"I felt the whole time that one had read about disasters at sea and no doubt would read about them again, but that it was impossible that such a thing should be happening to me personally."
Throughout the war my father, Lieut. Col. John Todhunter kept a daily diary as well as writing letters to his wife (my mother). The diaries and letters were kept in a trunk and, after my father’s death, came into my possession.
This 8-page letter is an account of a voyage to the north of Iceland where my father commanded the School of Winter Warfare.
The attached photo shows the Commandos at Lochailort. My father is second from left in the front row (hands behind his back).
Todhunter full letter
Transcript:
Specialist Training School
Most darling Ann,
I have got such a lot to tell you that I will start this letter while I have the opportunity though I do not know when the post goes. Also I do not know how much the censor will cut out, though I hope nothing, as I shall not say anything which could possibly matter to anyone. I last wrote to you shortly after we had arrived & since that letter I have moved elsewhere & experienced a number of trials and tribulations. I had quite a lot of administrative work & arrangements to make after we arrived, but we eventually set off for a new destination in a small ship of about 1600 tons. We had a number of troops on board & I was O.C. Troops. All went well for a bit although it was cold & there was a fair sea running which got worse as time went on. I was lying in my cabin one night half awake & half asleep when I was jerked into consciousness by an explosion & the crash of stuff falling on the deck just over my cabin. It was then ten minutes to midnight & the sea was very rough. I got up & started to dress & almost immediately the warning went for all [unclear] to go to boat stations & a message came for me to go & see the Captain on the bridge. As I came out of my cabin I noticed a good deal of smoke, though I did not know what it was & I fought my way up to the bridge to find out. There I saw the Captain & he told me the situation. There had been an explosion in the after hold & the hold was on fire. The cargo was highly flammable. The engine room bulkhead had been blown in & all the engine room & hatch skylights blown out. A plate had been blown off one boiler & the donkey boiler damaged so that they could not raise the full pressure for the fire hose. It was very difficult to work in the engine room at all as it was full of smoke & gas through the broken bulkhead. We were 3 hours steaming from the nearest possible calm water & the sea was too rough for there to be much chance of launching the lifeboats if necessary. It was bitterly cold with a strong north wind & snow squalls. Altogether as grim a picture as one could think of. Anyway the Captain decided that our only chance lay in running for calm water & hoping that the crew could keep the fire under & the engines going until we got there. The calm water was an unfrequented fjord with a very narrow entrance which it was dangerous to navigate in daylight, let alone in the dark. Anyway at 12.10 we altered course & steamed off hoping for the best. I went round the decks & saw all the men & told them the situation & tried to cheer them up without underestimating its gravity. They were magnificent & had all trooped up on deck very quickly & silently & without a murmur of any sort. After I had seen them I went back on the bridge & strained my eyes for the light which should be at the end of the fjord we were making for, though I knew we shouldn't see it for a long time. I looked at the very angry & cold sea - so cold that I knew one could not live in it for long - & then looked behind & saw the ominous pall of smoke from the burning hold, which seemd to be following us like a great vulture. And all the time the men were standing without a word of complaint on the open deck in the most intense cold - remember we were not far from the arctic circle & there was a northerly gale & it was snowing. And time just crawled on. Every time I looked at my watch I found it was only 3 minutes since I had last looked at it. Reports came up from the fire - first encouraging; a lot of smoke, no flame & not getting any worse. Then bad; another minor explosion, flames had broken out at the forward end of the hold & could not be reached without shifting the cargo; conditions in the engine room were getting increasingly difficult. Then a little better again - flames were not gaining, quite a lot of water was getting into the hold, there was a lot of steam but less smoke in the engine room. At about 2.15 we sighted the light - if ever there was a beacon of hope, that was it! At about 3.15 we were abreast of it & going dead slow while the skipper felt his way in. We then had our first bit of luck. Just at the trickiest moment, the snow let up & the moon came out & gave us quite a lot of light. At 3.30 we dropped anchor in calm water and our escort vessel came alongside & got the fire hose into the hold. Thank God it was then practically over bar the shouting. We got the fire under control shiefted the cargo & dumped a lot of it overboard & had the fire out by 6.0. And then I went to bed, & I can't tell you just how thankful I was to be able to be down in my bunk & to know that all the men could do the same. I dreamed about the cold, grey, [unclear] rough sea & I am sure a lot of others did too.
I must stop this for tonight as our lights go out in five minutes but I will go on with my adventures to-morrow.
Nov 8th
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