Titanic and Other Ships By Charles Lightoller
Chapter 41 SCROUNGING LEAVE
The Destroyer Flotillas in Dover were always kept at "Five minutes notice," which meant they must be prepared to slip their respective buoys within five minutes of getting the M.K. The custom throughout the Flotillas was to keep everyone on board, except the mailman and wardroom steward whose duties took them ashore and, of course all Skippers went ashore.
This lack of freedom did not make for happy ships, particularly with the shore so near and crowds promenading up and down the seafront. If any Skipper did let any of his men ashore, he took the risk and chanced a good scrubbing if by chance the M.K. was suddenly made and he had to put to sea and leave any of his crew behind; as, unless the man hid until the ship returned, he was sure to be ticketed by an M.P. and that would, or course, give the whole show away.
However, the Falcon never came in without at least one Watch getting a few hours to stretch their legs and we managed thuswise.
As soon as we got to the buoy, the whaler and dinghy were at once called away and the men concerned being already dressed for the beach, were landed. All were on their honour not to leave the seafront, or, if they did, for one or more to remain and keep an eye on the ship and in case the "Recall" was hoisted, to be able to make touch with the others, the whole party to be in the boats within four minutes, leaving one minute to get on board. (On more than one occasion I had to slip and pick up the last boat as I went past the pier end.) I must say the Powers were very lenient and winked at a good deal, so long as I was not caught out--though it was freely prophesied, both afloat and ashore, that one day we should get our Waterloo!
We were cutting it pretty fine, I knew, but somehow, we managed it. Of course, in the first instance, I had fell in the hands and explained the situation clearly; if they let me down, I should get an almighty scrubbing--perhaps a Court of Enquiry and they would get no more Special Leave, as it was called.
However, it worked like a dream. It kept the men as happy as sandboys, gave them something to look forward to and talk about in the night watches and, what is more, I never had a man up for punishment the whole time I had command of her.
I gave Number One complete discretion as regards granting leave, with the result that there was not a smarter ship in the Division, or even in the Flotilla. Number One need only threaten to stop the Watch's "Special" if someone was not up to scratch, for the remainder of the Watch to turn on the offender and nearly rend him to pieces. I really think they valued that hour or two of Special Leave far more than any legitimate leave. Partly, I suppose on account of the element of risk, partly because they could swing it on the other ships, but mainly as sheer relief from the deadly monotony of each other's company in such confined quarters.
On one occasion I had to leave one man short. Twice with two men short, but the crew had a funk hole arranged for just such a happening, where the miscreants hid their sorrowing heads till the ship returned and their chums brought up a current Leave Chit.
Personally, I had my own private recall signal, which I could always see from the house--situated as we luckily were, on the seafront.
One night when it was blowing a gale of wind from the S.W. and usual beast of a sea was rolling into the harbour, I was pacing up and down the dining-room keeping an eye on the ship, when suddenly I saw the "Recall."
Grabbing my greatcoat and slamming my cap on my head, I dashed off for the Naval Pier, where the whaler would be waiting. I arrived at the end of the pier soaking, but there was no whaler. I dashed into the signal hut, to tell them to make a signal to the Falcon for her to send the whaler in at once. A signal-man had just commenced taking a signal at the time and he pointed to his pad. I, to my horror slowly read word by word, as the signal came through from my First Lieutenant. "Falcon-to-Capt.-D-stop-regret-to-report-having-been-rammed-in-the-stern- by-Nimrod-and-cut-down-to-water-line-stop." Here was I ashore (where I had no business to be) and she, perhaps sinking. I couldn't break in on the signal and tell them to send the boat; I must stand helpless and impotent, waiting for the remainder of that signal, whatever it might mean.
Dimly, through the swelter and rain, I could see her rolling, heavily in the seaway and to my perfervid imagination, she seemed distinctly deeper in the water. Was she sinking? All this and much more flashed through my mind as I stood almost holding my breath, until the signal-man continued and to my utter relief, I read, "Water-well-under-control-stop-in no-immediate-danger-1030."
