ve day Archives | Sapere Books

Remembering Donald Macintyre

Between 1940 and 1944, Donald Macintyre was among the most successful submarine hunters in any Allied navy, transforming the Battle of the Atlantic with his successes against the U-boat menace. To commemorate the eightieth anniversary of the end of World War Two, Donald’s daughter, Dani, shares a personal memory from her father’s life after the conflict.

In 1960, when Dad was employed by MGM as Nautical Advisor on Mutiny on the Bounty starring Marlon Brando and Trevor Howard, he left my mother in charge of the pig farm. I can only suppose that she felt annoyed to be left with this responsibility, because she sold all the pigs and demanded a flight to California!

Dad complied, and I was able to join them for a fascinating holiday, mainly spent in Culver City’s MGM Studios every day. I watched the crew film scenes of a half replica of the Bounty on rollers, with wind and water machines simulating a storm on the high seas. To my joy I also spent time with the crew of Rawhide, a Western TV series. They made a fourteen-year-old girl feel very welcome!

If you have ever watched Mutiny on the Bounty, you might have noticed that in one scene Marlon Brando comes out of his cabin wearing a ridiculous red velvet smoking jacket. When Dad was asked to approve this costume change, he said it would never have been acceptable in those days. Hollywood being Hollywood thought it made handsome Marlon irresistible, so they kept it in. This made Dad wonder what he was being paid for, apart from sitting and playing cards with Gordon Jackson in Tahiti!

Reflections on Keith Panter-Brick’s Years Not Wasted

Keith Panter-Brick joined the Territorial Army in March 1939, at the age of eighteen. When war broke out six months later, he was sent to France, where he was entrenched ahead of the Maginot Line in spring 1940. Following the devastating German blitzkrieg, he was captured in May 1940 and spent the next five years as a prisoner of war. To commemorate the eightieth anniversary of the end of World War Two, Keith’s friend and colleague, Paul Jankowski — Raymond Ginger Professor Emeritus of History at Brandeis University — reflects on Keith’s harrowing wartime memoir, Years Not Wasted, below.

“We were totally outclassed,” Keith Panter-Brick told me in the early 2000s. He was speaking of May 1940, when the German land and air forces overwhelmed the Allied forces in Belgium and northern France. Taken prisoner that month, he spent the next five years — the first half of his twenties — in German prisoner of war camps (Stalags) in occupied Poland. The mental honesty, scrupulous accuracy, and personal humility in his brief comment captured much of the man, the scholar, and the friend I would first meet some fifty years later.

The same qualities would reappear in his memoir, Years Not Wasted. When he returned home to Merseyside, England, in 1945, all he had was his diary, along with the many letters that had somehow reached his family. He would return to them many years later in his memoir, retelling and perhaps reliving the captivity that he and other captured Western soldiers had to endure. They contended with conditions worse than those of the officers, but far better than those of the Soviet and Polish prisoners, most of whom perished in one of the great war crimes of the Second World War. Neither self-pity nor heroics coarsen his narrative. He writes of malnutrition and bitter cold, but also of Red Cross parcels, of boredom but also release, of submission but also resistance and, in his case, attempts at escape — once in 1944 from the camp itself, and again in 1945 from the virtual death-march out of it.

It is a recollection mixing scrupulous honesty with vivid detail, on one level a document about captivity in wartime, on another a spiritual memoir of inner freedom wrested from adversity, before its physical reality was finally restored.

Remembering Bobby Oxspring

Group Captain Bobby Oxspring, author of Spitfire Command, saw action in many of the most famous battles of the Second World War, including Dunkirk and the Battle of Britain. To commemorate the eightieth anniversary of the end of World War Two, his great-grandson, Daniel, shares his reflections on Bobby’s life below.

Flying ace Robert (Bobby) Wardlow Oxspring held the rank of squadron leader when World War Two ended in May 1945. Throughout April 1945, he was confident that the war was soon to conclude. His mood on VE Day as an optimistic family man would have no doubt been a mixture of pride and reflection. He would have been proud of his achievements: he’d been made leader of the 141 Wing at Deanland only the year before, and had been awarded a Distinguished Flying Cross and Two Bars as a flying ace. He would have been reflecting on his numerous wartime adventures, from the Battle of Britain to his time in North Africa, Italy and many other countries. Bobby’s mood on VE Day likely matched the mood of many of ‘The Few’, and I have no doubt he would have felt joy at the war’s conclusion.

