UK Ships visiting AUS ports in 1945

[Glenys]

Hi, I'm very new at this, but I'm wondering if somewhere there are listings of UK ships berthing at Brisbane or Sydney in 1945?
Is there a web site I need to be directed to
Thanks

Glenys

[herakles]

Welcome Glynys to the forum!

I don't know if any did visit then. I think they'd all scarpered off by then. There were plenty of US ships of course.

[astraltrader]

Welcome to the forum Glenys. I am not sure if their is a site that lists visits of ships to Brisbane or Sydney - but best of luck.

[rumrat]

Glenys Dispite what Herk says at least one R.N ship paid a visit to Sydney in 1945 here's a picture of HMS FORMIDABLE entering Sydney Harbour.
Regards
Dave

[rumrat]

Glenys,
IMPLACABLE Berthed at Wooloomooloo Sydney In November 1945
VENERABLE Berthed on Athol Bight Dolphins 1945
DEER SOUND was at Sydney December 1945
ILLUSTRIOUS Sydney Late 1945
SWIFTSURE at Freemantle 16 September 1945
KING GEORGE V In Captain Cook drydock Garden Island June 1945
VICTORIOUS Garden Island February 1945
ADAMANT Submarine Depot ship Garden Island 1945-1946
There was also an R.N submarine squadron based at Garden Island around that time.
Hope this is of some use to you.
Regards
Dave

[Benbow]

Hi Glenys,

Just spoke to my father who is 86, ex HMS Jamacia 42-44 and Hoque.45/46

Reckons the Hoque was in Sydney at Christmas 1945.

They also visited Darwin,Brisbane,Mackay,Melbourne, Newcastle and few other places but he could not remember all the names.

[vivian]

Hi Glenys, my own search shows HMS Striker in Sydney in 1945 and I think I saw note of HMS Fencer too.
regards,
Vivian

[tim lewin]

I think it poss that HMS Urchin (destroyer) made a call too

[Florrie]

HMS Fencer was in Sydney in May 1945, my father was drafted from her to HMS Golden Hind on 18th May, according to his service docs. HMS Golden Hind was the transit camp, under canvas, sited on the Sydney Race Course.
Gordon Ford

[doug.birch]

Welcome Glynys to the forum!

I don't know if any did visit then. I think they'd all scarpered off by then. There were plenty of US ships of course.
I dont like the term, scarpered off, it inferes that we run off,we follow orders, dont you.Doug.BIRCH

[herakles]

we follow orders, dont you.Doug.BIRCH

Not if I can possibly avoid doing so.

[doug.birch]

Hi, Glenys hms fencer visited Sydney twice in 1945, the last time, half ot the crew were sent to the Golden Hind an RN Depot near Sydney.the rest of us sadly left Sydney to sail to Cape Town South Africa to be fitted out for trooping. When she completed her last transporting of time expired men & women back to the UK,she went back to the USA. Sold to a shipping company & converted to a passenger ship named SYDNEY, as such did many more visits to SYDNEY as a migrantship.Doug. Birch. Ex.Fencer

[frankcoppi]

HMS Fencer was in Sydney in May 1945, my father was drafted from her to HMS Golden Hind on 18th May, according to his service docs. HMS Golden Hind was the transit camp, under canvas, sited on the Sydney Race Course.
Gordon Ford

Hello

I have just started on this site but can tell you that my father visited Sydney with HMS Fencer although I cannot be sure which year. His name was Frank Coppi.

Regards

Frank Coppi

[Andy3E]

Glenys Dispite what Herk says at least one R.N ship paid a visit to Sydney in 1945 here's a picture of HMS FORMIDABLE entering Sydney Harbour.
Regards
Dave

there's also a KGV class in the Drydock on the lower left

[Rob Hoole]

The following 'dit' is from the memoirs of my good friend, Lt Cdr Doug Barlow RN, with whom I enjoyed our usual Tuesday 'run ashore' earlier today. I am reproducing it in entirety as it is a fascinating story:

The lighter side of heavy battleships by Doug Barlow

I joined my first battleship in 1945 as a 17-year old Boy 1st Class. One of the five behemoths of the KGV Class, HMS ANSON was a mighty 35,000 tons and her size impressed us youngsters hugely. Equally impressive was her Commanding Officer for that commission, Captain Frederick Secker Bell CB RN who had commanded the cruiser HMS EXETER at the Battle of the River Plate and, much more recently, the training establishment HMS ST GEORGE on the Isle of Man where we had just completed our basic training.

