Duty Aboard USS Albemarle (AV-5), 1945-46, by William M. Christensen Jr.
From MemoryArchive
Who: William M. Christensen Jr. What: WWII Navy service When: May 1945 - January 1946 Where: North Atlantic Ocean, Panama, Alameda CA USA
The U.S.S. Albemarle, AV-5 was a seaplane tender that spent the greater part of WW-II in the North Atlantic, Caribbean, Gulf of Mexico, South Atlantic, and Galapagos Islands. She was a floating seadrome for squadrons of PBY's and later PBM's which were flying anti-submarine patrols from remote inlets and island bays in the Atlantic and Caribbean. She was pressed into service on several occasions to transport other cargo or personnel to points overseas such as England, Casablanca, Iceland, etc.
I was the Aircraft Maintenance officer for the ship, and was responsible for a crew of 150 aircraft mechanics and technicians who serviced the squadrons of planes assigned to the ship. The captain of the ship when I reported aboard was Capt. Donald L. Mills who was relieved by Capt. Christian H. Duborg on May 11th, 1945. Captain Duborg was an Annapolis and Pensacola flight school graduate, but he had not had sea duty prior to becoming commanding officer of the Albemarle.
The ship was in the Navy Yard in Boston for routine repairs when he assumed command, and we sailed from Boston to our home port of Norfolk, Virginia for a short stay before leaving on several cruises to various islands in the Caribbean, including Cuba, Trinidad, and San Juan.
When we were deployed, we were usually escorted by two destroyers or destroyer escorts. When we joined a convoy out of New York, in May 1945, bound for England as the lead ship for column number 5, it was a new and unusual experience for both the captain and crew. About the second or third day out we began to encounter drifting fog banks that, when entered, reduced visibility to almost zero distance. At that point the convoy commander, on the lead ship of column 4, ordered that each ship trail out a marker buoy to a distance of 300 yards.
Captain Duborg summoned Chief Botswainmate Harper to the bridge and inquired if we had such a device and was told that we did not but given an hour or less, he could build one. It should be explained that a marker buoy is a device made of wood in the shape of a cross with a metal scoop located at the junction of the pieces of the cross that scooped up water. This sent a plume of water up into the air as the cross was dragged through the water. This plume of water could be observed by the following ship in line and allow the ship to keep a safe distance behind the one it was following. An observer in the bow of the following ship could keep it in sight and relay messages to the bridge as to what was necessary, as far as direction and speed were concerned, to keep station on it.
Boats Harper had the spar trailed out and some time later informed the captain that he had completed the construction of the marker buoy. The captain then gave the order to “Haul in the boat spar and trail out the marker buoy.” Boats Harper did not question the order but proceeded to haul in the spar we were trailing and was ready to trail out the marker buoy. It should be pointed out at this juncture that the ship following us was a Swedish tanker with a typical, no nonsense, Swedish captain as her master. Everything proceeded well until all at once the crew handling the lines on the stern looked unto the fog to see the bow of the Swedish tanker bearing directly down on them. The Swedish look-out must have seen what was happening about the same time our crew did and he relayed the message to his skipper. The Swedish skipper reacted quickly, and his bow veered off and our men reported that it missed us by only a few feet. There was supposed to be radio silence between ships, but the Swede broke silence and really gave our captain a few well chosen words of advice.
The war ended in Europe and the Albemarle entered the naval yard at Norfolk to be refitted to transport troops. Our hangar deck, which was located forward of the main deck aft, about amidships, and had a cavernous interior approximately 80-90 feet in width by 50-60 feet in height and 80 feet in depth, was gutted and bunks installed stacked five high and less than three feet apart. There were approximately 1100 bunks installed. Other spaces on the ship were also converted and in the end we were capable of handling probably close to 2000 men.