For me, the great-grandson of Bobby Oxspring, my great-grandfather has had a huge influence on my life — not only as a proud figure to look up to, exemplifying courage and bravery, but also through his stories. His career after VE Day did not lose momentum. He received a permanent commission as a flight lieutenant on 1st September 1945 and was promoted further to substantive squadron leader on 1st August 1947. One incredible achievement, however, was his award of an Air Force Cross. This was for leading number 54 Squadron of the RAF Vampires to Canada and the US, the very first jet aircraft to cross the Atlantic.

After VE Day, he never stopped being admirable. He undertook further tours, even across Italy, and eventually became Station Commander of RAF Gatow in Berlin. At Churchill’s funeral, he walked at the very front.

I have been to RAF Cranwell to see some of my great-grandfather’s personal scrapbooks and was even fortunate enough to sit in the cockpit of his recovered plane in the Dumfries and Galloway Museum in Scotland. These are only a few of the moments I have taken to reflect on his life.

On VE Day I am almost certain that one thought would have prevailed in his mind: his admiration and respect for the mighty Spitfire, and his pride at having flown it.

Remembering Keith Panter-Brick

Keith Panter-Brick joined the Territorial Army in March 1939, at the age of eighteen. When war broke out six months later, he was sent to France, where he was entrenched ahead of the Maginot Line in spring 1940. Following the devastating German blitzkrieg, he was captured in May 1940 and spent the next five years as a prisoner of war. To commemorate the eightieth anniversary of the end of World War Two, Keith’s daughter Catherine — Professor of Anthropology, Health, and Global Affairs at Yale University — shares her memories of her father below.

“Each day life is hanging in the balance.” That was the phrase with which my father ended his book, Years Not Wasted. I think that everyone with a lived experience of war will understand that sentence: the notion that you may or may not live, may or may not be free, may or may not return.

Keith Panter-Brick was a prisoner of war in Poland from 1940 to 1945. He was captured at Isières when he was just nineteen. Under the Geneva Convention, ordinary soldiers were obliged to work — and were put to hard labour in POW camps. If he ever survived the cold, hunger, exhaustion, and brutality of war, Keith promised himself that he would study philosophy and go to university, the first of his family to do so. Admitted to Keble College, Oxford, he joined a postwar student delegation to Heidelberg for cultural exchange and reconciliation. There he met my mother, a student from Alsace-Lorraine on a French delegation to Heidelberg. The two fell in love — my father courted in German, their only common language at the time — and in that short week, they decided to marry. They built a family, rooted in the practice of non-violence and cross-cultural understanding.

My father’s book began decades later, assembled from scraps of his diary, postcards, and letters sent through the Red Cross, all of which he had kept hidden away in a shoebox. On page seven of the first edition, you’ll find his death certificate — the Office of the Cheshire Regiment officially reported him killed in action in May 1940. It took months for news of his survival to reach home. That certificate became for me the most vivid proof that life indeed is hanging in the balance.

Years Not Wasted isn’t a grand officer’s tale. It’s a soldier’s story, grounded in hard labour, frostbitten marches, and everyday endurance. Because he learnt passable German, Keith was once included in an escape attempt with RAF officers, only to be recaptured in Gdansk, at the dockside when attempting to board a Swedish vessel. He survived the Great March out of Poland in the most brutal of winters, thanks to a pair of good boots made in his father’s bootmaker shop. Even years later, my sister Brigitte, now a regular walker in the forests of Lorraine, measures distances in fractions of “Great March kilometres.” In my own teaching and research, I focus on the biological and social signatures of war across generations, and on pathways to peace. My son Jannik chose to study POW trade and barter systems for his Masters’ dissertation at Cambridge. Each of us carries a trace of my father’s war experience.

