Extract from Corvette magazine

 

"The whole ship lifted out of the water, bows uppermost”

 

The following is an extract from the memoirs being written by CMDR H P Jarrett RAN Rtd who was the First Lieutenant of HMAS Warrnambool at the time of the sinking. He has authorised its use in the endeavour to have the names of the four sailors who lost their lives in the explosion included in the honour rolls at the AWM.

 

On Friday 12 September 1947 we had completed clearing a passage and moved on with our division into Queen Charlotte Bay and anchored the division, not intending to work over the weekend.

 

So, on Saturday the 13th we were in Saturday routine, cleaning the ship for captain's rounds. I had given permission for the engine to be lifted out of the motor-boat for repairs. To our great surprise, Swan arrived and signalled for us to weigh anchor and prepare to start sweeping. A very unhappy division weighed and followed the leader and waited while the flotilla navigating officer marked the ends of the line of mines, the task which Commander Travis performed so carefully. Due to the hurry, the navigator laid his markers straight through, ignoring the nearby reef edges.

 

Our quiet Saturday had suddenly turned into another working day. The division formed into "G" formation to port with Swan leading followed by Warrnambool and the rest of the division. Ships had their sweeps streamed to port and each ship was in station inside the track of the float of the ship ahead. Warrnambool was inside Swan’s float and Mildura was following Warrnambool’s float with the rest of the division strung out astern.

 

Swan steered along the dan buoys laid to mark the original sweep through by the HDML's Suddenly, Swan’s Oropesa float dipped under water, meaning it had probably caught up on a coral nigger-head and her sweep was about to part. On Warrnambool’s bridge the wheel was put hard to starboard and the ship heeled over as we started to move rapidly into Swan's wake and, theoretically, into safe water.

 

I ordered the sweep-deck cleared, and sure enough, our sweep fouled the same obstruction and the wire parted in its usual lethal fashion. I then raised the kite and gave orders to start re-rigging the sweep. Then I turned, with some amusement, to watch Mildura get her sweep caught up and by this time Warrnambool was turning into Swan’s wake and in doing so crossing into unswept water between the flotilla navigating officer's marker dan buoys and the reef in which the mine was moored.

 

Swan must have missed it by a very narrow margin. We were not so lucky. We struck the mine at 4 pm on a Saturday afternoon when many thousands of Australians were yelling themselves hoarse at sporting events - but we were expendable. On the bridge, the captain's steward had placed the captain's afternoon tea tray on top of the Asdic hut and the bridge personnel were in the process of being relieved at the end of the afternoon watch, as were watch-keepers throughout the ship.

 

The steward, who was a bit timid in the presence of the captain, stood by expectantly while the captain examined what was being offered and casually opened a sandwich to see what it contained. He turned and rivetted the steward with a glare and asked: "How many times have I got to tell you - I don't like tomato sandwiches!" At that instant we struck the mine and they were both blown into unconsciousness. The steward woke up in Cairns hospital three days later firmly believing the captain had hit him.

 

Aft on the sweep-deck I was looking forward when I was lifted high off the deck and came down on my feet. I was astonished to see the whole ship lifted out of the water bows uppermost in a flurry of white foam and then crash down. Apart from the noise of the explosion, the ship rattled like all the saucepans one can imagine falling from a great height.

 

Then came another surprise, the great waterspout thrown up by the detonation descended. Solid water seemed to keep on hammering down, pouring off the decks shin-deep. I remember thinking "Oh God, will this never cease”. Then it ceased and the mast crashed down and in the process activated the siren which screamed hideously, joining the roaring of steam escaping through the safety-valve on the funnel. The decks were slippery with fuel oil,

 

I rushed to the bridge and found the captain and his steward lying bleeding and unconscious. The navigator, Lieutenant Bobby Brokenshire RAN, was quite dazed but locking away all the confidential books, The officer of the watch, Sub-Lieutenant John Sinclair RAN, had been on the bridge when the explosion occurred but, recovering his senses, found himself on the forecastle, but did not know how he got there.

 

I was in command - and a quick check made it quite clear the ship could not steam so I went below to check up on how the ship's company fared, having first ordered boats and rafts to he cleared away. This only applied to rafts because the motor boat having its engine out could not be used due to the hole, in which the propeller shaft rides, being open to the water and the whaler had the ship's mast fall on it.

 

I saw that damage control was well taken care of by Chief ERA Wright. Next I prepared to be taken in tow by one of the HDMLs and started to lay out lines aft figuring our best option was to be towed with the current to a place well clear where other ships could hold the ship up with bottom lines and hopefully get her onto a reef.

 

Unfortunately, the captain recovered sufficiently to take an interest and ordered me to get the HDML to tow forward, which was into the current and made no headway. So I passed the line to the HDML, and then started getting wire cables ready to pass under the ship so a ship each side could hold her up. It seemed we had a certain amount of secondary buoyancy which was keeping the ship afloat.

 

Then we received a signal by lamp from Swan ordering us to abandon ship and the crew was taken off by an HDML and ships' boats. Warrnambool took two hours to sink, which says something for our efforts to keep her afloat, for which all credit must go to Chief Engine-room Artificer Wright who was a tower of strength, shoring up hatches and ensuring watertight conditions.

 

The young sailors were quite astonishing in the manner in which they threw themselves eagerly into any task given them. I was very proud of them. It is not surprising that immediately after the explosion there was some alarm. One man was blown overboard and was never seen again, but there was no panic. Some of the crew had survived years of war service to which had been added two years of post-war minesweeping with the continuing threat of what had just happened.

 

This imposed on some a psychological strain, which, when the ultimate fear was realized, caused some release of restraint. It would have been extraordinary if some did not show signs of alarm. This does not mean there was a general loss of morale. It was, if anything, wonderful to see the way everyone did what they could.

 

We had three killed, one lost overboard, fifty-two injured and everyone suffering from shock at some level. Men who were seated in the heads (toilets) were thrown upwards hitting their heads and then coming down smashing the toilet bowls and suffering lacerations. Our doctor, Surgeon-Lieutenant Dick Rogers RANR was typing medical records when the typewriter flew up and hit him in the face.

 

After receiving Swan’s order, the captain told me to abandon ship, so I gave the necessary orders and proposed to remain on board with six volunteers and try to get the ship towed onto a reef. I was then given a direct order to leave the ship. I was the last person to do so. On reaching Swan her doctor took over proceedings and the wardroom became his surgery.

 

By late evening, three bodies, sewn into hammocks, lay on her sweep-deck as Swan steamed south to Cairns.

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