The British Pacific Fleet in World War Ii: An Eyewitness Account

© 2013 by Waite Brooks. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 04/08/2013

ISBN: 978-1-4817-4037-1 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4817-4035-7 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4817-4036-4 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2013906549

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Brooks, Waite, 1925-

The British Pacific fleet in World War II: an eyewitness account as seen from the bridge deck of the flagship, HMS King George V / Waite Brooks.

The cover photograph was taken from the Canadian cruiser, HMCS Uganda, by Midshipman E.A.Wiggs, RCN.

Book design and layout: Jim Bisakowski

www.bookdesign.ca

Contents

Royal Canadian Naval College

Overseas

HMS Devonshire

HMS King George V

Malta to Trincomalee

Operation Meridian

Fremantle-Sydney

Octagon

Sydney to Ulithi

Invasion of Okinawa

Return to Sydney via Guam

Preparations for the Invasion of Japan

The Japanese Surrender

Return to Sydney and Melbourne Visit

HMS Urchin

Japan-Occupation Duty

Foreword

This book formed part of an earlier book that I wrote, A Midshipman’s Story, which was written in three parts: Book I, Book II, and Book III. In this book, I have eliminated Book I, and Book III, and it is, with very few changes other than some additional pictures, the same account of the British Pacific Fleet as found in Book II in, A Midshipman’s Story.

I served in the Royal Navy as a midshipman from September, 1944, until March, 1946, some 19 months. During my period of service, all midshipmen were required to keep a record of the activities and movements of their ship, and observations of the various ports visited, in an official book titled, Journal for the use of Midshipmen. With the exception of a brief account of my time at the Royal Canadian Naval College, the material for this book is taken from my journal, which covers the operations outlined in the following paragraphs.

I joined the battleship, HMS King George V-KG V—at Scapa Flow in the Orkney Islands, in October, 1944, and remained in her until November, 1945. Shortly after joining KG V, we sailed for the Far East to join the United States Navy in the Pacific in the war against Japan proper.

When we reached Australia, Vice Admiral Sir Bernard Rawlings, Commander 1st Battle Squadron, hoisted his flag in KG V as second-in-command of the newly formed British Pacific Fleet—BPF. The commander-in-chief of the BPF, Admiral Sir Bruce Fraser, had his headquarters in Sydney, Australia, where he remained until the Japanese surrender. Admiral Rawl-ings, as tactical commander, was in command of the fleet at sea until the end of the war, and HMS King George V was the flag ship of the BPF.

Sydney was the home base for the BPF, and Admiral Fraser remained there because of the urgency of the complicated decisions that had to be made regarding the logistical support of the fleet. Also, he was a senior British admiral, and by not being in command of the BPF at sea, the possibility of any conflict regarding seniority with the American admirals in the Third and Fifth Fleets, which the BPF operated with, was avoided.

The fleet’s main base in Sydney, was about 4500 nautical miles from the theatre of operations off the coast of Japan, and only a slightly shorter distance from Okinawa. Admiral Nimitz made the American base at Manus, in the Admiralty Islands, which was a little less than halfway to the area of operations in Japanese waters, available to the BPF as an intermediate base. To meet the need for a base closer to the operating area, he also gave the BPF permission to use Leyte, in the Philippine Islands, as an advance base.

In December, 1944, the last of the ships that would form the British Pacific Fleet joined the East Indies Fleet at the fleet’s base in Trincomalee, Ceylon. In January, 1945, a Fast Carrier Group formed from the East Indies Fleet sailed from Trincomalee to conduct a major operation against the Japanese oil refineries in Sumatra. On completion of this operation, the fleet continued on to Australian waters where it became the British Pacific Fleet. In March, the British Pacific Fleet sailed north from Sydney, Australia, and joined the American Fifth Fleet for the invasion of Okinawa. In June, the BPF returned to Sydney, and after a short maintenance period, sailed at the end of the month to join the American Third Fleet in Japanese home waters in operations in preparation for the invasion of Japan. When the Japanese surrendered, units of the BPF remained in Japanese waters for the surrender, and occupation duties.