My father was impetuous. Once, while we were travelling from Nigeria to Cameroon, he filmed a bull elephant that decided to charge us on a dusty road. He stood in front of the car with the hand-held camera, while we huddled in the back. He once flagged down the pilot of a plane by running onto the runway, not wanting to miss his actual flight. But he became, over the years, immensely patient. Whilst a professor at the London School of Economics, he turned to gardening, building stone walls, and restructuring the house we purchased in Lorraine — a house that still has “2 OFF” (“must house two German officers”) carved in the front doorway. My father taught me to value ordinary things in everyday life: raking leaves, washing dishes, being attentive to other people. He never forgot what it meant to be hungry. He told me that being alive is a gift from God, and that good health is a blessing one can only really understand after one has lost it.

In 2025, we republished Years Not Wasted. It’s more than a memoir — it’s a witness statement. It honours ordinary soldiers who endured extraordinary hardship. It is a uniquely authentic book, told in the way it was recorded in letters and a diary at the time, rather than reconstructed from fallible memory. It was written to share the knowledge “soon acquired once war has started that the cost, in lives, in grief, in suffering, is immeasurable, and unacceptable however much one did accept it at the time.” It’s a call to remember how people like my father built their lives after war, choosing patience over bitterness, solidarity over division, peace over conflict. For my father, it was always about taking one step at a time, drawing from patience and reflection. That is the lesson I carry forward.

Remembering Roderick Chisholm

Air Commodore Roderick Chisholm, CBE, DSO, DFC & Bar (1911–1994), author of Cover of Darkness, was a night fighter pilot, flying ace and a highly decorated British airman of the Second World War. To commemorate the eightieth anniversary of the end of the Second World War, his son Julian reflects on his father’s life in 1945.

*Roderick Aeneas Chisholm by Sir William Rothenstein. Image used with permission from Museums Sheffield*

In 1930 Roderick Chisholm joined 604 Squadron of the Royal Auxiliary Air Force. He learnt to fly and was commissioned as an officer. He left the squadron in 1935 when his work took him to Iran. Before rejoining his squadron in late June 1940, he took a refresher course to become a night fighter pilot and fly the squadron’s Blenheims. During the war, while flying Beaufighters and Mosquitos, he shot down nine enemy aircraft with the assistance of his airborne observers and the ground controllers, he commanded the Night Fighter Interception Unit at Ford, and was the second-in-command of Bomber Command’s 100 Group, which was charged with defending RAF bombers over enemy territory. He recorded his wartime experiences in Cover of Darkness, which was first published in 1953.

Immediately after hostilities ended, Roderick led a team of twelve charged with gaining as much intelligence as possible about the impact of 100 Group’s radar-assisted night fighters, Mosquitos, and Radio Counter Measures. The team did their work at the final base of the Luftwaffe in Schleswig, just before it was disbanded and its personnel transferred to POW camps. They carried out interrogations of Luftwaffe night fighter commanders and pilots, observers, flight controllers and technicians, held technical discussions, and examined the vast number of German aircraft parked on the airfields. The team gained confirmation of the effectiveness of 100 Group’s efforts, and had the satisfaction that as a result RAF losses were significantly reduced. The Mosquito had an awesome reputation amongst the German airmen.

Major Schnauffer was one of the pilots whose interrogation Roderick witnessed. Schnauffer was a brave and skilful night fighter pilot who was credited with shooting down no less than 124 bombers in defence of his country. He wore uniform, and on the last day the Germans were allowed to wear medals, he wore the highest order of the Iron Cross around his neck. The exchanges with the Germans were generally civilised and friendly, but my father could not ignore that they were Nazis, and that nearby were camps for Russian prisoners living in ghastly conditions, and mini-Belsens for Jews and other displaced persons.

Roderick’s mission complete, he flew back to Norfolk. While doing so, he envisioned a future Europe in which frontiers would mean no more and individual nationalities were less important, as per the multi-national squadrons of the Battle of Britain. After the collapse of France in 1940, British, French, Belgian, Czech, Polish and other nationalities had flown in harmony in polyglot fighter squadrons. Their aims were identical, and their understanding effective thanks to the basic English of the radio. Sadly, later, as national squadrons were formed, national identities asserted themselves and the unity achieved in the Battle of Britain became compromised.

