Alfred Longbottom
Royal Navy HMS Nigeria
I wasn't 'called up' for War Service but I volunteered for the Royal Navy and was accepted. I joined HMS Wellesley at Liverpool for training; this was very near to Gladstone Dock. At that time there was heavy bombing of Liverpool on a regular daily basis. Around 4 p.m. each day, German Aircraft came in, flying across North Wales. Some of the streets were littered with shrapnel, which 'crunched' under your shoes as you walked, and many streets were cordoned off with notices such as 'unexploded bomb' or 'land mine'. If you took a couple of hours leave and crossed the Mersey by Ferry, you could be stranded on the wrong side of the river when the ferries were cancelled due to air raids. One weekend I went home on leave to Halifax and shortly after I arrived there was a dull 'thud' in the distance. I told my parents, "That's a bomb!" They said, "No, not in Halifax - you've seen so much in Liverpool you're 'bomb - happy." The next day the local paper reported bomb damage to several properties in the town, and some casualties. I've never known if this was caused by enemy aircraft, or by the R.A.F. in error."
Alfred Longbottom of Halifax in West Yorkshire spent the Second World War years in the Royal Navy and three years on Russian and Malta Convoys as a decoder aboard the Colony Class Cruiser HMS Nigeria with a complement of 750 men. The Convoys carrying arms and ammunition, tanks and planes were vital to the allied war effort. The ships were prime targets for German aircraft and submarines, and were continuously under attack from air and sea as they battled their way to Murmansk and Archangel with their armoured escorts. Alfred said, "Escorting those convoys was sheer murder. We were continually under attack, even after we docked at Murmansk. It was only 50 miles away from German-occupied Norway." "Sometimes the temperatures fell to minus 40 degrees C. We were given sheepskin hoods and clothing by the Russians but they didn't keep the cold out. There was no heating on board and ice formed on the inside of the cabins...we couldn't win either way - when it melted everything got soaked. The days were long and exhausting." Alfred remembers the PQ17 Convoy of 36 ships out of Scapa Flow in 1942 when only six arrived in Russia. In Russia the sailors saw very little of the people, except for the queues outside the bread shops and Red Army patrols. "We used to exchange bars of chocolate with them for the Red Army badges. Russia looked a very poverty-stricken country", he remembers. A Pedestal Convoy to Malta was so battered it was estimated so many ships were sunk on approach to the island there were 2000 men in the water at any given period. During a particular Dog-watch Alfred says of his own ship, "It was 7.58 pm and Charlie, his friend, was almost due to relieve George who was on watch. But George rang to say he was feeling groggy and could Charlie relieve him straight away. No sooner had Charlie relieved George and he came up top - a torpedo struck and Charlie was killed. George soon felt better and was fine, but Charlie's death preyed on his mind and caused him a lot of trouble. I would have been Charlie's best man at his wedding next leave. I still have the letter I received from Charlie's fiancée."
The Iceberg
"The Navy were trying to locate a German Station providing weather and movement of shipping news to their own ships and submarines. I was on HMS Nigeria (a colony cruiser), and before getting under weigh we had a good idea of the general area in which the Weather Ship would be found but, immediately before the incident, it is most likely we simply 'came across' her. We were not at Action Stations, always triggered off by radar contact and often the result of locating floating debris, empty lifeboats and even whales! I was on deck as HMS Nigeria sailed into proximity to a large iceberg when I first saw an orange glow in the 'iceberg', followed by splashes of water in the sea near the stern of Nigeria. Almost with disbelief, I realised the iceberg had opened fire on us with enormously heavy guns, the splashes so clearly disturbing a perfectly calm sea - like a sheet of glass. At this point I could not see a ship. It was covered from stem to stern in white canvas. Together with our two destroyer escort we had located the German Weather Ship Lauenberg and it was June 1941. (Alfred only recently discovered that on the day a copy of the Enigma Code was taken from the Lauenberg by the boarding party from the destroyers. It was not the job of Nigeria to stop or to take prisoners.) Scuttling-charges sent the Lauenberg to the bottom. I well recall seeing two lifeboats packed with her crew being rowed away from their ship to the destroyer HMS Bedouin and internment."
