Contact is made with the Tefkros
Back on the bridge, thing weren't going too badly really. It had taken many hours of hard going to cover those 25 miles, but eventually we made contact with the 'Tefkros' and on informing the 'Laura Maersk' we would take over, she proceeded on her voyage. The Captain decided nothing could be done during the night, but it was essential that the 'Tefkros' be taken in tow during the next day as she was drifting to the South at about 4 knots and the Formosa Bank - an unpleasant shoal - was only 25 miles away. We kept flashing her instructions for the tow, along with consoling messages, not to mention the messages flashing to and from the Wireless Office keeping the outside world informed of any progress.
When daylight eventually came we were still at it, but even our tired eyes that had been stung by salt spray most of the night, could not help but discern the awesome sight the 'Tefkros' presented. She was lying beam on to the sea, entirely helpless, yawing and pitching so heavily that the idea of taking her in tow hardly seemed, feasible. Still, at 9 a.m., with probably more determination than confidence we signalled that we were coming in now for the first attempt to pass a line, and our focus turned to the quarterdeck.
I'd done quite a bit of towing before, and from this very same quarterdeck, but not in practice was it ever conceived to be anything like this. The laying out of the gear before hand had proved extremely difficult as the quarterdeck was often under several feet of water and could only be attempted when the ship was stemmed. Then, as we moved in to attempt the tow things really began to happen. Luckily the first line made it pretty quick and a light coir rope was soon on its way across. By now though, we were abeam the sea and at times great waves poured down on us, hurling us to the deck, entirely submerged in water, and threatened to pull the lines out of our slender grasp. It was a heart warming sight to see the towing hawser eventually across and secured, and to feel the vibration as we slowly put revs, on with great caution, all the while watching the towing line tauten. For us, that was it, and away we went to' change our water logged clothes. Nearly an hour later, as we began to revive you can imagine our disappointment when it was 'piped' that the tow had parted. It appeared that the 'Tefkros', who was towing well out on the starboard (windward) quarter, had risen high on a great wave and rolled heavily outward. At the same moment St Brides Bay heavily 'pooped' and the stern was forced out to leeward. The tow parted close to our stern. Now we had to start all over again to prepare for a second attempt.
I was probably one of the few who didn't have very much to do during the whole of this action but I wouldn't have missed watching it for the world. As a bystander, I might have had a few different ideas to the remainder, but I'm sure my disappointment was as acute as those actually concerned when the tow parted. The first tow had been put over so smoothly - almost as in the seamanship manuals - that none of us were quite prepared for what was now to happen.
This time, we just couldn't get a 'Coston' gun line across, and after they had all been expended another method had to be tried. The ship went tenderly astern from a position ahead of the 'Tefkros', endeavouring to get close enough to throw a line. The seas were gigantic. Great cascades of water poured over the quarterdeck and the ship lurched to a sickening angle as mountainous waves beat against the side. Looking up, the masthead seemed to be swinging crazily across a sky patterned with jet-propelled clouds.
Like a vast cleaver the bows of the 'Tefkros' split the water dangerously close to our stern, as it pitched up and down with the pitch of the ship. They rose again and hung menacingly, poised as if, with one mighty blow, to come crushing down on our iron decks.
The difficulty of throwing a line from our low quarterdeck to the high foc'sle proved too great; but as we moved slightly ahead to avoid impending disaster, the high foc'sle overhung our quarterdeck, a line was hurled down and before the waters tore the ships apart, secured. At last, after four hours of tossing about in these phenomenal seas a tow wire could be hauled across once again.
Down in the engine room, we had been having our difficulties also. Apart from the common difficulty of standing, our task was not very easy when one thinks of manoeuvring reciprocating engines from ahead to astern continuously for three hours - during this time we had 266 telegraph movements!
From the bridge, one couldn't help but feel admiration at the way the difficulties were being handled by all concerned, and it made up for everything when the tow was taken up a second time. Hardly believing the tow could last the night we made our way in the direction of Hong Kong and calmer water, with our optimism increasing with every passing hour. At dawn the following day, with the 'Tefkros' still clinging faithfully astern and the weather showing considerable improvement, the only black spot on the horizon was the salvage tug 'Castle Peak'. The 'Tefkros', in a great show of appreciation of our efforts, refused to accept a change of tow but to the great disappointment of all the ship's company of St Brides Bay, who had set their hearts on towing her to Hong Kong, duty called us elsewhere and we had to change.
The weather was now flat calm, and after the tow had been exchanged satisfactorily, we revived up the knots and sped for Hong Kong, with the eyes of all gazing wistfully astern as our 'comrade' of yesterday disappeared slowly in the distance. A job we would very much have liked to have seen completed was not to be, but still, even in the most modest of memories a job well done.
The incident about to be described demanded the undivided attention of everyone participating. All branches in the ship played a part to some extent and these branches have each a word to say about it, giving you possibly some small insight into their jobs.
Can you imagine a day of rough weather in the Formosa Straits? Those of us who have experienced one know full well the description but find it difficult to put in to words. The wind blows steadily around 40 knots; twenty foot high waves sweep on relentlessly; great clusters of cloud cut down the sun's rays to a watery gleam and an occasional flurry of rain reduces visibility almost to nil. HMS St Brides Bay was on patrol on just such a day during the month of November 1953, To be exact it was the 19th. Time 1730
I was the 'Sparker' on watch at the time, and up to then it had been a very boring watch, with the majority of signals received being very dismal weather reports. It's never very pleasant sitting on watch in this weather, trying to read Morse-code 'efficiently with feet jammed in various corners to prevent getting thrown out of the chair and writing on typewriters that almost refuse to function in the heavy rolling. The incessant clatter of static from the DF set tuned in on the distress wave is very disconcerting and the urge to turn down the volume rises high for the sake of a little peace and quiet.
Then suddenly, as if in fiction - from amidst the static comes the unmistakable call of a ship in distress - SOS. The message was from the SS Laura Maersk, stating she was standing by the SS Tefkros, whose rudder had broken, and was in need of urgent assistance. Bodies were hurtling in all directions, as in the urgency to copy the message, one forgot to hang on tight to something. In no time, though, the message was received and sent on its way up to the bridge.
On watch on the bridge, I was crouched behind the starboard screen trying in vain to seek protection from the howling wind. Every few seconds it seemed, a great sea broke on the foc'sle sending torrents of water in all directions. At times, actual waves broke on the bridge superstructure and flooded the flag deck. The deck heaved and rolled, and the free water sloshed from side to side like a miniature cataract. Believe me I was feeling pretty miserable!
Then the SOS arrived. The Navigator rushed to the bridge pulling on a sou'wester as he came. The Captain was informed and shortly the position of the distressed ship was plotted. Only 25 miles distant! But 25 miles in that sea seemed and interminable distance and as we altered course to force our way into the gale, it became more and more obvious that we had a difficult job on our hands. The ship trembled and vibrated as it crushed against the massive waves. Hundreds of tons of water that cascaded down the upper deck seemed to be pushing us under. Sometimes I wondered if we would get over the next vast sea. Then, when an increase of revolutions was ordered from the bridge I feared the worst.
The ring of the telegraphs was our first indication in the engine room, as most of the day we had been keeping a steady 94 revs and just holding our own with the weather and by the time we had increased to 134, it was obvious something was up. It was hard going now, with the propellers more out of the water than they were in, and the whole watch was spent opening and shutting the throttle. So it went on most of the night in fact, until we came in close contact with 'Tefkros' and proceeded to lay off, until daybreak. At least we felt we had small comfort down the engine room, away from the elements, and couldn't help feeling a little sympathy for the men in the exposed positions.