Tightly holding the piece of cloth over my 'you know what' I kept my head down and eyes fixed on the ground. I was quickly put at ease when one of the women shouted "Don't you worry lad, you're home and you're safe that's what matters". Others joined in with similar shouts of comfort, easing the embarrassment. The contingency plans drawn up by the Navy for such an emergency were excellent. Hot showers and plenty of soap removed the last traces of oil before we were kitted out. Then everyone was ushered into a dining hall for a good hot meal. Afterwards, we were asked some very basic questions such as name and rank, and then issued with train tickets, money and leave passes. Getting us on our way home as soon as possible was obviously the main priority for the authorities. The treatment I received after the sinking of H.M.S. Courageous contrasted dramatically with the disgusting reception I went through in 1942, when I survived the sinking of H.M.S. Dorsetshire. This I will cover in detail later in the book.

 

 News that another batch of survivors had arrived in port spread like wildfire, and crowds gathered outside the barrack gates. Women desperate for news of their menfolk wept as they scrutinised everyone leaving the depot. Emotions were running high, people knew that if their loved ones were not with our party they would not be coming home. As the police forced a passage to let me through the crowd, I was bombarded with questions about missing men, and had I seen them. Sadly I had to shake my head at the names I heard, I just wished I could have said something to ease the pain on the faces around me. The Quartermaster of the 'Courageous', who had often given me instruction on the ships' helm as part of my training, was amongst the crowd. He lived locally and had arrived home with an earlier party of survivors, now he had come to see who else had been saved. When he spotted me he pushed forward and grabbed my hand, shaking it furiously with joy. A newsreel cameraman witnessed the incident and asked us to repeat the handshake for the camera team doing a news item. When it appeared on the screen at the old Electric Cinema in Torquay, several of our neighbours rushed around to tell my Mum that I had been on the 'pictures'. Dad and Mum were very proud of me, the first dramatic naval incident of the war at sea and their son had been part of it.

My standing with my civilian chums was very much enhanced, sad to say some of them joined later but did not survive the war.

 

 On the 5th.September 1939 the Admiralty sent a message to the C in C Home Fleet stating that a general issue of lifebelts had not been anticipated but arrangements were being made to obtain supplies as soon as possible. The death of someone so respected and with the seafaring experience Captain Makeig-Jones must have been a great loss to the Admiralty.   Captain William Tofield  Makeig-Jones was born in Yorkshire the son of a doctor. One of six children, 3 boys and 3 girls, he entered the Royal Navy by the normal pre-war channels for officer cadets at the Royal Navy College H.M.S. Britannia at Dartmouth. Specialising in torpedoes and communications he was promoted Lt. Commander in1921, Commander in 1923,  Captain in 1930. He and was to be elevated to the Flag Rank of Commodore in October 1939 but was killed just weeks beforehand.

 

 

 

HMS Courageous

HMS Courageous June-September 1939 from the book “Taking the King’s Shilling” by John Cannon