Remembering John Wooldridge

In September 1939 the twenty-year-old John Wooldridge, then a Sergeant Pilot, took part in the British air raid on Kiel, the first raid of World War Two. Having brought his damaged aircraft home safely, he was awarded the Distinguished Flying Medal. Commissioned in August 1940, he rapidly rose to the rank of Flight Commander, flying Lancasters as a Flight Lieutenant. In the middle of 1942, for his part in the 1,000-bomber raid on Cologne, he was awarded the Distinguished Flying Cross. By the end of the War, he had flown 97 missions over enemy territory. To commemorate the eightieth anniversary of the end of World War Two, John’s daughter and son, Susan and Hugh, share their memories of him below.

On 9th and 10th May 1944, our father, Wing Commander John Wooldridge DSO, DFC*, DFM, returning from New York where his music was being performed at Carnegie Hall, flew over the Atlantic in a Mosquito, taking off from Goose Bay, Canada and landing six and a half hours later in Ballykelly, Northern Ireland. In so doing, he broke the then speed record for crossing the Atlantic.

The Air Ministry, unsure what to do with this daring twenty-five-year-old, told him to lie low but, within a couple of days, they’d been outflanked by the Press and the story was all over the newspapers. As our father writes in his diary for Sunday 14th May: Ye gods, what a splash! Headlines, pictures…

Meanwhile, on Monday 15th May in a London hairdresser, our mother, the distinguished British actress Margaretta Scott, was having her hair done. Whilst under the dryer, she read the story in the London Evening Standard of this amazing trans-Atlantic flight. But what really caught her eye was that the pilot was also a composer of serious music, who had composed a work for Narrator and Orchestra called The Constellations.

‘That’s my boy!’ she cried, as Sir Henry Wood had recently asked her to find a new work for Narrator and Orchestra for his upcoming Promenade Concerts, and she felt that The Constellations might be just the job.

Our mother immediately approached the Air Ministry, but they refused to give out the personal details of the record-breaking flyer.

The story would have ended there if, a couple of days later, at Denham Film Studios where she was making the film Fanny by Gaslight, our mother had not given a lift to a film publicist who, on their journey back to London, had boasted that he’d just been given a camembert cheese flown across the Atlantic by a friend, one John Wooldridge.

‘Bring him to tea!’ she cried. And the next Sunday, there was our father on her doorstep — and that was it! For the next fourteen years until our father’s sudden death in a car crash in 1958, our mother and father were as inseparable as their young family and busy work schedules would allow.

In the 1950s, Margaretta Scott continued to star in plays and films whilst John Wooldridge wrote his music and plays and films. One of his most important films was the 1953 film starring Dirk Bogarde, Appointment in London, about a Royal Air Force Bomber Command squadron, for which he wrote both the screenplay and the music score. To this day it continues to be screened to great acclaim and serves as a memorial to Bomber Command by one of their own.

By John Wooldridge:

Low Attack

Remembering Hubert Essame

Major-General Hubert Essame, CBE, DSO, MC (1896–1976) was a British Army officer who fought in the First and Second World Wars. Following his retirement from the army, Hubert lectured in military history at King’s College London, and published several books and articles. He was also an advisor to television producers for military programmes. To commemorate the eightieth anniversary of the end of the Second World War, his granddaughter Antonia shares her memories of him below.

Brigadier, later Major-General, Hubert Essame led 214 Independent Infantry Brigade, part of 43rd Wessex Division, in the capture of Mont Pincon, the key to Normandy, as well as of Hill 112, the successful yet most costly single battalion action of the Overlord campaign.

He was a sharp-witted and determined man remembered by the actor and raconteur Dirk Bogarde, his one-time liaison officer, for his “brilliant blue eyes and tongue like a whip”. He had a caustic sense of humour and was a formidable leader from the front.

Soon after the war, Hubert wrote the Division’s official history, The 43rd Wessex Division at War, 1944-45, and later Battle for Normandy, Normandy Bridgehead, The Battle for Germany, and a biography of General Patton. His perspective as a leader of troops into battle, alongside his use of a wide-ranging variety of sources as a historian, makes for a great read even for those who know about Operation Overlord.

His 214 Independent Infantry Brigade, which together with 129 and 130 Brigade and their supporting arms formed Major General Ivor Thomas’s 43rd Wessex Division, were in turn part of the XXX Corps commanded by Lieutenant-General Sir Brian Horrocks all the way from Normandy to Bremerhaven.