When the Japanese surrendered, Admiral Fraser joined the fleet in Sag-ami Wan—a large bay just outside the entrance to Tokyo Bay—aboard his flagship, HMS Duke of York. A few days later, the flagships, and most of the fleet, moved into Tokyo Bay for the surrender ceremony. KG V was a short distance from the Missouri during the surrender ceremony, September 2nd, and remained in Tokyo Bay for almost another three weeks. Admiral Rawlings was in charge of the repatriation of all Commonwealth prisoners-of-war, and it was not until all POWs were safely on their way to their homes, that we sailed for Australia.

Two months later, January, 1946, I was back in Tokyo Bay in the destroyer Urchin, on occupation duty. I left Urchin in March, and sailed from Yokohama for San Francisco in an American military transport ship. By the middle of March, I was in Canada, and home again in Vancouver.

During my time in KG V, my cruising station was in the Air Direction Room-ADR, below the ship’s armoured main deck. My action station was on an open platform at the top of the forward superstructure, just abaft the Captain’s Bridge, known as the Air Defence Position-ADP. The ADR received, coordinated and filtered all reports of air activity, friendly and enemy, from our radar and from the other ships and aircraft of the fleet. On the ADP I received this information from the ADR, and passed it to the Air Defence Officer-ADO, who directed our heavy and light anti-aircraft guns in the defence of the fleet against air attack. Through my cruising station and my action station, I was well informed about the aerial warfare that we were engaged in, and aerial warfare comprised more than 90% of the fleet’s operational activities. Also, from my lofty, open action station, I could see all of the fleet, and any aerial activity over it that was visible. When writing my journal, I had all of this information available to me, and could write a detailed account of our day-to-day operational activities.

In writing this book, my journal was the source of 90% or more of the information. Some information I have included was the subject of rumours, the answers to which I didn’t know until after the end of the war. Information that is not contemporary is quite easy to identify and does not interfere with the main story, which is all contemporary and was taken from the reports I received and the action that I saw as recorded in my journal.

This story also details the tremendous number of training exercises that went on and on, in harbour, on passage to the operating area, and in the short replenishment periods between operations. There was no let up; we trained until everyone knew exactly what they had to do, with no delay, with no hesitation, automatically, and then we trained some more. Every gun had to fire the instant the order to fire was given. As the motto at the Royal Navy’s gunnery school goes, Hit first, hit hard and keep on hitting. In war, nobody comes in second; there are only the victors and the defeated.

I was one of four Canadian midshipmen in KG V, which had a ship’s company of 2000 officers and men. Our relationships with those of our shipmates that we ever met, were friendly and pleasant. In the gunroom, there was no more than the expected amount of bantering between us and our non-Canadian shipmates.

Living conditions for midshipmen require a brief description before leaving this Foreword. Our meals, and whatever socializing circumstances allowed, were taken in a crowded gunroom of six or seven sub lieutenants, and about 25 midshipmen. There were no private or semi-private accommodations for midshipmen. Each midshipman had a metal chest-of-drawers into which he put all of his clothes, and personal belongings. These chests, and a bin for lashed-up hammocks, were jammed into a screened-off area between the port and starboard main-deck passageways. Activity on the ship was nonstop, and the constant traffic back and forth in these two fore and aft arteries was proof of that. And these passageways were one of the principal areas for midshipmen to sling their hammocks, and sleep. Apart from the noise of steel doors opening and being slammed shut, and the sound of a hundred different pieces of machinery, the constant human traffic passing around and underneath the hammocks, banged and pushed them, and their sleeping occupants, as they went about their duties. It was an environment with no frills.

Our pay was two dollars a day, and even at that rate there were a few deductions. The food served in the gunroom was provided by the navy, and any extras that we wanted, such as more cheese or jam, we paid for ourselves. The pound sterling was pegged at $4.04 Canadian, and each month my pay came to about 13 pounds sterling, which I drew, and then, as there was no use for money at sea, deposited in my Post Office Savings Bank account. This was a very convenient banking system provided by the British Post Office and operated by the ship’s pay office. One day, in the affluent postwar era, I was asked about our rate of pay. When I mentioned the somewhat meagre amount, the response was, Yes, but you received free room and board!

In closing, I must thank my family for their support in the writing of this postponed, restarted, set aside, and eventually completed story. My wife, Maggie, devoted many hours proofreading my manuscript, offering advice, and nudging me in the direction of a conclusion. Of my four daughters, Deborah and Diana who reside locally, also read several sections of my manuscript and made many useful observations on its content. Further afield, Cynthia was always very positive in her comments, and encouraged me to complete the task. And last, but not least, Rosemary has also been very supportive. I would also like to thank Midshipman E. A. Wiggs, RCN, a classmate of mine at the Royal Canadian Naval College, HMCS Royal Roads, for the photograph which appears on the cover of this book as well as in the text. I could also mention other people, friends, who have expressed an interest in the subject matter, and others, who have given me a little push in the direction of completion. To all who have contributed time, effort, and encouragement, my thanks.

