RECOLLECTION

L.C. Gore 1988

“HIGH SEAS”

The Swanson was a new ship, sporting the latest in Naval weapons, navigation and range finding equipment. Crew comfort was in step with the times. Berthing accommodations, messing spaces and galley equipment had received the grand treatment. But before you get too comfortable with how nice it all was, let me tell you that you’d find about 60 sleeping in a space not much larger than your living room, also, there were some things that had not changed from the days of John Paul Jones. Swanson sailors reported on board ship with all their worldly goods stowed neatly in a sea bag. The sea bag neatly stowed with your gear and encased inside a neatly lashed mattress and hammock. Together this made a very handy and singularly heavy set of Navy luggage. Revolutionary War Sailors would have been proud of every one of them. Also, as in the days of yore, no air-conditioning! So when the berthing space temperature got up to 110 degrees nobody complained a lot. there were no commodes or urinals in the head but simple troughs, with water gushing through them, of a type in use for nearly a hundred years. Every sailor was assigned a tour of duty in galley or on the mess deck. While on this duty, he slept in his hammock over the mess tables. There he swayed to the rhythm of the sea. This was a tradition from ancient days. Another item from sailing ships, the crow’s nest. A sailor stood watch on top of the mast, as there was no radar.

One of the first things the Swanson sailor had to get adjusted to was, when going from one compartment to the next, he had to step over and 18 inch high coaming. Every sailor on the Swanson had a varying degree of skinned shins, as a result of this inconvenience. That gives you some idea of just how modern the Swanson and the Navy was in mid 1941. So with a “Yo! Ho! Ho!” we’re off to sea!

Escorting convoys across the North Atlantic in the fall and winter of 1941-1942 was one of those things we found difficult to write home about, so few of us did. Not because of the possibility of divulging military secrets, but the hardship one might foster on the folks at home. The telling of days at sea, in the north Atlantic would have been a horror story. Relating such a tale would be beyond mortal belief. The folks at home certainly had enough to cope with now that the war was getting closer. Most factories were already stepping up to a full war-time footing. We were delivering all essential goods possible to bolster England, now in a struggle for life itself.

Life on a small destroyer is cruel. The sea is cold and hard ,the sea is a fierce, demanding, unyielding task master. A sailors’ life at sea is lonely and wrought with constant danger of death. There are times when one can feel the clutches of the Grim Reaper grasping for a steady hold. You fight will all your strength, you energize every ounce of your spiritual power, you fight that Grim Reaper with one continuous Prayer:

“GOD HELP ALL WHO GO DOWN TO THE SEA IN SHIPS.

GOD SAVE US ALL WHO SAILD THE NORTH ATLANTIC

GOD SAVE THE SWANSON!”

We were on a North Easterly course, two days off Newfoundland. Personnel safety cables had been rigged, now, for the past two days. The cables were strung just over head on the main deck. They were rigged with heavy straps, trolley fashion. A sailor would make sure his life jacket was securely laced, then grab a strap near the after deck house, or the break of the forecastle, (depending on which way he was going), wait for a while to gauge the waves breaking over the main deck, then, when he thought he might have a chance to make a safe trip on the main deck, he ran for his life, making the strap sing as it slid along the steel cable.

If he miscalculated, or an unexpected wave broke across the deck in mid trip, he held on for dear life, wallowing in the heavy wash of the wave. Fighting from being swept over board. Trying to keep his head above water. Then, after regaining his footing, try to complete the trip. It was certainly a necessary trip, as there was no other way to travel from the crew’s berthing aft to crews’ messing forward.

The sea was becoming increasingly vile. Waves were taking on mountainous proportions. The ship was constantly rolling over to near 30 degrees. A few more degrees and it would be just as easy to walk on one of the bulkheads. Not a comfortable feeling. No matter what the activity, awake or asleep, you had to have a steadfast grip on something all the time. In some ways I was beginning to feel downright glad to be doing my tour of duty in the galley. The big draw back, however, was the fact that the forward part of the ship was more sensitive to the waves breaking over the ship. The mess hall was like a giant roller coaster. As the bow plowed into a wave, covering the main deck up to above 01 level, Swanson shivered and shook from side to side. She sprang up and down as if on a pogo stick. She rolled in agony. A snared animal trying to loose it self from an over whelming foe.

As the bow began to rise faster up to the crest of the wave, your body responded to the added G’s. I believe scales, at that moment, would have shown my 165 pounds as something well over 300 pounds. Reaching the top of the wave, the ship would virtually fall into the next trough. Your feet are hardly touching the deck as gravity pulls Swanson through space, if only for a moment. Your knees buckle as the bow hits bottom. The impact was an explosion in your ears. Compression could be felt, heavily against your body. Swanson creaked, groaned and made funny popping noises as if it were being rendered apart.

We prayed for ALMIGHTY GOD to lay his Big Hands upon this, our ship! HOLD IT TOGETHER!

