A Tour of a Cold War O-Boat (5)

 Continuing our tour aft on board HMCS Ojibwa, we have passed through the accommodation space with its assorted messes and berths. The photo to the left is part of the starboard side of the control room, featuring the chart table, a prominent red light bulb, various communication outlets, a clock, etc.

And to the right is an image of part of the port side of the control room under red lighting conditions.
The red lighting is switched on at dusk and off at dawn, even when running at great depth, in case it is necessary to surface in a hurry. Also, if at periscope depth, it allows the periscope watchkeeper's eyes to be adjusted for night vision.

Not shown in either photo are the periscopes, which are on the centre-line of the boat, with the attack (monocular) periscope forward of the search periscope, which is binocular.

A Tour of a Cold War O-Boat (4)

 We are continuing aft on board HMCS Ojibwa, as she rests in her permanent berth ashore in Port Burwell, Ontario. We have passed through the watertight door into the accommodation spaces. On the left is a shot of a couple of bunks and some lockers. My memory fails me as to whether this is in the crew's quarters, or the chiefs and petty officers mess. Can someone help with a comment?

And here, on the right, we have the rather palatial commanding officer's cabin as seen from the passageway that threads its way the length of the boat. The lucky captain has hardwood to sleep on as opposed to a canvas sling. Not sure that would make it more comfortable.

Other features include a miniscule desk, a couple of drawers, and gauges and instruments so the captain can monitor the boat's progress. The cabin is very handy to the control room, so he can be there within seconds in case of an emergency or other development.

A Tour of a Cold War O-Boat (3)

 Following up on our tour parts (1) and (2), we've now climbed the stairs and entered the forward torpedo room in HMCS Ojibwa. We're looking forward in the cavernous space. The spot of bright light near the centre of the photo is the top of the new access door through which we've entered. The size of the space can be gauged by the figure of retired Admiral Dan McNeil, who can just be made out in the lower right corner. The rear doors of the three port torpedo tubes are between him and the access door.
Also visible on the left are parts of the torpedo racks which would hold spare torpedoes to be loaded using hydraulic rams as required. Before loading, the tube rear doors would have to be opened--once it was confirmed that the bow caps were shut and no water was in the tubes. A very important step.

To the right is a closer look at the top four of the six forward torpedo tubes. The rear doors are all shut, as they would be at sea, whether there was a torpedo in the tube or not. Sometimes the tubes were empty, depending on what task the boat was on.
The myriad of pipes, valves, and controls allow firing of a torpedo and the subsequent draining down of the now flooded tube so it can be reloaded.
It was not unknown for a boat to carry beer in an empty tube.

A Tour of a Cold War O-Boat (2)

Number 1 in this series of posts showed an unusual view of HMCS Ojibwa, the gorgeous museum piece in Port Burwell, Ontario.

 

(If pressed, I'll admit that "gorgeous" when referring to a submarine is all in the eyes of the beholder.)

At left is the Ojibwa as she appeared when the Cooking Ladies and I approached from the west and crossed the bridge into Port Burwell in 2013.

The boat was not then open to the public, but nearly so.

This shot of the port side of the boat shows the steps installed to allow tourists to access the newly-cut doorway into the forward torpedo room.

Looking like an earflap at the top of the stairs is the door, and above that is the port forward hydroplane. The hydroplanes, working in concert while controlled by the helmsman, determined the boat's depth and angle of dive.

A Tour of a Cold War O-Boat (1)

Here is an unusual view of an Oberon-class submarine. To be more precise, the image is of the former HMCS Ojibwa, taken at her new home in Port Burwell, on the shore of Lake Erie, a couple of hours' drive east of Windsor.

Ojibwa is a major attraction in a rural area of Ontario. If it seems like an odd place for a submarine, you might want to talk to retired admiral Dan McNeil, who spearheaded the effort to land the Cold War boat above the Lake Erie shoreline.

This is Dan, pictured on board Ojibwa just before she opened to the public in 2013. Not exactly Dan's working uniform when he was in the Royal Canadian Navy, but more more typical of the hands-on work asked of his crew--and himself--as they laboured to restore the boat.

Watch for an ongoing series of posts about the Ojibwa and the Port Burwell project. And go see Dan--and Ojibwa--if you're in the area!

Battle of the Atlantic at HMCS Discovery

I was honoured to be the speaker at the Naval Officers Association of British Columbia's annual Battle of the Atlantic dinner held on May 3rd at HMCS Discovery. Discovery is the Canadian navy's reserve division headquarters in Vancouver.
Some sixty-five or so members and guests attended. The attendees enjoyed a fine meal and interesting company, with ship's officers leading the way in impromptu renditions of "Heart of Oak" and "What Shall We do with a Drunken Sailor".

