Recollections of the S.S. Vanderbilt incident

Recollections of the S.S. Vanderbilt incident
by B.M. 'Gus' Hodge, 1992.
2nd Engineer PBY-5 NZ 4001

[JS NOTE I have been troubled for some time about the conflicting evidence between the 6 Squadron Dumbo board recorded rescue 2 May 1943 http://www.flickr.com/photos/adelaide_archivist/2343065532/sizes/o/in/set-72157604150119757/, Gus Hodge's (2nd Engineer NZ4001) account of the 'Vanderbilt Incident' http://rnzaf6squadron.blogspot.com/ given to me in 1992 and published here and the numerous other apparently authoritative accounts of the sinking of the Vanderbilt that occur on the web, particularly the detailed account that occurs at,
http://books.google.com.au/books?id=UfLIaO7m8ZEC&lpg=PA100&ots=1owJctUuRc&dq=Ship%20Vanderbilt%20torpedo&pg=PA100#v=onepage&q=Ship%20Vanderbilt%20torpedo&f=false

I believe evidence shows the 8 crew rescued by 6 Squadron Sq/Ldr McGregor and his crew in PBY-5 NZ4001 on 2 May 1943 in fact came from the 'William Williams', "On 2 May 1943, while near Suva, Fiji Islands, William Williams was torpedoed by Japanese submarine I-19, commanded by Lt. Takaichi Kinashi who, while commanding this I-boat, had torpedoed Wasp (CV-7), North Carolina (BB-55), and O’Brien (DD-415) with the same spread of torpedoes off Guadalcanal on 15 September 1942." http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/USS_Venus_(AK-135)

See also "In May 1943 three American ships, the William Williams, Hearst and Vanderbilt, were attacked. The Williams was torpedoed early in the month 120 miles south of Fiji. She remained afloat and was towed into Suva for temporary repairs. During this operation Hudsons of No. 4 Squadron maintained a constant anti-submarine patrol over her." http://www.nzetc.org/tm/scholarly/tei-WH2AirF-c14-14.html Note this reference to the location matches exactly the location '120 miles south' of Suva on the Dumbo board, but makes no reference to the role played by 6 Squadron.

As such I suggest the references made to the Vanderbilt in the following sections are incorrect assumptions possibly made as a result of confusion over ships torpedoed in the area in May 1943. http://www.nzetc.org/tm/scholarly/tei-WH2AirF.html

http://www.nzetc.org/tm/scholarly/tei-WH2AirF-c14-15.html Page 225 "One of the earliest operations, carried out before the squadron had been officially formed, was a search by an aircraft captained by McGregor for survivors of the American ship Vanderbilt, which was torpedoed on 2 May. Eight men were found on a raft in very rough seas and the Catalina stood by for three hours waiting for the arrival of rescue ships. As none turned up, it finally landed and picked up the men. The waves did some damage to the hull, but the aircraft took off safely and returned to Lauthala Bay."

http://www.nzetc.org/tm/scholarly/tei-WH2Paci-_N86276.html Page 259 "Catalinas of No. 6 Squadron, commanded by Wing Commander G. G. Stead, DFC, also originally based on Fiji, guided rescue ships to the San Juan after she was torpedoed, and picked up survivors from the American ship Vanderbilt who were found floating on rafts off Fiji. When the squadron moved to Espiritu Santo, Stead was succeeded by Squadron Leader I. A. Scott."

There remain inconsistencies between the accounts, eg the cargo, that require further investigation but given I have in my possession a copy of the log book of Gus Hodge that dates the rescue he describes in correspondence to me and transcribed on the blog at http://rnzaf6squadron.blogspot.com/ as 2 May 1943 in accord with the Dumbo board I believe there is sufficient evidence to make this claim. END NOTE]

On 28-Apr-43 I commenced flight training on Catalina a/c. My status then was Sergeant Fitter II (Airframes) (FITIIA). I would not formally qualify for aircrew status until 26 june 1943.

About the end of April 43 I was advised that I would join a crew (Captain:S/L R.B. McGregor) to fly to N.Z. and return on Catalina NZ4001 on 2 May 1943, proposed date of return escapes me. Apart from the 1st Engineer (L.A.C. Ken Kennedy) I cannot recall the numbers and names of the rest of the crew - but six would have been the minimum. The 2 May was, I am fairly certain, a Sunday.

On 1 May after completion of a return trip to Tonga we carried out the necessary servicings etc. for the trip home the next day. We had both spent some time in Fiji and were happily anticipating the trip. The scheduled take off time is long forgotten - i guess it would be about 0900 hrs - so Ken and I were aboard very much earlier than that to ensure that there would be no hold ups on our part.

That there was a delay was soon evidenced by the failure of the remainder of the crew (and passengers) to board on time. A barge was seen leaving the jetty about 11.00 and as it neared the a/c we both commented on the few people aboard - and wondered what was going on. On boarding someone told us that we were not going home - there was a more urgent job to do. After take off and setting course the navigator informed me of what it was all about - and I shall try and record that.

(Briefing) On a travel flight between Nandi & Tonga a B17 (Flying Fortress) crew came across an area of flotsam which indicated a very recent ship sinking. Among this was a ships raft carrying a number of survivors. To protect these the B17 maintained station above them until they were relieved by us. Arrangments had already been made to uplift the survivors by another merchant vessel steaming at speed to the scene. Its ETA at the scene was about mid-afternoon. It was not intended that an air-sea rescue should take place. (End of briefing)

On our arrival at the scene the B17 left and we settled down to our planned task. There were some compelling reasons why an air-sea rescue was not planned. The sea surface was littered with large numbers of 50 (US Gallon) fuel drums all of which had exploded leaving a long gash along the length of each drum. for obvious reasons the drums would float for some time but, as discovered later, they were not immune to the effects of wind & currents. As well there was present various types and forms of wreckage.

Under the circumstances the survivors seemed safe and secure. Wind breaks consisting of covers and / or blankets had been erected onto oars vertically fixed onto the sides of the raft - and they appeared to have other protection as well.

As the afternoon progressed concern was mounting about the non-arrival of the reserve vessel and I seem to recall being advised that it too had been torpedoed - this I cannot say is correct. Apparently the situation was also similarly assessed at operation H.Q.s or probably the information as I heard it as passed on to me indicated the possibility of an air-sea rescue was being considered. Inevitably there was only one decision and preperations to implement it were put in hand.

Firstly there was the question of a/c landing weight and as we were fuelled for the long flight to N.Z. some had to be dumped. There were no problems with the actual dumping - the Catalinas dumping equipment included an external extension pipe from the dump valve to a position clear of the trailing edge of the centre section. This helped minimise the possible effects of static electricity. However, when the nominated quantity of fuel had been dumped the dump valve failed to close properly - resulting in a greatly diminished but steady flow continuing. I clearly remember some one mentioning Captain Musick and his PAN AM clipper incident of 1937.

[JS Note NC-16734(B) 'Samoan Clipper', lost at Pago Pago, Samoa with Captain Musick and crew on 11 January 1938 after survey flight and initial South Pacific Service. see http://www.clipperflyingboats.com/transpacific-airline-service]

Apparently the sea surface was sufficiently clear of debris to enable the operation to proceed. Everybody must have been well briefed in their individual roles. for my part I was instructed to make my way to the bow compartment immediatel after landing was successfully completed and take up the bowman's position complete with small life buoy with a line attached.

The normal open sea stall landing was successful and I immediately went forward and fitted my safety belt - I was followed by another crew member and on a given signal released the hatch cover and passed it back to this person. I exited quickly through the hatch took position on the bow way and immediately fastened my safety belt to the aircraft. I then took the life belt from the other crewman and secured the free end of the line to the a/c snubbing post. When it was established that I was secure and ready the hatch cover was repositioned and secured.

Unknown to me the stall landing had sprung quite a few rivets and some plates on the planing bottom and the a/c was making water. This apparently was largely held in check by using the bilge pump running under extra power supplied by auxiliary power unit (A.P.U.)

Everything now seemed ready to make our approach to the raft. Mindful of my almost total ignorance in these matters, the way the a/c was handled still stands out in my memory - however the final approach seemed very fast. Perhaps I waited a bit much before throwing the life belt - but at least contact was made on the first throw. The engines were cut immediately - how they were stopped in time still seems a miracle to me. I recall altering my position to attempt to fend off the raft with my right leg which acted temporarily as a fender. Still have a small scar as a memento. On facing forward again I realised the next hazard - and it appears the captain and possibly the navigator did the same.

The plan was to float the the raft down the port side to give access through the port blister. This meant the raft must pass under the port wing - which was not feasible with oars in the verticle position. I know I yelled "break those oars now!" and I guess the others did something similar - because the oars - some 4 - 6 of them were either broken or dismantled very quickly and in time. The raft was then guided to the blister and the survivors transferred. I have no recollection of how I got back into the a/c.

I do not recall how I got back into the a/c but the safest way would [have] been through bow hatch after the cover was removed from the inside, so I guess that must have been it. I recall seeing some water sloshing around the bilges in the engineers compartment as I made my way aft. The A.P.U. would still be running. I recall the clear instruction that all personnel were to be accommodated securely either in safety-belted seats or lying in bunks feet facing forward and braced against bulkheads or frames.