And when I think of Australia, I think of the wonderful hospitality I—and thousands of other BPF sailors—enjoyed there. And, I think of the Radford family and the many happy occasions when, with much laughter, we raised our glasses and chanted:

"Here’s to it and to it again

And if you get to it

And don’t do it

May you never get to it

To do it again!"

Cheers Australia!

Waite Brooks

Royal Canadian Naval College

The first naval college was established in the old naval hospital in the Halifax dockyard and opened on 11 January, 1910, several months before Canada had a navy. The Naval Service Act, which brought the Royal Canadian Navy into being, was not passed until 4 May, 1910. The college was so badly damaged in the Halifax explosion of December, 1917, that the staff and cadets were sent to the Royal Military College, Kingston, to complete their term. In September, 1918, the college was transferred to Esquimalt, British Columbia, but in 1922, it was closed in the optimistic belief that war was a thing of the past. After the outbreak of the Second World War, the Royal Canadian Navy proposed the re-establishment of a naval college in 1940, but the implementation of this policy had to be postponed because of a shortage of qualified instructors to staff the expanding number of training establishments. The problem was overcome by the following year, and in mid-1941, the navy made public its intention to re-establish a naval college.

My parents applied for the application forms, and they arrived in September just before school opened. They outlined a considerable number of requirements, which in my case included extra studies throughout the forthcoming school year. My high school days had included a certain number of pranks that had left a few blemishes on my school record, and hadn’t endeared me to some of my teachers. They had to be convinced that my new approach to my studies was genuine, and one of them was the principal, whom we affectionately referred to as Buck.

It was springtime, and my school year was coming to an end. I was returning to classes one afternoon when I discovered I was trailing Buck on the sidewalk leading to the school. I slowed down; he appeared to slow down. I increased my pace, and as I drew abreast the principal, he looked down from his 6 foot three or so height, and said, So you want to join the navy, do you, Brooks. Yes, sir, I said with polite enthusiasm. Well, he said, They asked me what sort of boy you were. There was a pause, a slight smile, and an amused look in his eye as he said, I told them you weren’t all good—another pause—but I also told them you weren’t all bad. He watched my reaction with the same amused look on his face, and then quickly said, Get along to your classes or you’ll be late. My last year at high school was a success, and I topped it off by acing my provincial examinations.

The good must have outweighed the bad, and my entry into the Royal Canadian Navy came with the acceptance of my application to be enrolled as a naval cadet at the new naval college, HMCS Royal Roads, in Victoria that opened in October, 1942. In the fall, when I was preparing to leave for naval college in far-off British Columbia, my English teacher, another convert, knowing I would not be returning home for Christmas, asked me if I would like to spend my Christmas leave with her married sister in Winslow, Washington. Her sister and brother-in-law agreed to have me as a guest for my three-day Christmas leave, and so it was that Christmas Eve, 1942, I sat by myself in a small den in their home in Winslow, and listened to Bing Crosby singing the new hit song, I’m Dreaming of a White Christmas. It was dedicated to the millions of servicemen who were absent from home. Christmas at home was always a very special family time, and I was a long way from home. That song produced a few tears of homesickness.

I was born in Toronto in 1925, but three years later my father’s business took us to Sault Ste. Marie, Ontario. Here, I lived out the rest of my childhood, and teenage years until I joined the navy at age 17. Most of my travelling had been summertime motorcar trips with my parents to visit relatives in the Bracebridge area, and to Toronto where the head office of the company my father worked for was located. My journey from Sault Ste. Marie to Victoria was not only of considerable length, but was also the first time I had travelled alone.

In September, I took the train to Sudbury where I boarded the CPR transcontinental train that ran from Toronto to Vancouver. Home was fading behind me, but my feelings of loneliness were pushed aside by the thrill of travel, and a combination of apprehension and excitement about the new life I was about to start. There were other cadets on the train, and in company with them, I made my first trip across Western Canada. Life on the train was a wonderful new experience. Wherever we were, in the club car, dining car or elsewhere, we were treated like adults. We had entered a new phase of our lives, and were recognized as young men going off to train for war.

