Chapter 5 "Camooflarge"; Cameos of the Little Ships; Solid Ivory;

"CAMOOFLARGE"

I am hanging over the ship's side with a paint pot in one hand and a brush in the other and there is nothing between me and the deep blue briny but the wobbling stage I am trying to sit on. And it is all because of the Buffer.

"Camooflarge, sir," he says to the Jimmy. "That's what she needs. A good thick drop of camoo-blooming-flarge and she'll look like a regular battler."

Now Dainty is the first ship that Jimmy has been jimmy of, and he thinks it would be good to be Jimmy of a battler so he says, "Very well, Petty Officer Trillby, I'll get a design ready."

In case you are a landlubber and not shipmates with camooflarge, so to speak, I'd better tell you that camooflarge is what makes the enemy think you're somewhere else when you really aren't.

This is most disturbing to the enemy and this lets you strike what is called the first blow, only it's a large sized prodgey and not a blow at all.

The only thing that cannot be camooflarged Is smoke, but our side are working on that. Anyway it is all because of the Buffer and his camooflarge that I am still painting and my Oppo Bluey is still painting and everyone else has gone ashore.

It appears that the Jimmy says to the Old Man, "Sir, I think it would be a good idea to paint ship and I would like to suggest camooflarge, sir, if I may."

The Old Man thinks it over and the Jimmy shows him a picture of a camooflarged battler. So before you could say "S.2468 Able Seaman Henry String" or even just plain "String" he has been sold the idea.

The Buffer and the Jimmy man the motor boat and they go up and down the ship's sides marking it with chalk and then they wander out a bit and have a look. Next they come back and move the chalk narks a bit and then repeat same. All the time I am thinking "A pair of Leonardo der Vinchies" and so is my Oppo Bluey.

Well, the Buffer comes aboard and gets the ship's painter and tells him how to mix the paint, and sure enough the pots are soon lined up on deck and the paint is a thick drop and no mistake.

Bluey and I not being the pushing sort hang back a bit but when we see there are only two pots left and also two of us left we decide these pots are ours. Anyway the Jimmy is looking. So we pick them up and waltz off.

Now I am somewhat partial to the leeward side, so I grab the billy and over I go carrying the brush in the pot until I reach the stage. Bluey is not so particular because he takes the windward side. Or perhaps he is particular but that is the only side where there is any room.

These chalk lines are easy to see and I begin to slap the old paint on. I am a good hand at this sort of thing because my old man is a pavement artist, but I do not like the shade of paint I am using which is not pastel but is almost black. I would not mind even if it were really black, but it is also trying to be some other colour too.

However, since we have a patch each and the Buffer says we have permission to land as soon as this patch is finished, I slap, slap, slap with no end of gusto, so to speak.

The patch forrard of me is a nice green colour but I cannot see the patch up aft yet although I reckon that if I keep up the good old work I'll be a liberty man to clean and collect shore leave almost any tick of the old dickery dock. I hope Bluey is doing his best, too, but I think maybe he is handicapped because he chose the windward side.

I have not far to go, now, and I have done a good job and no mistake. Like a new pin, I think, like a new pin, Able Seaman String, although I know only hatpins are black and then some of them aren't.

It seems funny to me though because notice that the bloke aft of me is also using my colour paint and I think this is strange because I know that two blacks can't make a white, as the saying goes. Anyway, what will happen when we meet, because instead of two patches we will have only one and that is not good camooflarge?

Just then however the old ship begins to rock a bit and the stage I am sitting on rocks too. The motor boat is screaming past and the Buffer is screaming too, and no mistake.

"What the ... are you doing, String, you . ? " he yells. I cannot hear the rest because of the wind, but I reckon it is only profanity because the Buffer is very good at it.

I tell him, "Why I am camooflarging, Buffer," and then he slows down the motor boat and comes alongside me and says something softly which I do not care to repeat. Then he says a lot more things and I gather I have used the wrong colour.

I wait patiently until he has finished and then I say there were only two pots left and that I took one and Bluey took the other. Then he begins yelling again and the motor boat starts off and he goes round the other side and this time I can hear every word because the wind is blowing this way. He is bottling Bluey this time and it is not a very sociable bottle, believe you me.