Even though it seemed that the part you were in was already down to 50 fathoms, heading for Davy Jones locker. After a minute or two you realize the ship survived. You have been saved! You become hysterical with joy when you feel the crushing blow of next wave. Oh, how sweet the impact!

And so it went. On through the day time, and into the night time. Moments that would seem forever, and be gone in a second, yet last a life time. Moments that would never be recalled with ease. Winds, having been easterly for the last two days, were shifting to the northeast. By morning they would be straight from the north. Topside temperatures were already in the low 20’s. Bridge watch personnel were telling of the bitter cold in the 20 to knots winds.

Certainly, I thought, the situation must be at its’ very worst ! “BUT NAY, MY YOUNG SAILOR!” I heard a voice inside me say, “THY TEST IS YET TO COME!”

If you weren’t lucky enough to be in a hammock, as I was, you learned to go to sleep with your legs wrapped and locked around the bunk chains in a most peculiar way. Your arms braced against a center bunk stanchion. If your muscles relaxed after falling asleep, there was a loud crash as you picked yourself up from the other side of the compartment, bruised and panic-stricken. It wasn’t easy, but it could be mastered. It had to be mastered! You must sleep with your grip and muscles as taunt as if you were awake. Else there is no sleep at all. The hammock dwellers, though comfortable to some degree in a rolling sea, had other problems just as difficult to over come. One thing is that just every one is not cut out to sleep in a hammock. There are two basic rules: (1) First you’ve got to get in. (2) Once in, you’ve got to stay in. Although most mastered rule (1), some never mastered rule (2) which always ruined a good nights sleep. These ended up lashing their hammocks to the mess table legs and spending the night in a pile of rubble on the deck. Frequently being stepped on. Some of the experts had problems too. This one kid, light as a feather in springing into his hammock, staying in it as though he was glued to it.

One night, he came crashing down, head first. Hammock clews had worn through. He went as cold as a Vermont frog when he hit the deck. Since we couldn’t rouse him, we decided to let him sleep it off. We lashed him and the hammock to one of the mess tables. A good arrangement, we thought, until he recovered a few hours later. At which time he made us understand that it wasn’t a very good idea at all. He couldn’t untie himself to make an urgent trip to the head!

“NOW HEAR THIS! ALL HANDS STAY CLEAR OF THE MAIN DECK!”

“I REPEAT! ALL HANDS STAY CLEAR OF THE MAIN DECK!”

The seas had been building up to a fever pitch since mid morning. Temperatures were now in the single digits. The ship was rolling and additional degree or two every several minutes. The height of the waves was unbelievable. I had been on deck, aft of the super structure, about an hour ago and you could see other ships of the convoy only once in a while. Hidden, for the most part, by those gigantic waves. Waves breaking down the port main deck were increasing in destructive power and intensity. The Swanson shuddering under each crippling impact. Once in a while she would heel over to about 35 degrees, and you would think, “This is it! it’s not coming back!” It would just hang there, for what seemed an Eternity! Wind had picked up to about 40 knots and held the on its heel for heart stopping agonizing moments. I was getting a bit worried in the galley, so I headed for my spot on the 01 deck, behind the superstructure, forward of the mast. I reasoned, that if I was going to die, then I should see just how it came about. Was that a rational thought?

My complete observation of the plight we were in could be summed up with one word. “AWESOME!” Nothing really seemed adequate. I thought to myself, “Here I am, Lawrence Gore, witnessing the end of the world! And I have a front row seat. I thought, I had heard some where, the front row would go first.

Water, driven by the wind and wave action, was making a shambles of the galley’s top side storage bins. They were becoming an unrecognizable bundle of frayed sheet metal. Each succeeding wave was twisting and turning the remains until finally the largest section went crashing and careening down the deck. In less than two minutes it disappeared forever into the deep.

The waves had been working on the whale boat stored in the davits. It seemed to becoming loose some how, although all the lines appeared to be in place. On closer inspection I could see that the boat was being torn to shreds by the sea. The stern had a huge crack starting about 18 inches from the rudder post. Each additional wave, more powerful than the last, would soon witness its’ total destruction. I was holding on for dear life as the ship seemed to heel a little further with about each third wave.

I looked at our lifeboat. LIFE BOAT? I looked at the sea and was filled with fear and wonder.

I kept wondering to myself, “Will any one ever know that it was the third wave that destroyed the Swanson?” “They might think it was the second one, or the 5^th one. Who knows what they’ll think?”

I began to feel the biting cold of the north wind whistling around the super structure. My fingers were becoming numb. Dummy like, I had left my gloves below. But, it had usually been fairly comfortable up here till now. I again became aware of things around me. A wave of such power had just hit the port main deck that a mooring line and its storage reel were jerked from the deck and bulkhead. The wave virtually ripped the foundations steel as though they were paper. Frankly I was getting scared. I felt helpless. Confidence was on the wane, in the face of Mother Nature’s rage.

