Maritime hero: my half-brother, Harold Crompton

My half-brother, Harold Crompton, was an engineering officer on board the Empire Javelin in 1944, and has given me his account of the moment the torpedoes struck to him regaining consciousness; then his helping in the rescue of U.S. men trapped below after the explosion. His informing the crew of the Free French L'Escarmouche and the men's rescue by the French sailors who using acetylene torches, cut through deck plating to free the men below. 

I have his voice tape of this event, though not of good quality due to his being partly gassed while anchored in Bari harbour, Italy when German planes bombed and destroyed many ships, with 'General Harvey' I think carrying mustard gas exploded resulting in much loss of life. 

Here is my written version of his recording, after removing coughing, a mixed version of popular songs Harold plays in the background, and repetitions where he forgets what he's already explained. 

December 28, 1944, Harold Crompton, Maintenance engineer (Plumber) had just washed two collars from his shirts (they were detachable in those days for easy washing) and had pressed them onto the mirror above the hand basin in his cabin to dry when there was a terrific explosion and he was knocked unconscious for a short time. He came to to find himself on his knees with his chin resting on the basin in complete darkness, with a heavy weight on his back holding him down and realized his cupboard was the cause. He was able to push it away and by opening his porthole cleared the smoke in his cabin and made his way up on deck and whilst talking to a couple of officers standing looking out into distance saw a corvette heading towards them. He also heard voices from one of the large horns which directed fresh air into the lower parts of the ship; some American servicemen were trapped in the propeller shaft housing and needed rescuing.

Harold made his way down to an inspection plate over the shaft which was only large enough for a man's head. Harold shone his torch into the shaft and saw three or four soldiers there. He told them he'd do his best to get them out and made his way back on deck by which time the Free French L'Escarmouche was alongside and he called out to some Americans on board that some of their guys were trapped below and needed cutting gear to get free them. Some French sailors went below and came back with huge coils of piping and metal cutting gear which they took below, and after explaining to the trapped soldiers that they needed to keep back a little, commenced cutting the deck plating to enlarge the hole.

L'Escarmouche 1944

Harold by this time had a splitting headache and was given some medication which made him drowsy and was taken to the sick bay by the sailors where he fell asleep for some hours. He learned later that all the soldiers were rescued a little time before the Empire Javelin was again torpedoed and sank below the waves.
Harold's memory had been affected by the explosion and couldn't remember what details about himself he gave when he joined the Merchant Navy in Liverpool; consequently I have not been able to verify officially his status on board Empire Javelin. A pity, as his health had already been affected during a German bombing raid at Bari Harbour in Italy in 1942, when an American ship carrying mustard gas blew up causing many deaths and injuring others severely for the rest of their lives.

Harold also told me a little about the Bedford Boys who were ferried by landing craft to the beaches at Omaha from the Empire Javelin.


Dennis Crompton © 2013

Initially published at: www.maritimequest.com on this page :  www.maritimequest.com/warship_directory/great_britain/pages/amphibious/pages/empire_javelin_1944_harold_cromptons_story.htm
Read also: www.mybestyears.com/ARCHIVES/WWR/2-021507SelmanEvans.html, the story of Mr J V Selman who was a US sailor also onboard the Empire Javelin when it was torpeoded. Also published at www.denniscrompton.wordpress.com 2013)

Growing up and chocolate treats

It was a fine day in June 1942, when a few short hours ago Dad, my older brother Fred, and eight or nine men inside the canvas covered deck of a flat truck were returning from repairing houses damaged in and around Liverpool by German bombs. I was with them aged fourteen and shouldn't have been on the truck at all but Dad thought I should see the bomb damaged streets and houses for myself. It opened my eyes to the strange way some houses survived alongside others which were demolished, half-demolished or just had one window broken. Bomb blast was unpredictable in the way it destroyed streets and people. My emotions had me wishing I could talk to somebody about it but even if I could pluck up the courage enough to do that there was hardly anyone around at that time. I had seen enough of the damage in about an hour's walking around, so with an unexpected hand-out of loose change from Dad to the amount of two shillings and ten pence, I took the ferry over to Bootle near Liverpool.

This was the first time I'd been on my own free to explore being in a different place than my home town of Preston. Outwardly I was just another youth wandering around the streets who should have been at school or at work, while inwardly I gradually become aware that I was growing up, stimulated by the prospects of making decisions for myself.  Near the ferry terminal I saw several slot machines, mostly offering cigarettes or tobacco but in amongst them stood toffee and chocolate machines looking dusty and in need of a clean. I looked closer and saw bars of chocolate with that enticing look which had my mouth eager to taste some. It was wartime and rationing meant I had to present coupons to obtain some, then my pulse quickened as I realised these delights weren't in a shop, so no coupons needed. I slipped sixpence into the slot, pressed my choice and waited, a slight tingle of excitement warming my insides and out it popped, a bar of chocolate in its clean wrapper. This was discarded quickly as I stepped lightly down the street enjoying savouring the smooth creamy taste all to myself.

Later as I joined Dad and the other men for the return trip to Preston I sensed the men, and Dad especially were concerned that the driver had been drinking but no one else there had authority to take control of the vehicle to drive us back. Looking at Dad and my brother I saw their concern and looked again at the driver, smiling and relaxed as he saw us all in and seated on the planks set around the three sides with our backs leaning on the canvas cover. He raised and fastened the tailboard up before getting into the cab and driving off. We all survived.

Dennis Crompton © 2013