Well, I clamber back on deck and Bluey clambers on deck too. The rest of the ship's company are getting tiddlied up to go ashore, but Bluey and I we have nearly emptied our pots so we have to mix more paint. Now we are swinging on our stages re-camooflarging the camooflarge. And I am on the windward side.

SUB-LIEUTENANT J. F. M.

CAMEOS OF THE LITTLE SHIPS

THE little ships have kept the seas, off the Australian coast, since the outbreak of war. Ceaselessly they carry on, on their mysterious occasions; no glamour or limelight attaching to their endless joumeyings to and fro, often within sight of the coastline, but in waters in which lurk all the perils of modem war at sea. For weeks on end, with little more than a few hours in harbour at a time to relieve the monotony. Roughly, once a week, in they come to refuel, take on fresh provisions, and replace ammunition. The fortunate watch ashore find a few brief moments to drink a pot or two of beer in congenial surroundings, spend an hour or so with kith or kin, and then away again.

The ships, at times, have been at sea on every day for forty to fifty days without a whole day's break, until the welcome and imperative boiler cleaning gives relief for perhaps a week at most. That is the story of the little ships, of which nobody hears. In a Silent Service this is the most silent part of it-the

sloops, "corvettes", and lesser craft, besides a host of converted merchant vessels which, with the addition of a "sting" in head and tail, play their part in, firstly, keeping intruders away and, secondly, dealing with those that venture where their presence becomes a menace.

With the advent of Hirohito's minions into the fray, the little ships found a new activity to add to the minesweeping and surveying of the earlier stages of the war. In Australian waters the midgets had wider duties in escorting and patrolling, and tackling the screaming bomber and the lurking submarine. The threat was met with typical British doggedness and endless patience, for patience is the principal characteristic that the men of the little ships must learn. Patience to suffer every inconvenience and, oftentimes, the murderous moods of the sea, and this so often without tangible result for encouragement.

If Tojo does not attack because he has an uneasy feeling that our charge is too strongly guarded, if he annoys the escorts by keeping out of range, if we know he is not so Er away but cannot get at him, if our vigilance cannot falter for a moment, then we curse him bitterly, but our charge is safe, a positive result of our work, but negative, not tangible, in the sense that we have not had an actual go at the enemy. Sometimes he attacks, but preferably unescorted ships. Very occasionally he risks his all and, from maximum range, speeds his metal death-fish in the hope he will claim a victim, and get away himself. Now and again he has collected a scalp in this tip-and-run warfare, but he seldom gets away.

At a point on our coastline, not so far from Melbourne, and not so far from Sydney, either, a Japanese submarine made a kill a few months ago. Ten men survived the sinking of their ship. Thirty-four put "paid in full" to the debt that all men owe to their native land. Most of them were not Australians. The ship and the greater part of the crew hailed from a State which has been overrun by Hitler's hordes. They died in the Cause which eventually will free their homeland.

it happened on a bright, sunny Sunday. The sea was calm; cheerful wavelets rippled merrily to the distant blue mountains which marked the coast. Not a setting for tragedy, yet tragedy was presented with a dull "crrrump" echoing through the water. Nothing had been seen or heard until the explosion threw up a great cloud of reddish brown dust, in which the escort's lookouts dimly saw the stark red-bottomed bow of a ship standing on end. Briefly it poised in the murk, then silently, swiftly, slipped into the depths below. She sank in fifty-two seconds.

"Action stations! " The strident alarm rattlers blare in the bowels of the escorts. Engine telegraphs jangle and speed increases to maximum. Guns are loaded, breech blocks snap home, depth charges are set. Every man is in his place, and the hunt is on. Our ship, nearest to the direction from which the torpedo must have come, casts away on the most likely course to find the lurking sneak who is now, we imagine, bent only on getting away. Time passes, the screw races, and we forge ahead faster than the underwater craft can flee.

A black flag flies at the yard. We have located her. Quickly we are above her. Orders from the bridge are repeated over the phones. "Bang! Bang!" go the depth-charge throwers. Two charges hit the water out on either beam. Splash, splash, splash, splash, four more charges slip into the water astern. We race away. Everybody is tense-waiting. Waiting for the stomach-sickening heave and lurch of our little ship, as in the depths the charges explode. Six times we feel and hear the solemn "brrrump" as the sea right aft heaves and boils, to rise angrily in a mountain of tom white spume. Have we "got" the menace below? We hope so.