Following the formal parts of the dinner I presented a brief overview of Canadian submarines and submariners, tracing back from the present-day Victorias to CC1 and 2. In the photo above, taken during my talk, it was fortuitous that a new painting of CC1 and CC2 by our very accomplished marine artist, John Horton, was on display. It is visible in the background.

Also present were John Molyneux and his grandson, Philip. John is a long-standing member of the NOA of BC. In the photo they are in front of a painting of HMS Hood during a visit to Vancouver between the wars. John had the distinction of serving in Hood--and the good luck to be drafted off scant weeks before she sailed on her final voyage and her fatal meeting with Germany's Bismarck.

Photos courtesy Mary Horton

A Salty HMCS Grilse Story (Part 2 of 2)

 For Part 1 of Hal Zerbin's story about a risky time aboard HMCS Grilse, click here.

This is the last bit of Part 1:
".....so we had to unsnap ourselves from the safety railing and move right over the sound of escaping air. And we proceeded to do that."
(Hal, who is Gilse's Chief ERA, and the Engineer Officer are looking for a leak in the boat. Grilse is surfaced somewhere in the Pacific.They are crouched on the casing/upper deck, with six-foot seas running.)

Part 2: 

     We then had to unsecure a couple of lock bolts to enable us to open a small access hole in the decking. That made the air noise (escaping through the leak) louder and we were certain we were on the right track. We could then see there was air escaping from somewhere under the #1 main engine outboard exhaust, above the pressure hull. Taking turns we upended ourselves and wriggled into the small access hole as best we could, and felt, by hand, under the exhaust valve casing itself. Sure enough, there was this little line, just a short piece, blowing air thru a long split in its side. 

     We came out and had a conference, there on the aft deck, Charlie with his back to the aft end and myself facing aft, both of us sort of crouching/sitting. 

     Then I happened to look up and saw this much larger breaker heading towards our stern, quite a number of feet higher than our deck. Without thinking I grabbed Charlie and flattened him onto the deck and threw myself onto him, digging my fingers, both hands, thru the gap between the teak stringers that formed the deck. I managed to get a good grip and squeezed for all I was worth. Not a second too soon, either, as the wave was on us and covered us for what seemed like hours (actually perhaps 15 seconds). It was quite green and almost pleasant under the water, and soon the wave receded and left us still holding on for dear life, sputtering and thoroughly soaked. Charlie pried himself free of my death-grasp and gave me a dirty look.

     “Jeez, did you have to squeeze so hard!” 

     I thought I had done him a favour!

     Anyway, the CO aborted any further searching and we headed for home and the dockyard for repairs. On searching further thru the blueprint book, we found the little line quite clearly identified as a “tell-tale” drain, meant to let you know that you had a leak between the inboard group exhaust and the outboard exhaust!  The only thing the builders had not forseen was the corroding of the line till it leaked full bore into the engine room, thru the pressure hull, with no means of shutting it off. 

     This was the same line that just about cost the life of the Burrfish, during one of her last WW II patrols.

     When I was in Ottawa, in 1996, I think, I got together with Charlie for a drink or two. He still insists, in the Chinese custom way, that I owe him!!!

A Salty HMCS Grilse Story (Part 1 of 2)

This all-too-believable story was supplied by Hal Zerbin, who spent years in Royal Navy A-boats and, later, HMCS Grilse. (Much of Grilse’s previous years were in the guise of USS Burrfish—see earlier blog posts.) I have, with Hal’s permission, edited slightly. For the conclusion, stay tuned!

We were not too far off the west coast of Vancouver Island, on our way to Pearl Harbour,(I think), and had completed a couple of days of snorkeling runs with the Air Force, when the For’d engine room watchkeeper noticed a higher than usual level of water in the bilge after the completion of a snorkeling run. No one was really excited about it, we all thought it was just one of those things, but, after a prolonged run, the water level was noticeably high and we all “got serious”. A small, about 1 1/8 inch line (pipe) at the for’d outboard end of the for’d Engine Room became suspect but we could not identify it and we could not even find it on the book of blueprints supplied with the boat. 

So we initiated another snorkel  run and sure enough, water came out of the suspect line, and, stranger still, it did not stop coming out when we stopped snorkeling, and only stopped when we surfaced. We then decided to pressurize, (with low pressure air), the external exhaust trunking for #1 main engine and proceeded to do this, however, to find the external leak, someone had to go out on the after deck and listen and try to identify just exactly where it was coming from. 

The engineer, Charlie Gunning, and the Chief Engine Room Artificer, (Me), were the likeliest people to go so we prepared ourselves and the boat hove to. There were 5 to 6 foot swells running, sometimes slopping over the deck but they did not look dangerous and we proceeded to the aft deck, with the Captain and many others gathered on the cigarette deck (part of the external superstructure) to watch the proceedings. Charlie and I snapped our safety line on to the safety railing and ventured out on to the deck, with the boat gently rolling under us. It was not hard to identify the general area of the leak as we soon heard compressed air as we approached the #1 exhaust valve. 