On the day of our arrival at Hobart in Tasmania, we were surprised to discover a strike-bound dockyard. The Captain won the admiration of the entire ship’s company when he demonstrated excellent ship-handling skills in berthing alongside without tug assistance. Throughout this brilliantly executed operation I was a patient in the sick bay languishing in a cot that allowed a brief respite from slinging a hammock. Looking out through the scuttle, I likened the experience to that of a train sliding into a platform as the jetty was slowly overshadowed by our grey monster.

When we bade farewell to Australia and the kind, hospitable people who had made us sailors so welcome, we also said goodbye to the many luxury items that had been denied us in war-torn UK. Perhaps most importantly to us boys, these included unlimited bars of chocolate. As Australia slowly slipped beneath the horizon I vowed to return some day but it was to be another 42 years before I honoured my promise to myself.

It was now the spring of 1946. As we sailed for Japan, the increasing ferocity of the monsoon season producing high seas which began to have an effect on our mighty vessel. One Saturday morning, the mess decks had been thoroughly scrubbed and cleaned in readiness for the Captain’s traditional weekly rounds. Every mess was vacated and men clustered in groups on the upper deck. The sun shone and the wind howled, adding to the steepness of the seas. The sailors moved into sheltered areas to avoid being drenched in spray from the crashing waves.

Quite suddenly and unexpectedly, an enormous volume of water welled up and crashed down onto the forecastle and swept two sailors, who should not have been there, clear over the top guardrail and into the tempestuous sea. Cries of “Man overboard!” were soon followed with pipes of “Away sea boat’s crew. Crane driver close up!” The sea boats used by battleships were 32 ft pulling cutters but they were not slung from davits in wartime. This was the situation in ANSON at that time and our sea boat was lashed inside the 45 ft open launch. Before it could be launched, lashings had to be removed and slings had to be fitted to the crane in preparation for hoisting out.

Throughout this agonising delay, the two swimmers were kept in visual sight from the bridge. Our mighty ship responded to the helm and engine orders relayed expertly from the Captain. She slewed round into a position that enabled the survivors to drift alongside. Excited and relieved shipmates threw heaving lines and hoisted them onboard. In the meantime, the sea-boat had only just been lifted clear of the pinnace. Later that day our two swimmers gave an account of their experience over the ship’s broadcasting system, our only source of regular entertainment. As they swept past the quarterdeck, the astute Royal Marine sentry had thrown his lifebuoy and they were able to grasp it. When the line trailing from the buoy wrapped around their legs they were terrorised and shrieked, “Octopus”.

On then to Japan. As we slowly steamed up the immense inland sea leading to the port of Kure we were informed that the caves tunnelled into the cliffs with railway lines that protruded and ran down to the beaches were designed to carry human torpedoes manned by kamikaze pilots. Fortress Japan would have taken a great deal of fighting to overcome with conventional weaponry.

Kure was devastated. It had been home to an enormous shipbuilding industry that could produce capital ships with every part including hull, engines and weapons built in its dockyard workshops. Vessels were assembled in dry docks that were flooded on completion. While in Kure we had the opportunity to visit Hiroshima. The electric train conveying us showed many signs of the intensive Allied bombing and the sides of the carriages were pock marked with shrapnel scars. My first sight of Hiroshima has remained vivid in my mind ever since. It was one of total devastation and utter desolation with piles of rubble everywhere one looked. Bearing in mind that this awfulness had occurred only some seven months previously, the Americans were still using bulldozers to uncover roads. However, I do remember saying to my companion at the time, “Thank God this happened. We would have been next in line.” Such were the views and feelings of those days.

During our time at anchor in Kure, the Australian destroyer HMAS WARRAMANGA berthed alongside to embark a large contingent of our ship’s company including me, all fully booted and spurred and carrying heavy .303 rifles. The destroyer slipped and proceeded to the port of Yokahama where we disembarked and formed up with a vast number of army units and military bands for a victory march through the streets of Tokyo. It’s odd how some amusing incidents remain forever in one’s mind. As members of a Scottish regiment leapt from the back of a lorry with flying kilts revealing everything beneath, the hordes of Japanese spectators roared and cheered with laughter; a tonic they much needed. As we marched along the streets of Tokyo, we were able to see that even conventional bombing had been intense enough to flatten the city and the people still looked impoverished and poorly clad.

