EARLY in October, 1939, a month after war had broken out, four new motor life-boats were ready at Cowes to go to their stations. Two of them, Lowestoft and Hartlepool, were of the 46-feet Watson type, with a cockpit and cabin; the third, for Tynemouth, was of the 41-feet Watson type, which has two cockpits, but no cabin. The fourth, for Aberdeen, was of the light 35-feet 6-inches Liverpool type, which has a shelter over the engine controls but neither cabin nor cockpits.

As these four boats were all for east coast stations it was decided that they should go together in convoy. The Royal Navy was told of our plans, and the honorary secretaries of the life-boat stations at all ports of call were asked to be ready for us with accommodation and fuel. Each boat was manned by the coxswain and a skeleton crew from the station to which it was going. Mr.

J. P. Grant, inspector of machinery, was in charge of the engines, and a travelling mechanic was on board each of the four boats. Our party numbered altogether twenty-two.

Cowes to Newhaven.

We set out at 8.30 in the morning on 19th October, choosing that time so that the flood tide would be with us all the way to Newhaven, fifty-six miles away. An hour after leaving we set course for the Owers Lightvessel.

A moderate breeze was blowing from the north, and the Aberdeen boat, which carries a full set of sails, set all sails and was able to keep sail on for the whole passage to Newhaven.

The wind freshened as we approached the Owers and heavy rain fell. Patrolling aircraft were busy above us. They came down almost to mast height on several occasions to examine the convoy, satisfied themselves of our identity, and went on their way with a friendly wave. At Newhaven we spoke to the examination vessel before being allowed to enter the harbour. It was then 3.30 in the afternoon. Our average speed for the fifty-six miles was eight knots.

Next morning we left Newhaven at seven o'clock. A fresh breeze was blowing, still from the north, and the Aberdeen boat again carried sail until we had passed Dungeness, when the wind went ahead. The Lowestoft boat then took the Aberdeen boat in tow, the other two boats keeping close on either side of her. In this formation we continued our journey to Ramsgate.

The Aberdeen boat was taking spray on board all the time that she was in tow. A Norwegian oil tanker entered the Downs with us. We said to one another what a fine-looking ship she was, painted grey and white. We were to see her again two days later.

Submarine Seen.

The tide was against us and we did not reach Ramsgate until six in the evening. Our average speed for the seventy-four miles was 6.73 knots.

The inner dock had been kept open for us and there we lay all night.

On the third morning, 21st October, we left Ramsgate at 6.30. A moderate breeze was blowing from the northnorth- east. The wind and tide made a confused sea and towing would have been both difficult and uncomfortable, so the Aberdeen life-boat went under her own power until we had passed the Kentish Knock Lightvessel at ten in the morning. The Hartlepool boat then took her in tow all the way to Gorleston.

Off the Suffolk coast we saw the periscope of a submarine within 200 yards of our port hand. We could not tell its nationality, and we kept our course.

The Lowestoft boat left the convoy at its own harbour entrance, and the other three boats continued on their way to Gorleston, where we arrived at 6.30 in the evening. For that day's journey of eighty-four miles our average speed was 7 knots.

At 6.30 next morning, 22nd October, our fourth day out, we left Gorleston.

The weather was fine, with a light head wind. The Hartlepool boat again took Aberdeen in tow. On our way we saw the masts of a ship. It was our Norwegian friend the oil tanker, which had entered the Downs with us two days ago, and which we had so much admired. Later that day she had been sunk by a mine. For ten miles we steamed through thick oil fuel which covered the white bottom paint of all the boats.

Our port of call was Spurn, where we arrived at six in the evening. We had covered tl e ninety miles at an average speed of 7.83 knots. At Spurn all sixteen of us were put up at the life-boat station by Coxswain Robert Cross, who gave us a grand meal night and morning.

We left Spurn at seven in the morning of the 23rd, with a light wind blowing from the west, and after clearing the Binks the Hartlepool boat again took the Aberdeen boat in tow and towed her all the way to Whitby. WTe ran into fog about nine in the morning.

The visibility was under a mile. Just south of Flamborough Head we passed through a large convoy of ships coming south, and one of the cruisers gave me a bearing of the head, which we passed in the afternoon. The fog then lifted and we reached WThitby at five in the afternoon. We had travelled sixty-six miles that day, and our average speed was 6.6 knots. Most of the day the tide had been against us.

Rumours of a Naval Battle.

We set out from Whitby at 6.15 on the morning of the 24th and the Hartlepool boat left the convoy and made for her own station. The Tynemouth boat now took the Aberdeen boat in tow.

A fresh breeze was blowing from the north-west. The sea was short and sharp. The Aberdeen boat took a lot of water on board. We reached Tynemouth at 12.15 that afternoon, having travelled forty-three miles at an average speed of 7.17 knots. There the Tynemouth honorary secretary boarded his life-boat from the examination vessel.