"On the 12th August, 1942, I was on the sloping deck of a torpedoed ship, and in what appeared to be a hopeless situation. Everything was out of action - the guns, radar, radio, steering, - all gone. Flames were leaping out of one of the funnels, with the diesel on fire. Down below, fifty officers and men had perished, and others were wounded - some mentally. Stationery, we were a sitting target for a further attack. Privately, I said 'good - bye' to my mother and father and my brothers, as I was absolutely convinced that I would never see them again. As a final act, our code books and other secret machines were put into sacks weighted with lead, and sent to the bottom of the Mediterranean. Suddenly there appeared on the horizon a group of Italian torpedo bombers which were flying straight towards us - their huge torpedoes clearly glistening in the evening sunshine. They flew straight through the destroyer screen, directly towards us. At this point, there was a loud cry from the Chief Yeoman high up on the bridge - 'For what we are about to receive ....', and immediately my thoughts went back to the little village where I used to live and the vicar saying those words before a meal at local events. With massive damage amidships, we could hear water rushing into the HMS Nigeria. Down by the bow, and with the stern rising, she was in danger of going down. Admiral Burrough left the ship to continue the mission in the destroyer HMS Ashanti. As the torpedo bombers got nearer, the Chaplain led a group of men in reciting the Lord's Prayer - there was nothing else we could do. A three-badge 'Stripey' next to me said, 'Keep your feet dry laddie as long as you can', (I was only 21)".
"Now the end was surely near as the Italian aircraft dropped their several torpedoes on to the water. We watched, with bated breath. Incredibly, every torpedo missed us, nor (I believe) did they strike any other ships in the convoy. This was so remarkable since we were a motionless target, simply waiting for the end. A few hours later, I felt a sudden vibration under my feet which reverberated throughout the ship. Engines were running! None of us could believe it but, and miraculously, some power was restored to the engines. This in itself was beyond our wildest dreams, and must have required tremendous skill and courage down below to bring it about. I believe some form of emergency steering was set up, and slowly we moved, escorted by destroyers, to start the long journey back to Gibraltar. On the way we survived another torpedo attack from a submarine but eventually reached 'Gib', and were able to bury, with full military honours, so many pals we had lost on just this one journey."
Last Word from Alfred
"These events had a profound effect on me - I'll admit to shedding a few tears as I wrote it! But I am not ashamed of this! I have never regretted being there. Most of the friends I made were killed. I think of them often - unfortunately almost every night when I have nightmares."
In May 1941, HMS Nigeria escorted the 'pride of the Navy' - HMS Hood - out of Scapa Flow into the North Atlantic, and left her to return at full speed, to Scapa. Shortly after anchoring, the whole of the Navy, and indeed, the country, was 'rocked' by an Admiralty announcement that the Hood had been sunk in the Denmark Strait by the German Battleship Bismarck, with only three survivors out of a total of 95 officers and 1,323 ratings.
Sometime later, a signal was received by Nigeria from Admiralty stating that Midshipman Dundas was one of the three survivors of Hood, and as this signal was read by the Captain of Nigeria, Captain Dundas, informing him that his own son was one who had survived. I was told that tears were streaming down his face. Homeward bound and just a couple of hours out of Murmansk, Nigeria encounted a submarine on the surface at a distance of several miles. She was proceeding slowly, and was immediately challenged and asked to give the necessary recognition signal. There was no response. Repeated attempts were made to gain contact with her, but it was all to no avail. So the order was given for "full speed ahead, stand by to ram submarine." As Nigeria got closer and closer, the Admiral (we were flagship of the 10th Cruiser Squadron) arrived on the Bridge and at the very last minute, ordered the Nigeria to take avoiding action. With probably only seconds to spare, we immediately altered course and left the scene. Later that day the Nigeria received the following signal from the Naval Officer in Charge, Murmansk, "Disabled Russian Submarine has arrived at Murmansk". No doubt a major international crisis had been averted!!
On the 6th September 1941, to the East of North Cape, Norway, Nigeria met a German Convoy in very heavy weather and poor visibility. In the action which followed, the German Training Ship Bremse was sunk, but the two troopships she was escorting, reported to be carrying 1,500 troops, managed to make good their escape. Nigeria was badly damaged and her bow was ripped off. (One report was of torpedo damage, the other of having struck a submerged shipwreck.) As the forward part of the ship was not strong enough (although shored up by the shipwrights) to go "head on" into the waves, she sailed stern-first from North Cape to Scapa Flow, escorted by the Cruiser Auroa. On arrival on 10th. September, she was "cheered" as she sailed through columns of the whole Home Fleet which was assembled to welcome her back - a wonderful sight and a unique experience. As a result of this action, several medals were awarded to officers and men of Nigeria.