The railway station in Vancouver was on the waterfront by the CPR wharfs, which were at the centre of the shipping life of the city. A short walk from the train brought us to the CPR passenger liner that would take us to Victoria. Two hours after our arrival in Vancouver, we sailed and began our four hour trip across the Strait of Georgia and through the Gulf Islands to Victoria. The change in scene was sudden and dramatic. We had gone from little or no signs of war, to a war zone. The ship was crowded with sailors, soldiers, and airmen. If our train trip had given us a slight feeling of being special, that feeling vanished instantly in our new surroundings. We were the most junior, and inexperienced of the servicemen who milled about us.

The Castle—The Administration Building and Cadet Living Quarters

Royal Canadian Naval College, HMCS Royal Roads

Hatley Park, 1942

Our sea voyage came to an end as we berthed in front of the impressive British Columbia Legislature in downtown Victoria. We picked up our bags and hurried ashore to find our hotels where we would be spending our last weekend of freedom before our lives were taken over by the navy. Monday morning, we reported to the Royal Canadian Naval College, HMCS Royal Roads, which was located in Hatley Park, the beautiful Dunsmuir estate some eight miles outside Victoria.

The next few days, or perhaps more accurately next few weeks, were no more and no less a period of confusion, and anxiety than one would expect for new recruits. Shouting was the hallmark of the military, perhaps to instill a sense of urgency, but equally it would appear, to reinforce authority. In new circumstances and strange surroundings, however, it certainly added to the confusion. You there, report to Lieutenant Hornblower. (Who is Lieutenant Hornblower?) Go to building ‘23’. (Does anybody know where building ‘23’ is?) Pick up your boots in the annex store room. (I have searched this building from top to bottom, and still cannot find the annex store room.) Why are your shoelaces done up incorrectly?

Cadet party ‘Baker’ will clean into their physical training gear, and muster in the lower training area. (That’s me, and I only have a few minutes to change, but where is the lower training area, outside this building or down by the gym?) Once there, a Chief Petty Officer, whose singlet revealed a mass of bulging muscles, stood in front of our small group, and informed us that every item of our PT gear was at all times to be spotlessly clean, never a faint scuff mark on our running shoes. As he put it, slowly running his eye from left to right down our line at close quarters, Cleanliness is next to godliness. Always remember that gentlemen. He set a very good example. All of his actions were as crisp and clean as his manner and his dress. Two years later, as we were leaving to go overseas, we heard the sad news that he had been killed in action when his destroyer was torpedoed.

Survival required that I adapt to my new surroundings as quickly as possible, or even faster. This adjustment was more difficult for those of us who came from public schools than those who came from private schools, and the split was probably close to 50-50. The private school boys were used to a controlling routine and a certain amount of badgering in their school life. For them, naval college was just a slightly more demanding private school. Public schools were strict, but the comparison stopped there, and the adjustment demands were greater. But adapt we all did, and the training program, academic, naval and sports, proceeded according to a higher authority. It was rigorous training, and once again, a wise cadet drew as little attention to himself as possible.

An example of how not to draw attention to yourself, and strict discipline occurred at a rugby game one afternoon shortly after our arrival. All cadets were organized in teams, and were to play sports on the lower playing fields. Before we started our games, however, the teams had been doubled down to the Sick Bay to receive several inoculations. Here, in typical navy style, one long line of cadets after another doubled in the front door, were given their inoculations, and doubled out the back door and down to the playing fields to commence their games. For most if not all of the cadets, the inoculations were new, and the reaction to them was immediate, a throbbing, tender arm.

The scrum was down; the ball was thrown in; the usual tussle followed, and out of the confused mass came an anguished cry, Oh, my fucking arm! Unfortunately, at that very moment, the Captain arrived at the playing field to observe his new cadets in action. From the sideline, he quickly raised his cane in the air, the game stopped immediately, and in a firm voice he said, The cadet who uttered that foul word, show yourself. From out of the group of apprehensive faces, a somewhat limp cadet stepped forward. Term Lieutenant, 6 cuts of the cane to that cadet. The Term Lieutenant led him away; the game continued, and the cadet was caned.

