Posted by Steve Myers on November 21, 2009, 1:21 pm
The Murmansk Run
I’ll spin you a story of heartbreak – and glory – Of disaster and triumph, and loss; To a port we remember, in June – or November, Where scarce a day lives without frost.
Murmansk is a city, hand-hewn, without pity, A big-muscled, town, never nice! But, at sixty-nine North, its primary worth Was warm currents that spared it from ice.
As for winter- dear Lord, do not utter the word! As a monster sea crashes and rails, Ship hulls freeze and grumble; believers grow humble, And the faithless few quake at the gales!
It’s a long, lonely journey not attempted by many, That’s finished by fewer than start, For, the might of the Main joined a Teutonic bane, And conspired to tear us apart.
We were fated to sally down a murderous alley Not knowing the sea or its lay. Only nautical rangers might master the dangers Confronting us, each passing day.
It was almost a joke, when our convoy raised smoke To witness the faltering pace, Where the speed of advance, like a languorous dance, Played out as a crawl - not a race!
Our escorts were few. If the tars ever knew Though the dashing four-stackers were brave -- They were worn out - too old – for harsh work in the cold, On a path to a watery grave.
A gantlet in gray, with no rest on the way In the summer, bright day shone for aye! Then and ill-wind was meant as Germania sent Every bomb-laden crate that could fly!
In winter, withal, and the mountain-waves tall, Even Hitler’s appointed stood down, But some U-boats surveilled as the arctic winds wailed, And pounced on the stragglers they found.
Incessant and grim, an unwanted swim Faced the sailors, who’d vainly attempt With bullets and cries – to claw from the skies, The attackers Herr Goering had sent.
In the fullness of time, despite reason or rhyme, The attackers drew back and went home. But the damages done ‘neath a wan winter sun Left many a brave ship – a tomb.
Then, war held its breath, and drew back its wrath, In time for the Russians to come As the sickle-flags wavy, announced the Red Navy Would shield us to Murmansk – its home.
And so, battered and burned, old lessons re-learned, We stood into tall Kil’din’s roads. There we’d wait for a while, ‘til our rank or our file Received orders to dock and unload.
The Russians, though weary of war were not teary! They shrugged off the bombing and fire, Received guns and tanks with grim, hopeful thanks, And a courage one had to admire.
Just to see, one could tell they were going through hell At the hands of a devilish foe, But the natives slogged on, determined to win, And forgot their political woe.
In this way the weeks passed, until one day, at last, We emptied of cargo – and then We loaded anew, as merchantmen do, Making ready for sea, once again.
During weeks that ensued, the ongoing feud Between Nazis and Allies went on. As Dorniers and Henkels bombs liberally sprinkled, Our gunners earned fame, every one.
Now patched and refueled – restowed and retooled, A convoy took shape, as before, And in wide Kola Bay ships prepared to make way Down an ice road to hell, in the war.
Hitler would wait, with his hordes and his hate, But surely would test us anew; Then, one morning in May, we got underway; After hoisting the Red, White, and Blue.
Assigned ample pluck, from our mast to the truck, With weary prows greeting the foam; And that flag, smartly waving, unscathed and uncraven, We hoisted the 'hook' and went home.
Oh, the Germans were there - had made ready with care, To greet, as we slowly returned, "Who cares?" one man cried, as the freighter beside Took two 'eels' and then sank as she burned.
That continuous fight lasted seven long nights, With six hellish days in between, "Who cares?" once again seemed a fair question, when The worst days were yet to be seen.
Jerry found and rejoined, precious safety purloined, For he hunted this time as a team; Seven U-boats encountered: nine merchantmen foundered - Survival became a bad dream.
Another long week showed the prospects were bleak The ships would get through it unscathed. "Unscathed?" said the Bosun, "Take a look at the ocean! "We'll be fortunate just to be saved!"
Then, a clear morning dawned and the German s were gone; On a day when there was no alarm, Grim Iceland slipped by and a blue western sky Seemed to hint at diminishing harm.
A sailor, delighted, gave a yell when he sighted A gray dot approaching and slow; Then, we all caught a glimpse of the two Navy blimps -- As we slogged along, slowly, below.
Referred to as: "Mother," the gray bags gave cover, And the U-boats knew well of their sting, Fritz' head was down while they loitered around On a leisurely flight and without wings.
What one might expect, and hear or see next Was a long-legged "Dumbo" from shore, That welcome redeemer - a slow Catalina, Bolstered hope in the weary of war.
It remained that the fight now continued at night, When the gray wolves were safe from the sun, In truth, it was hasty to assume now that safety Would take us to where we'd begun!
One frosty, bright morning, without any warning, A dark line hove up from the mist; It was Newfoundland's coast that we coveted most, As did Pilgrims, 4 centuries past!
In a somber, cold meeting at Halifax's greeting, Slow tallies were made, head by head, But the seamen who started scarce eclipsed the departed, And the day's count belonged to the dead.
Thus, the story is ending - a tale of befriending And also of bravery and grief; It ends where it started - among the brave hearted, Whose moments of triumph were brief.
What had all gone before: a mad rush down to war With its terror and bomb-bursting pall - To go there and learn, and then, chastened, return, The stern Murmansk Run topped them all.
I was in a Convoy to Murmansk in Dec. 1944. It was cold and windy and we were attacked on the way up by Nazi Torpedo planes and U-boats. We had English baby top Airplane carriers, they intercepted the German Planes and there was quite a battle, I was assigned to a 20 Millimeter gun on the stern, we were ordered to shoot at any surface vessel or German Plane. What makes me think of this trip at this time of the year, we were in Murmansk over Christmas, our orders were to not give any of the Cilvians food from our ships, I and a buddy were walking the street if you call it that and met a young woman, we each had an orange and an apple, we gave them to her and you would think she had recieved a million dollars. The best Christmas I ever remember. Our ships name was the Albert Michelson.
Steve, thank you so much for that wonderful and discriptive poem. I was filled with emotion as I read and relived the whole voyage again. I was an Armed Guard Gunner aboard the SS Eldena in Convoy PQ-13 that arrived in Murmansk March 30, 1942. We spent a month there unloading cargo and departed April 28 for Iceland. We encountered all of the things you so aptly describe in your poem. My gun crew was credited by the Russian Government with shooting down 3 enemy bombers and was rewarded with a months pay. On our return voyage, May 1st, my 19th birthday, the enemy tried its best to destroy the convoy and succeded in sinking several.
This winter I am planning to write an account of my Naval career with the main emphasis on the Murmansk Run. I would like your permission to include a copy of your poem in my booklet. Please let me know.
John - Thanks for your kind words on the poem. I would be honored and delighted to have it included in your forthcoming work on your experiences in the AG unit.
Please check outmy book of patriotic and military poetry: "To the Flag!" as listed in Amazon.com. This is not a sales pitch; rather the result of over 40 years of a USN officer's work with words and meter. I have had some very nice feedback on this small book and am happy to share it with interested ccreaders.
The pity, Steve, is that your dad isn't able to comment on your work, although I'm confident he's read it and found it praiseworthy. I trust you will include it in "The Ice Road."