From memory Catalinas were fitted with three bunks - one on the port side of the engineers compartment and one each on the port & starboard side of the next compartment aft - call it the crew compartment. There were two jump seats in the blister compartment. With 8 survivors + 6 crew this meant that there was 1 person who was not satisfactorily accommodated - and this was me - so I was 'put to rest' in the port bunk in the crew compartment - ie three people to this particular bunk. The arithmetic of this situation lends support to the number of survivors (8) & the crews (6) but I leave it open to correction. I had no idea what was happening in this respect forward of the engineers compartment.

Bulkhead doors were then closed & preparation for take-off began. The time between engine start up and becoming airborne seemed incredibly long - and was, to me, the worst part of the exercise. Being only of medium height, I had to slide down the bunk quite a way before I could get my feet firmly planted on the aft main-frame and being the third man in the bed did not help. I was on the 'edge' in more ways than one.

By the engine noise variation in terms of volume & time etc there must have been a lot of manoeuvering to get the best position for take-off. There may even have been more than one attempt. However we were eventually airborne - landing at the bay at about 1930 hrs. The survivors were delivered and then we had to deal with a/c damage.

During the flight home water drained from the a/c but on landing - of before, the A.P.U. was restarted & the bilge pump readied for use. Beaching gear was fitted at some stage the a/c was not beached via the slipway - it was towed to the position shown in the sketch. This happened after the survivors were disposed of.

I would cease duty around 2130 - 2200 hours. Although I assisted with leak-stopping I never did find out the full extent of the damage or when the a/c was properly beached onto the tarmac. But the ground crews must have made a grand effort because my log book shows we were flying again on 4 May.

Subsequent entries indicate the possible presence of a submarine in the area at that time. However I have no direct evidence that S.S. Vanderbilt was the subject of a torpedo attack but the fuel drums did show that there had been an explosion(s). The navigator in his briefing did mention torpedoes, etc. but the truth of the matter should easily be established from official records and at this point is academic.

Talepiece: On my release from duty transport was provided to take me to the Sgts. Mess. On entering the ante-room I was congratulated by a senior mess member on my being recommended for an immediate award of the O.O.O. Yes, I fell for it - O.O.O. is the abbreviation for Order of the Oscillating Orifice.

Memoirs of Arthur Manz

Arthur Manz
Otaki
8 June 1992

Of my course of Airman Pilots (No.1A) about half were retained in N.Z. to become flying instructors, (32 ÷ 2 = 16), attending F.I.S. at Hobsonville.

Time spent at Taieri was very busy indeed. We worked hard, my busiest month was 112.40 hours in March 1941, most being in the 80 - 90 hr. range with 140 - 150 dual instruction flights! Dunedin was very hospitable and flying 'wash out' days were spent in town where the Otago Squash Racquets Club made their courts available to us, the to Wain's Hotel followed by a meal down town & then possibly to the Regent Theatre. Senior instructors, Flight Commanders & above were all ex-aero club chaps, and although serious and devoted to their responsibilites they brought a Camaraderie to the camp which brought out the best in us all.

The group released from instructing before my turn all elected to go onto fighters and were trained on Kittyhawks & posted to the Pacific Islands. My wish was to go to the U.K. so when my turn came I asked for heavy bombers, knowing they had none in R.N.Z.A.F. They forthwith posted me to Waipapakauri to fly patrols with V. Vincents & Vildebeestes! In time no-one would sign these out as airworthy & the Squadron (7) was disbanded. These planes were just like Tiger Moths but ten times bigger. Part of our task was the escorting of boats in & out of Auckland, meeting them off C. Brett. Most were cargo vessles, a few naval. On one flight - I think it was the one on 6.4.43 "Outer A/S Patrol - Presidents Adams, Hayes, & Coolidge & two destroyers" with F/O Ritchie & Sgt. Webb-Pullman - it was not possible to get any response at all to our Aldis lamp challenge with the letter of the day. I sent the message - Can anyone read Morse? The correct letter cam back promptly. On reflection it would appear that on sighting our huge old bi-plane they all fell down in a fit of apoplexy, and only replied to keep us quiet.

Going from Vincents to Venturas on Ferry Command was a tremendous shock. Never had I seen such an array of instruments & controls. Fortunately F/O Alf Arnott knew more about such planes & I became a mere throttle holder. But it was good experience. Just one trip from Kaneohe Bay, Oahu, to Whenuapai via Palmyra & Canton Is. to Nausori to Tontouta (petrol fault), to Norfolk & N.Z.

The Seaplane Training Flight was rare fun. They don't build planes like the Walrus any more. On take off - Full R rudder and L aileron (or was it the other way?) to counter the torque. And at night the straight exhaust ports from the radial engine gave the appearance of a giant catherine wheel - the only plane which I have flown with a 4 - blade pusher prop. My flying partner was Geo. Scholes and on one of our last flights I thought that it would be a good idea to try an 'emergency' landing on Lake Pupuke on the North Shore. No Problem! But once on the water the take off run looked very short with the high volcanic rim rising up and covered with houses. There was no problem however. We kept quiet about the escapade, but in the mess the night before our departure S/Ldr Bill Willis made veiled reference to it - just to let us know that he knew - but didn't wish to take the matter further.

The G.R. School at New Plymouth was value for money. Work was the order of the day, and the knowledge gained proved invaluable later in the Pacific, especially navigation (D.R. & Astro), signals & W/T, ship recognition & much more. Some of the Astro Nav results were a bit hairy (ask Russ Carleton) putting the Bell Block aerodrome as much as 50 miles out to sea! But nevertheless I managed 95%.

At Lauthala Bay Dave Sheehan was training as Captain and I became his 2nd Pilot doing some solo work myself under the tutelage of F/O Dan Carlow (who entered the Air Force with me in 1940) We joined the Squadron 19.12.43 at Segond Channel just as they were about to move to Halavo Bay - we flew up there 23.12.43.

Flying alongside Dave Sheehan in the Squadron was valuable learning experience, his thoroughness, reliability, unflappability were examples for me to remember. Most searches & patrols were routine but one take off experience will never be forgotten. After slipping the buoy Dave taxied out to the appropriate position, tested the motors, opened the throttles and away we went. But half way along our run, unusual porpoising was occurring the plane was reluctant to get up on the step to gather speed by planeing, and it was only by holding the yoke hard against the panel that Dave was eventually able to become airborne. And thus it continued until we were up a few hundred feet. Obviously something was wrong, but we knew not what it was. It was only when a crew member opened the bulkhead door at the rear of the blister that the reason became obvious. Water poured through the door into the blister compartment - gallons & gallons of it. The bottom hatch used for drift taking with a bombsight had not been securely locked, and each time aircraft porpoised a 'mouthful' of water was scooped up, to be locked in by its own weight on the hatch until the next porpoise. The total quantity could only be estimated - perhaps 50 - 100 gallons - certainly enough to radically upset the trim. This security 'oversight' could probably be attributed to a crew member who on entering the aircraft & not long out of bed, hastily relieved himself through the hatch which he opened. This was not unusual in itself but this time the result was, well shall we say 'educational'!

Whilst at Lauthala Bay in March 1944 undergoing training while getting my own crew, it became necessary to evacuate several Cats from the path of an advancing hurricane. I'm not sure how many planes took off - 4 or 5 perhaps - heading for Noumea, my co-pilot being F/Lt. Jack Butcher. After a day there, the advancing storm made us go further. Jack had to take over another crew and my No. 2 then became 'Bert' Tupou.

[JS Note: Hon. 'Alipate Halakilangi Tau’alupeoko Tupou (1st Baron Vaea of Houma, 15th Vaea), born 15th May 1921, Baron Vaea of Houma [cr.1970] by HM the King of Tonga, appointed to the title of Vaea on 16th May 1942, educated in Tonga and at Wesley College, Auckland, served in the RNZAF 1942/1945, member of the Tonga Civil Service 1945/53, ADC to HM Queen Salote 1954/59, Governor of Ha'apai 1959/68, Commissioner and Consul in UK 1969, first High Commissioner to London 1970/72, 1st Minister for Labour, Commerce and Industries 1972/1991, acted as Deputy Prime Minister on numerous occasions, and as Minister of Education and Civil Aviation, and of Finance, 11th Prime Minister of Tonga 1991- 2000, married 1952, Tuputupukipulotu Ma'afu, born 1920. He died 7th June 2009.].

We landed in the Brisbane River, just below the town, next day heading south to R.A.A.F. Seaplane Base at Rathmines. Their hospitality was overwhelming. They flew us in their Cats for an overnight stay in Sydney (40 in the plane I was in), after which we returned to Lauthala Bay by the Rathmines - Noumea route. The officer in charge? S/Ldr Maggie Makgill! A fortnight later we rejoined the Squadron at Halavo, whereupon F/Lt Butcher got his own crew - he had considerable experience as a test pilot in N.Z. and 2nd pilot was far below his ability level. P/O Fred Whillans took his place beside me, having previously been a radio operator on Tasman Empire Airways.