The Wessex Division story spans the stormy Overlord crossing and later the crucial Battle for Hill 112. This point south-west of Caen was defined by Eberbach, commander of Panzer Group West, as the “pivotal point of the whole position” and it saw the first of the grim battles of attrition immediately following Caen’s fall. The battle involved heavy casualties and tested the 43rd Division against some of the most seasoned German divisions, well dug in and skilfully hidden.

Road and rail lines lay at right angles to the direction of advance. The bocage of tiny, often boggy fields with sunken lanes and thick hedges reduced visibility for artillery and impeded all movement. And it was high summer. Hubert describes vividly how he crawled forward in the August heat to assess Mont Pincon’s southern slopes before its eventual capture by the Division and 8th Armoured Brigade.

Hubert was a writer whose extraordinarily immediate account includes, for example, the information he gained from German prisoners, subsequent revelations about Hitler’s orders to his generals, and his own point of view at the head of 214 Brigade. His perspective sheds light on some of the huge challenges of the campaign, such as that of establishing a key bridgehead over the Seine at Vernon despite the civilian population’s determination to celebrate as though the campaign was already won.

214 Brigade fought on through northern France and the Netherlands, including Operation Market Garden, and were among the first Allied troops to enter Germany. They played a key part in the turning of the tide in the Reichswald. I am proud that ‘Brigadier Twinkletoes’ was my grandfather and attempt to read across from his high standards of resolve and determination to the greyer demands of the here and now.

By Hubert Essame:

Patton the Commander

Normandy Bridgehead

The Battle for Europe, 1918

The Battle for Germany, September 1944-May 1945

Remembering Jeremy Howard-Williams

Jeremy Howard-Williams DFC (1922–1995), author of Night Intruder, had a distinguished career in the RAF as a night-fighter pilot during the Second World War and was awarded the Distinguished Flying Cross for gallantry. To commemorate the eightieth anniversary of the end of the Second World War, Jeremy’s son, Anthony Inglis Howard-Williams, reflects on the arrival of peace in 1945 and how it influenced his father’s life.

*Jeremy Howard-Williams warming up the engines of a clipped wing Spitfire*

When peace came to Europe in May 1945, Flight Lieutenant Jeremy Howard-Williams DFC was stationed at HQ, 11 Group Uxbridge. Three days before Germany’s unconditional surrender, a party was held to celebrate peace. Jeremy and his brother Peter did so by marching a guest — Flight Lieutenant Andrew from RAF Intelligence — between them up and down an anteroom. The junior flight lieutenant just happened to have been their pre-war boarding school housemaster, and the brothers had found it too good an opportunity to miss. When, years later, he was asked how the lieutenant had taken the ribbing, Jeremy replied, “with remarkable good humour!”

Like so many in 1945, Jeremy was headed for an uncertain future. With peace came the pressing question: what happens now? For most, life outside of the forces beckoned. With millions demobilising, the assimilation of those who had been at war back into civilian society became one of the new post-war government’s biggest challenges. For those who did not want to leave the forces came a different challenge. With Jeremy’s father a retired RAF pilot, Peter a Battle of Britain day-fighter pilot and Jeremy a night-fighter pilot with the Fighter Interception Unit — an elite force at the forefront of the RAF’s early experiments with radar equipment — both brothers understandably wished to remain serving.

With the Royal Air Force downsizing, deployment meant less flying — not a very exciting prospect for a twenty-three-year-old war veteran. Jeremy had specifically joined the RAF in order to fly when the Nazis had tried to seize control of Western Europe. However, in the new modern era of the jet engine, aircraft were flying ever faster and higher. Now that was exciting!

In the end, both brothers remained in the RAF. Jeremy was first posted in an admin job to Singapore during the Malayan Emergency, where he met his wife, uniting two distinguished RAF families. He later worked as an assistant air attaché in the Paris and Berlin embassies. He did fly during these postings, but mainly a desk. He resigned in 1957.

Ultimately, Jeremy’s parents divorced and his father remarried into the Ratsey family, where Jeremy became sales manager for the famous sail-making firm Ratsey & Lapthorn in Cowes on the Isle of Wight. After leaving the company, he wrote many authoritative books on sailing, as well as Night Intruder, republished by Sapere Books, a personal account of his wartime service as a pilot and the radar war between the RAF and Luftwaffe night-fighter forces.

