Merchant Naval Seaman David Wilson

	This page: in the Merchant Navy.
	Kawasaki POW Camp.

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David Wilson photographed in 1947

At the outbreak of war, David Wilson was at boarding school in Dorset where he joined the Officers' Training Corps. In 1940 he left school hoping to join the RAF but was classed as unfit due to suffering ill health as a child. Instead David joined the Merchant Navy on his 17^th birthday despite the reservations of two doctors who considered he would not survive the hardship of life at sea. Watts, Watts and Company of London employed David as a cadet, or apprentice deck officer. David's mother was worried for his safety and bought him the best possible lifejacket which was in the form of a coat, and very warm to wear.

On 15 April 1941 David was instructed to join the SS Willesden at North Shields and was cheered on his way by 27 officers and men of the King's Own Scottish Borderers who were billeted at his home. There were three other apprentices on board, Derek Bawden (known as George), Jimmy Harland and Arthur Joyce.

The morning after his arrival David was awoken by the bo'sun:

We were told to go down into the hold and sweep up the coal dust which had been left when they had discharged to coal ballast. . . When I peered over the side of the hold I was aghast at the huge depth and when I thought of that 45 foot vertical steel ladder I would have to climb down, my legs turned to water. I was told not to grip the rungs, in case one springs out, always grip the sides of the ladder. There was no rung at the top of the ladder, just smooth steel, that was the scariest part of it. I climbed down, trying not to look as if I was scared stiff and, as I stepped off the ladder at the bottom of the hold, the sailors already down there grabbed my new cap and new working jacket and kicked them round the hold. They didn't stay looking new for long! When it was time to go up to the top again, I found it more of an ordeal.

Having taken on coal in Newcastle, SS Willesden took up position with a coastal convoy for her journey around Scotland to Loch Ewe. During the onward voyage to Baltimore, David was 'initiated' by being covered in 7lb of raspberry jam! This treatment did not help his feelings of homesickness but David was cheered up by his fellow cadet Jimmy. This trip was memorable for the seasickness which afflicted him and the tremendous gale which put the steering gear out of action. A 'wolf-pack' also attacked the convoy with the loss of one ship. In May SS Willesden returned home as part of a large convoy escorted by HMS Ramillies and carrying a cargo of grain. David was not allowed ashore as this had been his first trip, but George and Jimmy covered for him so that he could spend a precious day with his parents.

George (Derek) Bawden

Jimmy Harland - the background shows twisted rails where tanks had rolled over the side during a gale.

In June the SS Willesden headed for Montreal and during the Atlantic crossing the convoy came under attack on two occasions, losing five ships. Once again David and the other apprentices were required to sweep out the holds:

We worked in clouds of coal dust and, as we were streaming with sweat the whole time, we were soon as black as coal miners! Each morning we would take it in turns to go ashore and fill a suitcase with bottles of Coca Cola to keep us going through the day. Each evening, before being allowed ashore, the beams over the holds had to be swept down and the hatch covers put over the holds. This entailed sitting astride one of the narrow steel beams 45 feet above the vast hold, with nothing to hold onto except the beam and brushing the coal dust off whilst inching along. I just could not face it and left it for the others to do, as they were used to it. That evening I searched high and low for my shore-going shoes and someone suggested looking for them on deck - there they were, sitting in the middle of one of the beams! I had to retrieve them or stay aboard that evening. I screwed up my courage and worked my way across to the cheers of the others. I never found it daunting again.

David, George, Jimmy and Lofty after sweeping out the holds.

The following trip was to New York and on the return journey from Quonset Point the ship was loaded with army stores, including 5 tons of nitro glycerine and 40 large oil tanks which required securing with heavy chains. A succession of gales on the return journey, with seas measuring 40 feet, resulted in the chains working their way loose and several of the oil tanks began to roll into the sea, damaging lifeboats as they went overboard. The rest of the convoy carried on, leaving the crew of SS Willesden to try and secure the remaining tanks in the heavy seas. It took three days to rejoin the convoy and in the meantime two other vessels had been torpedoed. The following convoy in January 1942, again to New York, followed a similar pattern with a 'wolf-pack' battle lasting three days:

One such attack started when a submerged U-boat was right alongside of us and the first we knew of it was when a destroyer raced through the convoy and dropped a pattern of depth charges 25 yards from us which nearly buckled the side of the ship. When depth charges are dropped near you it sounds as if a giant is hitting the sides with a hammer. Must be terrible in a U-boat when these things are being dropped. The most spectacular attacks were at night when the U-boats would surface and attack with shellfire and torpedoes. The escorts would fire star shells which would light up the scene with a brilliant white light. To add to the din and confusion, ships in the convoy who spotted a U-boat would open up with their 4 inch gun and any other gun which would bear. Shells would ricochet over the water and there was always the danger of hitting another ship. Gaps in the columns would tell you the next morning how many ships were lost. Several days later the ship ahead of us was sunk and we passed one man clinging to a hatch cover as we passed. All we could do was to shout encouragement to him and hope he would be picked up by the rescue ship at the rear of the convoy.

