They were barely in their 20s in 1943 when their flotilla was torpedoed with the loss of hundreds of lives. To mark tomorrow’s anniversary of the ships’ sinking, Shaun Shackleton talked to some of the survivors of HMS Charybdis and HMS Limbourne. Pictures by Zoe Ash THEY were settled in the lounge of La Villette Hotel, chatting and laughing happily as only old wartime shipmates can, the sun streaming in through the windows.

There was handshaking and no small amount of ribbing.

It was a far cry from the scene 64 years ago on the pitch-black night of 23 October, when these men were fighting for their lives in the chill waters of the Channel after their ships, HMS Charybdis and HMS Limbourne, had been torpedoed by German E-boats.

Back in Guernsey for the anniversary of the event and to commemorate their shipmates were George Brown, 81, and Neil Wood, 83, both from HMS Limbourne, and Jim Duckworth, 86, John Eskdale, 83, Gerald Evans, 83 and Bill Hustler, 88, of HMS Charybdis.

‘In that week we’d just come from the Med and the Charybdis was awaiting to go into dry dock,’ said Jim, who was seaman petty officer and whose action station was the port pom-pom, or anti-aircraft machine gun. ‘Then we were ordered to go out into the flotilla.’

The flotilla was Force 28 and the mission was Operation Tunnel, made up of Charybdis and the destroyers, Grenville, Rocket, Limbourne, Talybont, Wensleydale and Stevenstone.

Their job was to carry out reconnaissance sweeps of German coastal traffic, both naval and commercial, between Ushant and Cherbourg.

‘We’d never done this work together,’ said Neil, who was a radio operator.

‘This was the first time it had been with a big ship. The Charybdis had just come back for some well-earned leave and because it was spare, they put it in the group.’

‘It was between 12 and one o’clock when we had gone to action stations between watch,’ said George Brown, who was an ordinary seaman, just out of training.

‘The Charybdis had a more senior captain in charge and the Limbourne was the flotilla leader. The second-in-command always sailed line abreast [side by side] but the Charybdis captain had us line ahead [one after the other].

‘They picked us up long before we picked them up.’

In fact, German radar on the coast had located the ships and reported it to their Elbing class destroyers (E boats).

‘They fired at everything,’ said Neil. ‘You could see the torpedoes in the water alongside and underneath the ship.’ ‘I was on the Limbourne bridge and I was the first person to see it,’ said George.

‘Basically, the Elbing class were out on an exercise when they came across us,’ said Jim. ‘The chap in charge must’ve thought they’d have a go at us.’

And have a go they did.

At 0145 the Charybdis opened fire with starshell – a form of artillery used as a means of illuminating a battlefield during the hours of darkness – at a range of about 40 yards. Torpedo tracks were sighted coming towards them and the captain ordered ‘hard a’port’.

But it was too late. Charybdis was struck on the port side and came to a standstill.

Limbourne fired rocket flares and she was also hit.

‘There were 30 all told,’ said John, who was a gunner-rating Royal Marine. ‘The Charybdis got a double load and any that missed us hit the Limbourne.

‘When the Charybdis was hit port side, it had a 40-degree list. There were a lot of people trapped inside. Most of those who survived were on deck,’ said Jim.

For five or six minutes, torpedoes swept through the British lines. Grenville and Wensleydale had near misses, but Charybdis was hit again.

‘There wasn’t what you’d call panic,’ said Jim. ‘More, activity.’

Jim recalls the ship sinking and going right up in the air.

‘It was like an express train going through a tunnel. To me, anyway. The noise. Then, all of a sudden, quiet.’

The order was given to abandon ship.

Luckily for those who made it overboard the sea wasn’t on fire with all the spilt fuel oil.

‘I never saw fire,’ said John.

Gerald, who was wireman on Charybdis, found himself clinging to a Carley float [a self-righting life raft].

‘The last thing I saw was the bow gently going down. I managed to swim over to the float and cling on to the side with four other people. After a period of time a ship came out of the gloom. The Wensleydale.

They threw over a net, like an overgrown tennis net, and I managed to grab hold of it.’

But Gerald was too weak to climb aboard.

‘So this gent went to the wash deck locker and got a bucket, tied on some rope and lowered it down. It nearly hit me on my head.’

Gerald managed to loop his arm through the bucket and was pulled aboard.

It’s perhaps a tribute to these men’s strong sense of survival, down to a finely honed coping mechanism or just the passing of the years, but throughout all this horror they still found something to laugh at.

‘Once aboard I ignored him and didn’t thank him,’ said Gerald.

‘I met him 50 years later in a hotel in Birmingham – his name was Ernie Moseley. It was a privilege to have met him again. I said to him, ﾓThank you, but next time be careful where you throw that bucketﾔ.’

Others weren’t so lucky.

‘The Carley floats were overflowing with bodies. People were just flipping off, exhausted, inhaling fuel oil, slipping away,’ said Jim.

But fate can bring together strange bedfellows.

‘There were four to five in a float and the bloke next to me was my old mate, Steve Keeling, who was the ship’s diver. We’d joined the navy together in 1937.’

Despite this, the torpedo that had hit the engine room was just under Jim’s pom pom.

‘I was the only one who survived,’ he said.

And this was when the laughter and the ribbing began again. It seems Jim was a bit handy with a needle and thread.

‘He made sailor’s suits,’ said Neil. ‘He still complains now that they didn’t bring up his sewing machine.’

The men and members of the Charybdis Association, as well as other veterans, gather in St John’s Church every year to pay their respects to the fallen sailors of Charybdis and Limbourne, among them the bodies of the 21 sailors that were washed up in Guernsey, which are buried at the Foulon Cemetery.

They also visit France.

‘The main reason is to preserve the memory of old ship mates,’ said Neil.

‘It all boils down to [the fact that] we shouldn’t have been there,’ said Bill.

‘Like chickens in a turkey shoot,’ added Gerald.

‘They couldn’t have failed to hit anything.’

I asked them if they felt they were blessed for surviving.

‘No doubt about it,’ said Neil.

‘We’ve had a lot of bonus years.’