Much of our flying was routine - patrols, searches, shipping escorts & supply trips to radar stations. It was not unusual for the pilot of a U.S. transport plane en route from the States to report a possible submarine sighting in our vicinity. We then had to cover that area with an expanding search for 3 days. At times our crews would report a whale or a floating tree or log at the reported position, but higher command on Guadalcanal always decreed that the search continue. Occasionally they would cancel the search early, perhaps about midnight so that all their staff could go to bed (?), leaving the search plane & its crew airborne until daylight came enabling us to land (Halavo had no night flying facilities). This did not endear them to us, although on one occasion we decided to fill in the hours with a joint up to Ontong Java Reefs. We could discern the white surf breaking on the reefs in the night light before returning to Halavo at dawn. On our descent from about 6 - 8000 ft (?) into the lower warm humid air the whole aircraft interior, skin & equipment, was dripping wet with condensation. I was quite concerned lest a short occurred in the electrical circuitry causing mal-function or at worst, a fire. Fortunately no problem occurred.

We periodically took supplies & mail to the N. tip of Malaita Is (C. Astrolabe??) and on one occasion after securing our plane to the strop of the mooring buoy, we cut the motors and most of the crew went ashore where a vehicle waited to take them to the coast-watching station. I stayed aboard with an engineer (either Sam Parry of Mac McPherson) and relaxed, expecting to wait for half an hour or so. No hurry - it was a pleasant day. However it soon became apparent that the island was slowly moving away from us. We were adrift, with the strop, buoy, cable and the seabed anchor weight all suspended from our keel. Not a happy situation to be in! By starting both engines, heading back to where the buoy had been anchored and then giving the motors full throttle for a short burst, the anchor weight was dragged some way up the sandy (?) bottom sufficient to hold us until the other crew members came aboard again. Back at Halavo Bay we reported "N. Malaita buoy - insecure".

Periodic engine changes for our squadron were done at the U.S. Naval Air Force Base on ile Nou, Noumea Harbour. The liberty barge across to Noumea jetty was popular, as was La Grande Hotel du Pacifique, fruit machines and all. On one occasion, I had difficulty making the beaching buoy at the slipway on Ile Nou, due to a very strong on shore wind and a rocky foreshore. Although holding the plane out of wind with starboard drogue and port motor I could not judge the buoy close enough for the bowman to pick up the floating strop. The pilots' hatches were back for better visability and the U.S. beaching crew ready to enter the water with the beaching wheels. On my second attempt, very slowly and carefully, I missed again, but the beaching party thought we had succeeded and entered the water with the gear. My co-pilot, P/O Fred Whillans, saw what was happening and, standing up, waved his arm to indicate to them we had missed again. Unfortunately the starboard prop. hit his fingers damaging them quite badly, but I was not immediately aware of this. Navigator, F/O Jack Lockington, got the Radio Operator to call the shore base and an ambulance was waiting when we made the buoy on the third attempt. Fred was in the U.S. Naval hospital there for some time, followed by leave in N.Z., before returning to his seat beside me as a valued crew member - with slightly stiff fingers, I recall! After that engine change in NZ 4008 'Lockie' was both navigator and second pilot to Lauthala Bay, and again on the return to Halavo in NZ 4018 via Santo (June 5 - 16, 1944).

A very enjoyable trip, made several times, was to the Stewart Islands, some 2 hours flying time eastwards from Halavo. The inhabited island was at the pointed part of a pear-shaped coral reef, there being three very small islands at the 'blunt' end. Landing in the lagoon was easy, the water being flat calm, but to taxi towards the beach on the island was unnerving as the water was of such clarity that the coral heads always appeared as though they would rupture the plane's hull, whereas on a lead-line measure they could be anything up to 30 ft. or more below the surface. The natives were delightful, much fairer skinned than the Solomon Islanders we had seen open & friendly by nature, readily paddling their canoes to meet us after we dropped anchor. Their lives appeared to be simple & satisfying. On one trip I took several U.S. Naval Officers. They brought with them some supplies from a U.S. hospital on Guadalcanal which I understood had closed down - tinned meat, candles, lengths of cotton material and such like - and the islanders were delighted with these gifts. Before the war, one of these officers had captained a ship which had relocated a good many of the natives to the mainland in order to relieve overcrowding on the island & the consequent pressure on their available food supply. Imagine the pleasure & excitement when the officer produced recent photographs showing the same people, now some years older and by remarks & gestures, the younger ones had grown much taller.

We shared Halavo Base with a U.S. Cat Squadron, and our daily sector patrols were shared with them, each plane covering a 9° sector for an outward distance of 650 miles then across for 50 (?) miles, and 650 miles return. The general direction of the area covered was towards Nauru Is. occupied by Jap forces, so needless to say, the 50 miles across the top was done as close to the water as possible to avoid radar detection, for their land-based planes (e.g. Bettys) would have been more than a match for our flying boats. However, the Squadron Dumbo board records some outstanding rescues made by crews from No. 6 Squadron whilst on such patrols. My Dumbo rescue on 1.5.44 was much more mundane. A crew member on a U.S. freighter was sick (appendicitis?) and my crew went to pick him up off the Southern point of Malaita Is. The sea was moderate so there was no great difficulty there. It was mcuch more worrying when after cutting the motors a short distance from the ship, they brought the patient towards the plane in what resembled a very solid heavy ships life boat. I feared for our plane as they came towards the blister, lest their vessel puncture the plane's skin. There was much manoeuvering & fending off before the seaman on his stretcher was man-handled aboard. The flight to Lunga Point was uneventful.

I am sure that aircrew had the best of life at Halavo. Whether flying or enjoying a day off we could generally beat the heat, whereas ground crews, especially those servicing planes, had no means of escape. The interior was like an oven. Some servicing was done with the Cat in a nose hangar which provided shade and platforms of varying heights.

Beaching crews were slick operators. Before props stopped turning they were into the water witht he beaching gear which was rapidly attached, as was the towing cable attached to the tractor. There was a competition to determine the fastest crew. I do not know the winning time but it was probably under a minute.

The U.S. Malarial control team were ever alert, spraying puddles and stagnant pools and supervising the disposal of tins and other receptacles - any possible mosquito breeding place. Atabrine tablets (and salt tablets) were always on the meal table, and i do not recall anyone on our base contracting the disease, but we all did change appearance to an atabrine yellow.

Our evenings were usually spent enjoying a cool drink in the mess and many hours were spent around the piano singing songs of various shades of colour. Reading, letterwriting and washing clothes were other pastimes. There was some wild life about. Centipedes 6 - 10" long, and W/Com John Agar can testify to their poisonous ferocity after he attempted to put on a flying boot which was occupied. They could sometimes be seen crawling across the inside of our hut walls. Mosquito nets gave us some sense of security.

A visit to our outdoor movie cinema was best on fine, dark nights. Moonlight on the screen was a disaster. Rain or wind were less than welcome - they added to the discomfort experienced when sitting on coconut logs throughout a feature film. Those with Jeeps could have more comfort, parked on the roadway behind the 'auditorium'. A visit from an American U.S.O. (??) group was something really special! Metropolitan Opera stars comprised one group, and after being entertained by the V.I.P's, they duly appeared on the stage in front of the cinema screen. We may have been a great distance away from civilisation and its conventions but one custom was not overlooked.. F/Lt. Selwyn Field was prepared for the occasion, having prepared a presentation sheaf of wild flowers, and in the presence of all camp personnel he confidently walked down the centre aisle, mounted the platform and presented his token of respect & admiration to the lady in the group. Sel got raspberries & laughter from the troops who were doubtless not used to such 'cultural' behaviour, but he didn't bat an eye as he smilingly returned to his seat.

After leaving the squadron, Hobsonville's Seaplane Training Flight was like a comfortable retirement including a variety of duties such as testing, taxi driving to other dromes, islands and searches. The war was over, but New Zealanders overseas found it difficult to get back home. On 21.12.45 I took a Hobsonville Cat to Rose Bay, Sydney (10.25 hrs), returning on 28.12.45 to Mechanics Bay, Auckland (9.45 hrs) with a full load. A radio failure in Australia meant a trip to Rathmines to obtain a replacement unit. Months later, questions were asked as I had signed for it.

After marriage to Betty Field (Sel's cousin) in Auckland on 5.1.46, I was posted to No. 5 Squadron in Fiji, arriving on 25 January. My wife was not permitted to fly in R.N.Z.A.F. aircraft, so she made the trip on the island supply ship R.C.S. "VITI", a very small vessel, once the Fiji governor's yacht. After checking with the Suva office about shipping position & ETA, we thought it appropriate to do a 'navigation & interception' exercise to meet the Viti about 100 miles out. A bunch of flowers was put in a paper bag & suitably inscribed, and after a few low passes over the ship we commenced our 'bombing' run. But the trajectory of a paper bag had us fooled and the missile fell short into the sea.

To her great embarrassment, Betty had been thrust up onto the bridge and to her greater embarrassment the Captain (JS Note: John 'Jack' Cummings) turned the ship about to retrieve the floating bag of flowers using a long boat hook. It was a warm welcome to Fiji. After a week staying in the Grand Hotel we moved into a house at Suva Point and were immediately invited into the local cocktail circuit, but we soon realised that the pace was too great for us. We enjoyed station life under W/Com John Bray and were never short of good company.