But it was impossible to tell where, exactly it was coming from as the area below the walking deck  was quite crowded with piping and other components so we had to unsnap ourselves from the safety railing and move right over the sound of escaping air. And we proceeded to do that.

To be continued...

Excellent Submarine Video

Here's a look at the interior of a modern Canadian submarine, HMCS Corner Brook, recorded in 2011. This is the link. As the article says, Corner Brook is still undergoing repairs subsequent to an underwater grounding on the rugged British Columbia coast.
So at the moment three of the four Victorias are in Esquimalt.

(My apologies--for some reason the link won't work. Will try to repost soon.)

Perisher (Part III)

I have recently been in touch via the internet with a Scottish friend. We initially “met” because of a mutual interest in WW I and the cavalry. Since then, he has also taken an interest in my blog, which deals with submarine matters as well as the cavalry.

He recently referred me to a site that features a BBC documentary about the Perisher.

It provides a fascinating but brief look at what the course was like, and no doubt still is like. The stress under which the hopeful candidates labour is very evident.

I was particularly excited to see the footage because it features HMS Oracle, a diesel-electric O-boat of the same vintage as the now retired HMCS Ojibwa, Onondaga, and Okanagan, the latter being the only RCN submrarine in which I was lucky enough to serve. The footage of Oracle is brief, and right toward the end.

If any readers have other sites featuring footage of O-boats, A-boats etc I’d be very excited to hear from them.
Here is the site:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H1wr8J-edbo&feature=youtube_gdata_player

Perisher (Part I)

Many a competent submariner has had his career sidetracked by the Perisher course. That was the very appropriate name given to the Submarine Command Course run by the Royal Navy. It was— and is, no doubt—a twenty-four-week long marathon that must be run successfully by submarine officers aspiring to command. It covers weapons, tactics, communications, navigation—and, very heavily, safety.

There is no place for complacency, incompetence, or just plain bad luck when driving a submarine, and the Perisher is meant to weed out applicants. The officer in charge of a Perisher class is known as “Teacher”.

 Once the officers on course had completed their shore time in trainers and classrooms, it was off to sea for very realistic exercises. One class went to sea in HMS Alderney, an A-class boat in which I served in 1966-67.

Picture a group of lieutenants and lieutenant-commanders from various navies—British, Canadian, Netherlands, Norwegian, among others—hanging on Teacher’s every word. Overhead on the surface would be a target vessel. Officers would take turns as “captain”, making use of the attack periscope to conduct an approach to, and simulated attack on, the target. And overseeing the whole procedure was Teacher, handy to the search periscope in case of a problem with safety. Heaven help the student who had his attack interrupted by Teacher.
Qualifiers moved on to more complicated problems. One such scenario featured an attack on a target  merchantman playing the part of an enemy aircraft carrier, defended by very real frigates and destroyers. Harried officers would find themselves in the middle of a very complex battle scenario, when Teacher would throw in an emergency such as a fire on board or the planes jammed in the dive position.

More to come!

The Accidental Submariner (Part III)

Arrival in England was at Gatwick Airport, courtesy of the RCAF. I reported to the Canadian Defence Liaison Staff in London, then was directed to Gosport and the Royal Navy's submarine school.
To the best of my recollection there were perhaps four of us RCN refugees in our training class at HMS Dolphin, along with a smattering of Aussies and Kiwis but mostly RN types. Some of the RN fellows were sporting ribbons from the Malaysian campaign, and a few went on to distinguished careers.

Many of my classmates lived on board Dolphin while enrolled in the shore-based officers’ submarine course. The British submariners were a breed apart, with their own traditions and culture, the foundations of which were laid down by their predecessors in the two World Wars.

An activity at which we “colonials” from Canada did not excel at was the game of cricket. For us, the match seemed to go on forever, and to make it more difficult, the rascals bounced the ball before it got to home plate! Very hard to hit.

I can’t say that physical fitness was high on the list of priorities for our training regimen. One of our instructors explained that he belonged to AA: Athletics Anonymous. If he ever felt the urge to do something sporting he would phone his sponsor, who would come straight over with a half dozen bottles of the local brew.

Much more attention was paid to technical aspects of our training. Main line, six-valve chest, cross-connections, kingston valves....The details went on and on, focussing mainly on what we would encounter in Porpoise or Oberon class boats, with some T- and A-boat specifics. Just as well, because it was to an A-boat that the Accidental Submariner was next dispatched. 
(Note--I'd be very happy to hear from other ex- or present-day submariners about their training or other experiences. Feel free to contact me via a comment or email at bob.mackay@hotmail.com.)