Part III: Commissioning Canada's Fightingest Ship, and Fighting Aboard Her – HMCS Haida
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/HMCS_Haida_(G63)
http://hmcshaida.ca
So, I took the train to Glasgow first, and then went from there to Newcastle. When all of the pre-commission crew arrived, there were about twenty of us. I do not remember all of them, but I do recall First Lieutenant ******** (a very fine officer), the two Lieutenants ******** (they were brothers -- one a gunnery officer and the other a torpedo officer). Also present were the engine room's officers and crew. None of us, officers included, had much money, and we soon found out that there was no paymaster.
First Lieutenant ******** went to the British naval base and arranged for them to advance us money until we could be paid by a Canadian paymaster. They must have assumed that Canada was not a very affluent country, because we didn't receive more than three pounds a week in pay. We received that amount for about three months, and when we finally started getting paid by the Canadian paymaster, my advance from the RN was not deducted. For about a year I bragged that I had beaten the Royal Navy out of one hundred and twenty-five dollars. Then the axe fell, and the British got their money back.
As an aside, I feel that I need to mention here that the people of Newcastle were very good to us. We always had our beer at a pub just outside the dockyard gates, and if we ran out of money, the bartender would just say "don't worry, matey, I'll just put it on a tab."
When the full crew finally arrived (numbering two hundred and seventy-six: above regular specifications) before the commissioning, all of them were going over the ship and examining every single part of her. She was sleek, beautiful, deadly-looking – state-of-the-art. Since the boilers were not to be fired until after commissioning, our meals were to consist of cold cuts, buttered rolls, fresh fruit, and other delicacies that the British had not seen for four years. While the new crew members were sightseeing, a number of us from the pre-commissioning crew took some generous portions of these rations ashore to our friends in the pub. All hands then fell in on the dockyard, and we found out what kind of a sailor we were going to have as our commander.
I can still see him standing there before us.
"I am Harry G. DeWolf. I do not have any medals, but I am going home with a chestful. You may call me glory bound, and if any of you do not wish to serve with me, you can step ahead, and you will be excused without any penalty."
Some did, and he simply nodded at them to stand off to the side. Harry then went down the line, spoke to some men he knew, and singled out three petty officers. He asked them to step out, and told them that they were relieved of duty. None of the other POs knew why, and I never found out.
We spent a week on workups in the North Sea and, all being well, we went north to Scapa Flow to join the 10th Destroyer Flotilla.
Scapa Flow was a very miserable place in winter (probably not much better in the summer), and we got very little shore time -- a couple of hours in the evening. We spent most of our time at sea.
Convoys to Murmansk only went north in the winter months. The last summer convoy, which went out in July of 1942, lost thirty-four out of forty-one freighters on the way to the Kola inlet. They had been hit by one hundred and thirty bombers, forty-three torpedo bombers, and, supposedly, as many as ten or more U-boats that came out of Norway. After that, convoys only travelled to Russia when the days were short and the weather was miserable. On our first trip, we encountered very little trouble. We picked up some German surveillance planes on our radar, but they never came close enough to be engaged.
Back to Scapa with two days to refuel and take on supplies. In the British navy, tradition had it that ships that were to be away at Christmas took on additional supplies of alcoholic beverages to celebrate the holiday. I suppose that the Admiralty were worried that with all of the extra booze there could be trouble between the our sailors and the Russians, so as the anti-submarine barriers were being opened to allow the destroyer escorts out, the order came that all ships were to come alongside the supply ship and give back their Christmas spirits, and they did, one after another, until Haida was the only one left. Haida was ordered to hurry up, as the gates were due to close. DeWolf replied that he was having engine trouble. Then, as the gates were closing at the last minute, DeWolf took Haida through, still with our booze -- typical Harry response to orders that he didn't like.
The first convoy had been easy, but this one was to be a very different affair. It has been written about many times – JW55B, on the periphery of The Battle of North Cape. (
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Battle_of_North_Cape)
The Germans had been allowing us easy convoys – maybe in the hopes that they would make us over-confident – and had decided that this time, they would send the Scharnhorst out from Norway. Scharnhorst was the ultimate battlecruiser. Our guns and those of the cruisers were absolutely no match for hers. Our best hope was the River-class destroyers. They had six torpedo launchers, whereas we had only four. DeWolf managed the rear of the convoy, and ordered the Tribals to stay with the convoy, and the Rivers were ordered to launch torpedos in an attempt to slow the Scharnhorst down on those two occasions when she approached. Thankfully, she bumped into another convoy which my good friend Bunny *******, having transferred to HMCS Athabaskan, was part of. The Scharnhorst butted heads for a bit, and the Duke of York eventually caught and sank her. We continued to Kola.
It was a terrible town. The only half-decent building was the Opera House. Three of us decided that we would go ashore and buy a bottle of real Russian vodka. *********, an able seaman, heard we were going and asked if he could join us. He told us that his parents had come from Russia, and that they now farmed in a Russian community. We welcomed him, and away we went. We found a shop that didn't look too bad, and went in. *********, spoke, and only God knows what he said, because the next thing we knew, we were surrounded by uniformed KGB officers. Fortunately, one of them did know a little English, and when we explained that we were only trying to get a bottle of vodka, we were let go. We never did get our vodka. When I was given a book on the Haida for Christmas, 2003, there was a list of personnel who were given decorations. Aside from Harry (who, as he promised, had a ton of medals), only ********* received a major medal. Lord knows what he did. I wish I could have been there for the presentation.
We sailed for Scapa and arrived there on a terrible night with strong winds. We were ordered to tie up alongside the oiler to refuel. I was in charge of the quarterdeck, and our job was to bring a heavy steel cable out of the hold. We had it half out when the ship took an awful lurch and a couple of the seamen lost their grip. The cable started back down the hold. I tried to pull it back, but being significantly lighter than it was (of course), I went down with it. I climbed back up the ladder. I still don't know how I did it, since I did have a broken arm. I guess I was so mad that I just ignored the pain. We got the ship tied up, and one of the other men said "Look at your arm!" It had an extra angle in it. So, I went to the sickbay, and the ship's surgeon said that both my arm and my nose were broken.
I was transferred to the hospital ship HMS Isle of Jersey, anchored in Scapa Flow. On arriving, I was taken to the sickbay and seen by the ship's surgeon. I had X-rays taken of my nose and arm (they missed my fractured vertebrae, which would be found by Dr. George Case at St. Joseph's Hospital in Guelph, Ontario, many years later – I myself was a practicing physician by that time). I was told that I would be operated on the following day.