On 1 April 1946 three Cats were dispatched to New Caledonia to search for a U.S. R4D aircraft missing from Guadalcanal to Noumea. We searched for a week but without success, the crashed plane later being found in bush high on the N. slopes of New Caledonia. I recall hearing that aboard was a V.I.P. naturalist who had been researching and collecting in the S.W. Pacific. On the first days search the weather deteriorated to such an extent that it was deemed wise to land in the sheltered Touho Bay (N.E. Coast) where we spent the night swinging at anchor. CNB Noumea expressed his high appreciation, donating binoculars to each captain and an iced water machine for the Lauthala Bay hangar (tricky to get it into the blister compartment from a boat!)

My last Air Force flight was when Betty & I returned to Auckland in a Sunderland, captained by Dan Carlow assisted by Russ Carleton, Bill Mackley and Gus Knox, on 30 Sept. 1946.

Memoirs of Dennis Donovan

Dennis Donovan
Christchurch
25 February 1992



I was in the Marine Section of the RNZAF and, after doing a twelve month stint at Laucala Bay in Fiji I was posted to take charge of the Section at No 6 Squadron which had just then transferred from Segond Channel (Santos).

In this capacity I relieved my friend Corporal Dave Cambie who was itching to get back to godzone. This was to the best of my recollection in late 1943 - or early 1944. My rank at the time was a newly reclassified L.A.C!

Halavo Bay at this time was an American base - home to a squadron of PBY5 (Catalina) flying boats and the N.Z. Squadron had not been long in residence under the stars & stripes. Residences consisted of 6 - 8 man tents sited on boggy ground and not entirely waterproof. My own bunk (a collapsible cot) was sited right alongside a huge fallen coconut trunk which was home to a large colony of scorpions. The tent floor was sections of Marston matting laid on coconut logs - and the water level was usually about an inch or two below the level of the matting! You took your boots and your .303 rifle to bed with you inside the mosquito net.

I arrived to inherit a rather unhappy state of affairs. The main task of the section there was to service the needs of the flying boat (kites) and their crews. The kites had to be armed, fuelled and rationed by sea - and when they had to come ashore for servicing the Marine Section got them there. Beaching space was limited as were the number of serviceable marine craft for these functions. It had therefore been decreed - just prior to my arrival - that ALL these functions were to be in the hands of New Zealand crews. I was told this was so because the U.S. personnel were below standard in these tasks.

Perhaps as a result of this decree - or perhaps because of a natural antipathy - it was difficult for us - at my level anyway - to get much co-operation from the Yanks. (But see below re Gavutu Island). We did all our own boat repairs and our one engine mechanic, Reg Grenfell, was starved for spares for the hard working Chrysler Crown petrol engines and the Buda diesels in the refuelling barges. However, we carried on with our principal task which was providing a taxi service to the 'Cats' - both U.S. Navy and RNZAF.

Another area of discontent emerged because of the current method of providing the taxi service. When a kite returned from a patrol there was always a certian amount of tidying up to do before the crew were ready to go ashore. They then signalled the tower by radio or Aldis lamp to send a boat - and the boat was nor [sic JS 'not'] always as prompt as one could wish. The boat crews complained that often as not, when the got to the kite they had to hang on "for ages" before the aircrew emerged. I changed that procedure. In future whenever a kite returned to base there was to be a boat alongside as soon as she picked up the moorings. My boat crews remonstrated that they would then have to wait for the crew whereupon I told them they may as well wait alongside the kite as alongside the jetty! The word got around and I subsequently heard on the grapevine that the marine crews at Halavo were "right on the ball". And relationships between the marine crews and the rest of the base improved no end.

My immediate superior was the Squadron Intelligence Officer - one David Russell, a farmer from Waipukurau - who had to be officially responsible to the C.O. for the Marine Section. Cambie had given me a bad report on Russell but he never once interfered with my running of the section. We got on quite well - here are a few 'trivia':-

I found on my arrival that it was the custom on a quiet day for the C.O. and a few of the Officers to take one of our fast 24 foot launches - personnel boats they were called - out in the bay waterskiing. Because of maintenance problems mentioned above I frowned on this practice but let it go. But when, one very calm day, I was asked to provide a second boat to rough up the surface of the water I dug my toes in and stopped the whole procedure. I was not very popular in the officers quarters as you might imagine. A mere bloody L.A.C!
[JS Note It was a procedure in calm weather for boats to be used to rough up the water as flying boats attempting to take off had difficulty breaking the suction that occurred between F/B and the water]

One of our Navy Fairmiles came into Tulagi Harbour one day. Russell came to me saying he had an officer friend in the Fairmile and he'd like to pay him a visit that evening - could I lay on a boat. So I instructed the duty crew accordingly. One of them, Alf Pine, came to say let Green have the night off and come myself and he explained that Green did not drink! I got the message and the three of us set off - Russell, Pine and me. Getting there was fine in broad daylight and stone sober. Coming back was another matter - pitch black and all of us drunk as lords! I suffered badly the next day. An excess of navy rum attracts the flies in the tropical sun.

Then there were the chickens. The Americans were shifting out of the base at Tulagi and Russell discovered they would be leaving an unknown number of chickens behind. There would not be enough for the whole camp - but the Officers may as well have them? So at dusk we three or four boats to Tulagi and rounded up as many fowl as could be found asleep. I think there was an extra issue of beer for the Marine Section.

I had a good friend in one Jim Beattie - Flight Lieutenant and Senior Ops Officer. His offsider was F/O Butch Wardon and we used to play chess together - Butch just a learner. But Butch had his hand on the wrong end of a Very pistol one day and he had to be sent home. Beattie had been a Sgt. Photographer with the R.A.F. in Singaport. Once a week a kite would proceed to an island (called KIA I think) to collect crayfish for the officers' table. Beattie always went along because he was familiar with the native languages. Of course, Jim always managed to snaffle a few crays for his own purposes and he and I would have a feed over a game of chess. But he always sent the duty driver up to the mess to collect his share of the crays. Otherwise they might suspect him!

The 'Cat' Boats

Courtesy of Norm Brailey
Orewa, 1992.




They fly through the sky with a nonchalant air
With Zero's they play like a Tortoise and Hare
And the word gets around for the Jap's to beware
The 'Cat' boats are flying tonight.

They hang on the bomb racks a dozen or more
And twenty pound frogs simply litter the floor
So start up the donks and we're off to the war
The 'Cat' boats are flying tonight.

With many a sigh for our warm little cots
We thread our way through the steamers and yachts
And take to the air at a full sixty knots
The 'Cat' boats are flying tonight.

After plugging along for an hour or two
The skipper looks round at his trustworthy crew
The Observers asleep and the Engineer too
The 'Cat' boats are flying toight.

Come a break in the clouds and a light down below
The Skipper has had it so says "Let 'em go"
And mixed bombs and beer bottles rain down on the foe
The 'Cat' boats are flying tonight.

The clouds are clamped down on the bay like a vice
The Wireless Op. twiddles his dials once or twice
"I can't get a bearing, the sets on the ice"
The 'Cat' boats have had it tonight.

The A.S.V.s gone, the compass is swinging
But on through the night the great 'Cat' boat is winging
The engines cut out, and we hear the angels singing
The 'Cat' boats won't make it tonight.

So down through the clouds on the old bank and turn
And somebody yells, "there's the bay, just astern"
And down on the water the landing flares burn
The 'Cat' boats just made it tonight.

So lasso the buoy, after fighting the tides
Then off into town for a quick one at 'Hides'
And so ends one more of our hair raising rides
The 'Cat' boats were flying tonight.

Though dicing with death every day of our lives
We still find time for our girlfriends and wives
"Whackho" when the three sixty hourly arrives
The 'Cat' boats will not fly tonight.

Sinking of the San Juan, by Bill Leadley

It all started on the 8th of November 1943, when Crew 5 of No. 6 Flying Boat Squadron was taken off patrol section search operations to fly a skeleton crew down to the Ile Nous Naval Air Station, Noumea, New Caledonia. The purpose of the flight was to pick up a PBY5 Catalina flying boat, No. 4017 XXT which had undergone extensive repairs over the last month under the supervision of Flight Sergeant Jack Bartlett. Squadron Leader McGill with skeleton crew was to fly her back to Espritu Santo (a welcome break from flying operations).

Crew 5 members were as follows:
Captain: John Macgrane of Auckland (Flying Officer).
2nd Pilot: Sgt. Harry Farmiloe of Auckland.
1st Wireless Operator: Flight Sgt. Abb Ormesby of Auckland.
2nd Wireless Operator: Flight Sgt. Larry Heath of Waimate.
Navigator: Pilot Officer Ross Laurenson of Wellington.
Chief Air Gunner: Sgt. Walter Leadley of Wellington.
Chief Flight Engineer: Sgt. Ralph Rigger of Hamilton.
2nd Flight Engineer: Sgt. Noel Melvill of Timaru.
3rd Flight Engineer: Sgt. Jack Wakeford of Wellington.

0755 hours - 8th November
Given the green light from the sea plane tender, the U.S.S. Wright. Within minutes we were airborne from seagone [sic] channel Espiritu Santo and heading south. Landing XXR in the harbour of Noumea at 1255 hours, we buoyed up at Ile Nous Naval Air Station. At 1400 hours we boarded a Nats Barge which transported us to Noumea for a look at the town. We had just begun to enjoy ourselves in this very French town with its very public toilets and quaint little wine shops, when a couple of jeeps pulled up by us, manned by American M.P.s. Their only comment was "Nu Zealand Airmen? Get in" !! We didn't argue as they were armed. Back on the docks into a Nats barge and whisked back to the island of Ile Nous, marched straight into the American Navy briefing room, where we were informed XXT was fueled up and armed with four 250lb depth charge plus ammo and food.
We were to proceed once airborne to a position off the coast of New Caledonia where we would rendezvous with a convoy of 14 ships and conduct a square search around and ahead of her. A torpedo attack had been made on this convoy by a Japanese sub only four hours before.

