I was particularly fortunate in the trip selected, fortunate for at least two reasons: First, in the ship I made the trip on - HMCS Restigouche; and, second, because as Lieutenant-Commander D.S. Piers, the Commanding Officer of the Restigouche, himself said, "You experienced about everything on this trip."

The ship sailed out of the snug harbour of St. John's, Newfoundland, shortly before noon, October 30th. The other members of the escort were the corvettes: Algoma, Arvida, Amherst, Celandine.

We met the Convoy S.C. 107 at the appointed position and took over the escort duty from HMS Walker. A U-boat had been sighted on the surface previous to our taking over; so we knew the convoy was being shadowed.

During the following day several warnings of U-boats in our vicinity were received. On Sunday, November 1st, the volume of H/F D/F bearings increased and we knew beyond doubt that S.C. 107 was heavily shadowed. The day passed quietly, however, except for the warnings of what might happen, from the H/F D/F reports.

At 2204Z/1, however, any illusions we might have had that this was to be an uneventful trip were rudely dispelled. An Asdic contact was made. While investigating this contact, the R.D.F. reported - what could not be the Convoy - a contact, bearing 325 degrees, at 1800 yards. This was deemed to be a U-boat on the surface; so we sought to close at 20 knots. Our hunt was abandoned, however, when the report reached us that a ship in the Convoy was torpedoed. We quickly closed in on the Convoy and picked up another contact, which we tracked down and dropped a ten-charge pattern upon it.

We had scarcely got settled down from this first attack when at 0315Z/2 the general action station bell went again. Men do not take long in the Navy to answer that bell. To the hum of the engines was added the further sound of men rushing hither and yon to their partcular action stations. These men did not walk, nor even walk fast - they ran. I found myself running too, but not as rapidly as the others, for the ship was new to me, and I collided with rigging or stumbled over an eye bolt on the deck in the pitch dark. I was not going up the ladder to the fo'c'sle fast enough for those behind me. They told me to "get crackin'". I did. But before the week was out I was moving about as fast as the rest.

We found that the bell had not been rung for practice, by any means. The Convoy had been attacked. In short order three more were torpedoed. We made contact, and at 0334Z/2 dropped another ten-charge pattern, with what effect we do not know.

To the Stockport, the rescue ship attached to the Convoy, went the task of picking up survivors. We came alongside to see how the work was coming, and found she was doing a magnificent job. We thought that night that all survivors were picked up, but I found, about six weeks afterwards on visiting a hospital on the North American side of the Atlantic that such had not been the case. Somehow two lifeboats were missed. [ Note by Bill Burgar - Unfortunately, these were the two lifeboats from my father's ship SS Hartington] The men in hospital told me they were adrift in an open boat for ten days, and were finally picked up when they had very nearly succumbed to exposure. One of their number had perished. The story I had from these men was that the other boat, as far as they knew, had not been picked up. Three of the men in hospital have lost and are losing several of their toes. One of them is waiting until three of the toes of one foot drop off. He said that when that happened his recovery would probably be rapid. Another had had two taken off the morning of the day I last saw him. Brave men these! They would have a go at it again if they could.

We were not to have an opportunity to get our heads down that night. At 0715Z/2 the Convoy was attacked a third time. This time the toll was the heaviest yet. Four more ships with their cargoes of inestimable value to our war effort were sent to the bottom. Each time a ship was torpedoed, every ship of the Convoy would send up "Snowflakes", illuminating the sky for miles around. But in spite of the illumination, no sign of the skulking marauder was seen.

A few minutes after this third attack, we were startled by several underwater explosions, which were like depth charge patterns yet not quite the same. They were thought to be exploding boilers of sinking ships.

To quote the Captain's report, "The first streaks of dawn arrived to relieve a most critical situation." That night the Stockport, supported by the Amherst and Arvida, picked up two hundred and fifty survivors. Later in the day HMCS Moosejaw joined us, giving the added strength of an additional corvette to the Escort. In the middle afternoon the visibility became exceedingly bad. A bit of wettish snow was flying about. The Convoy, all but a few of the nearest ships, was obscured from view. At 1645Z/2, before it had yet become dark, a fifth ship was torpedoed. This was the fourth attack.

Numerous H/F D/F reports kept us on the "qui vive" throughout the evening and night. The R.D.F. gave us a contact, which purported to be a U-boat on the surface at 800 yards, we gave chase, but our quarry turned out to be HMS Vanessa joining us. The night was not to pass without another attack. Shortly before dawn the fifth attack came, and a tanker went up in a massive burst of flame and smoke.

