The Arctic Star

My Dad’s posthumous award of the Arctic Star has been confirmed.  The decoration was bestowed by virtue of the fact that he had served on Arctic Convoys in World War Two.  

He was in the Fleet Air Arm and serviced planes which supposedly provided air cover for the convoy.  I say supposedly because mostly the Arctic weather was so horrendous there was no prospect of the planes flying at all even if their engines were thawed out.  

Most of the time above the Arctic Circle was spent at Action Stations, ready to fight the ship at any moment.  For Dad this consisted of lying on the hangar deck  out of the way of seamen working the ship and gunners defending it.   

Despite the fact that the Canadian and other Allied governments had decorated their Arctic veterans, the British government waited for seventy years to do it.  Too late for my Dad of course but fortunately there are still a number of living recipients of the medal.

There seems little doubt that the decision of successive governments to ignore the service of Arctic veterans owed more to Cold War sabre rattling than to any recognition of hardships in the far north.

In common with most veterans, my Dad didn’t talk a lot about his service.

After the sinking of the General Belgrano during the Malvinas War, he suffered terrible nightmares and flashbacks relating to the time when his ship (the Aircraft Carrier HMS Eagle) was torpedoed in the Mediterranean.  I encouraged him to talk and he told me about what happened on that day.

The carrier was with a convoy taking relief supplies to Malta, at that time besieged by Axis forces. The plan was to get within flying range of the island, fly off their load of fighter planes and turn back to Gibralter.  The planes would land in Malta and provide air cover against the constant bomber raids.

On the 11th of August 1942, the Eagle was hit by four torpedoes from the German submarine U-73. The ship immediately listed to port and all the planes on deck slid into the water, some with their engines still running.

In the lee of the bridge island the fitters kept a large drum of lubricating oil.  This was used to top up the engines of the planes while they idled on the flight deck and were liable to overheat.

With the list of the ship, this barrel overturned its contents all across the flight deck.  My dad related how the Captain came down off the Bridge deck, slipped in the spilled oil and slid all the way into the water.  He was the first person off the ship instead of the last.

When the torpedoes hit, my dad had been at his action station, lying on the hangar deck, keeping out of the way of hands fighting the ship.  It was immediately clear that the ship was going down so he headed for the companionway to the flight deck.  By the time he reached the topside, the ship was literally on its side.  

My Dad had no lifejacket and could not swim.  He knew he needed to get into the water on the side away from where the ship was rolling over.  In his way on the side of the hull now out of the water was a “torpedo blister” a bulge in the hull supposedly to protect the hull from torpedo blasts. It was no defence against torpedoes but was a very real obstacle to the guys who were now trying to get the hell off the ship.

My Dad thought he would take a run at it and stop on top and consider his options.  What actually happened was that he slid right over the top of the slimy green weed and barnacle encrusted blister and went straight into the water.

Fortunately he landed next to a Petty Officer who was adorned with three life-rings and a Mae West lifejacket.  As my Dad said “He’d have been floating yet”.  The PO grabbed him and said “Hold on Jock!”

My Dad then recounted a sight that he never forgot.  One of the cooks had struggled up from a mess deck with a wooden form or bench.  His plan was to throw it in the water to have something to hang onto.  My Dad never forgot the look on the guy’s face when the iron-bound wooden form promptly sank after it was thrown in.

From a ships company of 1060, 131 were lost. For the most part they were in machinery spaces where all watertight doors and hatches were closed. They had no chance. 

Warm summer weather helped those in the water who had managed to escape from the ship to survive the wait till rescue.

After three hours he was picked up by a Destroyer and eventually reached home for two weeks survivors leave.

After five days at home he was recalled from leave by telegram.  Despite his Mother’s fears, he simply ignored the call and reported back to his depot when the fourteen days was up.  Nothing was ever said.