1820 hours
Airborne again with a difference in the crew - Squadron Leader McGill had taken over as Second Pilot, Sgt. Jack Bartlett as Chief Engineer, Sgt. Ron Snodgrass of Nelson, a Chief Flight Engineer assisting. Sgt. Rigger and Harry Farmiloe stayed with XXR and held her in a state of readiness.
Rendezvous with convoy around 2000 hours and proceeded with square search. Flying at 6000 feet we took turns at radar watch. Chief Engineer Sgt. Bartlett reports malfunction of temperature gauge starboard motor. The square search started at the convoy, built up to the longest leg of a square (being a square of 100 miles long), then we reversed the procedure till we were back with the convoy, then away we would go again.

0100 hours
It was a bright moonlight night with a little cloud around, the sea was rough and a high wind was blowing. The crew was getting pretty tired and the roar of the twin 1250 h.p. Pratt and Whitney engines had a tendency to mesmerise or woo one to sleep. We were back on the 100 mile leg, only this time the Skipper was using George (the Automatic Pilot). Suddenly the starboard motor lost power and while the pilots were busy getting George disengaged the aircraft went into a flat spin. Sitting in the blister compartment I was suddenly pushed hard up against the bulkhead. Looking down I could see the sea springing up towards me at an alarming pace and I thought of my parachute in its rack only six feet away, but the force of gravity (or in this case centrifugal force) kept me forced into the corner. Somehow I managed to get my Mae West out from under the seat I was on, then I set to, to get the blister open. I broke just about every fingernail opening, and at 1800 feet it came open. The aircraft shuddered violently, gradually stopped spinning and at 500 feet Flying Officer McGrane had control again. I wasted no time putting on my parachute harness and placing my chute under my seat; likewise other members of the crew were doing the same. I had barely sat down when power faded again, only this time Johnny McGrane was ready for it. The flying boat went into a large yaw and then held course again - down in the tail end it was like being on the end of a large pendulum and 5 minutes later it happened again. I slipped forward to just below the tower. I grabbed Sgt. Bartlett's leg, he took his earphones off and bent down. "What gives?" I yelled. His reply "Number one plug is loose, possibly out". I returned to the blister compartment, plugged in my intercom and waited. The reassuring voice of Squadron Leader McGill came through, "I say chaps, nothing to worry about, just a little water in the carburettor, but just in case put your chutes on" !!! After a couple of hours and several dozen yaws I came to the conclusion two things were radically wrong. 1. My stomach wasn't as strong as I thought it was, and 2. If I didn't move forward smartly I would leave my supper all over the ceiling.
I made my way forward to the front gun turret and slowly regained my equilibrium. We stayed with the convoy until daylight, then returned to Noumea, landing at 0610 hours. (Note: No further attack was made on the convoy).
Footnote. Shortly after the starboard motor lost power, Flight Sgt. W.A.G. Ormesby made contact with Ile Nous Air Station, informing of them of our situation. Their advice was to return to Noumea, point the nose out to sea and bale out. We could not land as a high wind was blowing. the flare path would not hold and there was too much shipping in the harbour. (Had we bailed out with that high wind God only knows where we would have finished up). Now straight to the ablution block, a shower and then some breakfast, afterwards to commune with Morpheus for a long, long time. But it was not to be. The 500 hours check was due on XXR.
We had been awake since 0530 hours the day before, and had flown 16 hours 10 minutes. Airborne again at 0805 hours, this time with our original crew on board. At least Sgt. Farmiloe and Jack Rigger had had a night's sleep.
We landed at Lauthala Bay, Fiji, 7 hours 5 minutes later, on 9th November. After debriefing most of the crew hit the sack and slept until late afternoon, on the 10th. On the morning of the 11th of November, Crew 5 boarded XXR, gave her a good clean up and individually did all the checks, made sure all personal effects were packed up and left her for her 500 hours check by the team of expert ground crews.
On that afternoon we went into Suva and let off steam, but fortunately most of us were back at base by 10.00 p.m. Little did we realise that the events of the next 36 hours would affect us all for some time to come.
On the morning of the 12th November we were on standby to fly 4021 back to Espiritu Santo as soon as she had been test flown; however a malfunction on the run-up meant delay. I reported to sick bay as I found I was partially deaf in one ear. The flight Sgt. took a look - "yes, I can fix that". Out comes a syringe full of water and after several squirts, "Thanks Flight, that's great, I can hear again - what came out?" "Two frogs and a ton of wax", was Flight Sgt.'s reply, "Where were you last night?". At 11.45 I walked into Sergeants' Mess and at 12.10 the Orderly Sergeant arrived. "Crew 5 at readiness? Quad waiting to take you to briefing in 3 minutes". "Hold on Sergeant, is this the test flight?". "No way", replied the Sergeant, "it's on ops".
I ran to my quarters, grabbed my flying kit, plus gas mask, water bottle and Luger pistol. On the way down to briefing, somebody volunteered the information that a troop ship had been torpedoed 100 miles south of Tonga. At briefing we learned that the San Juan, carrying some 1,429 service personnel was torpedoed at 0900 hours. One torpedo in her engine room and one in her No. 1 hold.
F/O Stan Kirk of Auckland replaced our Navigator, P/O Ross Laurenson of Seatoun, Wellington - a welcome break for Ross as he was really tired. We were airborne by 1250 hours and arrived in the area at 16.20 hours, it being covered by a tropical rain storm. There was only one approach and that was a low level run at 70 feet. We levelled out and even then visibility was poor, but any lower was dangerous as we could have run into the stricken ship.
We had covered about four miles when suddenly there was a clear patch in the weather. What a slight unfolded before us! Hundreds of men in the sea below us and many, many more crammed onto bits of timber, life rafts, Carley floats, duck boards and pitifully few life boats. Off to the left, and right, on the edge of the rain, was a liberty ship [JS Note: 1561 SS Edwin T. Meredith] with landing nets or cargo nets over the side. The captain of the ship was steaming very slowly through the survivors. Many were able to climb up the nets to safety; however, he did not stop for fear of being torpedoed himself. When he cleared the rain squall - full steam for Noumea, we spotted a few seconds later the Martin Mariner, a Pan American Airways flying boat, but were unable to make radio contact with her. We estimated a 16 foot swell was running. It had picked up some forty-plus men and was not happy about taking off as he had damaged his starboard float. We continued flying around in a tight sweep, flying very low; some survivors waved to us and others I sadly noted were floating face down in their life jackets. Harry Farmiloe's came through the intercom system. "Stand by, the PBM is going to attempt to take off". We all offered a prayer for any wounded and the passengers in that aircraft as we knew full well what they would go through in the next 2 to 3 minutes.
The Mariner turned into the wind, looking like a massive bird with her gull wing and twin tail, and then I became alarmed that she was riding too low in the water. I racked my brains on aircraft recce - yes, she had a carrying capacity of only about three tons, with 40-plus men on, at least an extra 1 1/2 tons!!
She was now riding the swell and gaining speed into the wind, leaving a white trail of foam behind her. Suddenly she altered course to port, thus giving a little more lift to the damaged float on the starboard wing.
At this point she started to go through the tops of the swells, the tips of her propellors striking the sea, sending up great clouds of spray. The revs of the motor would drop rapidly, then as she went into the trough she would build up to full revs again, repeating the performance again and again, until sufficient speed and wind built up under the wings to give her lift, then she started hitting the tops of the swell with a mighty thump, leaving a trail of evenly-spaced white patches of foam behind her. Suddenly they ceased and, thank God, she was airborne.
Navigator, a new course for American flying boat base Tonga, and we were on our way climbing to 2000 feet; still lots of cloud, and poor visibility and we did not make a visual sighting of the stricken ship.

1730 hours
Landed at flying boat base Tonga, secured aircraft to buoy and awaited arrival of double ender boat. "You guys want supin?" came from two American sailors. "Yes please, fuel and depth charges". "Well, hell, the officer is away on leave. Anyway you want it, you've got it - might take a while though".
The barge finally arrived and we topped up the fuel tanks. Then while we were waiting for the depth charges we managed to get some tea which consisted mainly of spam and dehydrated this or that. The four depth charges duly arrived sitting in their cradles in the bottom of a Nats barge and at the same time the wind and the rising sea.
Flight Engineer Sgt. Rigger and Wakeford, the two Americans and myself managed two depth charges under the port wing. When we started on the starboard side the fun really began. The rising sea now a 2-foot chop rose to a 6-foot chop. The wind made the Nats barge do everything but stand still, unscrewing the protecting plate; fixing and lowering the hoist wasn't so bad, but when we took up the slack and started raising the 250lb depth charge a wave would pass under the boat, which slammed the boat up against the depth charge with considerable force, smashing the ply flooring.
The second and third wave made a shambles of more flooring as the barge had shifted position on each wave. Two things went through my mind: 1. How sensitive was the explosive?, 2. There was every likelihood of the depth charge going through the bottom of the barge.
After a very hairy performance we finally got the last one into position. By the time circuits were locked up it was dark, so another long wait while the flare path was laid out. Example - a number of 3-foot clingy type boats with an electric light on the top of a 5-foot pole powered by battery. These boats were anchored about a chain apart in a straight line directly into the wind.

