J
jollyjacktar
Guest
Came across this in the SOMNIA, shared with the usual caveats. 
Ever been torpedoed? Well, it's like this ...
By Dave Brown, The Ottawa Citizen August 23, 2010
In war, even when nothing is exploding, fate can deal a sailor a bad day. It was that kind of day in the English Channel in the spring of 1944 when Alex Polowin, 19, was among half a dozen seamen from the destroyer HMCS Huron hit by a torpedo. They survived, but it was a day frozen into their memories by the cold salt water of the Channel.
Sixty-six years later Polowin is a semi-retired insurance broker living on Riverside Drive. He was organizing some files recently and an old undated letter from a shipmate turned up, bringing a sudden rush of memory, and a wry smile he thought he should share. It's one of those war stories that don't find its way into history books. The letter was written by George MacDonald of Gananoque. When he wrote it, he was struggling, trying to find how to correctly answer a question. It was about his war experiences in the navy. Was he ever torpedoed? He wrote to Polowin, wondering how his old friend would answer that question.
On that day a lifetime ago, Huron was one of many ships sent out prior to the D-Day invasion to clear the sea of enemy ships. The crew of Huron thought of it almost as a cruise. They had been on Arctic convoy duty, and the English Channel, though far from balmy, would be a welcome change.
A drill was ordered. Huron would fire a practice torpedo, with a Skate Class destroyer volunteering as the target. The dummy torpedo would cause no damage and could be recovered. After the exercise, a whaler was launched from Huron with orders to recover the practice torpedo. In charge of the expedition was a leading seaman who had earned the nickname "Salty." Half a dozen men rowing a big whaler in rough water makes for hard work. They were made nervous by two things. The target ship and Huron suddenly sailed away at full speed. Such action could have meant they had sniffed a submarine in the area, or enemy ships were about.
Alone on the deep blue with a freshening wind, one of them had a question for Salty. How far would they have to row? His answer was the other thing that made them nervous. He said torpedoes seldom ran more than five miles. They figured they had rowed half a mile, and were close to pooped. They were never sure when Salty was kidding. It was luck that they found the dummy torpedo. The sea had built up and waves were breaking into the boat. When it was spotted, it had little buoyancy and the head was occasionally bobbing above water but, in the rough sea, it seldom showed itself. They rowed towards it. They were at a spot they thought it should be, but it was nowhere in sight.
Oh, there it is -- right at their feet. A wave had picked up the whaler and dropped it on the torpedo, which came through the hull. Things weren't too bad with the dud weapon serving as a plug for the hole, but another wave lifted the boat clear. The hole was too big to patch, and bailing couldn't keep up. The whaler had flotation tanks, so wouldn't sink. But in short order the crewmen were sitting in waist deep water, getting a quick reminder about just how cold it was. Somebody managed to get a line attached to the torpedo, and there they sat with waves frequently breaking over their heads.
Eventually, one of them spotted smoke on the horizon. Now fear was added to the cold brew of their circumstances. It could be an enemy ship. "Those were a couple of long hours," recalled Polowin. "A lot goes through your mind." It was Huron, and it was cold comfort. The ship lay off and the waterlogged whaler had to be rowed to within hailing distance. As soon as communication was possible, they heard a shout from the ship. It was a suggestion they bail. All sailors can be a bit salty under such circumstances, and they cussed their way to their ship fuelled by dreams of hot food and dry clothes. It wasn't to be. As soon as their feet hit steel deck they were ordered to action stations. There were enemy aircraft about. "Just a day in the life of a sailor," said MacDonald in his letter.
As for an answer to the question: Where you ever torpedoed? They long ago agreed the answer should be: "Yeah. Sort of."
brady.brown@bell.net
© Copyright (c) The Ottawa Citizen
Ever been torpedoed? Well, it's like this ...
By Dave Brown, The Ottawa Citizen August 23, 2010
In war, even when nothing is exploding, fate can deal a sailor a bad day. It was that kind of day in the English Channel in the spring of 1944 when Alex Polowin, 19, was among half a dozen seamen from the destroyer HMCS Huron hit by a torpedo. They survived, but it was a day frozen into their memories by the cold salt water of the Channel.
Sixty-six years later Polowin is a semi-retired insurance broker living on Riverside Drive. He was organizing some files recently and an old undated letter from a shipmate turned up, bringing a sudden rush of memory, and a wry smile he thought he should share. It's one of those war stories that don't find its way into history books. The letter was written by George MacDonald of Gananoque. When he wrote it, he was struggling, trying to find how to correctly answer a question. It was about his war experiences in the navy. Was he ever torpedoed? He wrote to Polowin, wondering how his old friend would answer that question.
On that day a lifetime ago, Huron was one of many ships sent out prior to the D-Day invasion to clear the sea of enemy ships. The crew of Huron thought of it almost as a cruise. They had been on Arctic convoy duty, and the English Channel, though far from balmy, would be a welcome change.
A drill was ordered. Huron would fire a practice torpedo, with a Skate Class destroyer volunteering as the target. The dummy torpedo would cause no damage and could be recovered. After the exercise, a whaler was launched from Huron with orders to recover the practice torpedo. In charge of the expedition was a leading seaman who had earned the nickname "Salty." Half a dozen men rowing a big whaler in rough water makes for hard work. They were made nervous by two things. The target ship and Huron suddenly sailed away at full speed. Such action could have meant they had sniffed a submarine in the area, or enemy ships were about.
Alone on the deep blue with a freshening wind, one of them had a question for Salty. How far would they have to row? His answer was the other thing that made them nervous. He said torpedoes seldom ran more than five miles. They figured they had rowed half a mile, and were close to pooped. They were never sure when Salty was kidding. It was luck that they found the dummy torpedo. The sea had built up and waves were breaking into the boat. When it was spotted, it had little buoyancy and the head was occasionally bobbing above water but, in the rough sea, it seldom showed itself. They rowed towards it. They were at a spot they thought it should be, but it was nowhere in sight.
Oh, there it is -- right at their feet. A wave had picked up the whaler and dropped it on the torpedo, which came through the hull. Things weren't too bad with the dud weapon serving as a plug for the hole, but another wave lifted the boat clear. The hole was too big to patch, and bailing couldn't keep up. The whaler had flotation tanks, so wouldn't sink. But in short order the crewmen were sitting in waist deep water, getting a quick reminder about just how cold it was. Somebody managed to get a line attached to the torpedo, and there they sat with waves frequently breaking over their heads.
Eventually, one of them spotted smoke on the horizon. Now fear was added to the cold brew of their circumstances. It could be an enemy ship. "Those were a couple of long hours," recalled Polowin. "A lot goes through your mind." It was Huron, and it was cold comfort. The ship lay off and the waterlogged whaler had to be rowed to within hailing distance. As soon as communication was possible, they heard a shout from the ship. It was a suggestion they bail. All sailors can be a bit salty under such circumstances, and they cussed their way to their ship fuelled by dreams of hot food and dry clothes. It wasn't to be. As soon as their feet hit steel deck they were ordered to action stations. There were enemy aircraft about. "Just a day in the life of a sailor," said MacDonald in his letter.
As for an answer to the question: Where you ever torpedoed? They long ago agreed the answer should be: "Yeah. Sort of."
brady.brown@bell.net
© Copyright (c) The Ottawa Citizen