Anxiously the sea is scanned for tell-tale signs. Nothing appears. Again we cast around and quickly locate her again. Again we deal out death. She hasn't moved far; she must be crippled. Down, down into the depths she goes; five hundred feet down, where water pressure threatens to burst her seams. Can we force her deeper down where her plates must collapse? Once more the charges leave our ship. The sea settles; the noise and tumult have gone. The submarine has gone. Have we put paid to her account? Who knows? After the war we may learn the fate of this particular Yellowman's U-boat, but we think now that we "got" her.

What of the ten survivors of the sunken ship whom we had seen earlier in the afternoon as we surged past masses of wreckage on our way to exact revenge? We could not stop then; they had to be left to the mercy of the sea, but we sought them on our course to resume our patrol, and found them among the spreading flotsam of the wreck. Nine men on a raft; the tenth a lonely figure, lying half in and half out of the water, supported by a heap of smashed planks to which he was feverishly adding as we drew near. He waved; we waved back.

They were taken from the water as the result of superb seamanship by our Commander, who realized the riskiness of stopping to lower a boat. Cork and rope scrambling nets were hung over the side. At high speed we came upon the raft bobbing in the waves a short distance ahead. Engine bells rang. "Full astern" was the order. The wheel was put over, and gently in a momentary pause we touched the raft. Quickly nine pairs of hands grasped the forward net. Still going astern. we swept down on the lone man's precarious heap of planks, and nearing him veered our stem away. "Full speed ahead" was the order now, and once again we gently came up against the wreckage for a moment. He too grasped the net and was hauled inboard.

Soon the ten of them were stripped of their wet clothes, those that had them; they were warmed by hot food; those with injuries were attended to, and all were reclad. One of the survivors, a little snowy-haired Australian of sixteen years, typified the spirit of them all. His first words as we drew near the raft were,

"Hey! What have you got for tea?" More serious was the remark of an officer among the group of wet and bedraggled castaways, who in broken English expressed his thanks for being picked up. He said, "We thought you would leave us. It was very dangerous to come to us. But you did not leave us. Thank you."

The little ships, at times, have other interludes in their patient steaming here and there. Many strange things happen at sea and many stories will be told of incidents outside the common round. One such concerns an errand of mercy, the life of an Allied airman being saved when, far from the aid of modern hospitals, he had been stricken by an acute illness that required immediate and expert surgical attention.

This happened at night, when a heavy and sloppy sea was running. Out of the whispering ether came a vital message from a ship, reporting the presence on board of a very sick man, and asking that he be transferred to a fast vessel for passage to the nearest port in a desperate attempt to save his life. But even the fastest ship could not get to port under many hours. What was to be done? A valuable life was hanging in the balance.

The problem was solved. Our ship, a little bigger than most, has the dignity of carrying a doctor, and has a sick bay large enough in which to perform an operation. Two sick berth attendants are also borne to care for the sick. The sick man's ship was directed to proceed with all speed to a large sheltered bay. This took about three hours' steaming. We went in too and both ships dropped anchor.

"Away motor skiff" and the doctor was on his way to examine his patient. He returned a little later over the pitch-black waters accompanied by a mummy-like figure strapped tightly in a patent stretcher. Poor patient, if his pain let him, he must have had many an anxious moment as he was lifted from the heaving skiff up the ship's side, in the darkness. But he was soon down below in the "bay" which had been prepared in the meantime for an emergency operation. Four hours after the first word of what could have been tragedy, the delicate operation was being performed. Three days later, now well on the way to recovery, the sick man was landed in an Australian port and rushed straight to hospital where, under the care of his own nationals, he would soon recover to fight again in our joint cause.

This is the story of difficulties which had to be overcome; the reward for their solving was the life of a man. The men of the Little Ships are accustomed to overcoming difficulties, and no matter what the call on them may be, they will solve them in the best traditions of a Service with which so many of them have only a temporary active association.

LEADING WRITER E. W. N.

AN INCIDENT IN THE LIFE OF A CORVETTE

AT 1000 on the morning of the 27th November, 1942, the pipe "Clear lower deck-everybody aft" was heard by the ship's company of H.M.A.S. Katoomba.