2210 hours
Airborne at last, all feeling a little seasick. Within half an hour we sighted the torpedoed ship, about 20 miles away and burning brightly. Throughout the night we would use her as a bearing. Our job was to conduct a radar search and keep that sub down or sink her.
The night dragged on and the twin Pratt and Whitney engines droned on. Relentlessly, again and again we returned to the burning ship and started yet another square search. Sgt. Harry Farmiloe had decoded a message notifying us to expect a destroyer [JS Note: USS McCalla] and two sub-chasers in the area by daylight. We were to direct them to the survivors and that was another two hours away.

It was in the first light of dawn that we first spotted them. Just a voice on the intercom said "On the starboard quarters". I strained my eyes in that direction but all I could see were the black spots that I had seen on occasions for the last three hours, but wait, we were losing height and those spots were turning into blotches as we got closer, then the blotches turned into men standing on rafts, some waist deep in water. We climbed away from them and set course for the blimp on the radar screen some fifty miles away. About twenty minutes later we spotted the destroyer and sub-chasers. An enemy sub would have been bad news for the survivors at this stage of the flight. Flight Sgt. Heath came into the blister compartment, plugged in the aldis lamp and signalled the destroyer's given course and distance to reach survivors. The destroyer responded immediately and off we went to case the area of sea where the survivors were.
We came over them at 3000 feet and discovered that during the night they had spread out over an area of approximately five square miles. We flew right around the perimeter, then turned into the centre where there was a great number of life rafts. It was at this point that Sgt. Melville pointed out to the skipper the presence of sharks. The first pack appeared below and to the right, some 25 to 30 sharks moving inwards just below the surface; we were down to 500 feet and closing in, the first rafts very close now.
The second pack of sharks loomed up, only this time they were right on the surface, the centre of the pack thrashing the water and then, to my horror, I saw the two grey life jackets in the middle of the white water. Down to 100 feet we passed over the first of the rafts. Twenty to twenty-five men were standing in a tight bunch shoulder to shoulder up to their waists in the sea and the outline of rafts could be seen below them, the sheer weight having submerged it. Floating around the rafts were from four to nine men, some face down, then an astounding thing happened. After being in that exhausting position for twenty-one hours they each raised an arm very carefully not to upset the next fellow on the raft and waved to us. In the next few minutes we had passed some twenty rafts in a similar situation and they all waved. I believe it was their way of saying "thank you" for staying with us all night.
The intercom crackled. "Air Gunner stand by with the 05s will you, we'll give the sharks something else to occupy them". Quickly I locked the bulkhead doors, opened both blisters and switched on the reflector sights. Sgt. Farmiloe's voice came on the intercom, "Portside coming up, Bill". Unclipping the port browning machine gun I swung the barrel over the side, pulled the breech block back and let it fly forward taking the first half-inch armour piercing bullet into the breech, then I braced my legs as we went into a vertical bank. Suddenly the sharks were plum in the middle of the reflector sight, no lead was necessary as we were now doing a tight turn around them. I pressed the firing mechanism, putting three bursts of 25 rounds into the pack. One or two of the wounded sharks leapt right out of the water and when they fell back in the other sharks just tore them to pieces, the water coloured and turned pink, the carnage I had caused below was completed. We moved on quickly shooting up some ten packs of sharks. Some packs were swimming too deep, these we passed by. It was while we were moving onto the next pack that I spotted the duckboard. It was on the extreme out perimeter of the survivors with one man clinging to it, his legs in the water but his torso was on the board. He raised one arm and waved to us and a few minutes later we passed over a long beam with five men sitting on it and seven in the sea holding onto it and not far away three more floating face down.
At last the Destroyer and sub-chaser had arrived. We circled her while she made the first pick-up, landing nets over the side and three tiers of three sailors starting at water line to assist these exhausted men up to the deck. The destroyer stopped, then she rolled, the first two tiers of sailors disappeared under water and a minute later she rolled the opposite way, up came the sailors and each one was hanging onto a man. She rolled again and 15 to 20 men were on the nets, eager hands helping them over the rail to safety, where their clothes were stripped off them and they were taken below for a shower as most were covered in oil or diesel fuel.
The picking up of these men was being made difficult by the high swell that was still running; not only that, but when the destroyer headed for the next raft she only saw it when it was on the crest of a swell, what she did not see were six or seven survivors in between and directly in her path. When she did it was too late to dodge or stop. I watched them slide down the side of the ship, only one managing the net, and then to my horror they disappeared under the stern no the ship.
It was Sgt. Farmiloe's quick thinking that saved the day. He suggested that we use our nav smoke flare to not only mark a clear passage, but to indicate those who desperately needed to be picked up.
Flight Sgt. Ormesby got busy on the aldis lamp again, the destroyer Captain welcomed the idea and so away we went, laying a smoke flare every ten minutes, also using the aldis lamp when necessary. After an hour of this we broke away and did another sweep aroun the rafts and bits of wood, shooting up the odd packs of sharks which were still around and in large numbers. Then I spotted him, the man on the duckboard. He did not wave, he just lay there. I called up the skipper, pointing out the fact that he was all alone and obviously exhausted and would not last much longer. "Could I drop a smoke flare by him?" "How many smoke flares left Bill?" "Five" I replied. "Sorry" said the skipper, "He's only one, there are others worse off than him". I was about to reply that he had no-one to help him, no-one to keep his spirit up especially now that help was so near, then the skipper's voice came over the intercom - "Bring her round Harry, a raft has capsized over there, Larry contact the sub-chaser, get her over right away".
Half an hour later we were back near the duck board and I heaved a sigh of relief, he was still on and the sub-chaser wasn't far away. The men on the long beam got the next smoke flare and I secretly cheered as the sub-chaser headed over, but then she had moved away from the man on the duck board.
At last the survivors were few in the water and both the sub-chasers had left. Out round the perimeter again and eagerly I looked for the guy on the duck board for by now I was sharing his ordeal and then I spotted it. It took a full minute for me to accept that the duck board was empty - only another ten minutes and he would have been picked up.
My eyes searched the sea around that duck board, but no trace of him who had fought alone for thirty hours. A final low run around the wreckage in the sea and suddenly we all got a shock, for there below were three men in a rubber raft pulling the fourth one in. The rubber raft had been dropped the previous day by RNZAF Hudson bomber of No. 2 Squadron. The destroyer was 20 miles away and heading home. We soon turned her back and what a sight when he gave her full speed ahead. In no time the men were picked up and on their way home. I had a strange feeling that the sea had given back those four men.
The PBY4021 touched down at 12.25 on the 16th November 1943 at Lauthala Bay, Fiji, after 24 hours ops done on a test flight and flying 19 hours of the past 24 hours. Of the so-called few days off operational flying we had flown 44 hours 30 minutes on the 8th, 9th and 12th November 1943. Of the San Juan we heard much later - of the 1,429 Service personnel on board, apprximately 300 were lost.

Memoirs of W/O John Hall

Memoirs of Warrant Officer John W. Hall Armaments Section No.6 Squadron

With thanks to John's daughter Nancy Bamford and family for permission to publish his memoirs.

