_December 25, 1941, Grand Banks, Atlantic Ocean_


Merry F-ing Christmas! I've seen some harsh winters in my life in Long Island, in New Hampshire, and once, on a January trip to Montreal, but nothing prepared me for the winter weather in the North Atlantic. Gale force winds, wave that top out at 25 feet but seem twice that when we're in a trough, near-constant fog, blinding snow-squalls, and biting cold were all the norm. The constant radical motion of the ship, combined with the need to be vigilant not just for the enemy, but for our sister destroyers, was quickly wearing down the crew. I wonder just how much of this we can take!

We got word this morning that a convoy was forming in Boston, and our division was ordered to return to Argentia on or before January 1st to meet it. Even one night in a calm harbor would be a welcome relief. The German U-Boats, if they're anywhere close, aren't showing themselves. Commander Lewis thinks the Germans have more sense than to be out here, on the surface, in the North Atlantic, in the middle of winter. I think he might be right, but Hitler doesn't seem sane to me, and the Kriegsmarine has to follow the same kind of orders that have us patrolling the Grand Banks.

My days, minus dealing with the conditions, are pretty routine. I spend most of my time in the radio room, though given the necessity of being 'on call' at any time, I make sure I take breaks during the day to get some downtime, usually drinking coffee in the Chiefs' mess. I never took up smoking, but I think I can understand why all but one of my men smoke. Only my newest man, Seaman Apprentice Jason Hatch, a Mormon, doesn't smoke. He doesn't drink, either, which makes all of us just a bit suspicious. The other Chiefs agree there is something fundamentally wrong with a sailor who doesn't drink, smoke, or screw!

The excitement of the day was when, during a heavy roll that probably came close to fifty degrees to port, the gripes holding our whaleboat against the davits broke, allowing the whaleboat to swing wildly. Fortunately, nobody was hurt before the deck division managed to get it secured, but there was damage to the whaleboat and its mount. Woody and Tommy surveyed the damage, and ordered a damage control party to make temporary repairs. If we were in Argentia long enough, we might get it fixed properly; if not, we'd simply have to make do.

It's about time to hit the sack, which on this bucket of bolts means taking off my shoes and belt, and then climbing under three wool blankets. It's cold and wet and short of starting a fire with a stack of manuals with radio messages as kindling, nothing is going to change that. Sleep isn't easy, either, with the waves pounding the ship just inches from my head. I remember reading, once, in a naval history book, of similar thoughts by sailors in the wooden-ship era. And other than having steel between me and the sea, not much had changed. Thank heavens we don't have sails to worry about!

The other problem was staying in my bunk when the ship rolled. With some help from Woody, we'd rigged pieces of damage-control planks to the edges of the bunks. That was just enough to keep us from being tossed onto the floor in most cases. Some of the seamen and Petty Officers simply rope themselves to their bunks, but that is the last thing I want to do. I'd hate to go down with the ship because I couldn't untie a knot fast enough.

The convoy will be heading for Iceland. Adding sea ice into this mix is only going to make things worse. Maybe studying Japanese would have been a better choice than German!