Heavily damaged in the "Pedestal" Convoy to Malta of August, 1942, HMS Nigeria was temporarily 'patched up' in Gibraltar before sailing to Newcastle-upon-Tyne (our home port) for permanent repairs. We looked forward to some leave and many of the crew bought a bunch of bananas to take home, as they were almost impossible to get in the UK. As we headed north through the Bay of Biscay, we received a signal prefixed (O-U) which meant "Most Immediate" - the very highest degree for action. I myself decoded this message, which was exactly as follows:- To : Nigeria From Admiralty. (Most Immediate) owing to a dock strike at Newcastle, divert forthwith to Charleston, South Carolina, U.S.A. Repeat Charleston, South Carolina, U.S.A. So bang went all thoughts of home leave, and we had now to eat all our own bananas! A dock strike in War Time? Yes, it's true.
Iceland - January 1944 to May, 1945
For seventeen months, I was in Iceland assigned to working in the Radio Station of the Admiral in charge of Icelamd Command. The Naval Camp was just outside Reykjavik, and was known as H.M.S.BALDUR 2. The Radio Station was a short distance from the camp, and was manned by telegraphists, coders, and teleprinter operators who decoded messages on the Enigma machine which we called Typex.
We were accomodated in Nissen Huts, and the only heating was from a small coke stove in the middle of the hut. Quite often, the water in the separate Nissen Hut, used as a washroom, would be frozen, and the only way to have a wash, or shave, was to put some snow, or ice, into a tin can on top of the coke stove. The weather in winter could be cruel, and it was sometimes impossible to breath when walking against a gale-force wind, so the answer was to walk backwards! We understood that anyone who served for nine months or more in Iceland could never be sent there again by the Navy, as strong winds could possibly affect the lungs. It was well known that any fractures could not be treated in Iceland, so a broken ankle meant an immediate return to the UK. For this reason alone, some would deliberately fall off a ladder, or break a finger!
The weather in Spring and Summer could be beautiful. Sunday mornings saw Church Parades marching into Reykjavik for worship in the church there. When off duty, I was able to go skiing, or visit some of the hot springs and geysers, and magnificent waterfalls. Strange as it may seem, Iceland has an abundance of wild flowers of many varieties. The Icelandic people were very much anti-British. I believe they felt we had invaded their country. They would not sit next to you in the local Cinema, and as you walked in Reykjavik you could expect empty bottles to be aimed at you from the top of buildings. So we had little contact with the local population. After one year, I was granted 14 days home leave, and spent 4 days in travelling by sea and rail to Halifax, West Yorkshire, only to be greeted, on arrival, by a telegram ordering me to return immediately to Iceland! I found out that an invasion by German Paratroops was imminent. As it turned out, some paratroops were dropped, but were quickly rounded up and marched into Baldur 2 under armed guards.
On V.E. Day (8th May 1945) around the coast of Iceland U-Boats surfaced flying a white flag of surrender. On the 31st May 1945, I embarked in an old Depot Ship (HMS Baldur) which had been moored in Reykjavik harbour for some time, for passage back to U.K. She had no engines and so had to be towed back to England. It was a hair-raising experience, as several times the tow-rope broke and we simply drifted in the North Atlantic. And so I left Iceland, to await my next draft, which turned out to be Colombo.
In The Jungle Outside Colombo 1945.
Having left Iceland, August, 1945, saw me travelling through the night on a crowded troop train to Southampton, to join a troopship for transit to HMS Mayina, a huge camp in the jungle, a few miles out of Colombo. Some joker had chalked on the railway carriages the words. "Tokyo Express"! In the camp were thousands of sailors who were to form the biggest fleet ever assembled for an invasion of Japan. Conditions in the camp were pretty grim - water was strictly rationed - and was delivered to the camp each day by tanker lorries. There were snakes and scorpions, and 'tree-rats' which lived in the trees, together with many strange noises from animals and birds which lived in the jungle. Because of scorpions, it was not a good idea to sit on the toilet, so you stood up on it! The heat was intense, and around noon each day we were not to be out of doors in the open, as the temperature could rise to 120 degrees in the shade. Many suffered from tropical boils, beriberi, skin rashes and deafness, the latter said to be caused by insect bite.
Unexpectedly, the Atom-Bomb was dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki, and that was to signal the end of the war and so - the largest naval force ever to be assembled never sailed for Japan!
Postscript:
At the age of 67 Alfred was awarded a medal by the Presidium of The Supreme Soviet of the USSR - the country's highest state authority. It was only given to men who served on the convoys. The medals are inscribed in Russian to commemorate the 40th anniversary of the defeat of Nazi Germany in 1945. He made 13 trips on the convoys, including the PQ17 convoy of 36 ships in 1942. Only six ships arrived in Russia as the rest were sunk. Alfred died suddenly in May 2004 just after he wrote his story.
