buildings across the promenade with our 4.7 inch guns.
“Later in the day we knocked out a battery of three 88 mm guns two miles inland. We were in radio contact with army specialists who’d trained with us in Scotland. They’d been dropped in earlier and our man informed us that thirteen of our fifteen salvos had been direct hits on the battery. Behind us, the cruiser Arethusa and the battleship Nelson and other large warships were pouring shells on their specific targets much further inland.
“As time wore on, bodies of men killed in the assault action were being washed out from shore. When possible we’d take them up, check the identification tags, and bury them at sea. Wounded were taken aboard and attended to by our ship’s doctor and his staff.
“My younger brother was in the British Commandos and passed by the Algonquin as he went in on D Day. Knowing that I served on her, he hollered trying to get someone’s attention but without success. Hardly surprising that day. He told me about it later on when we were home on leave and enjoying our first reunion in fourteen years.
“On 7 June, I went on deck and watched numerous concrete caissons up to 60 feet long go floating by. They would be sunk to form part of the huge Mulberry Harbour. Dozens of old merchant ships were brought in to be deliberately sunk at high tide to form a “Gooseberry” or shallow breakwater. They passed so close to us that one could see the face of each captain standing on his bridge – the faces reflecting the emotions of captains about to scuttle a ship. The Mulberry itself was an amazing sight when completed and all manner of supplies were unloaded from ships and rolled off on to the beach-head to fuel the Allied war machine.”
Burial at sea from HMCS Algonquin, 8 June 1944.
Two invasion survivors are cared tor on HMCS Algonquin, June 1944.
A section of the shoreline at St. Aubin-sur-Mer, June 1944.
Immediately following the initial invasion operations the Algonquin and sister destroyers patrolled up and down the embattled coastline, dealing with any remaining enemy strongpoints and on the lookout for pesky E. boats.
“The Germans had sown some new and effective acoustic mines that were attracted by the vibrations of ships’ engines. We were about half a mile from HMS Swift when she caught one and went down fast but not before the secret radar equipment had been salvaged from her mast. Many of her crew were less fortunate.
“We carried Lieut-General H.D.G. Crerar, Commander of The First Canadian Army, and his staff over to France on D Day – 12. From informal chats with some of them, I gathered that they expected the war to be over within six months.”
Shortly thereafter it was back to Scapa Flow and northern duties for HMCS Algonquin. One short and vicious operation code-named “Counterblast” took place on 12 November 1944. Algonquin was one of six warships attacking a German force carrying supplies to troops in Arctic Norway. Nine vessels, including ammunition ships in the convoy, were blown out of the water at the entrance to the Skagerrak.
At 2045 hours the Home Fleet ships were twelve miles from the coast and closing in. By 0102 hrs it was all over. In the middle of the fray the Algonquin’s log recorded:
2325 Engage with all armament that will bear.
2330 Algonquin has hit two freighters and one escort, enemy on starboard beam 800 yards – one ship just blew up – tanker – shell passed between us and director – shore batteries opening up.
2335 Another ship blown up.
“It was horrible, horrible, to see those ships burning and know men were struggling for survival in the icy water. Under different conditions we’d have picked them up but no way could we risk losing our own ships and men by going in that close to shore. Their 8 inch shore guns were blasting away and when Admiral McGregor signalled from the cruiser HMS Kent to the effect – ‘Come on boys, let’s get the hell out of here’ – we were off.
“A real boost came on the way back to Scapa Flow when we received a personal message of congratulations and thanks from Winston Churchill.”
In February 1945, a year and a lifetime after her commissioning, Algonquin was taking her original crew back to Canada.
“We ran into the worst storm of my experience. Some of her plates separated and water was rushing into the magazine. There was ice everywhere and when we came out of that, one of the crew developed appendicitis and instead of going straight to Halifax we had to put in at St. John’s, Newfoundland.”
Davies said goodbye to Algonquin in Halifax. It was home for leave, some marking of time in barracks, and then a job on the minesweeper, HMCS Ungava. After being sent aboard to straighten out the books, he stayed on that ship for several months.
Then VE Day arrived and with it, the Halifax riots.
“My impression was that nearly everyone was drunk that day. The navy felt that it had been treated shabbily in the war by some storekeepers who hiked up prices for the sailors. And then again, everything was shut up tight. They couldn’t get home and there was nowhere for the thousands of young service people to buy a drink and celebrate the great occasion. They were frustrated to some extent but it was no excuse for the sort of behaviour that erupted. The mess and damage on Barrington Street was unbelievable. Disgusting. Unlimited drinking and the results. They’d broken into breweries and liquor stores, lugging out as much booze as they could carry. Members of the three services were there although the majority were navy. Some would pick up bottles, full or empty, swing them around and let them go smash through plate glass windows. It was a miracle that your shoes and feet were not cut to ribbons as you walked. Glass was everywhere. The servicemen did most of the damage but the civilians were quick to reap the benefits. They appeared with trucks to cart away the loot, even to three-piece chesterfield sets.
“The victory parade had just passed and my friend and I had seen enough. On our way back to the dockyard, we were passing the cemetery when a sailor stopped us and opened a club bag with ‘Wanna buy a watch?’. The bag was half full of watches with price tags attached. We’d barely got a look when he closed it in our faces and took off. The Shore Patrol had just turned the corner.
“It wasn’t long before the Shore Patrol arrived on our minesweeper; they were searching all vessels thoroughly and finding stuff hidden in air vents and other odd places. Those forewarned threw stolen articles overboard.
“After the chaotic day feelings were running high between the navy and civilian authorities. To help defuse matters the navy moved most of the ships out of Halifax Harbour. We sailed to Charlottetown for a few days.”
Mervyn Davies left the RCNVR in November 1945 and returned to his textile job, later retiring to Picton, Ontario.
King George is piped aboard HMCS Algonquin at Scapa Flow, 1944.
3
Sinking of the S.S. Sinkiang