He told me that the combination of fog, the convoy of ships going south and the three life-boats, all seen off Flamborough Head at the same time, had started a rumour that there had been a naval action in the North Sea. All day long messages had been coming to him asking him for information.

The Tynemouth Ladies' Life-boat Guild provided meals for us all and had accommodation ready for the Aberdeen crew.

It was now six days since we had left Cowes. We had travelled 413 miles.

We had been at sea for fifty-seven and a half hours. Our average speed had been 7.18 knots. That was a very good speed considering that we had had head winds all the way from Dungeness to Tynemouth and that for most of the way we had had one of the boats in tow.

Our average speed in fact was only a knot and a quarter less than the maximum speed on trials of the Hartlepool boat, the fastest in the convoy.

A Tribute to the Crews.

I was now on the boundary of my district and Commander T. G. Michelmore, R.D., R.N.R., the northern district inspector, was waiting to take over the Aberdeen boat from me, but before I let him take up the story I would say that the arrangements made for us by the honorary secretaries at all ports of call were excellent, and that the travelling mechanics not only kept continual watch on their engines to hold the convoy together, but in harbour, where it was their business to look after the refuelling, they were always last off the boats in the evening and the first on board them again in the morning.

Every man of our party of twentytwo pulled his weight, and I understand that during the evenings ashore "a good time was had by all." They were a grand lot of men. I would mention by name Coxswain Thomas Sinclair, of Aberdeen, three times a medallist for gallantry. He and his crew of four had the worst of the trip. While they were being towed, which was most of the time, they got very wet, but they were always cheerful at the end of the day.

Commander Michlemore's Story.

Commander Michelmore writes: I took over the Aberdeen life-boat from Commander Upton in the afternoon of 24th October, and at seven next morning cast off from Tynemouth. A strong breeze was blowing from the north-north-west, with a moderate swell running from the north-east. The weather was fine when we started but got steadily worse as the wind veered to the north. When we passed the Inner Fame Lighthouse, just after midday, a moderate gale was blowing, with a heavy, lumpy, head sea, and hard squalls of hail and snow. We were now steaming against a strong tide, and our speed was reduced to 3 knots. I had intended to reach Dunbar that night, but with the head gale this was impossible. We should not have arrived until long after dark and the water would have been dead low. At low water, with that sea and no lights showing; it would have been very risky to get into the harbour. Instead we put into Berwick-on-Tweed, where we arrived at 4.30. We had run fifty-three miles at an average speed of 5.5 knots.

Storm-bound.

Next day, and again the next day, a full north-east gale was blowing, with a very heavy sea and fierce squalls of hail and snow. For those two days we lay at Berwick waiting for the weather to moderate, and although we were glad not to be at sea in these conditions, we were very impatient at the delay. At 8.30 in the morning of the 28th October we put out. A heavy sea was breaking right across Berwick Bar which the life-boat took very well. Once only she filled herself. A moderate gale was blowing. A confused, lumpy sea was running. The weather was fine but intensely cold. We passed St. Abb's Head an hour and fifty minutes after starting, and thereafter we had to steer by distant land-marks. In that confused sea the compass was turning somersaults all the time. In the afternoon the weather got worse, the wind backing to the north and freshening.

The sea from the east-north-east was increasing. All day the boat was being flung about by the confused seas. It was not until 6.10 in the evening that we reached Arbroath. We had run fifty-four miles that day and our average speed had been 5.5 knots.

On 29th October we set off again at 10.30 in the morning. It was not possible to cross the bar earlier. The wind was still in the north. It had dropped to a fresh breeze, but the weather got worse as the day wore on, with a freshening wind and a rising sea.

We did not reach Aberdeen until 6.25 in the evening. That day we had run forty-one miles at an average speed of 5.4 knots.

561 Miles.

It was then five days since we had left Tynemouth. We had travelled 148 miles against head winds. For a greater part of the journey the life-boat had been heavily punished by the heavy seas. She had stood up to them well.

She had averaged 5.5 knots, making two knots less than her maximum speed on trials in smooth water, but she had had the tide against her much more often than with her.

Since she had left Cowes, ten days before, the life-boat had travelled 561 miles, and her crew were highly pleased with the behaviour and seaworthiness of their little boat, and with the reliability of her engine. It did not give a moment's trouble during the whole of this long passage.

The men themselves had stood it very cheerfully, but by the time they arrived they were all exhausted, and two of them were suffering very much from exposure. Their faces were very swollen, cut and bleeding. During my three days in the boat I could make no notes, for she was under a continuous deluge of water, and my hands were too swollen from exposure to be able to write..