We sailed on to the recently reconstructed, clean and functional dockyard of Singapore. I remember being impressed by an array of tugs nudging our mighty ship into her berth with all the engine and rudder movements of the tugs being controlled by the senior pilot on our bridge using only a whistle and hand signals. On our visits ashore, we young sailors were astonished when the once bullying Japanese guards, now working on the roads, would stop and bow to us.

I think I was quite a contented and happy Boy Seaman at this time, working on deck in the sunshine and attending training classes, bearing in mind that we 17-year olds were segregated from those who were perhaps a year older than us. Accommodated separately, our shore leave was restricted and closely monitored. Organised trips with the Padre were the norm. On reflection, these were wise and sensible ideals for our future benefit.

So I chugged along merrily until disaster struck! I was ordered to become the Captain’s messenger. I hated it, dressed in clean whites every day and stationed outside the Captain’s sea cabin waiting to be summoned. When the little bell rang, I would present myself to this terribly frightening person whose sharp blue eyes seemed to penetrate my very being. Having received a directive I would scurry away before trying to piece together the substance of the message.

“Barlow,” said the Captain, “You have made several mistakes. Ask me to repeat anything you don’t understand.”

“Aye, aye Sir,” I mumbled in confusion while thinking to myself, “I wonder what he said then?”

Eventually, along came the final encounter and misunderstanding.

”I want you to ask the Instructor Lt Cdr for a forecast of the weather in the Suez today.”

We were 24 hrs steaming from that area. Well, I thought he had said “Surgeon Lt Cdr” so off I trotted to the sickbay. I returned to the Captain on the bridge and presented him with a piece of paper on which was written the temperature in the sickbay and in the shade of the upper deck. He looked at me and with tight lips he crossly uttered, “Get off my bridge. I never want to see your face again for the rest of this commission. Go!”

I went and was much happier to be back in a pair of blue shorts and working on deck again.

On anchoring in Suez, I believe our ship discharged much of our fuel and water into tankers. Water was strictly rationed throughout our transit of the Canal. After settling to anchor in the Bitter Lakes, “Hands to bathe” was piped and hundreds of us went over the side, only to discover why the lakes bore that name. It was terrible salty.

We next found ourselves in Malta, that little island that was besieged and suffered such intense bombing during the recently ended war. When I had first seen it on my outward passage to the Far East, its once fine buildings had been reduced to rubble. Now it was already showing signs of restoration. Massive chunks of limestone from local quarries were being dressed and placed in position like giant Lego bricks. The tall buildings surrounding Grand Harbour have always given me the impression of being in the centre of an enormous Roman amphitheatre. At night the sights were magical with row upon row of twinkling lights climbing up to the night sky and surmounted by spires and turrets silhouetted against the black backdrop; a truly medieval scene unchanged through the ages.

Apart from gaping up at a very large lump of rock and experiencing the hustle and bustle of Main Street with its several female bands providing entertainment, I recall but little of Gibraltar.

On our return to Portsmouth in July 1946, we were met with a rapturous welcome from family and friends on the crowded dockside. My widowed mother said those historic words to me, “I said goodbye to a boy and they have sent back a man.”

After a short time in Portsmouth barracks I joined my second battleship, HMS KING GEORGE V, the flagship of the Home Fleet, as an adult Ordinary Seaman. On joining my first broadside mess, I soon realised that the Leading Seaman in charge was a power to be reckoned with and ran the mess members firmly with the full backing of naval discipline. Our leader of 52 Mess was a fine upstanding character whom I was soon to admire and eventually befriend. He first impressed himself upon me when he leaned over my hammock and enquired, “How often do you change your under clothes?” “Every other day,” I replied. “Every day in my mess!” he ordered.

Based at Portland with the rest of the Home Fleet, we carried out trials and exercises in the Channel including the first alongside replenishments with a converted German supply vessel renamed BULAWAYO. The Germans had been far more advanced than us in their methods of supplying ships at sea.