After deck of SS Willesden.

Having left New York, the SS Willesden steamed to St Thomas in the West Indies to load up with coal before heading for the South Atlantic. On 1 April 1942 a plane with US Navy markings carried away the main aerial by trailing a large hook from its tail. This meant that the effective range for any SOS signals was only around 40 miles. The Army gunners managed to hit the plane, which had come from a German commerce raider, and the crew discovered later that the observer had been hit in the arm. Shortly after, the raider fired salvoes of shells at the Willesden and ordered the crew to abandon ship or she would be sunk. The crew retaliated by returning fire with a few shots from the antiquated 4 inch gun on the poop:

We fired 6 shots at the raider without result but the raider was keeping up a rapid fire of three guns and circling us in ever decreasing circles at 23 knots. In no time shells were ripping into the ship and the high octane fuel on the foredeck was soon a mass of flames. The shocking thought that flashed through my mind was, unlike being attacked in convoy when you had ships all around, we were alone in an almost empty ocean being attacked by this monster hurling shells at us alone. It was absolutely terrifying, especially as we could not do anything.

Having been ordered to abandon ship, David leapt into the port lifeboat and put the plug in before swinging himself back on deck and helping to lower the boat into the water. In the queue for the ladder his life was saved by a young sailor, John McMillan, who waited to allow David to go down first but who was hit by a shell splinter and died of his injuries. The casualties stayed in the boat while others, David included, hung on to safety ropes:

For the first time I was able to try out my wonderful life-jacket coat but unfortunately, I had not done the buttons up before getting into the water and the buoyancy was so great, I could not force the coat down enough to do the buttons up, I did however have my arms in the sleeves, so the coat acted like a life buoy. At least I had the comfortable feeling that the coat would support me for 24 hours if need be.

The survivors were taken aboard the raider, the wounded were taken to the sick bay and the others shown to their quarters, an 18ft by 12 ft room, already occupied by the crew of SS Wellpark which had been sunk 2 days earlier on the same route. The crew was quite well fed and the men were permitted to go up on deck for an hour each day, the rest of the time was spent playing cards and reading books. The Thor was a successful raider and on the 3^rd April a further ship was attacked, a Norwegian merchant ship, the Aust. The crew joined those already captured. On the 10^th the Kirkpool was sunk and the remaining crew of twenty was picked up.

On 4^th May we were told that we would be transferred to a supply ship in the Indian Ocean. On being allowed on deck that evening, we could just make out the lines of the supply ship hove to about a mile away. She turned out to be the Regensburg of about 8,000 tons. We collected what gear we had, (in my case none) and clambered down the rope ladders into the launches. Sailors lined the rails on the raider and waved goodbye to us and, of course, we responded. It was hard to realise that they had sunk our ship and nearly killed us a short while back but, strange to say we were a little sad at leaving them.

The crew was treated well on board the Regensburg and had the same food as the ship's company. However on 7 July 1942 the ship arrived in Yokohama Harbour and dropped anchor. The crew transferred to the Ramses before being handed over to the Japanese on 25 August.

Before disembarking, the German sailors gave us two sacks of food, one contained black bread, the other tins of salmon. They told us to be sparing with it as it would be the last good food we would have for a very long time. . . Presently we were herded into trucks, 25 prisoners to a truck and two guards and taken on a tour of Yokohama, Kawasaki and surrounding districts for two hours, all the time being pelted with rotten fruit, lumps of horse dung and anything else to hand. The population had been told that we were coming and, as they had not seen any European prisoners before, they all turned out to watch. At first, before the barrage, we thought they were cheering us as all we could hear was 'hurio, hurio' which we discovered afterwards was an insulting name for POW and that was our name from then on. As we were packed into the trucks so tightly and all standing up, we could not duck out of the way, and nor could the guards, and soon we were all covered in this filth.

	This page: in the Merchant Navy.
	Kawasaki POW Camp.