Scharnhorst

On the subject of being a hero...

My father joined the navy in 1941, aged 17.

As a child growing up I loved to hear stories about snow on the bows of his boat (he was on the Arctic Convoys), or the time when he was in Sri Lanka and met a tarantula on the loo. His stories were invariably light hearted and funny, and he poked fun at himself for having been such a poor seaman he never made it to officer level (in fact he took his officer's exams just before VE Day).

He kept his medals in a drawer and made light of them. Oh I only got the ones, everyone gets, he used to say. The ones for just being there. He always made light of it all. And shrugged off any suggestion of bravery. As far as he was concerned he had never had any beef with the Germans, but Hitler had to be stopped. And that was that.

So it was something of a surprise one Christmas, to be sitting round the table only for my father to stand up, his voice cracking with emotion, raising his glass to the memory of the Scharnhorst. My knowledge of naval history is hazy, to say the least, but I had vaguely heard of the Scharnhorst, and Spouse who is keen on such things knew it was the flagship of the German navy, sunk off the Cape on 26 December 1943, 5o years to the day before my father's toast. My father's ship HMS Scourge was one of the destroyers present at the sinking of the Scharnhorst, and he described in vivid detail how the ship went down, and how so many brave men died.

He was clearly shaken by this memory, but I was, I am ashamed to say, slightly embarrassed by this revelation. I didn't quite know how to react to my father's emotion, nor to the realisation of the deep sense of horror which clearly remained with him, even after the passage of so much time. I wish now, of course, I had asked him more. (I do have one regret actually - it is that I never thought to ask those questions).

I wonder now if that's what he saw in those nightmares that plagued him his whole life. He frequently fell asleep in his chair (having endured very little sleep throughout his navy career, he resolved that whenever he got a moment he would always sleep), and I can remember him asking me to wake him if he seemed to be dreaming. I used to be frightened watching him twitch and shout out. He never once said what he dreamt about.

In June 1994, my father and his naval pals decamped to Normandy for the 50th anniversary celebrations of DDay. Spouse and I couldn't stay for the day itself, but we did stop by and see him pick up his medal at Caen Cathedral. It was a proud moment. He laughed it off as getting another one for just being there.

My father might not have told me much, but talking to other veterans, who like him, were only 20 then, I realised for the first time quite what a big deal just being there was. Here were these ordinary lads, taken away from their families for months on end, pounding the shores of Normandy for a whole month (I doubt I hit anything, my father, the gunner, quipped), sitting ducks for the Luftwaffe.

In fact, my father was lucky to make it back in one piece. Apart from the fact he went on the Arctic convoys eleven times, which was extremely hazardous, one of his stories involved the blackout before DDay began. A German plane flew overhead and they heard it dropping bombs in the water. One, two, three, my dad was counting in his head. The plane flew past, four, five six, he breathed out in relief as the plane flew away. From the base of the ship, someone shouted, Cor, I f***ing prayed. My dad, who was devoutly religious always laughed at that. If I'd gone to meet my Maker, he used to say, I'd have been saying three...

They were so brave. And so unassuming. All just doing their bit.

With the advent of the internet (how he would have loved the internet!), I can of course, now find out much more. I have come across maps which pinpoint the Scourge's position. But it is so frustrating not knowing exactly how or why he came to be there.

I do wish I has asked the right questions.

But I think perhaps he wasn't quite ready to tell.