Canadians Sailors Remember Operation TORCH, November 1942
Operation TORCH Attacked 'Soft Underbelly of Nazi Germany'
Seven Canadian sailors (RCNVR) who likely were all involved in the
invasion of N. Africa (Operation TORCH) beginning Nov. 8, 1942
Back row, L - R: Unknown, P. Bowers, Lloyd Evans*, Don Westbrook
Front L - R: Don Linder, Unknown, Doug Harrison w a smoke
[*From the collection of Lloyd Evans]
On Remembrance Day 2022 I am sharing information about Operation TORCH, the Allied invasion of North Africa, which involved the formation of largest armada of ships in history (to that date) upon the Mediterranean Sea, with landings taking place in three locations (see map in Part 1), most taking place on November 8th and 11th at or near Casablanca, Oran and Algiers.
Approximately 100 - 200 Canadian sailors, members of RCNVR and the Combined Operations organization, were sprinkled among crews of chiefly British flotillas of landing crafts at or near Oran and Algiers, my father and mates (as seen above) included.
It was my good fortune to meet Lloyd when he lived in Markham, Ontario, about two hours by car from my home in London. We exchanged printed copies of memoirs (his and my father's, both well written in my opinion) and WWII photographs in our possession (his outnumbered mine). A few paragraphs re my father's time in North Africa appear in Part 1 with more to follow, and two pages from Lloyd Evans' memoirs appear below:
It was my good fortune to meet Lloyd when he lived in Markham, Ontario, about two hours by car from my home in London. We exchanged printed copies of memoirs (his and my father's, both well written in my opinion) and WWII photographs in our possession (his outnumbered mine). A few paragraphs re my father's time in North Africa appear in Part 1 with more to follow, and two pages from Lloyd Evans' memoirs appear below:
North Africa - Algiers
Around November 1942, we went aboard the RFA Derwentdale, an oil tanker anchored off Gourock on the Clyde. With purpose built gantries, she could carry a dozen or more MLCs loaded with heavy equipment and launch them at a speed of about ten knots. My craft carried a large American Army truck and two American soldiers. We spent a day or more loading thousands of 5-gallon cans of high-octane aviation fuel into one of the ship's holds. This was hard, gruelling, smelly and monotonous work. We secured a rope around the cans, lowered them into the hold, removed the rope and stored the cans away. We could only spend a short time in the hold, because of the fumes. Surprisingly, feelings of nausea struck only when we climbed back onto the deck. The fresh air often made us throw up. When we reached our destination, the aviation fuel was to be transferred into the landing craft and taken ashore. It was to last until a port was captured with proper unloading facilities.
After inspection by several high-ranking officers, we set sail with a large convoy. The accommodation on board was totally inadequate, as the ship was not designed to handle all the landing craft crews and the American soldiers. All services were hard pressed to handle the extra people and, near the end of the trip, only half of the bread was useable after the blue mould was cut off! We always ate better during an invasion, as we took all the food ashore and made up for earlier deprivations. The two American truck drivers and I slept in their truck. At night the cold north Atlantic wind nearly froze us to death, even with all our clothes on and blankets on top. To confuse the enemy, we often sailed south at night and north during the day to waste time.
A few times we helped the merchant crew refuel some of our destroyer escorts at sea. The procedure was both dangerous and complex, especially in heavy seas. The crew of the destroyer shot a fine rope line over to our ship by means of a special rifle. We secured it to a much heaver line and this was pulled on board the destroyer by their crew. Finally the fuelling line itself was attached to the heavy duty rope, which, once again, the destroyer's crew pulled to their ship. The whole operation was much more impressive in the doing than in the telling.
One evening, the merchant crew held a little party for us in their mess. There was plenty of black humour around. One Scottish wit said, optimistically, that it wouldn’t be so crowded on the return trip and an old hand almost had us convinced that his duties included the watering of wreaths that were to be thrown over the side in memory of the dead!
Around November 1942, we went aboard the RFA Derwentdale, an oil tanker anchored off Gourock on the Clyde. With purpose built gantries, she could carry a dozen or more MLCs loaded with heavy equipment and launch them at a speed of about ten knots. My craft carried a large American Army truck and two American soldiers. We spent a day or more loading thousands of 5-gallon cans of high-octane aviation fuel into one of the ship's holds. This was hard, gruelling, smelly and monotonous work. We secured a rope around the cans, lowered them into the hold, removed the rope and stored the cans away. We could only spend a short time in the hold, because of the fumes. Surprisingly, feelings of nausea struck only when we climbed back onto the deck. The fresh air often made us throw up. When we reached our destination, the aviation fuel was to be transferred into the landing craft and taken ashore. It was to last until a port was captured with proper unloading facilities.