I HAD JUST CHANGED MY MIND!

If this were to be my end, then I didn’t want to see it. I was wrong. I had seen enough. I turned and slowly walked away. For several days I thought of the things I’d seen and to this day I have not forgotten.

Duty in the galley provided me with invaluable experience not available any place else, at any cost. Also, it has been a life time of pleasure for me, much to my wife’s dismay at times. As I became more proficient in the ways of the cooks, I brought great pleasure to those in charge. I could turn 30 lbs of cabbage into as much slaw in just under 30 minutes.Peel, dice or slice 100 lbs of potatoes in about 45 minutes. I could crack 4 sunny side eggs (2 to a pan) simultaneously without fracturing a single yellow. I could steam 10 gallons of rice of a quality seen in your favorite Chinese restaurant. (Just try to demonstrate any on of these to your wife and you’re in trouble.) I must admit, however that during periods of heavy weather, all the fancy items are dispensed with and we made do with something like “SPAM” sandwiches.

You were indeed fortunate to simply go from one side of the galley to the other, without breaking your neck in such seas. There are times when I feel that I missed my calling by becoming an engineer. Yet there are other times when I have been able to put this education to good use in the engineering spaces.

As Swanson thundered on through the night, my hammock kept slapping me up against the mess deck over head. There were times when I almost fell out, as the hammock kept trying to swing further than it could go. Everyone had noticed the ship rolling further, and staying over longer. Hackles came up your spine when you realized the ship was practically lying on its side, and seemingly trying to stay there, if it didn’t capsize first. There was no sleep to be had on Swanson these nights. It was terrifying. Another dawn came and the rolling persisted through the seas seemed to have quieted some what.

With a valiant effort of all cooks and mess cooks, potatoes, bacon, eggs (scrambled, of course!) and coffee with toast were served to the crew. Two coffee pots went flying across the mess deck.

making the usual mess of coffee and grounds and sailors sloshing from port to starboard with the heavy rolling. Some of the sailors lost their trays, adding to the melee. Winds had calmed down to 15 to 20 knots and Swanson was missing an opportunity to plow under a heavy wave once in a while. We all wondered, and was concerned, about the erratic, long-lived rolls which were persisting. A Quarter Master said, “The bridge had registered a roll of 43 degrees during the night.” SCARY!

At about 09:00 we began to realize what the problem was:

“NOW HEAR THIS! ALL HANDS, NOT ACTUALLY ON WATCH, REPORT TO THE MAIN DECK WITH AXES, SCRAPERS, CHISELS, HATCHETS, HAMMERS OR OTHER SIMILAR TOOLS, TO BREAK ICE FROM THE MAIN DECK! THE SHIP IS IN DANGER OF CAPSIZING.”

The message was repeated , but that was unnecessary. Every sailor to a man knew the importance of the job ahead. Just one night of thinking, “This roll is the last!” was all it took.

As the topside temperatures had ranged near zero, each wave raging across the Swanson, with its attendant spray, had deposited a thin layer of ice. As time passed, the ice film became thicker, building up weight above the water line to far up on the superstructure. Ice was 2 to 6 inches thick on the forecastledeck and super structure bulkheads. The mass of ½ inch life lines and netting, surrounding the main deck, forward and aft, were a full 7 inches in diameter. It would be difficult to estimate the added weight from all that ice, but I would guess 50 to 100 tons, if not more.

It was a hazardous, life-threatening job. The cold chilled right through to the bone. But these young men went after that ice with a passion. When you see engineers turn out in full force to work topside, you can bet your bottom dollar there’s a good reason. Fortunately, we lost no one over the side, though there were many close calls. By later afternoon, the rolls were nearer to normal. The wind had calmed to a pleasant 5 to 10 knots. The sun was out and temperatures were rising. We really had a lot to be thankful for:

“GOD HAD SAVED THE SAILORS WHO SAIL THE NORTH ATLANTIC.”

The next afternoon the seas had calmed down to where it was safe to transit the main deck, if you used reasonable caution. I needed a bath after 3 days in isolation up forward. I pet my life jacket, then grab the strap, and weigh my chances again the sea – ZOOM ! – I’m off ! Lucky break. I made it!

I’m laying out my shaving gear and heading for the shower, when I hear a blood curdling scream from the head area just aft of the wash room. All of a sudden, this guy crashes in from the head with his dungarees and skivvies at less than half mast, around his ankles. He was cursing and screaming to blue blazes, as he splashed water on his back side. I walked into the head and saw that he had been sitting in the last stall (down stream). One of his friends had taken a loose wad of toilet paper, set it on fire, and let it float gently down the stream to the last stall !

“GOD HELP US ALL WHO GO DOWN TO THE SEA IN SHIPS!”