Albert Edward Chatfield. born 1908. Story kindly supplied by Peter Lapicki (Grandson)
Image: Albert’s letter to his wife – Part 1
After the death of my mother I came across a letter written by my late grandfather to my grandmother during WW2 about a ship he was aboard that was torpedoed during the night.
I remembered him telling me, when I was a young boy, that this had happened to him but as he died in 1963 at the age of 56, when I was 11, there was little
more that I could find out…and to be honest it was soon forgotten.
Imagine my surprise, some sixty years later,, when I discovered a very moving letter detailing the events. He was acting as a gunner on the ship when, soon after passing Gibraltar and after about
eight days at sea, the ship was struck. Still, I didn’t know the name of the ship as he didn’t name it. So it he was not until my son used ChatGBT 5 to transcribe my grandfather’s letter and input his war medals. that within seconds the mystery was solved.
Transcription of the letter sent by Albert Edward
Chatfield to his Wife, Ellen in 1944 re the SS Strathallan.
(Cleaned for readability, spelling and punctuation corrected, but wording faithful)
28 October 1944
C Company, 1 Platoon
Re-allocation Centre
C.M.F. (All Arms)
My Darling ,
I hope this writing will be a bit better than my last letter to you, as I’ve managed to borrow some ink. The other was vile stuff and just wouldn’t run, and it must have been an awful job to read.
Well love, I don’t know if you’ll think this little yarn interesting or not, but I guess a few details of what happened to us lately are new to you. You’ve already heard
of certain experiences—something the battle is of such length I can’t put them all here. I’ll just give you the real adventure as it happened.
Well sweetheart, Scotland I never saw, except from the train window, as we went straight off the train and on to the ferry which took us on board the last of a convoy (plenty of MPs about so none could make a memory of breach). As we were embarking, the following morning we felt the ship underway. By this time Tommy and I lost our way once aboard and somehow found ourselves in the very front parts of the ship.
On the first day she was like a big hotel. The shores of old England sank out of sight that morning, and we were on our ack-ack. B.T.Y. took over manning the
ship’s guns for the voyage. That first night the ship, which had felt as firm as a rock while in the river, began to pitch and roll as we entered the swells of the Atlantic for the first bit. We soon decided I was a good seaman, but the weather and the sea steadily got worse, and one after another went green. I dashed for the rail. The same afternoon I looked around for one of the chaps to see how he was getting on, just as he decided to part with his dinner. Immediately I decided I’d better join him.
With mixing my meal with the air, I went from green until right. The gun pit was shaped like a wire glove, and to reach it one had to climb an iron ladder, a work of art, with the ship rolling about—and a trifle of oil flowing. I was sick about four times during watch and felt pretty ill into the following morning. I felt not of handy stuff but more “Heinously Bacon.” One more full roll and splash for the cannon, where many were very ill, eventually got rid of their breakfast. But back we went and managed to get some tea and butter, after which I gradually got used to the whole thing and wasn’t sick any more.
The secret was to force oneself to eat. Some didn’t persevere and were very ill etc. And anyway, we were told that the ship rolled over part the danger angle during the roughest part of the trip. You can understand what it felt like when we eventually sighted Gib at dawn after about eight days of that. I’d never seen such seas in my life.
Image: Albert’s letter to his wife – Part 2
We rolled around un-naturally and divided into watch at midnight, had a shower, and divided into work. I remember saying to Tommy before going hammock, “Get over to night and we’re O.K.” The next I remember was stirring suddenly with the alarm ringing faintly. This was about 2a.m. The ship, which before was in pitch, rolled no more, and the sirens were wailing violently. I got up and instantly
was thrown off my feet.
My life jacket (we weren’t allowed to go to sleep without it) was on. By this time everyone was beginning to ask questions. I swung my feet down to the deck and found it tilted like the roof of a house. I shouted to Tommy to get a
move on as the ship had a list. We then made our way to the boat deck.
By then all the lifeboats were gone, barring one or two that were stopped on the davits and useless. There were a few sisters on board, and some of them were pitched into the water when their boat was lowered. I don’t know how many
were lost—most loss of life was caused by panic.
Two of our lads were trapped down below by the watertight bulkheads (steel doors) being closed. They lost their lives, unfortunately, but the closing of the bulkheads saved hundreds more—probably mine as well—as she continued
to flood.
What we didn’t know was that she was on fire. We continued to man the guns all night. All night the lifeboats were gone and hundreds still on board. Just after eight next morning, distress signals were sent up from the bridge.
There was one destroyer in sight about six miles away. She started dashing towards us. Then came destroyers from all parts of the compass. They had refused to try towing her, then began the task of boarding the destroyers to capacity with men.
We went to the stern, clear of its guns, which had to be manned to the end. Those of us not actually on duty were ordered to the boat deck. As soon as the decks cleared, Tommy and I were sitting on the deck just under its stern. Before we knew it, the damned hot stuff was coming, and before we had time to reply, a great sheet of flame shot up. She’d jammed, and swung our stern clear.
This is where we got off—then came a dash down to the lower deck and a slide down a rope to the destroyer. After hundreds of details I’ve had to leave out, however, we left her off—but I didn’t get off lightly. I found I had cut and bruised my feet. It was something to be thankful for.
