it is infinitely deeper and more violent than cases of great physical attraction only. Galsworthy has put it very well.

Well I had to turn from these pleasant thoughts to sterner things. We slipped and proceeded at sixteen thirty and after a long run through the Downs in the gathering darkness, rendezvoused with the tanker and destroyers correctly at midnight off Dungeness. Then at zero hour we started out, got our sweeps out and led off. I went around and gave final instructions to the closed up guns’ crews. It is hard to portray the tense excitement of such a moment as this.

Then suddenly one of the destroyers bustled up alongside and sang out through their loudspeaker that the operation was cancelled.¹⁶ It was a bitter disappointment to me and the anti-climax after being so keyed up was terrific. We do not know the exact reason yet. It may have been that the other party failed in some way or that the direction of the wind was not quite good enough. There was rather too much east in it. There we were, well on our way over and all stopped! I gather we have to wait for some nights till we can try again.

I navigated her back to the Downs. The moon got up and it was a lovely night. We had to creep along in order to look after the old oil ship, which could only do seven knots. The white cliffs of Dover looked magnificent and very defiant in the moonlight, and away over to starboard twenty miles off the German flak was flashing away and every now and then there would be a very bright glow where some bomb had found a likely target. In spite of the disappointment, an unforgettable night. Better luck next time. They had to have three attempts before they pulled off Zeebrugge (in the First World War). We dropped the oil ship, the War Nawab,¹⁷ at Sheerness, and after waiting a few hours, we were ordered to move on to Harwich. They never leave concentrations of ships about when these operations are on, as it might give the fact away to the enemy.

The new Captain¹⁸ came aboard today soon after we got in. He seemed quite a nice chap from the very little I have seen of him so far. An absolutely different type to our present skipper. With all his faults, some of which at times were tryingly patent, I can’t help being sorry at seeing the last of Cronyn. He has been very good to me and was in many ways an excellent introduction to the Navy. By his great powers of conversation and considerable experience of the Navy, (he went to sea when he was thirteen) I have learned a great deal of the real guts and inwardness of the Navy. Probably more than anyone in the RNVR could hope to learn normally, for which I am duly grateful.

Today there have been big aerial battles again. So far one hundred and twenty-five German planes brought down. But I have also come across the other side of it. Leading Seaman Crick, one of our best deck hands, had a wire this evening. ‘Come home, house bombed’ was all it said. He is to go first thing tomorrow. He lives at Maidstone. I do hope his family are alright. He has a wife and one child at home. Another boy in the Air Force. He is an exceptionally nice man. I offered to help him with money, but he refused gratefully. He was obviously glad to talk to me though and unburden himself a little (I being Officer of the Day). It is surprisingly pleasing to find that one has the men’s confidence. I know few things in life that have given me more pleasure. It was clear from the way he talked that I had his.

I have always held the opinion that the best officers were not those who barked loudly at the men, or tried in other ways to show off their superiority and efficiency by sharp remarks and sarcasm, which is all too common. I think that being helpful and pleasant to them, as long as you are firm, and especially by a good example, that is by working hard yourself and not getting drunk or abusive, you get the confidence of the men much more and can lead them much better in difficult circumstances. I was pleased to find my views confirmed by a passage on discipline in K.R. and A.I.¹⁹ summing up the correct attitude for an officer, thus: (Talking of the Captain of a ship) ‘While upholding the legitimate authority of all the officers under his command, he will check by timely reproofs any tendency he may notice to abuse of power, recommending by his example that firm but conciliatory manner of conducting duty, which is the surest way to gain the respect and confidence of the men.’

At this point Robert’s diary ends for three months. Some notes at the end of the diary refer to his appointment to HMS Osprey where he started his time in Coastal Forces.