Just then the whaler came alongside the pier and in I jumped.
Dark and raining though it was, there was a very obvious grin on every face. With very good reason, too!
We were due out on patrol the next day and would have been out over Christmas Day in that S.W. gale. Even if it eased up the sea would have been beastly. Now we were in harbour and there was every likelihood of staying there. No wonder there were smiling faces. The next week, thanks to our good friend Nimrod, saw us on our way round to Portsmouth, for a refit and to repair the damaged stern.
During our two strenuous years of service in the Patrol, we had a mavellous run of luck and escape from accident. Apart from making violent contact between my propellers and Hills Bank, just outside Dunkirk, we hadn't scratched the paintwork. But the Nimrod seemed to have broken the spell and her effort turned out to be the opening chorus to a whole chapter of accidents--with Finis written at the end.
The next trouble started though going up Portsmouth Harbour at 16 knots, exactly the same speed I used in Dover, or anywhere else for that matter. What I didn't know, was, that the rigid maximum for Portsmouth was 8 knots. Furthermore, it happened to be a very high tide and we sent to water shooshing right up the streets, which in many places are just on high-water level. Evidently there was some delay or difficulty in locating the actual culprit, but the authorities, though much too late then to impale the criminal, consoled themselves by determining to catch us on the way out, when they thought we should, no doubt, do the same trick. Well, we didn't and for the very good reason that the whole harbour was shrouded in a regular pea-soup fog.
From leaving the wharf we saw not a thing till we got up to the forts at the entrance to the Harbour (neither could anyone see us). Then we saw nothing till Beachy Head and only a glimpse of that. The fog still thick as a hedge, we made the best of our way to the entrance to Dover, which although buried in fog, we managed to make our numbers and get permission to enter by sound signal, we made fast to a buoy for a couple of hours and when it cleared went into Granville Dock for a boiler clean. Then came the second patch of bad luck. We rather prided ourselves on being able to slip our buoy and make fast in Granville Dock in the record time of nine minutes, where others sometimes took the best part of an hour. I used the same old speed, namely 16 knots, a speed which gave one perfect control with those powerful engines. It wasn't altogether swank that induced me to use that speed, it was the fact that I knew from experience that a Destroyer, like an Atlantic liner, is easier handled at a high speed.
We had landed the man who usually attended the engine-room telegraphs, as he was also the mailman. The Yeoman of Signals, who ordinarily would have been on the Searchlight Platform, was taking duty at the telegraphs.
To handle the telegraphs, he had to stand facing aft and the result was that he did not see the flag of a diving party working at the Dock Entrance. Worse still, he didn't see that they had the red flag mastheaded, signifying the diver was down. The diver, by a curious coincidence, was working on the wreck of a Destroyer that had come to grief in a gale of wind and sunk for the very reason that the skipper was not using enough power on his engines and thereby lost control of his ship. As a result, she fell on the stone knuckle, smashed up and sunk.
When the Yeoman did, at last, see the flag, and reported it to me that divers were down, it was too late to stop her. If I had then come astern on the engines I should only have churned up the water and endangered the diver still more. So I did the best I could in the circumstances and just stopped the engines, letting her run with her own way.
The Commander in charge of the diving party was naturally mad, thinking I had purposely ignored his flag. Still, if he had come to me, I would have explained how difficult it was to see his old flag, which was abominably dirty, and was up against a brick wall a few shades dirtier.
Worse was to follow.
Having passed the diver, we at once went to our 16 knots again and shot in through the lock gates. At the best of times with the dock empty it was always touch and go getting through these gates and swinging at an immediate right angle. This time there was, by further rotten luck, a transport lying in the far corner, where we had to moor.
Immediately the stern was clear of the end of the lock, as usual, I put the helm hard a port and went half speed astern on the starboard engine which should swing her round eight points in her own length. Unfortunately, the Yeoman instead of putting the starboard telegraph to half speed astern, put it ahead. Seeing that she was gathering way instead of stopping, I gave the order "Full speed astern both." He then put both telegraphs to "Full speed ahead." Of course, she just leapt across the dock and though, in a couple of seconds more I did succeed in getting the "Full Speed Astern" she crumpled up her bow like a piece of paper on the transport in the corner.
The Yeoman was a good fellow and owned up to his mistake like a man, when I taxed him with how it had happened. So I told him not to worry, that I would get him out of it somehow, or the other and I wended my way round to Headquarters to report my mishap.
I was saluted with "Hello, what have you been up to?"
Naturally thinking Captain "D" alluded to my little mishap in the dock, I started with,
"Well, you see, sir, the telegraphs were unfortunately put the wrong way and before I could regain control, we crashed into the transport. I'm awfully sorry, sir, I'm afraid it means another dockyard."
He asked me what on earth I was rambling about.
"Aren't you speaking about my smash in Granville dock, sir?"
"Am I the devil! You've been reported by the C. in C. Portsmouth for leaving that harbour at an excessive speed and now you have just been reported again for passing a Diving Party also at an excessive speed. On top of that you tell me you have crashed in Granville Dock and rammed a Transport. You can't think of anything else while you are on the subject, can you?"
It needed a deep breath before I could start in and tell him, that in the first place, they were infernal liars in Portsmouth, that the Diving Party's flag was too dirty to distinguish up against the brick wall and, finally that the Yeoman in consequence was so upset he forgot he was facing aft and put the telegraphs to Full Ahead instead of Full Astern.
I must say I was really a bit surprised myself, when at last he did seem to come round to my point of view.
Of course I explained how in ignorance I had entered Portsmouth and gone up the harbour at an undoubtedly excessive speed, but that the Dockyard authorities had been too slow in the uptake to hang the blame on the Falcon. Furthermore, that I knew full well they were out for my blood and had determined to catch me on the way out. Not only was I just as determined they should not catch me, but in any case they had been completely defeated by the fog. When I suggested that Dover should call for a weather report on the date in question, I think Captain "D" saw the joke and called. They must have settled it between them, for I heard nothing more of that little episode.
To the Commander of the Diving Party, I submitted an abject apology--and suggested he should requisition a new flag, more in keeping with his dignity and the importance of the work he had in hand--or send the old one to the laundry. I heard nothing more from him, so that was another out of the way.
Next, I was asked what punishment I proposed to mete out to the Yeoman of Signals--since in the Service the punishment must always fit the crime. I submitted that he was a damn good man--that it wasn't his job on the telegraphs anyhow, furthermore, if he had been in his proper place, on the signal platform, he would have seen the Diver's flag and, in short, I didn't propose to do anything.
"But you must do something in order that I can report that the necessary disciplinary steps have been taken."
"All right, sir," I said, "I'll reprimand him." (which is the lowest scale of punishment on the list). Even so, it would still have gone on the Charge Sheet and might have affected his promotion, just then due.
After thinking it over, I had him fell-in and just said, "Consider yourself reprimanded." (The only point was that I had not reprimanded him.) I walked away chuckling to myself at the blank look of the Master-at-Arms, trying to puzzle out what he should enter in his precious book. Finally he appealed to the First Lieutenant, who, in turn, asked me what I wanted entered. I told him I was not a bit interested in what was entered; with the result that nothing was entered and the Yeoman in due course got his promotion without losing a single day.
Just out of sheer cussedness it would seem, the crew being Portsmouth men, we were sent up to Hull to refit and whilst there, the orders came that the whole of my Division was to be transferred to the 6th Flotilla with its base on Immingham, at the mouth of the Humber. We were finished and had unwittingly said good-bye to Dover and the hectic life of the Dover Patrol. Most of us were frankly sorry, for although it had been a life that called for the best in a man--and took the most--still it was real life and the one and only stretch of sea where one was in close and constant touch with Jerry the Hun.
The reason for our transfer was that with the new minefield laid and the installing of Lightships with their three million candle power flares, the Straits had become a shade too unhealthy even for the ubiquitous Bosche. In fact, one could safely say, after many years of experimenting, that the Straits were absolutely and effectively closed.
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