"Oh hell, more censorship regulations to be read, I suppose." "What's the matter now? Isn't the war going according to plan?" and several other such remarks were heard from all and sundry. Fuelling had been completed about ten minutes previously, under threat of an air raid, and as this was our tenth day on submarine patrol in the "nervy" Milne Bay area, our thoughts were more with getting back to port for a mail, and tidings of home, than with having to listen once again to regulations, of which we knew every word. However, the Coxswain reported to the 1st Lieutenant, who in turn reported to the Captain, "Lower deck cleared, sir."

After glancing over the assembled ship's company, the Captain proceeded with, "I have to read to you once more 'The Censorship Regulations'." An involuntary groan escaped from the mouths of the ship's company. At the conclusion of the public reading, and just as we were expecting the "Disperse" to be sounded, the C.O. regained the earnest attention of the assembly with the words, "I have something else of importance to tell you." He then went on to explain that Katoomba had been selected, in company with her sister ship Ballarat, for a secret and special mission. "In two hours' time," he continued, "we are to steam through very ill-charted waters so as to arrive at a position off Buna beach by 1830 to-morrow evening.

At the mention of Buna, any feeling of 'fed-up-ness'' which had been so pronounced previously, completely disappeared. The Captain further explained in detail, or at least to some extent, just what was required of us, and then the "Disperse" was sounded.

It was quite enlightening to hear the different opinions expressed, and the change which had come over the ship's company was most noticeable.

Buna at that time was Tojo's stronghold on the northern shores of New Guinea. Our soldiers had pushed the enemy back, from almost within sight of Port Moresby, across the Owen Stanleys, past Kokoda, and now the Japs had dug themselves in pretty solidly at Buna. Their system of "pillboxes" and concrete dugouts was well known; but just how they were getting reinforcements and supplies ashore at Buna was a matter of some doubt. Rabaul and Gasmata were the two most likely sources of supply, and it was considered that submarines, both large and small, were the medium by which Buna was receiving both men and materials in sufficient quantities to make the job of our soldiers more difficult than was perhaps necessary.

After some heavy debating, it was finally settled to the satisfaction of all concerned, that Katoomba, having had some experience in the hunting of submarines elsewhere earlier in the year, had been chosen for this particular job. To say the least, the prospect was "nerve tingling".

We had had quite a share of excitement during the year. For instance, there was the time when we were a sitting target in the centre of Darwin harbour, during that terrible morning of the 19th February, when nearly one hundred bombers blitzed the shipping and township.

That scene, of ships sinking and on fire, to say nothing of the bodies floating in the water, and our own helplessness when two dive bombers singled us out and zoomed down directly at us, will live long in the memories of Katoomba's ship's company. It seemed unbelievable that we should still be afloat.

We had had our share of air raids at Port Moresby, and were even in Townsville on the night of the 2 5th July, when that town received its first visit from four Jap flying boats, whose bombs were dropped outside the harbour.

Katoomba had been one of the first corvettes to enter Milne Bay, and to patrol that area during the dark nights and rainy days, while the ships of Allied Nations were frantically discharging their valuable cargoes. Also, she had been the means of rescuing the crew of an Allied ship somewhere between Milne Bay and the Solomons. Many a time, when patrolling through China Straits during the early days of Milne Bay, everybody's nerves would be keyed to almost breaking point, wondering whether a Jap cruiser, destroyer or submarine would be lurking around the next comer, waiting to pounce on us.

However, up to now, we had been extremely lucky, and it is agreed that "luck" amounts to something in this life. So perhaps this Buna incident, no matter how we viewed it, might clinch the thought that we were/are a lucky ship. Of course, every one was agreed that "luck" is a very fickle jade; but anyway, orders are orders, and we were entrusted with the job, so it really amounted to the good old ship being just once more first, or one of the first, to do another particular job of work.

About noon on that beautiful sunny day, a day typical of the so-called tropical days, of which one reads so much in the romantic novels, Katoomba steamed out of Milne Bay, with Ballarat following in her wake. After passing through Raven's Channel at the extreme north-eastern tip of the bay, a course was set to take us through Goschen Strait and so on up through Ward Hunt Strait. These two straits, with the intervening stretch of water, separate Normanby Island, Fergusson Island, and Goodenough Island, from the New Guinea mainland. At the northern end of Ward Hunt Strait, where the open sea is once more in evidence, a very nasty reef, known as Veale Reef, has to be navigated. Our Captain had set the speed so that this reef would be in evidence in daylight.

