H.M.N.Z.S. Hawera—From "Butter Run" To Duty In Pacific

Auckland Star, Volume LXXVI, Issue 251, 23 October 1945, Page 4

H.M.N.Z.S. Hawera —From "Butter Run" To Duty In Pacific

By NOEL HOLMES

"THERE was a time when His* Majesty's New Zealand Ship Hawera ran the "butter run" between Wellington and Patea. This morning she arrived at Auckland from the Pacific to end an honourable wartime career as a member of the R.N.Z.N. I saw the Hawera last month at Espiritu Santo, New Hebrides, where she and her New Zealand crew of 17 were awaiting repairs to an unserviceable engine. At that time she had steamed 25,000 miles in 18 months, had poked her bluff bows into many little-known corners of the Pacific and had performed a wide variety of tasks, all far removed from the Wellington-Patea butter run. Built of solid kauri in 1912, the Hawera has three skins, measures 120 ft over-all and possesses a small Diesel engine, giving her an all-out speed of seven knots, although a more leisurely five knots is more in her line. When plugging into head winds, her performance is likely to suffer. The Gilbert and Ellice Groups and the New Hebrides are no strangers to the Hawera, and in her cruising north and south of the equator and east and west of the date line she has left her wake in all four hemispheres. Her wartime task has been an all-embracing one—to assist in the reinstatement of British administration in the hundreds of islands in the Gilberts, Elllces and New Hebrides, which have been affected, directly or indirectly, by Japanese occupation. Japs 100 Miles Away As might be imagined, her duties have led her into some ticklish spots, although it may as well be recorded, before proceeding further, that the Hawera has never seen action. This, as her crew are the first to is perhaps just as well in view of the fact that her main armament consists of two Bren guns.

But in landing British administration officers, medical officers, and medical stores and rations on islands in the Gilberts, the Hawera was at times within 100 miles of enemyoccupied islands, and during most of her time at sea she was well within the range of marauding Jap subs. With her slow cruising speed and almost non-existent armament she would have been a sitting shot for any sort of enemy interception.

This was not altogether a comforting thought for the crew, but it is a tribute to their unfailing enthusiasm that the Hawera has put in more steaming time in the Pacific than any other New Zealand ship, short of cruisers. Theirs was not the

type of duty wTiJch automatically draws publicity —if, indeed, there is any duty in the Navy which does— but the job was a necessary one if thousands of natives under British protection were not to suffer untold misery from tropical diseases and malnutrition.

Time and again the Hawera arrived in port shortly before or shortly after other ships who reported having been attacked by submarine. How she missed being picked up by subs is a mystery to all on board. On at least one other occasion she herself, because of her low outline and short length, was mistaken for a submarine by an American destroyer, which' fortunately closed in to make sure of her target before attacking. What Nationality? The Hawera, incidentally, is an endless source of amazement to American Navy men in the Pacific. This is understandable when it is remembered that her builders, in 1012, could scarcely be expected to anticipate that their craft would eventually roam the Pacific as a part of His Majesty's Royal New Zealand Navy. The crew have by now become quite reconciled to receiving the signal, "What nationality?" from passing Allied vessels, despite the fact that the ensign was flying. There is no modern nonsense about the Hawera. She has a bluff, take-it-or-leave-it air about her which contrasts strangely with the sleek,

war vessels more often "seen. Her quarters are cramped, she possesses only two household refrigerators by way of refrigeration equipment—and yet the men who sail her have a strange sort of abusive affection for her which is discerned mainly in their continual criticism of her capabilities. Like all Navy men, the Hawera's crew are not inclined to dwell on the danger of their duties when reminiscing of their experiences. They do not point out that for months they were crossing and recrossing the sea .lanes used by Jap supply submarines carrying stores to the isolated garrisons of Ocean and Nauru Islands, but will tell you instead of the mysterious disappearance of the population of one of the Torres Islands. They made the latter discovery when they were returning a native, who had been studying for five years at a Fijian medical school, to his home in the Torres Islands, where he was to have cared for the health of quite a large population. The Hawera approached the island and put the native ashore, together with quantities of medical stores. Both the native and the boat's crew were mystified to find that, the island's inhabitants had completely vanished. Where had they gone? Nobody knows to this day, and the Hawera men would rather have it that way. It makes a better story. Pacific Crossroads The native, incidentally, was returned to Santo, together with his medical stores and the presents he had brought from Fiji to give to his father and mother. It was the logical step to take as Santo is one of the crossroads of the Pacific—like the famed Shepheard's Hotel in Cairo; if you stay there long enough you will meet everybody you ever knew and see everyone of importance in the world. If anyone knows anything, therefore, about a tribe of vanished Torres Islanders, he will be found in Santo. And to Santo came the Hawera. She broke down, after six months' steaming, on a lee shore off Lo Island, also in the Torres Group, and was towed to port by an American vessel. Her crew—all reservists, except three—passed the time as philosophically as they could while awaiting instructions as, to their future moves.

And now they are home again. There was nothing in the way of a mass demonstration to greet them as they berthed early this morning, but the Hawera's crew are used to that ... and no brass bands were needed to tell them that they were home again.