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Source: Extract from Jack Williams, They Led The
Way.
Lieutenant Hugh Knollys
RN was the Flotilla Navigating Officer of the 1st MSF in
HARRIER:
On the evening prior to
sailing for the invasion, I attended, with officers of all three
services, a final send off in the gymnasium in Portsmouth Barracks –
the HMS Victory. This was conducted by Admiral Arthur George ('Noisy')
Talbot…
.. our confidence was
somewhat shaken when the C.O. of a destroyer asked to be excluded as
he had to sail within the hour. The Admiral enquired which ship he
commanded, and, on being told that it was the 'Hunt-class' destroyer
Middleton, detailed for operations in advance of the fleet, he said:
"Goodbye, Cox, and good luck, I don’t suppose we shall see you again".
Hardly calculated to raise morale.
We sailed that night, out
through the eastern Solent and there we enjoyed a magnificent sight
which really lifted our spirits. After five years of groping around
the seas in pitch darkness we were suddenly confronted by an immense
'V' (for victory) illuminated sign on the top of Nab Tower. As this
operation depended for its success on complete surprise, such a
defiant gesture showed more clearly than anything that these waters
and the skies above were now totally denied to enemy ships and
aircraft.
The task of the 1st
MSF was to steam in formation, with wire sweeps out, ahead of the
troop carrying convoy, to ensure its safe passage through the several
mined areas in the Channel. As with al the other flotillas we had to
do a 'time waiting' turn so as not to get too far ahead, and to do
this in complete darkness and a rough sea running was quite taxing.
Before sailing my Captain had said to me: "If my some mischance we
should be sunk and I am killed, you, Pilot, will assume command. With
any luck the ship may remain upright and hopefully our mast will
remain showing above the surface. In such a situation our only
remaining function will be traffic control. So I suggest you put on a
large pair of white gloves, climb up onto the crows nest, and wave the
traffic on."
Later I pondered on this
as I studied my charts, on which I had marked the arcs of fire of the
German shore batteries. We came into range of these quite early on
that night and I waited, without great enthusiasm, for the opening
salvoes. Unlike independent units we were quite unable to take any
avoiding action. But as I waited and waited and the hours passed, all
remained uncannily silent. It was weird. The only incident occurred
around dawn when a Norwegian destroyer, Svenner, away on our port
side, was hit by a torpedo fired by enemy torpedo boats and sank.
We reached our goal,
recovered our sweeps and watched the loaded landing craft, pitching
and tossing as they made their way past us towards the beach. The
troops were probably seasick and then, on top of that, they would have
to wade ashore and fight. Thank God I’m in the Navy, I thought (not
for the first time). A while later, out of the mist and gloom appeared
a landing craft. It signalled "We are broken down and drifting away
from France". "Lucky you" we replied, "we feel much too close". If
they were hoping we would tow them in nearer, this was not possible as
the water was too shallow for our draught. I don't know how they
fared.
A miracle had been
achieved. Our initial task had been accomplished and was 100%
successful.
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