It was the fervent hope of all, that Saturday, the 28th, would be the exact opposite of Friday, the 27th, as far as the weather conditions were concerned. We had sufficient experience of tropical weather changes to know that tomorrow can be as unlike to-day as Christmas Day is unlike Anzac Day. Considering that we had to go up to and sit on Tojo's doorstep, we thought it would be ever so much nicer to arrive unannounced, as it were. Instead of the looked for, and longed for, leaden clouds and tropical downpour, the day broke as fine as, if not finer than yesterday, and it was forced on us that no help, if any were wanted, could be looked for from that quarter.

As the day grew older, the sun waxed hotter, and the sky, if anything, appeared to take on an even clearer blue. Altogether a perfect day for flying. Our only consolation was the thought that if it was a good flying day for Tojo, it would be just as good for any air support we were to have. And surely two poor little corvettes would not be sacrificed needlessly. That thought buoyed us up.

After successfully negotiating Veale Reef, the course was set for Porlock Bay, a small indentation on the mainland coast in Dyke Ackland Bay, and only about thirty-five miles south-east of Buna. At this point, contact had to be made with a naval survey party. The work of this party in marking channels and reefs all along the north-eastern coastline of New Guinea cannot be spoken of too highly. Truly, can their names be placed high on the list of "Unsung Heroes".

Steaming slowly and feeling our way towards Porlock on a sea that resembled a huge sheet of glass, our first thrill occurred. Although we had been closed up at action stations immediately after clearing Veale Reef, everybody whose duties kept him on deck was virtually a lookout, whether it be for subs or aircraft.

Almost simultaneously from a dozen different parts of the ship, the cry "Aircraft-bearing green 90 was heard.

It was too far away to be identified by sight, so Katoomba immediately challenged. After repeated efforts, no reply was forthcoming.

It was then decided that the first aircraft we had contacted on the trip was an enemy "recco" plane. From that moment every member of the ship's company was "on his toes", and in view of later events, this was just as well. Porlock was made at about 1400.

During the course of conversation it was apparent that the survey party were more than astounded to learn that we were proceeding to a point off Buna beach, and would remain there until midnight on the off-chance of meeting up with a sub. or two.

However, after our Captain had been handed a chart, at least something that resembled a chart, of the approaches to Buna and the outlying coral reefs, away we went hoping (in more ways than one) to arrive at our allotted -position at 1830.

All guns' crews were ready for any eventuality; the lookouts had their eyes working overtime; fire and repair parties were fussing over this and that, and the engine-room and boiler-room staffs were watching main engines, pumps, gauges and everything that was moving, and praying to God that nothing would stop moving, at the critical time. In the boiler-room especially, one or two pumps that had given trouble recently were being coaxed and nursed for a "full power" burst, should it be needed.

The feeling was abroad, that the "recco" plane challenged earlier in the day would not be content to just casually mention our presence at some future time. The sighting of a warship flying the White Ensign, especially in Japanese waters, would undoubtedly be of some moment to them. Moreover, we were convinced that he was still hovering about, just out of our sight, and in the direction of Gasmata.

At this stage, we couldn't quite understand why not one of our own aircraft, fighter or bomber, had been sighted. The time now, 18io, and position a few miles south-east of Buna beach.

A terrific pall of smoke appeared to be hanging over Buna, and gave the impression that the whole place was on fire. Everybody's thoughts at this time were, "Oh well, here we are on their front doorstep, and no one to greet us. Now we can sit down quietly and wait until midnight, and perhaps trap the wily Tojo merchants in their subs."

Lo and behold, the thought had barely had time to become a thought, when some bright-eyed youth cried out, "Is that a bird over there in the sun? " Forty pairs of eyes went sunwards. In no time, forty pairs of eyes confirmed the thought, that whatever else the Jap is, he was not going to be inhospitable in this instance. We were on their doorstep all right, and they intended to give us a welcome.

Just how warm was to be that welcome, they showed us during the course of the next forty minutes or so. Bang-woof! went the first bomb, and we didn't even see it. It was a spell-binding and fascinating sight. On the port side somebody yelled, "Three of 'em coming in on the port hand." Mixed up with his scream was the scream of somebody on the starboard side, "Three of 'em coming in on the starboard hand." No! that wasn't enough. Someone else screeched out, "Look out! There are three more right over us."