After inspection by several high-ranking officers, we set sail with a large convoy. The accommodation on board was totally inadequate, as the ship was not designed to handle all the landing craft crews and the American soldiers. All services were hard pressed to handle the extra people and, near the end of the trip, only half of the bread was useable after the blue mould was cut off! We always ate better during an invasion, as we took all the food ashore and made up for earlier deprivations. The two American truck drivers and I slept in their truck. At night the cold north Atlantic wind nearly froze us to death, even with all our clothes on and blankets on top. To confuse the enemy, we often sailed south at night and north during the day to waste time.
A few times we helped the merchant crew refuel some of our destroyer escorts at sea. The procedure was both dangerous and complex, especially in heavy seas. The crew of the destroyer shot a fine rope line over to our ship by means of a special rifle. We secured it to a much heaver line and this was pulled on board the destroyer by their crew. Finally the fuelling line itself was attached to the heavy duty rope, which, once again, the destroyer's crew pulled to their ship. The whole operation was much more impressive in the doing than in the telling.
One evening, the merchant crew held a little party for us in their mess. There was plenty of black humour around. One Scottish wit said, optimistically, that it wouldn’t be so crowded on the return trip and an old hand almost had us convinced that his duties included the watering of wreaths that were to be thrown over the side in memory of the dead!
One bright sunny day, around noon, we left the Atlantic Ocean and passed through the Straits of Gibraltar. Another large fast convey of troopships, battleships, cruisers, destroyers and motor launches split up around us and passed by at full speed. What a glorious sight it was. Our convoy then picked up to full speed and that night we anchored off the beach of the little town of Arzew in Algeria. This was on the eastern flank for the attack on Oran. We lowered the landing craft over the side, lined up in formation and headed for the beach. Unfortunately we couldn’t find the two American truck drivers when it was our turn to leave the ship. I had never driven a car, let alone a big army truck, but it looked as though I'd have to learn real quick, since there was nobody else!. I sure as hell hoped there wasn’t going to be too much enemy fire. Fortunately, we landed with no trouble and one of the beach party was able to drive the truck ashore after I managed to get it started. I wasn’t keen on hanging around a moment longer than was absolutely necessary, so made a quick turnaround!
It was reasonably quiet during the couple of weeks we were there - we were only strafed once by a Spitfire the French had captured. To the west of us, in Oran, there was more activity, where a large French battleship sunk a small American ship that had approached to invite its surrender. The battleship could have sunk almost the whole landing fleet but a RN battle cruiser was standing by for just such a possibility - a few broadsides could have put the French battleship guns out of action in seconds. No one had wanted this to happen but there was no alternative.
We spent the next week or so unloading troop ships, cargo ships and ammunition ships that had just come from the USA. Other than the RN and RCN naval personnel, this was strictly an American operation. It was strange for us to see the jeeps and trucks we took ashore loaded with cigarettes, gum and chocolate bars. One night, we had to make an emergency trip ashore with a load of Tommy gun ammo for an American group, who were almost surrounded by the French Foreign Legion and fast running out of ammo.
On our last night there, we pulled our craft alongside an R.N. Tank Landing Craft and went aboard for a visit. They had liberated wine casks from the thousands on the beach waiting to be shipped to France. The Americans had got into this stuff pretty heavy, so they put it under guard to stop any more drinking but a couple of the RN sailors had other ideas! They threw a hand grenade nearby and, when the American army guards went to see what was up, they rolled one of the casks on to the TLC and pulled away. In the dark, they fumbled around in a vain attempt to open the cask, so they just blew a hole in it with a .45. With the wine flowing freely, we used our tin helmets and drank our farewell to North Africa.
We sailed next morning for the return to Scotland aboard the troopship Reno del Pacifico (sic), an ex P&O liner. Not having fully recovered from the previous night's festivities, I was grateful to find it was calm. We stopped at Gibraltar to set up a convoy and to pick up a few R.N. men. Some of us chose to sleep on deck because of the risk of being torpedoed in the Atlantic approaches to the Straits of Gibraltar. I was bitching the next morning, because the RN boys paced the deck all night but calmed down when told that they had recently been torpedoed twice in the same night. Our convoy made it back without any trouble. On our return to the river Clyde, we were given leave ,which I spent in Glasgow and Edinburgh. The next few months were spent in training in the following ships and camps in England and Scotland; HMS Westcliff, Drake, Foliot,, Glengyle, Keren, Ulster Monarch and Rosneath.
My Naval Chronicle by Lloyd Evans
Interested readers can find all of Lloyd's memoirs at the following link to Combined Operations Command by Scotsman Geoff Slee. Mr. Slee did much typing and organizing of Lloyd's emails that contained his stories (leading to a self-published book, i.e., My Naval Chronicle), and it was through him I was able to make contact with Lloyd during the last two years of his life.