If this were meant as a warning to the cadet body on the question of deportment, or, as the term we were now learning went, officer-like qualities, it made a resounding impression. Considering the background of our Commanding Officer, Captain J. M. Grant, his action was completely in keeping with his early naval training and the discipline he had grown up with. Caning of cadets and midshipmen was common in the Royal Navy, and the Canadian navy followed that tradition. Captain Grant had been a member of the first group of cadets to enter the naval college in Halifax when it opened in 1910. On graduation, he was sent to serve with the Royal Navy, where he remained during World War I. During the 1920s, his eyesight deteriorated to the point where he did not meet the standard required by the navy and he was invalided out of the service. At the beginning of the Second World War, he was brought out of retirement to serve in the navy again.

My First Action Station Manning a Bren gun on the roof of the Castle, HMCS Royal Roads. An Air Raid Warning was issued in December, 1942, because of the presence of a Japanese Carrier Task Force in the North Eastern Pacific

Photo by H.D. Bancroft

I gained a further insight into his character many years later when I was having tea with him one afternoon at his home. Before he joined the navy, his father, who later was the Lieutenant Governor of Nova Scotia, considered that the schooling in the province was not rigorous enough. Of the schools he considered for his two sons, the one he chose was in Prussia. The school life was strict, the routine was hard and the academic standards were high. Without hesitation, he sent his two, young Canadian sons into this foreign environment. As the Captain said to me, in what must have been a huge understatement, We had a difficult time.

I asked how they got on with the German boys and he replied, Not very well. It was, of course, the time of the Anglo-German naval armaments race, which produced a growing hostility between the two nations, and Prussia was the heart of German nationalism. They may have been Canadians, but the German boys considered them English. Occasionally, a ring of Prussian schoolboys would dance around them and because of their ruddy complexions, they were taunted by the German’s with their expression for the English, roast beef—roast beef-roast beef. The captain referred to a fight that he and his brother had with these Prussian schoolboys as the first battle of World War I. Considering, the Captain’s Prussian schooling, and early naval background, the stoic nature that we were exposed to was almost benevolent.

Like the captain and his brother, we survived the rigorous, but not Prussian, training program at the naval college. Before our two years were up, we had learned the first requirements for anyone going to sea: the navigation, and the seamanship required for the safe operation of a ship. Once a sailor has learned how to live at sea, he can be taught how to fight at sea, and we had been taught the basics of that second requirement as well. Also, we had learned a new language, the language of the navy, and the confusion that engulfed us on our entry into the navy was now largely a thing of the past. We prepared for graduation; it came, and in a flurry of good wishes, and handshakes; it was also a thing of the past. What a tremendous release! The stress and anxiety of intensive training were behind us. We now prepared ourselves for the biggest adventure of all, going to war.

Overseas

I said good-bye to Victoria and left for my new home in Vancouver, where my parents had moved the previous summer. I was looking forward to my embarkation leave and eagerly awaiting my first appointment. I did not have to wait long before a message from naval headquarters arrived:

Promoted to Midshipman, RCN, effective 1st August, 1944, and appointed:

1)   Discovery additional for leave; 1st August, 1944

2)   Stadacona additional for passage to United Kingdom; 25th August, 1944

3)   Niobe additional on loan to R.N.; date of joining.

Leave was a welcome break after the stress of the final months of naval college, but my appointment promised an array of new experiences, and I was anxious to be on my way. After a few small parties, and a short, two-sentence reference to the birds and bees by my father, when we were picking fruit in the garden, Have you been told anything about that, Bud? We had a film at the college, Dad. Good, pass me the bucket. My leave was over, and I boarded the train for Halifax.

Excitement and anticipation almost smothered all emotional feelings as the final hugs, kisses, good wishes and handshakes were exchanged. The train began to move out of the station, and as I looked back at my parents, and friends on the platform, I felt a sudden pang of loneliness, and loss. But as the train gathered speed, and they faded from view, my mind turned to the new, mostly unknown, life that awaited me. For the moment, thoughts of family, and loneliness were lost as the realization that going overseas was no longer a subject of conversation; the moment had arrived, I was on my way overseas! It was a long trip from Vancouver to Halifax, and as I crossed the country, I was joined by a classmate or two at most major cities. We were a salty crew headed off to war.

On arrival in Halifax, we reported to HMCS Stadacona and quickly began the administrative work necessary to clear us for our departure overseas. It was not the best time to see Slackers, as the sailors called Halifax. The city was hot and dusty in the late summer