The Air Force and Me
At the time of the outbreak of war my father and I owned a farm at Taupaki. We were about to sell the farm with the thought of purchasing a larger unit. Instead, I decided I was going to join the Air Force. We sold the farm and I insisted that my father take the equity of the farm as he needed support having been injured in an accident on the railway about 10 years previously and he was partially paralysed. My application for the Air Force was accepted and I went for a medical examination. My only interest in the Air Force was to be Aircrew. Unfortunately for me on the medical examination I was found to have a visual defect which made me unsuitable for all aircrew. However the Air Force offered me a position on the ground staff. In this I was not interested in the slightest and went off to join the Army. I was accepted by the Army but their medical examination found me “Permanently Medically Unfit!”. I had never suffered a blow like this before. I was devastated and couldn't believe it. Being rejected twice, I had to go back to accept the Air Force offer of ground staff. I was instructed to report to RNZAF Station Whenuapai with the rank of Aircraftsman First Class ACHGD. I thought this sounded very grand, I didn't know that at that time AC1 was the rank for all those over 20 years and ACHGD meant aircraft hand general duties. Those in this rank performed every general purpose or menial work that the Air Force had to offer. On reporting to Whenuapai I was instructed to see the station warrant officer by the name of Mr Trott. Warrant Officers in the Air Force were the only ones addressed as “Mr”. In my interview with him he asked me what I did in civilian life, I said I was a farmer. I could see that this put him at a bit of a loss because as I guessed there would not be many vacancies in the Air Force for farmers. Then he came up with a bright idea. Have you ever used a telephone, on my answer Yes, he said right, we will make you a telephone operator. This work I carried out on my first 2 or 3 months while I was searching for something more meaningful to do in the war effort. I found that I could apply to be an armourer and to go on an armourer's course. I needed to wait about 2 months before going on this course and in the mean time, I was transferred to the armoury at Whenuapai to work. I was fortunate in that I was learning and working on a lot of machine guns and armoury equipment before going on the course. At this period I found that I could get a long weekend pass from my previous section and the next week get a long weekend pass from my new section. At this time weekend leave was permitted only once a fortnight, but I got both of them for about six weeks. I came back from leave from one weekend to find that I was on charge - I had been drawn for guard duty and I wasn't there - a terrible crime. I found that I was charged with being absent from guard, absent without leave and guilty of conduct to prejudice the good order and discipline of the Royal NZ Air Force. When I appeared to answer the charge the armament officer was most amused because of the racket that I had been able to perform. I was punished by being given one day confined to camp and being recorded as having been admonished. I lost my privilege of having long weekends each week.
Eventually I was sent to the armament school which was then situated at Wigram. I had quite an advantage over others because of my practical experience at Whenuapai. I also studied while a lot of those on the course just had a jolly good time. I passed out of the course equal top and while I was still AC1, I automatically attained the rank of LAC (Leading Air Craftsman) after 3 months. My posting from the course was to RNZAF Station Taieri. I arrived there in winter and it was a winter of dreadful frosts. The frosts lay like snow on the ground. As with all Air Force stations we could only have leave one weekend in two. One incident that I would like to record happened when one Airman found that he could go across the airfield to the back road to Mosgiel at night, and he had a source of booze. He would regularly get on whisky. One night on returning he couldn't make it back to the dormitory, but collapsed at the edge of the flying field. The patrolmen going around in the morning saw this heap of white and had never seen that before so they prodded it with rifles. The lump stirred and our friend blearily got to his feet - he had been all night in the deepest frost of the year. He got to his feet and ambled away, back to the mess for breakfast and so warming were the properties of whisky that he suffered no ill effects, also the thick Air Force great coat helped him.
At Taieri I was engaged chiefly in instructing airman pilots in the armaments their aircraft would carry. Airman pilots were pilots under training and could be distinguished from other air personnel as each has a white facing on his field service cap. It was mostly of machine guns and I had to take parties of them to the range for machine gun practise. Our butts can be seen today if one goes from Dukes Road parallel with the railway to the aero club.
While at Taieri during the weekends whilst on leave, we of the Air Force were always seeking entertainment. We were very pleased to find the availability of the ANA dances put on by a number of good ladies in Dunedin. The ANA (Army, Navy & Airforce) Club was run on very strict lines. The Dunedin ladies were all young women who could only attend if they were members and could only become members by invitation. There I met Frances who was later to become my wife. About a month before we were due to be married I was posted to No.1 stores depot at Te Rapa. There were hundreds of Air Force personnel at Te Rapa, all of them clerical staff or stores wallahs. I was the only armourer and it appears that I was sent there to be a technical adviser regarding armament stores held there. This was the most useless, dead end job I have ever had, I had no meaningful work to do and yet I had the most terrible task to get leave to get leave to get back to Dunedin to be married. I was allowed only one week. On my way through Wellington I was so fed up with the uselessness of my work that I decided to go to Air Department. Air Department was the Holy of Holies in the Air Force. It was situated in Stout street, Wellington, and rigorously guarded. It was absolutely forbidden for any personnel to go there without authority. I went, marched in the door, as if on official business, could see at a glance that the Chief Armament Office for the whole of the RNZAF was on the fourth floor and took the lift. I entered his office and told his receptionist who I was and that I requested to see him. The armament staff officer was one Wing Commander Wix. He made me very welcome which surprised me and did not question my bowling into Air Department. He chatted with me for about half an hour, asked about what I had been doing in the Air Force and what stores were at Te Rapa and was most agreeable. It was he who got his office staff to look up my file and told me that I had come top equal on the armourer's course. I told him that my purpose in seeing him was to seek his assistance in me being posted overseas. In this matter he didn't commit himself. We parted on very friendly terms and I found it no trouble to leave Air Department. Poor Frances did not know until I rang from the South Island that we could be married on the due date (3rd March). We had the most meagre honeymoon of 3 days and I had to leave her in Christchurch while I went back to Te Rapa. When I arrived back at Te Rapa I found that I was promoted to Corporal and posted to Woodbourne. In Woodbourne my work was again instructing airman pilots but they at this stage were more advanced in their flying and I had to instruct in a lot more armament subjects. Despite all my efforts I still could not get a posting overseas. In the end I was sent on a course to Rongotai again passing through Wellington, once again I decided to beard the lion in his den and went back to Air Department. Same procedure as before, but this time there was a different armament staff officer, one Squadron Leader Greenaway. Once again, I had quite a long chat, once again I requested that I be posted overseas, and went on my way. What amazed me was, that on neither visit to Air Department, did the Staff Officer question my being into Air Department, out of bounds except on Official Business. On returning to my station at Woodbourne, I found that I was promoted to Sergeant, and posted to instruct in the armament school which was now situated in RNZAF Station, Levin.
How I wished that I had gone to Air Department earlier because who knows what rank I might have attained since I was promoted each time I went there. The armament school at Levin was out of place and was planned to be shifted to Woodbourne. Levin was a completely drill and discipline station, it seemed to be there solely to impart drill and discipline and spit and polish. The atmosphere was quite foreign to me. Soon after my arrival a huge wing parade was planned. Personnel from other stations converged upon Levin, the top brass from Air Department and Ohakea were there and the big parade ground was planned to be filled. I was instructed that I had to take a flight from the armament school to this wing parade. In vain did I try to get out of it, saying I knew nothing of the procedures - to no avail, on the day in question I marched a flight, one of three from the armament school to this big wing parade. The order was clearly given "At the halt facing left, form flight." I could see the immaculate way in which the preceding flights carried out this manoeuvre. When it came to my turn, I marched my flight up to the proper position. I should have given the order, Halt, Left Turn, Form Flight. They should all have halted, turned left and marched in a cartwheel fashion to neatly join the parade. I had not a clue what to order - I said "Halt", looked around in dismay, they were all standing there behind me. There were several other Flights behind mine forced to mark time as I held up the whole works. In desperation, I said, "do the same as the others have done." They all shambled like Browns' cows to raggedly form a proper position in the parade. This is the way in which I mucked up the whole big wing parade at Levin. They couldn't do anything to discipline me because I had never had any parade ground training, but the Commanding Officer at Levin had a jolly good try. One good result was I was excused from the next wing parade. About a month after arriving at Levin the whole armament school was shifted to Woodbourne. While there I made repeated applications for overseas service but to no avail. I eventually became the head instructor , then suddenly out of the blue I had a posting to the Islands.
We first left Whenuapai in a C47 aircraft and were flown straight to New Caledonia where we stayed overnight. The following morning we were flown to Guadalcanal. Having waited there overnight, I was one of the few going to No. 6 Flying Boat Squadron on Florida Island. When I arrived at the armament section at Halavo Bay I was met by a number of my previous pupils. As I had been a strict instructor, I wondered at my reception, but was surprised to be greeted as a long lost friend. I was in charge of the servicing of all the armament of the Catalina Flying Boat section of our squadron. Our No. 6 squadron had approx 300 personnel. Our aircraft had 2 duties, one was anti sub marine patrol, where frequently all the depth charges would be dropped on Japanese submarines. The other function was what they called Dumbo, where every bit of weight was taken from the aircraft, guns etc, and the aircraft flew the maximum time in the air, about 20 hours and the object was to pick up survivors in life rafts, from torpedoed ships or aircraft which had had to ditch or had been shot down. Our squadron had picked up quite a number. Soon after arriving at Halavo Bay, a fault developed; some of our depth charges were not exploding. It was left entirely to me to find out why. I found that the fuses fitted to these depth charges had a lubricant which became sticky in the humidity and the fuses were not being armed, so the depth charges did not explode. There were not text books there regarding these fuses, but I knew them back to front having instructed in them. Also some of my armourers had been instructed in them by me. I had to have all of the fuses, bought into the armoury to be stripped down and cleaned of the sticky lubricant. The Americans had quite a different system for depth charges used on warships. They used the same as we did on aircraft in the Atlantic but ours was the only squadron using them in the Pacific where humidity was so high. English depth charges were a superior design both aerial and surface models being activated by hydrostatic pressure. I had our stock of fuses brought into the armoury ready to start work on what should have been an easy task. Each fuse contained a massive explosive (would blow up a whole house), suddenly I was aware that I was alone in the armoury - everyone had gone, finding urgent work elsewhere - they didn't trust me, they thought I was going to blow the whole place up! I had to carry out the modifications on all the fuses on my own, but the depth charges worked after that. Our Catalina aircraft were purely flying boats, each aircraft had to have extra temporary wheels fitted and the aircraft dragged out of the water each night - servicing was then done high up on the coral beach. During the day the heat inside the aircraft was intense but the work had to be done. It was a practise to wear light weight khaki underpants as the sole piece of clothing. Some of the work had to be done at night, when the temperature in confined spaces was bearable. It was my job to check everything of armament equipment before an aircraft could go out - that is machine guns, depth charges and their racks. The crew who worked on getting the aircraft in and out of the water were always naked and once when an aircraft came in and was pulled out from the water up onto the coral beach, out stepped a party of American nurses, much to the consternation of the landing party. When the aircraft was in the water it was necessary to be moored until the engines could be started. The engines could not be started until a very big petrol powered engine inside the aircraft was started up, it was called the APU, Auxiliary Power Unit, on no account were the mooring lines to be released unless the APU was going and aircraft engines started. In charge of the landing party was one L A C named Roache - because he stuttered, he had the unkind nick name of Yakka. At one time one of the landing party by mistake released the mooring rope, the aircraft started drifting, the APU had not been started, the engines had not been started, the aircrew in the aircraft had not been alerted, and Yakka Rouche was stuttering You're, You're, You're, and he just could not get it out - at last he got it out "You're adrift" and the aircrew were just able to get the APU started and the aircraft engines started before the aircraft ground onto the coral reef. Being only a thin skinned aluminium hull, if the aircraft had drifted onto the coral reef, the hull would have been ruined, the aircraft would sink and would have to be written off as there were no repair facilities for such a big job on our squadron.
Several days every week when all the aircraft were home, we had time in the late afternoon to go for a swim. The water was always absolutely warm and swimming was a pleasure, of course no bathing costumes were worn. On Halavo Bay the sergeants lived in huts with sergeants, did not mix with corporals or airmen, or with officers. I was one of a bridge 4 who were; "Win" Churchill, "Mac" McKenzie and the fourth was Ed Hillary who was a navigator airgunner on our aircraft. Aircrew had a fortnights leave back in NZ every three months and it always amazed me that Ed Hillary would spend his fortnight climbing in the Southern Alps after being in the heat of the tropics. Most of the sergeants' huts were 4 men ones, but I shared a 2 man with Cliff Mills and we got along very well. I had the use of a bomb truck to go back into the back country where we had a bomb storage area and a pyrotechnic store. I could keep an eye on wild pawpaws and beat the birds to them when I saw the first sign of ripening. These were welcome additions to the diet for Cliff and myself as we could not stomach some of the horrible food dished up from the kitchens. We always used mosquito nets, the need for them was not great as the Americans had a tremendous policy that there was not stagnant water anywhere for the anopheles mosquito to breed. On our base was a contingent of about 200 American Navy men who had their own camp and facilities. They were American SeaBees (construction battalion). They had been forgotten by the United States Navy and for the first six months of my tour with No. 6 squadron they had virtually nothing to do, then all of a sudden they were all shipped out and we saw no more of them. In the sergeant's mess, beer was available in only quart size bottles and we could buy one each evening when stock was available. Price 10c (American) per bottle. We had landing craft available, run by our own marine section for our necessary transport, 3 times while I was on the station I had to go on one of these craft over to Guadalcanal, approx 50 miles to get further supplies of depth charges.
We had an extended lunch hour of 2 hours unless something urgent had to be done, during this time I would usually write to Frances and the temperature being so hot I would often break off to have a luke warm shower to cool off a bit. Our starting time in the morning was 6.30 or 7 a.m. and we worked in the afternoon until everything was done.
Life on Halavo Bay was very busy, every day a working day, heat so intense that one wore an absolute minimum and there was practically no shade. We were under the command of the United States Navy - all our food supplies came through American sources but the good beef sourced from NZ was grabbed by the Americans, we were fobbed off with the mutton which was the only meat we saw. We had to take 2 very large salt tablets with each meal to counter salt loss and subsequent prickly heat. I was on No 6 Flying Boat Squadron at Halavo Bay for almost 12 months, then came VJ day and it was all over. Every piece of equipment which we had, we were required to take out on landing barges and dump in the sea. I saw probably millions of dollars of beautiful equipment dumped because the Americans insisted that it should not be reused. Most of us picked the best tools we could to take home for our own use - quite contrary to regulations. Slowly but surely, our squadron was reduced and our personnel repatriated. In my last fortnight at Halavo Bay I was the only senior NCO left and I was made Station Warrant Officer. We were in the 2nd to last aircraft to leave Halavo bay and so heavy was the equipment in the kit bag of every man that the aircraft went for many miles before it could take off - but at last got into the air and we were flown straight home from there where we landed at Hobsonville. I was given final leave of 1 month, discharged to the Air Force reserve, thus ended my contact with the Air Force after nearly 5 years.