It was reasonably quiet during the couple of weeks we were there - we were only strafed once by a Spitfire the French had captured. To the west of us, in Oran, there was more activity, where a large French battleship sunk a small American ship that had approached to invite its surrender. The battleship could have sunk almost the whole landing fleet but a RN battle cruiser was standing by for just such a possibility - a few broadsides could have put the French battleship guns out of action in seconds. No one had wanted this to happen but there was no alternative.
We spent the next week or so unloading troop ships, cargo ships and ammunition ships that had just come from the USA. Other than the RN and RCN naval personnel, this was strictly an American operation. It was strange for us to see the jeeps and trucks we took ashore loaded with cigarettes, gum and chocolate bars. One night, we had to make an emergency trip ashore with a load of Tommy gun ammo for an American group, who were almost surrounded by the French Foreign Legion and fast running out of ammo.
On our last night there, we pulled our craft alongside an R.N. Tank Landing Craft and went aboard for a visit. They had liberated wine casks from the thousands on the beach waiting to be shipped to France. The Americans had got into this stuff pretty heavy, so they put it under guard to stop any more drinking but a couple of the RN sailors had other ideas! They threw a hand grenade nearby and, when the American army guards went to see what was up, they rolled one of the casks on to the TLC and pulled away. In the dark, they fumbled around in a vain attempt to open the cask, so they just blew a hole in it with a .45. With the wine flowing freely, we used our tin helmets and drank our farewell to North Africa.
We sailed next morning for the return to Scotland aboard the troopship Reno del Pacifico (sic), an ex P&O liner. Not having fully recovered from the previous night's festivities, I was grateful to find it was calm. We stopped at Gibraltar to set up a convoy and to pick up a few R.N. men. Some of us chose to sleep on deck because of the risk of being torpedoed in the Atlantic approaches to the Straits of Gibraltar. I was bitching the next morning, because the RN boys paced the deck all night but calmed down when told that they had recently been torpedoed twice in the same night. Our convoy made it back without any trouble. On our return to the river Clyde, we were given leave ,which I spent in Glasgow and Edinburgh. The next few months were spent in training in the following ships and camps in England and Scotland; HMS Westcliff, Drake, Foliot,, Glengyle, Keren, Ulster Monarch and Rosneath.
My Naval Chronicle by Lloyd Evans
Interested readers can find all of Lloyd's memoirs at the following link to Combined Operations Command by Scotsman Geoff Slee. Mr. Slee did much typing and organizing of Lloyd's emails that contained his stories (leading to a self-published book, i.e., My Naval Chronicle), and it was through him I was able to make contact with Lloyd during the last two years of his life.
Both Lloyd and my father rose through the ranks, from Ordinary Seamen (OS), to Able-Bodied (AB), to Leading Seamen (LS) and Coxswain (aka "Cox'n") but I think their greatest accomplishment - apart from serving Canada steadfastly for four years during WWII - was to take time to write things down. After about two weeks in N. Africa they returned to the U.K. aboard the Reina Del Pacifico, and likely crossed paths a few more times before their next operation, i.e., HUSKY, the invasion of Sicily beginning in early July, 1943.
In closing, I share below a story my father wrote about the Reina Del Pacifico, first published in his hometown weekly newspaper (The Norwich Gazette) in the early 1990s:
REINA DEL PACIFICO SERVED WELL IN WAR YEARS
This is the story of a large passenger liner converted to a troop ship called the Reina Del Pacifico which carried 200 Canadian sailors and other personnel back to Liverpool, England after the invasion of North Africa, which started November 8th, 1942.
Buryl McIntyre and I were among the 200 sailors who had worked on our landing craft ferrying army supplies ashore night and day for about a week at a little town south of Oran named Arzew.
Doug Harrison (left) and Buryl McIntyre, RNCVR, from Norwich, Ont.
Outside Wellington barracks, at HMCS Stadacona, Halifax, N.S. 1941
troops unload supplies. Arzew, N. Africa. Nov. 8, 1942. Photo - IWM
As my turn came to jump aboard the gang-plank, my eye spotted a large unexploded shell imbedded in the side of the ship not far from the officer’s head. I was very tired but not that tired, and inquired of the officer about the unexploded shell and he replied that the Captain had the shell examined and it was a dud. “I sure hope he is right because my mother will miss me, Mr. Wedd,” I said. (Canadian Navy Officer Andrew Wedd)
Mr. Wedd was dog-tired too and in no mood for an argument. “Your mother will miss you a lot more if you’re not aboard on the next swell, Harrison, because we are leaving. Do you hear me?” He added a bit more which couldn’t be printed and his ultimatum enabled me to time the swell of the next wave perfectly and I jumped to the gang-planks, and though tired, I found new energy at the cargo door and was soon amidships. The shell never exploded but it was sand-bagged and roped off.