Down zoomed the three which came in from the port hand. C-r-unch, woof! They appeared to be a little too hasty in the dropping of their bombs. Straight out from the sun they came.

When they got to within about four hundred feet of us, every gun we could bring to bear on 'em opened up. One bomb dropped off the port bow and another off the port quarter.

I think one chappie must have been put off his aim, because he flew over us at a great pace and made off without dropping anything. At least we didn't hear his cargo go "bang". Ammunition was being brought up from the magazine for the 12 pounder, and the ack-ack guns' magazines were being frantically refilled by willing hands.

With hardly a moment's breathing space, the three previously reported on the starboard side evidently considered it time to make their "run". Down! down! they came in their mad power dive.

The Captain meanwhile had ordered the "Emergency full speed", and the good old ship was doing all she knew. Heaving, turning and twisting. We could scarcely believe it was in her. The Captain's orders to the Coxswain were continually "Hard aport", "Hard astarboard", "Straighten her up". And was the Coxswain doing it? I'll say he was. And was the ship doing it? Well, the best people to answer that question would be any of the ten pilots of the ten dive bombers Tojo had sent out to welcome us at their doorstep on that day of days.

The three that had been watching proceedings from above had worked their way to our port hand, and as the three on the starboard side were half through their run the three port men commenced. From both sides, and almost at the same time, the good old girl was fighting Tojo's welcomers. Down they came. At us, and over us, and they didn't forget to let us have all they carried.

For a considerable time our sister, Ballarat, could not see us, due to the waterspouts which were appearing as if by magic all around us. We were the senior and leading ship, and I suppose Tojo's minions thought it fitting that we should be accorded the main part of the welcome. No doubt Ballarat was itching to join in (really though, any one who goes looking or fig t anywhere is not exactly right in the head), but they probably had difficulty in bringing their guns to bear, due to our proximity to the target.

One plane was seen to enter the water at a very pretty angle. He was not seen to come up again.

"Where, oh where, is our air support?" 'twas only the echo that answered us. The explosion of one bomb in particular, no more than twenty feet off the starboard bow, gave the old ship a nasty shuddering. We really thought that it was the end. The resultant waterspout reached much higher than the mast, and saturated the man in the crow's nest.

The ninth member of the welcoming band was rapidly losing height, away over on our starboard hand, when a further cry, "Here comes another b-------," suddenly made us realize that the welcome was still on. This tenth machine had apparently adopted tactics of his own. There he was, poised over us, fairly high up, astern slightly. To all intents and purposes he resembled an eagle, which, having selected his particular mouse in the field, was preparing to swoop on his dinner, or whatever meal an eagle calls it. The lad on the after Oerlikon apparently had this member of Tojo's team well and truly sighted. A scream could be distinctly heard, "Take your time wait for him." Oh boy, was that advice needed or heeded. At all events this lad waited and waited, and all the time Tojo was getting nearer and nearer in that mad power dive of his.

At the critical moment the ship heeled hard over to port, on its sharp turn to starboard, and that after Oerlikon gunner let that plane have a magazine full of 20 mm shells. To those watching from immediately beneath the gun, it appeared that an unending stream of tracers was entering that particular plane right where the air-screw whizzes round. Something must have gone wrong with his works, because his bombs fell harmlessly off our starboard quarter, while he carried on with his flight with smoke pouring from the body of the machine. Once more a Tojo, was seen to enter the water, more or less gracefully, to rise no more. That appeared to be the last of the welcoming party.

At this particular time, the 1st Lieut and a Ch.P.O. were talking (if it's possible to talk with a very, very dry mouth) over events immediately past and to come. Suddenly 1st Lieut said, "I've got a souvenir, Chief." "What is it?" queried the Chief. The 1st Lieut, struggling to get something out of his pocket, produced a piece of shrapnel (of which there was any amount lying around on the deck) and held it in the palm of his hand for all to see. Unfortunately the hand was shaking so much that the piece of shrapnel could not be fairly admired. The Ch.P.O., thinking his own hand would be ever so much steadier, took the object over to examine it more closely, but, again unfortunately, his hand was shaking to such an extent that the exhibit fell to the deck, and so was hopelessly mixed up with much other stuff. Bad luck, that, for the simple reason that the piece of shrapnel under review went within an ace of carving off the nose of the i1t Lieut. Are sailors sentimental and, anyway, who spoke of nerves?