That morning the weather cleared into brilliant sunshine, but even with such clear visibility the morning did not pass uneventfully. The Amherst sighted a U-boat on the surface and was immediately off in pursuit. The Celandine, fifteen miles astern, attacked a U-boat, and was herself attacked, having torpedoes fired at her. Our own ship closed on a doubtful contact and dropped two depth charges which exploded, sending great geysers of churned water into the sunlight.

About this time a periscope was sighted by a merchant ship between the third and fourth columns of the convoy. Every ship in the convoy was soon blazing away. No attack took place and the actual sighting of the periscope is doubted. More H/F D/F reports warned us that we were still shadowed; and though we used evasive turns, we did not shake off the enemy. In case other ships should be torpedoed, two small tugs were detailed as rescue ships, as the Stockport was overcrowded with survivors.

At 2050Z/3 the sixth attack came. This time the Commodore's ship was the victim. The tugs began picking up the survivors, screened by the Celandine. The enemy's dastardly work was not yet complete for that night. At 2315Z/3, a seventh ship was torpedoed. Her bow quickly sank; and, with her stern pointing 60 degrees skyward, with rudder and propeller discernible through glasses, she slid quietly beneath the surface, a scant five minutes after the torpedo struck. As she disappeared beneath the surface, the Captain turned to me, "Say a prayer for them, Padre!" About a half hour afterwards a most startling thing happened. We felt the ship literally lifted by a terrific underwater explosion, which apparently meant only one thing. We were hit! Indeed, the ship's writer recording the ship's movements wrote, "Ship hit!", and proceeded to inflate his life-belt. The Captain phoned the Quarterdeck, "How are you down there?" Word came back, "We are all right!" An amazing aspect of the explosion was that it was felt with apparently equal force by all the escorts. They reported by R/T a tremendous explosion as having taken place near them. The most plausible explanation seemed to be that it was caused by the bursting boilers of the Empire Lynx which had sunk a few minutes previously. This was one of our worst nights. Five ships were torpedoed. At dawn the rescue tugs came up bringing two hundred survivors. Food and water was getting scarce on these and the Stockport. The situation was so acute, that they, with the Arvida and Celandine, proceeded to Iceland at dusk.

We had received word that three U.S. ships would join the Escort shortly. With only five escorts left, we hoped they would arrive before night. But night closed in with no sign of them. The Northern Lights were bright that night; and one would have thought the enemy would be silhouetted against the northern sky. But at 2137Z/4 the attack, the eighth, came from the port side.

At dawn the three U.S. ships arrived; and at ten o'clock the Liberator we had been awaiting found us. He sighted a U-boat on the surface 32 miles astern on his first patrol around the Convoy. At noon we asked him to investigate strong H/F D/F signals we had received. In a few minutes he reported that he had attacked another U-boat fourteen miles astern on the surface. At 1600Z we asked him to investigate another H/F D/F signal. He did and later he reported he had attacked still another U-boat on the surface 25 miles off. He finally reported he had expended all his depth charges; so he left us at dusk. That night, November 5/6, there was no attack - the first quiet night since the thirty-first. It was surely welcome! The morale of the ship, however, was extremely high. There had been no let-up for five days; and the men had been carrying out their duties amidst dangerous and difficult circumstances; yet there was so sign of lagging - they were still carrying on cheerfully.

The trip made several marked impressions on me. First, I was impressed with the fine quality of young manhood represented in the Navy. The officers were keen, were men of parts and knew how to use them, did their jobs efficiently and well, and inspired confidence in the men. The men made me re-affirm the exclamation of our greatest dramatist, "What a wonderful piece of work is man!" My trip on the Restigouche did not make it more difficult but easier to believe that man is made in the image of God. There was a fine spirit of comradeship among the men. Yes, there were misunderstandings; there was a bit of grousing now and then; but there was also that fine spirit of comradeship that comes from facing a common danger, and from having enlisted one's life in a great cause, and in bending one's energies toward a great purpose, other than a selfish one.

Second, I was impressed with the fact that it is "with a great sum we obtain this freedom". The cost of freedom is dear indeed. Millions of dollars worth of war materials and ships went to the bottom during this trip; and more than that, men lost their lives. All this material and these men were sacrificed for the sake of freedom. Only by paying a great sum in money and men can freedom be won and kept.

Third, men on escort duty with North Atlantic convoys do not have a bed of roses, especially in winter. They face the dangers of the sea and the violence of a daring and subtle enemy, and besides that, discomforts galore. Often on watch they get soaked in spite of heavy clothes. The spray and the waves often freeze as they hit the ship, leaving decks and rigging, and guns and equipment heavily ice-laden. On long watches feet and hands have a strange faculty of getting cold, in spite of socks, and socks, and socks, and mitts, and mitts, and mitts. The quarters are sometimes cramped and the action of the waves is not always gentle. One is very liable to be thrown from one side of the mess to the other, before he has had time to "hang on".