Remembering Sir Frank Whittle

Sir Frank Whittle, author of Jet: The Story of a Pioneer, was a Royal Air Force pilot and aviation engineer known as the inventor of the jet engine. He obtained his first patent for a turbo-jet engine in 1930, and in 1936 co-founded Power Jets Ltd. In May 1941, his engine was fitted to a Gloster E.28/39 airframe — the plane’s maiden flight from RAF Cranwell in Lincolnshire heralded the beginning of the jet age. Frank retired from the RAF in 1948 with the rank of air commodore, and that same year he was knighted. He was awarded the Order of Merit in 1986. To commemorate the eightieth anniversary of the end of World War Two, his son Ian reflects on Sir Frank’s life in 1945.

*Frank as a junior officer in 1929, when he proposed the turbojet*

My father’s company, Power Jets, was nationalised in 1944. From then until 1946, he was on the board of the government company that emerged under a slightly different name. At the time, he was working on the design for the aft-fan engine that also incorporated the after-burner system he had patented in 1936 — the modified W2/700. This was expected to propel the experimental Miles aircraft (M52) intended to be the first in the world to go supersonic. He was also working on the development of what would have been the world’s first hi-bypass turbo-fan engine — the LR1. Both projects were cancelled by the government in 1946 — as was the M52. These decisions resulted in Frank resigning from the board and putting himself in the hands of the RAF to do whatever they would wish him to do.

1945 was a year of change for my father. He was still a serving officer in the RAF, but Power Jets had become publicly owned and entirely dependent on government funding. He found himself subject to the needs of the large independent aero-engine manufacturers who objected to a government company in competition. However, on three occasions he briefly got away from it all and flew the Meteor jet fighter. Apart from the Wright brothers, he was the first person to pilot an aeroplane powered by an engine of his own design. At other times, he found himself sent off to deliver lectures at various venues to describe the impact and differences when changing from piston engine/propeller propulsion to jet propulsion.

As a little boy, I remember him coming home after flying the Meteor along the high-speed run at Herne Bay. “How fast did you go, Daddy?” I asked. “Oh, about 450,” he replied. “Is that all?” I said with some disgust, and turned away to do whatever it was that I was doing. I had expected him to tell me 600 miles per hour. When I asked him about this, many years later, he said he was quite crestfallen by my reaction. He also explained that, as he was flying at about 50 feet above the surface of the sea, he really was unable to pay much attention to his airspeed indicator — his attention was focussed on keeping the aeroplane steady and level. And anyway, he would have been speaking of knots, not mph!

Featured image credit: Photo of Gloster Meteor by Alexis Threlfall on Unsplash.

Remembering Sir Peter Gretton

Sir Peter Gretton DSO** OBE DSC (1912–1992) was an officer in the Royal Navy. He was active in the Battle of the Atlantic during the Second World War, and was a successful convoy escort commander. He eventually rose to become Fifth Sea Lord and retired as a Vice-Admiral before entering university life as a bursar and academic. To commemorate the eightieth anniversary of the end of World War Two, Sir Peter’s son, Vice-Admiral Mike Gretton, shares his memories of him below.

*Lieutenant Commander Peter Gretton with the Ship’s Company of HMS* Wolverine

On 8 May 1945 — Victory in Europe Day — Peter Gretton was thirty-three years old and utterly exhausted. He had been continuously in seagoing appointments since the outbreak of war in September 1939. He had married Wren Judy Du Vivier in 1943 during a short break between convoys, and they had had their first child, Anne, who was not yet one year old. They were renting a flat in Kensington so that he could readily get to work: his job at the time was in the Joint Planning Staff in the Cabinet Office working on strategic plans to end the war in Europe and then in the Far East — not exactly a rest cure.

Peter had served continuously in seagoing ships from September 1939 until he came ashore in March 1944 — still only thirty-one years old. He had served in five ships during that time, starting as a First Lieutenant, including HMS Cossack in which he was mentioned in Dispatches for his performance during the Second Battle of Narvik under the very demanding Captain Philip Vian VC. From February 1941, he was in command of destroyers, starting with HMS Sabre in which he was awarded an OBE, and then HMS Wolverine (March to November 1942) when his ship was an escort for Operation Pedestal, the relief of Malta. He was awarded his first DSO for ramming and sinking an Italian submarine at the expense of wrecking his bows and having to proceed astern to port at Gibraltar.