Health and safety was unheard of all those years ago. The only life jackets in regular use were those supplied in the 32ft cutter sea boats and were the early-day slabs of cork sewn into canvas aprons, front and back, with securing straps at the sides. Whenever the sea boat’s crew was exercised, they clambered into their boat hanging on the davits, quickly grabbed their lifejackets on the thwarts, threw them over their heads and secured the side tapes. Rumour has it that in doing so, one tall member of the crew encompassed the wire jackstay spanning the davit heads. Came the order “Lower away” and he remained there, suspended in mid-air by his life jacket.

The incredible evolution of two battleships exchanging their ships’ companies still baffles and amazes me to this day. I was just a lowly ordinary seaman at the time and knew little of the planning and organisation that was required. And so it came about that on a bleak and damp day, KGV steamed into Devonport dockyard and berthed adjacent to her sister ship HMS DUKE OF YORK. On looking back, it seems to me that a whistle was blown early the following day whereupon some 1,500 men from each of these mighty vessels picked up their kitbags, hammocks and other belongings then swapped ship and settled into virtually identical messes in time for lunch.

HMS DUKE OF YORK, my third battleship, was the new flagship of the Home Fleet. After a short settling down period we proceeded on a cruise to show the flag.

Madeira was a memorable visit. After the customary impressive entry into Funchal harbour with the entire ship’s company paraded on deck, there came the much practiced and spectacular evolution of putting out boats, booms and ladders. At the sound of a bugle call, sailors would break ranks and take up extended positions, shortly followed by another call in conjunction with letting go the anchor.

Suddenly, as if the ship were unfolding, five boat's booms swung out at right angles, two accommodation ladders hurtled down the ships’ sides towards the waterline and the two cranes raised their jibs with the first of ten power boats to be lowered into the water. Occasionally in warm weather, the enormous quarterdeck awning was spread out like a giant circus tent at the same time.

On our first day lying peacefully at anchor in this picturesque harbour, half of the ship’s company were granted shore leave. Away went the starboard watch and that’s where they remained for the following two days! I was in the Port watch.

Almost as the last man left, the Atlantic swell started to roll the ship and intensified very rapidly. The ship’s boats that had taken men ashore were ordered to remain inshore. As our 35,000 ton vessel was tossed around by the huge swell, accommodation ladders were hoisted inboard, cranes and other movable equipment was secured and loose gear above and below decks was lashed down as if preparing for sea. The heavy rolling motion continued throughout the night and into the next day. There were even reports of seasickness.

On the second day, a slight abatement in the weather allowed the largest of the liberty boats to ferry men back to the ship. Even so, the rolling was such that accommodation ladders could not be used and men had to leap onto scrambling nets draped over the ship’s side. It was quite frightening; men had to wait for the order to jump from the boat’ coxswain when the boat was on top of a wave and level with the ship’s deck.

We sailed into the warm Mediterranean as the UK suffered its worst winter on record in 1947. One day we were lying off the pretty French harbour of Villefranche when the wardroom officers were entertaining a famous golfer of that time. Over the ship’s Tannoy came the announcement “Henry Cotton will drive off A gun turret.” A thousand pairs of feet answered the call, rushing along passageways and crunching noisily up dozens of iron ladders with questions being asked. “Who is going to dive off?” “Was that drive off?” “What in a Jeep?” Much to everyone’s dismay, there was Henry Cotton knocking golf balls into the sea. A disgruntled ship’s company returned below to continue their supper.

This incident occurred towards the end of my successive service in three battleships. I went on to serve successively in three cruisers but that’s another story.

The attachment shows a painting by Ivan Berryman of HMS Anson in Sydney Harbour where she joined the Pacific Fleet in July 1945. She is viewed across the flight deck of HMS Vengeance, where ten of her Vought F4.U Corsairs are ranged in front of a single folded Fairey Barracuda (link (http://www.military-art.com/mall/more.php?ProdID=3153)). The carrier sailed to Australia arriving on 16th July 1945, at Fremantle, then on to Jervis Bay and Sydney. She departed Sydney on VJ Day, the 15th August 1945. She returned the following year, bringing Australian troops home from Labuan in Borneo to Sydney, arriving on the 12th January 1946. She underwent a refit in Sydney and departed again on 19th March 1946 (link (http://www.hms-vengeance.co.uk/ausveng.htm)).

[jbryce1437]

Looks like Glenys never returned to find the answer to her query:rolleyes: