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During late 1943 Harold Taylor, at only 17 years old, got his call up papers from the Merchant Navy to go to Cardiff where he was to board the SS Bridgepool, bound for Gibraltar. Harold recalls:
The night before we sailed I seem to think I had a night ashore with those that would be my immediate mates, in particular, Bernard. He seemed to be obsessed with women. We sailed down to Milford Haven in convoy where we stayed for about a fortnight waiting for the rest of the ships to assemble for the convoy. In that period we went ashore only twice. Just as well, as some crew jumped ship each time. The pub we used, The Kitchener, is still in existence today.
After about 14 days the convoy that had assembled set sail, passing out through the headland during the afternoon. It was a miserable day and we were to test our guns as we turned north up the St George's Channel. The second mate was classified as Gunnery Officer and I was designated to go aft and help him. I would receive instructions from the bridge by telephone and relay them to the second officer. There were Oerlikon 20mm cannons for anti-aircraft attack, and a 4.5 inch naval gun on the stern for submarine attack, manned by some of the 9 DEMS gunners (defensively equipped merchant ships).
Above the gun was another platform on which was mounted a pillar box anti-aircraft rocket device. On this platform was the telephone where I would receive the messages. The pillar-box, so named because of its appearance, although in this day and age it would probably have been called a Dalek, housed the firer. On each side of the pillar-box were racks in which rockets were set, six on each side. These were tubes about three feet long and 2 inches in diameter.
As we turned northwards after leaving the harbour, it started to rain but the visibility was still good enough for the Oerlikons to fire at the drogue being towed behind a passing aircraft. However, we were having difficulty seeing the floating target towed by a tug. I received the instructions from the bridge and passed them on as a deluge of rain fell, obscuring the target entirely. Nevertheless, the second mate ordered fire.
The barrel of the gun was just below where I was standing and the flame and heat curled back over me. It was a bit of a shock, but an experience to be wary of another time. We travelled northwards during the night. I was on watch from midnight till 4 a.m.
I had not long been on watch when there was a bit of a rumble. I did not take a lot of notice, my worst thoughts were that we had bumped the ship in front, there only being half a mile between us and only a very faint blue light on each stern. There seemed to be a little activity and I could not hear the engines. The radio cabin was in a small room behind the chart room of the bridge, but had no access to it other than a small trap hatch about the size of a letterbox.
There was another door in the cabin which led into the chief spark's cabin, but was now sealed as the watchroom was shared by several of us, but would normally have been open for him when the ship had been only a single operator ship. In those days he would have covered 8 hours of watch keeping, laid down by International Agreement; the rest of the day would be covered by an automatic alarm system that would pick up distress signals.
So this first night at sea was to be eventful, although I was not to know it at the time. Eventually I was informed through the letterbox that we were being taken in tow. This information I passed on to my relief at 4 a.m. when the chief took over. I was not to know what had happened till breakfast later. It seems that an explosion had taken place in one of the holds. Fortunately the hatches had not been battened down, otherwise it is thought that the pressure would have gone down through the bottom of the ship.
As it was, the explosion had blown all the hatch boards except one overboard; the one left was on the Monkey Island, which is above the bridge. The beams that support the hatch covers were blown up through the wooden derricks, which had been fastened down. These were 14-inch thick timbers and had been chopped into three pieces as the two beams went up. The centre section had gone overboard, as the end of the derricks was tethered down. The mate had had all his stores on that hatch ready for stowage and they had all gone, as well as about half the coal that had been in the hold.
We headed back to Milford eventually, under our own steam. The incident was described as being off Holyhead, but I presume it was parallel to it and was probably off Bardsey. In later years I was to be stationed there and there was talk of a coal ship that had gone down off the island. The locals had gone out in their boats and collected the floating coal, which they used for years after. In fact when I was there in the late 50's, they were still reputed to be using some of that coal.
One mystery remained from that event. On each side of the bridge was a lifeboat. The one outside the wireless cabin had had its quick release gear undone and it was always suggested that it was me, though I had not moved from my post, but none would believe it. I feel it might have been Bernard or one of the ABs on watch on the bridge that night.
After twelve hours we were back in Milford, where we were to await an investigation and repairs before setting sail once again. All new hatch boards had to be made and the beams taken ashore for straightening and new derricks fitted. As I recall it now I seem to think that we were there another fortnight. The result of the enquiry was that the explosion was an act of sabotage, because the white powder indications of spontaneous combustion were absent. I typed out the report for the skipper on a portable machine owned by the third engineer. I understand that there were quite a few of these incidents from the Welsh ports.
Eventually we got under way again and this vessel of Ropners Navy was in action. Sir Robert Ropner was of mid European origin, who came to England and made good. He changed his name to a more pronounceable one during the First World War and made his home at Stockton-On-Tees. The place I think is called Preston Place and is now a museum. His fleet of small Tramps mainly plied to the South Americas. Ours was an old reciprocating job built in Scotland before the turn of the century. There were few refinements. The steering was direct via chains along the deck to the rudder, I do not think there was a steering engine.
To get distilled water for the batteries I had to go in a dimly lit engine room and collect the water as it dripped out of a condenser. The ship was of the three-island construction; the deck crew living forward in the fo'c'stle, the deck officer amidships, the engineer officers in cabins above the engine room and the stokers and trimmers aft. There was no refrigerating, only an icebox that did not keep food indefinitely.
There were two hatches forward, one plus a small bunkering hatch between the bridge and the engine room, and a further two hatches aft. In rough weather safety ropes would be stretched along the well decks to assist seamen and stokers coming to and from their quarters. The gunners also had quarters aft.
The ship had its duty free stores, but there was little you could get other than chocolates and cigarettes. The only person allowed spirits was the senior officer of each department and that was only on the ration of one bottle a month, which was mainly consumed on the day of issue. Our chief was generous in that he usually invited us round for a taste, before these four chiefs congregated in one or the others cabins and consumed the rest. All the time we were lying in harbour however, we were not able to get the stuff as Customs would come aboard and seal the Bond.
We left Milford Haven and headed north up the Irish Sea once again turning westward. I recall seeing the Mull of Kintyre and the Ailsa Crag - no wonder they named an onion after it. They were quite impressive to be seen for the first time by someone who had not been to sea before. The scheme of things those days was to head out into the Atlantic beyond the range of U-boats, before heading south towards the original destination. This of course put days on the journey.
I believe the mileage to Gibraltar from London was 1050. We took 14 days, and if I recall correctly our Navigation officer told me our trip was 2300 miles, but that hardly seems possible as our top speed was only 7 knots. In fact it was a 7-knot convoy and we had a job to keep up with that. Frequently we would be met by one of the escorting Corvettes playing the tune 'Get along little doggie get along' over the tannoy.
The chief sparks had a bit of a problem with nightmares. His cabin was just through a blocked up communicating door to the wireless cabin, so one could hear almost every movement. Every time the chief was sleeping, day or night, you would hear him shout or protest over some indeterminable thing. I later learned that these bad dreams were supposed to relate to his experiences during the Spanish Civil War, which had ceased not long before the European conflict had begun. He had apparently been a volunteer, although I never heard him talk of the fact.
The equipment on the ship was very poor, being a very old tramp steamer. Our main transmitter was a ΒΌ kW Quench Gap Spark Transmitter. The receiver was a Marconi 352A, which seemed to be a standardised model, although possibly because of the war and the wish to reduce re-radiation, there were a number of added coils. Again these may have been fitted to assist in reception in distant parts of the BAMS, for which we listened to receive all our coded signals. I think that the initials stood for British Admiralty Merchant Signals.
We were not allowed to transmit, so you could say the transmitter was only there for emergency. For convoy work we were equipped with a Marconi TV5 Radio Telephone Transmitter; a very useful instrument but again due to the radio silence in force, only used in emergency. Our W/T call sign was GKFS, but due to wartime working was not used. Our wartime call sign that year was GT4UK, for which there is another comic tale.
For use with the R/T was a list of call signs, all of which were bird names. Not being aware when I first went aboard of the change of ship's call signs, the list was pinned alongside the transmitter and because of the manner in which the chief had written his 4, I read the call sign for the R/T as GTAUK. I suppose if I had not been a bird-orientated person, I would not have known there was such a bird as the great auk. I often wondered if in the first days at sea I missed any messages.
Eventually the SS Bridgepool arrived in Gibraltar, where Harold and Bernard spent a week of exploring the local bars and shops, attending gunnery courses and even going to Sunday mass at a Catholic Cathedral.
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