TALES OF THE NAVY

Auckland Star, Volume LXXIII, Issue 44, 21 February 1942, Page 11

TALES OF THE NAVY

TT was during the raid on the Lofoten Islands. We landed in the very early hours. It was a long and bitterly cold trip. Close beside me in my boat was a petty officer telegraphist— to keep us in touch by wireless.

Soldiers drummed their fingers to get the circulation back, peered at the outline of the mountains, and fingered their Tommy guns. Only one man seemed completely unmoved—this petty officer. He just sat there staring into space with that peculiar vacant expression which wireless operators wear when they are concentrating on their job.

As we bumped alongside, he tapped out a quick message, then leapt ashore with his portable wireless strapped to his back. In a few minutes we had established headquarters at the local police station, but almost before we were through the door the pettv officer had thrown himself on to the I sn 2 w> r 'Sged his telescopic aerial, and reported "in communication." Fascinated Norwegians stared at him. At intervals there were loud explosions as the cod oil factories were blown up. Soldiers kept marchling past and stepping over his body

as they brought in German prisoners and Quislings.

But he just lay there oblivious to his surroundings; his job was to keep in constant touch with the covering force—and he did it.

When we re-embarked, after many hours, he was almost the last to leave. But he wasn't quite so agile getting back to the boat as on our arrival; his limbs were frozen stiff. Once in the boat, up went the aerial again—"in communication." rhe scene as we left was unforgettable. Norwegians shouting farewells to their relations who had come back with us, cheering, waving flags and singing both their National Anthem and ours. He saw and heard none of it. And during the long passage back there was still that same glassy look of concentration. As we approached our parent ship and his job was over he asked permission to "close down." I nodded and handed a cigarette into his still frozen hands. He took a deep, contented puff. "Well, what do you think of Norway? I asked. He shook his head sadly—"Those mountains play the devil with reception! I felt rather small. —A.K.