It wasn’t long before the clank of the anchor cable could be heard in the hawse pipe. The anchors stowed, the gang-plank came on board and we were underway and in a few hours steaming at 27 knots (about 33 mph) we were safely inside the submarine nets at Gibraltar. In those few hours we organized bridge and crib tournaments.
The scene at Gibraltar was one of carnage, war at its worst. Nearby were destroyers which had been mauled by bomb and torpedoes, with gaping holes in their sides and deck plating, and some of the large guns were bent and pointed at bizarre angles.
Photo Credit - Royal Canadian Navy Photographer Gilbert A. Milne
Doug Harrison's story from The Norwich Gazette continues:
Miraculously they floated with pride and here and there steam came from the odd funnel. We thought of what the crews had been through and the fire and heat that had buckled the plates, how anyone could have survived. But Malta had to be fed.
Aboard the Reina Del at Gibraltar the Captain advised us to sleep up top under cover at night and those Canadian sailors who were not taking part in the tournaments became look-outs as we sailed west into the Atlantic alone.
Naval tradition prevailed aboard the ship and at 11 o’clock each morning we were given a tot of navy rum which we didn’t have to drink under the watchful eye of some Chief Petty Officer. Buryl McIntyre and I were partners at bridge; we received good cards and placed second in the tournament; there being no main prize it was agreed that whichever team won the rubber of bridge also won their opponents’ tot of rum. Buryl and I slept quite well most nights, but with one eye open and one arm through our Mae West life jackets. Each ship has its own peculiar quirks and sounds; it is the unusual sound that brings sailors awake.
The Captain wished to miss the Bay of Biscay and as we skirted the western edge heading north we ran into a severe electrical storm. Standing well inboard under cover we witnessed the worst electrical display of our lives. Also, it seemed to rain so hard it pounded the sea flat. The ship retained good speed throughout and reached Liverpool safely in about four days.
Liverpool, such a friendly city, has welcomed sailors for centuries and we went ashore soon after our arrival to a seaman’s home, a large, warm, clean barrack-like building with good food, showers, and cots with white sheets and pillow cases. Heaven! Soon mail arrived and I can still see myself and my friends discarding our boots and stretching out on the cots to read the latest from home. Everything went quiet until someone shouted, “Hey guys, get a load of this!”
“Pipe down!” The old familiar phrase. “Read it to us later!”
We shared our parcels with anyone who may have missed out and showed new photos all around. Although we had shore leave, many chose to stay where we were, get some rest, and write some letters home.
Aboard the Reina Del at Gibraltar the Captain advised us to sleep up top under cover at night and those Canadian sailors who were not taking part in the tournaments became look-outs as we sailed west into the Atlantic alone.
Naval tradition prevailed aboard the ship and at 11 o’clock each morning we were given a tot of navy rum which we didn’t have to drink under the watchful eye of some Chief Petty Officer. Buryl McIntyre and I were partners at bridge; we received good cards and placed second in the tournament; there being no main prize it was agreed that whichever team won the rubber of bridge also won their opponents’ tot of rum. Buryl and I slept quite well most nights, but with one eye open and one arm through our Mae West life jackets. Each ship has its own peculiar quirks and sounds; it is the unusual sound that brings sailors awake.
The Captain wished to miss the Bay of Biscay and as we skirted the western edge heading north we ran into a severe electrical storm. Standing well inboard under cover we witnessed the worst electrical display of our lives. Also, it seemed to rain so hard it pounded the sea flat. The ship retained good speed throughout and reached Liverpool safely in about four days.
Liverpool, such a friendly city, has welcomed sailors for centuries and we went ashore soon after our arrival to a seaman’s home, a large, warm, clean barrack-like building with good food, showers, and cots with white sheets and pillow cases. Heaven! Soon mail arrived and I can still see myself and my friends discarding our boots and stretching out on the cots to read the latest from home. Everything went quiet until someone shouted, “Hey guys, get a load of this!”
“Pipe down!” The old familiar phrase. “Read it to us later!”
We shared our parcels with anyone who may have missed out and showed new photos all around. Although we had shore leave, many chose to stay where we were, get some rest, and write some letters home.
We did not see the Reina Del Pacifico again. One evening she slipped quietly away, but I for one have never forgotten her, our home for a few short days.
"Dad, Well Done" Pages 89 - 91
As found at Imperial War Museum, FL18191
Interested readers can read Doug Harrison's memoirs here.
Please click here to view more about Operation TORCH, the invasion of North Africa, at Remembrance Day: 80th Anniversary, Allied Invasion of North Africa (1)
Interested readers can also link to all of the information (i.e., photographs, news articles, etc.) I have compiled thus far on "1,000 Men, 1,000 Stories" related to the Allies in North Africa here.
Lest We Forget
Unattributed Photos GH
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