*Commander Peter Gretton with the Commanding Officers of ships in B7 Escort Group*

From there, he was recalled to the UK as a Commander to become the Senior Officer of Escort Group B7, to be based in Derry, and he initially embarked on HMS Duncan. The Escort Group supported Atlantic convoys for two years and five months. He was awarded the two bars to his DSO during that time, the first of which reflected the successful battle for convoy ONS5, which historians regard as the tipping point in Allied fortunes in the Atlantic convoy campaign.

In March 1944, Peter dedicated himself to writing a new book — The Admiralty Convoy Instructions — based on his and others’ experience at war, with a readership in the Royal Navy, Royal Air Force and Merchant Navy. This became the bible for convoy protection and the same book, with minor amendments, was the basis of my own training as a naval officer in the 1970s.

Peter and my mother rejoiced exuberantly at the victory in Europe: he writes that they ‘walked up Picadilly and thence to St James’ Park … remarkable scenes’. They would have reflected proudly on their own contribution to the outcome: my father at sea and my mother as a Wren in the Western Approaches Tactical Unit (WATU), which developed and taught tactics for the Atlantic battle. I was born nine months after VE Day, in March 1946.

By Peter Gretton:

The Battle of the Atlantic

Former Naval Person

Crisis Convoy

Convoy Escort Commander

Remembering Sydney Hart

Sydney Hart, author of Submarine Upholder and Discharged Dead, served as a submariner in the North Sea, the Atlantic, and the Mediterranean during World War Two. To commemorate the eightieth anniversary of the end of World War Two, Sydney’s daughters Lynne and Andrea share their memories of him below.

Our father came across as a somewhat hard man, but underneath there was a soft man with a dry, hilarious sense of humour, which must have been an asset in his seafaring days.

After leaving submarines, Dad decided to emigrate to Australia. He felt unsettled after entering Civvy Street in post-war England. Of course, his family and friends tried to deter him, but to no avail. Sydney made a formal application to emigrate. The £10 ‘Pommie’ fare allowed him a berth on the Empire Brent. Of course, his treasured motorbike had to come as well.

On a May morning, Dad sailed from Liverpool and shared a cabin with seven other fortune-seekers. The ship sailed full of £10 Pommies, seeking a better life in a sunny climate. On leaving England, Dad met his future wife — our mum, Betty — whilst looking over the railings. Upon arrival in Sydney, Australia, Dad travelled regularly on his motorbike to visit her, and their romance flourished. They had a secret wedding in October, with two witnesses who Dad had plucked off the street.

Home was a caravan in the bush. This was a lovely, contented start to married life for our parents, though the caravan lacked any amenities. They loved the friendly, relaxed manner of the people around them. After a very challenging wet season, our parents moved to a park with better facilities. It was in this park that I (Lynne) was born, in February 1951. Dad always wondered what his Australian daughter would think of her ‘Pommie’ parents. After much discussion, they decided to return to England. Whether this would be permanent or a holiday, they didn’t know. When I was nine months old, we sailed on the SS Strathmore back to England as a family.

On arrival at Grandad’s house in Standish, a village in Northwest England, we were greeted with a warm welcome party. Dad joined the crew of the George, bound for the Middle East, after a few weeks in England. Mum and I stayed with my paternal grandad. It was easy to see where Dad got his nature from. Grandad adored me and was quite a character. Everyone wanted to know why Mum and Dad hadn’t unpacked. The truth was, they weren’t sure if they were staying. Of course, a £10 Pommie had a full passage back.

They had a ticket confirming a passage back to Australia, but this took a long time to arrive and cost £225. They also declined other offers which would have made their life in England better. Just before the passage came through, Dad accepted a position with a car factory, as he had to support his family. We lived with Grandad for six years. During this time, Dad had three books published. We then moved to a bungalow about a mile away. In 1959, my sister Andrea Davina was born.

Dad stayed in his job until his retirement. Although he did this for his family, he never lost his wanderlust spirit.

Dad died suddenly in 1979. His last request was that he be buried at sea from Portsmouth, as a true submariner.