My wife was expecting our first child in January of 1946, and we were scheduled to go to the South Pacific to bring home troops. We left Norfolk, Virginia and headed for the Panama Canal. This is as I remember the sequence of events. We had picked up a pilot in Colon and made the passage through Gatun Lake. I was officer of the deck stationed in the pilothouse, Captain Duborg and the Panamanian pilot were out on the bridge. The portholes to the bridge were all open. We had had lunch, had entered the Calabra Cut, and were passing through it. Capt. Duborg asked the pilot if he would like a cup of coffee, and he said “Yes.”. I relayed the request to the captain’s steward who left the bridge to get the coffee. We had been making a turn to starboard (to the right) which meant that we had on right rudder. The next order to the wheel was “Rudder amidships.” At that point in time the watch on the wheel changed, and a new quarter master took over, who we later discovered was not told what the prior commands to the wheel had been. While this was happening, the captain’s steward returned with the coffee, and I was passing cups out through the porthole to the captain and the pilot. The pilot then issued the order to “Meet her.” which meant to apply opposite rudder from what had been used in the turn in order to stop the continued swing of the bow and to hold the new heading. The quartermaster on the wheel had applied left rudder and the bow began to swing towards the left bank. After a few seconds, the pilot became aware of the situation and yelled “How’s your rudder?” The quartermaster replied “Left rudder.” I do not remember the exact amount.
Immediately there was an explosion of orders. “Full right rudder.” “Full ahead port.” “Full back starboard.” Then as the bow started to come right the orders came “Full left rudder.” “Full back port.” “Full ahead starboard.” A short interval passed, then came the orders “Rudder amidships.” and “Full ahead port and starboard.” In checking the swing of the bow to the left towards the bank, by the first set of orders to the engines and the wheel, the pilot had induced a lateral motion to the stern of the ship that caused it to approach the side of the canal. The second set of orders was intended to check the lateral motion of the stern and keep it from colliding with the wall of the canal. The third set of orders was intended to check the swing of the stern towards the bank. We all held our breath, but there was a sickening shudder in the ship as the stern collided with the rocks on the wall of the canal.
We limped into Panama on the starboard screw and tied up at a pier, sent divers over to inspect the damage and found one blade missing from the four bladed port screw ad a hole in our hull about the size of a Volkswagen.
Shortly thereafter it was found that there was a two or three minute difference in the clocks on the bridge and those in the engine room. These discrepancies were corrected and the reports of the accident were written up. Captain Duborg entrusted me with the reports of the accident and I was driven across the isthmus to Cocoa Solo to deliver the papers to the proper authority at the Naval Headquarters there.
Temporary repairs were made to the ship, and we sailed for San Francisco traveling at only 8 to 10 knots. We made it to the Alameda Naval Air Station and then into a Navy yard where the port screw was replaced and the damage to the hull repaired. During all this time, I was continually kidded by other officers saying that the reason the ship was in San Francisco was because I wanted to see my wife, who lived in Pasadena, again before our child was born. Repairs were completed, and we made two trips to the South Pacific. The first to Noumea, New Caledonia and the second to Tacloban in the gulf of Leyte in the Philippines before returning to the Naval Air Station at Alameda, San Francisco Bay on 14 January, 1946. As soon as the phone lines were connected, I called my wife to tell her that I was back and that within the next day or two the ship would be sailing for Long Beach Naval Ship Yard for some repairs. My wife told me that she had seen the obstetrician that day and he had said the baby would not be born for several more days. So with that information e decided that I would stay in San Francisco and ride the ship to Long Beach.
Anticipating that I would want to have as much leave as possible while in Long Beach, I swapped my shore leave in San Francisco, with other officers for their shore leave in Long Beach. That evening when the movie had just begun I had a phone call from my father-in-law to tell me that he was at Huntington Hospital in Pasadena and that my wife was in the delivery room. Not only was I Officer of the Deck until 2:00 AM, but I was the senior officer aboard. The captain and executive officer were both ashore, whereabouts unknown, and the duty officer was junior to me in rank, and could not issue the orders I would need to get to Pasadena. I finally tracked down the executive officer and he gave the duty officer permission to issue orders for me to have leave.
I got in touch with the airlines, they were scheduling an extra flight from San Francisco to Burbank that was to leave at 2:00 AM. They would hold a seat for me if I could get there. I was in Alameda and fortunately was able to use one of my plane personnel boats, which had a top speed of about 30 knots, to get me across the bay to San Francisco where I caught a cab to the airport. I made the connection with no more than a minute or two to spare. I got into Burbank around 6:00 AM, called the hospital and found that our daughter had been born about 2:30 AM as I was flying to Burbank. I came that close to being there. I had enough points, and was released to inactive duty about two months later. The Albemarle, after being refitted in Long Beach, sailed for Bikini Atoll and was the trigger ship for the atomic tests that were conducted there in 1946.