Immediately after the shrapnel incident, this particular Ch.P.O. walked across to the port side, and looked out over the water. Imagine his surprise and horror when he saw, not more than one hundred yards off the port bow, the periscope and half the conning tower of a sub. A mighty scream was pushed out somehow or other and the attention of those on the bridge was drawn to this new menace. Once more the old lady heeled to starboard on its hasty turn to port; at the same instant the sub., which had evidently come up to see what all the bombing was about, crash-dived. Whatever sub. in Tojo's sub. fleet held the peacetime record for a crash dive, the time was certainly beaten by a sub. off Buna beach at about 1830 on Saturday, the 28th November, 1942. What a surprise that sub. must have got when he almost surfaced within hailing distance of an Aussie sub. killer. There again, the surprise was not a one-sided affair. Where that sub. got to is still a mystery.

We were amongst coral niggerheads at the time and it took really great navigating on our Captain's part to keep us from being impaled on one.

Darkness was setting in by this time, but it wasn't coming quickly enough for two Australian corvettes. Round about this period, in the distance immediately over Buna, a Flying For-tress was seen to be sailing serenely on its way, in a southerly direction, with five Zeros weaving in and out around its tail. It was a great sight. Eventually the Zeros gave up the combat, and allowed the Fortress to carry on unmolested and unharmed. This Fortress, by the way, was the only Allied aircraft seen by us during the whole day.

At midnight, Katoomba and Ballarat made their way slowly back towards Porlock, at which place we arrived at 0600 next morning.

As very little sleep had been obtained during the night, and breakfast was not wanted, other than a cup of tea or cocoa, by the majority, those whose duties allowed them thought that the best thing to do was to snatch what sleep was possible. We had no sooner adopted the horizontal position, however, when a lookout reported a smudge of smoke on the horizon. Sleep then became a forgotten luxury.

More anxious moments were in store for us. Speculation was rife. Was it a Jap cruiser, destroyer or some other kind of surface craft? Whatever it was, it appeared to be coming from the direction of Buna. Gradually, with the aid of glasses, it was established that they were three objects. When it was possible to make out the superstructure of the objects, it was decided that they were probably a cruiser, destroyer and submarine. The early morning sun on the waters of the tropics has a remarkable tendency to magnify the silhouette of any object at a distance.

The thought was general that, although we had lived through the previous night, this morning we were to meet something against which we would stand no chance. Katoomba challenged, but no answer was observed. Oh well, we were for it, as the saying goes. Up anchor and start moving out. It was just as well to sell out as dearly as possible. Too bad, though, that they were able to put surface
ships on our tail before we'd had a chance to get out of it.

The anchor was just about awash when the miracle happened. From the leading ship came a signal. Katoomba lost no time in replying. Imagine the relief of all concerned when it was established that they were three small vessels attached to the party encamped at Porlock They certainly looked giant size in that tropic morning haze.

Well! Well! Well! Anyway, we could get some sleep now, perhaps. After more tea and cocoa (strange how the stomach rebels at the thought of solids at such times) and just as sleep was beginning to overtake us, a terrific blast from Ballarat's siren made everybody once more forget sleep. Ballarat reported, "Enemy recco overhead." Yes, there it was, very very high up in the heavens. This time we were not to be trapped in a narrow little inlet with no room to manoeuvre.

The Captain ordered both ships to stand out to sea, and prepare for aircraft action. It was naturally thought that once Tojo had again spotted us, it would be no time before his dive bombers were at us again, and perhaps this time their pilots would be better bomb-aimers. Whilst steaming out to the open sea, Katoomba broke W/T silence, explaining that we had been "spotted". Back came the answer, "Katoomba and Ballarat proceed with all despatch to Milne Bay." In Lemmy Caution's language, "Boy, oh boy! Were we relieved, or were we" Many an anxious glance astern, and overhead, was cast on the way back past Veale Reef, through Ward Hunt Strait, Goschen Strait and Raven's Passage and so on into Milne Bay.

Time after time, day after day, in the past, Milne Bay had been cursed up hill and down dale; but I'm positive that that same bay had never been such a welcome sight to any ship as it was to H.M.A.Ss Katoomba and Ballarat at that conclusion of just another incident in the life of an R.A.N. corvette.

CHIEF STOKER W. I. D.