Wing Commander John Agar

Wing Commander John Agar
Commanding Officer No.6 Squadron
August 1944 - June 1945.

Nelson
16.03.1992

"I joined the Squadron in August 1943, in Fiji where we had a conversion course to Flying Boats. Our first move was to Tonga Tabu where we took over from the U.S. on Anti-Sub patrols. In November we moved to Espiritu Santo, New Caledonia, again from the U.S. on A/S patrols flying from Segond Channel our base - We then moved to Tulagi Is. Halavo in the Solomon Islands in Jan 44. [JS Note first ops flight from Halavo was 25.12.1943] Our base there was very comfortable with an outdoor cinema, and a nice beach for swimming etc. We also had a tennis court and good accommodation. We lived on U.S. rations with extras from N.Z. whenever possible. Our A/S patrols were from daylight to dusk 10 - 12 hours each from the base towards Nauru Is in the N. Pacific. We also were on standby for Dumbo rescue work daily and each crew took turns in this duty. Later - - this tour we had a detachment of 2 Boats for extra Dumbo work at green Island, Emirau Is, Treasury Is. these covered strikes over Rabaul from Bougainville by RNZAF Venturas & fighters. Our A/C were based on U.S.S. Coos Bay, U.S.N. near Bougainville at Treasury Is. Crews lived on board the ship. While at the Treasuries I did a 'spotting' mission for the U.S.N. bombardment of Choisel Bay, we straffed the area with our .5 guns afterwards - No opposition seen. I had 2 U.S.N. Naval observers on this trip. There was a Mission Station on Malaita Is which we visited frequently with medical supplies etc. We were very welcome there by the mission sisters. Another of our routine patrols was for subs in the area. In the vicinity of Guadalcanal and Florida Is, we called it the 'Slot' and it was patrolled daily from dawn to dusk. On one occasion an ammunition ship was blown up off Henderson Airfield, we heard the explosion at Halavo, and of course it was put down to a Jap Sub, but nothing was ever found _ night patrols were started for a time.
In April 44 we attached I think 2 crews to the Pacific Ferry flight to collect replacement Catalinas from San Diego U.S. Air Base. These were to flown to Suva, Fiji for fitting out for the Squadron. The crews of which mine was one comprised of myself as Capt. F/O B. Stringer Co. Pilot F/O W. Murray Navigator W.O. Thoroughgood H.L. W.O.A.G. F/Sgt Cranston J. 2nd Eng. We were flown to the U.S. by N.A.T.S. via Henderson Field, Santos, Funafuti, Canton, Palmyra , Honolulu, San Francisco. Taking 3 days at San Francisco we had some leave & were the guests of the U.S.N. till arriving in San Diego. Here we were very well entertained and looked after, and fitted out with new uniforms as we had arrived in tropical kit only. The hospitality in the U.S. was simply 1st Class. We had about 2 weeks rest in San Diego Naval Air Station getting ready for the return flight to Fiji. This time was spent in recreation and flight testing our aircraft. By 30 April all was ready and we waited for suitable weather conditions for the flight to Honolulu. This would take about 18 hours so extra fuel tanks had to be fitted. On May 6th we left at about 4.30 P.M. and arrived safely at Kaneohe Seaplane base 17.30 Hrs later (i.e. next morning) after an uneventful trip. It was abright moonlight night and flying at about 8,000 ft (most economical height for us) with a carpet of white cloud below and bright stars above was a beautiful sight. No sensation of speed - just the drone of our two engines (Pratt & Whitneys) which never missed a beat was an experience I will never forget. However on arrival it took a time for our heads to clear (and ears) and our wits back to normal and get some sleep. From Kaneohe (Honolulu) we left for Palmyra a coral atoll about 1/2 way to Fiji. These islands are only a few feet above sea level and very difficult to locate however, with radio it was no trouble to my Navigator to find OK, and after refuelling at the U.S.N. Base we left next morning for Canton another Atoll 5 Hrs flying away, this was also located and after refuelling and another stop over left next day for Fiji where we arrived 8 Hrs later. Next day after delivering and handing over our Catalina to the RNZAF at Fiji we left again for another trip to bring another Cat. back to Fiji flying to the U.S. by U.S. Navy P.B.M. (Martin Marina) [sic.] [JS Note: Martin Mariner see http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/PBM_Mariner] flying boat. On our return after another uneventful flight we returned to New Zealand for some well earned leave, then back to Halavo our Squadron.

It was great to get home to the family but all the harder to say farewell for a 2nd tour in the islands. I think we all felt the same. For me I was then appointed C.O. of the Squadron it had its advantages with more responsibility of course. We kept very good health[?] in the Islands with the Medical Officer insisting on proper Malaria Control at all times 'Atebrin' Tablets daily and long sleeves & trousers in the evenings to prevent mosquitoes getting at one & Mosquito nets at night. I had one trouble with a 'Centipede' which bit me on the big toe when I put on my boot one evening, a thing I will never forget - they are very poisonous & I was in agony till the M.O. gave me an injection of 'Morphine'. I was very comfortable after that!

I finished my tour in August 1945 and was sorry to go but felt I'd had enough and it was time to get back to my family in New Zealand (Wellington)."