WITNESS ACCOUNT: INDEFATIGABLE KAMIKAZE ATTACK, APRIL 1

. Lt Ivor Morgan, Seafire pilot of 894 squadron

"Group of four-plus aircraft - bearing 315 - range 26 miles, closing".

As usual, the contacts were followed until, at 16 miles, they disappeared off the screen.

We shook our heads sadly. Finger trouble again, we thought.

Only this time they had got it terribly right.

The first inkling I had of trouble was the sound of aerial firing and, looking upwards, saw two aircraft in the tail chase about 2000 feet above the ship. At first I thought they were two of ours and it had only just registered that the leading machine had a radial engine, whereas our Seafires had in-lines, when it turned on its back and I distinctly saw the 'Rising Sun' roundels on its wings as the pilot commenced a power dive directly at the spot where I was standing.

By this time all hell had broken loose. All of our guns, from 5.25's (sic, he means 4.5's) to pom-poms and additions, had opened fire, people were yelling. The Captain gave a helm order, I rushed on to the main bridge, closed the armoured door behind me—and flung myself down full length on the deck, together with everyone else. We waited. The engine roar got louder and louder. There was no escape. This was it, this was how it was going to end.

Pity, I thought, life is so enjoyable on the whole. I felt no fear, only a vague disappointment that the curtains were about to be drawn. And then another thought struck me. I'd like to be there, as some sort of disembodied spirit, when my father opened the telegram. He was a dogmatic person, who would never entertain any arguments but his own, some of which were quite preposterous, nor would he ever admit to being in the wrong' I suppose to hearten me he would always say, "They couldn't get me at Ypres, they won't get you either". The sheer illogic of this used to annoy me intensely. Well, at last, he'd be proved wrong. Yes, I did so hope that there was some way in which I could be a fly on the wall when he learned that I had been killed.

Then came the crash, followed immediately by flame and a searing heat. I choked. I could not draw breath. I believe I lost consciousness. I next remember opening my eyes to see all the recumbent forms near me. All immobile. All dead, I thought I must be dead too. I tried to raise my shoulders and found that I was able to move although no one else followed suit. Oh well, if this was being dead it wasn't so bad after all. Interesting to find that there was indeed a life hereafter a fact in which I had never had much faith.

‘Port fifteen'.

The Captain's voice brought us to our senses and we shambled rather sheepishly to our feet. He above all, in his 'ice cream' suit, had remained erect and in command. This was the moment for which he had trained since joining the navy as a thirteen year old cadet in 1914. And he did not fail.

From then on things moved fast. With certain communication lines out of action I was ordered below to assess damage and casualties, for we could now see that the kamikaze had crashed into the bottom of the island at flight deck level. Flames engulfed both forward and after bridge ladders so I swarmed down the thick, knotted manilla rope which had been rigged for just such an emergency.

As I made my descent I saw Lt. Cdr. Pat Chambers, RN, Lt. Cdr. (Flying), staggering aft, his back covered with blood. Someone ran forward and guided him to safety. An Avenger, in the process of being taxied forward, had collided with the superstructure, engine and cockpit blown to smithereens. Of the pilot there was no sign.

The Damage Control Party was already hosing the flames and I could now see a gaping hole where the island sick bay had been. Being of small stature I was able to crawl through the wreckage and there they were my comrades At Vaughan and Bill Gibson, showing no sign of injury but both killed by the blast, which had removed most of their clothing. In the passage between the sick bay and the Fighter Ready Room lay Lt. Leonard Teff, RNVR, Air Engineer Officer, also killed by the blast which, miraculously, had left untouched the man on either side of him. Looking upwards I realized that the bridge mess was no more.

Oh Lord, what has happened to 'Wings'?

On regaining the bridge I was relieved to see Pat Humphries on the flight deck. A last minute dash to his cabin for some forgotten article had undoubtedly saved his life, in the same way as a faulty CSU had cost Gibson his.

Lt. Cdr. (E) 'Sandy' Sanderson RN, Flight Deck Engineer, and his party were already rigging a replacement for No. 3 barrier which had been destroyed. Twenty minutes later we were landing-on, S.Lt.(A) Dick Reynolds RNVR (894 Sqdn.) holding aloft a gloved hand to indicate two victories.

As soon as I was relieved, I went below to the hangar where maintenance crews were working with every sign of normality. They had thought their last moment had come when, unable to see what was happening, a terrible explosion occurred right above their heads. Flaming petrol ran down the hangar bulkhead, presumably through a fissure in the flight deck, threatening to engulf men and machines alike. Under the leadership of CPO 'jimmy Green, Senior Air Artificer, the fire was brought under control without having to resort to sprinklers.

"Right lads. Show's over. Back to work".

The Jimmy Greens of this world are worth their weight in gold. I proceeded to the sick bay, where the PMO, Surg. Cdr, Yates, RNVR, and his team—Surg. Lt. Cdr. Henry Towers RN, and Surg. Lt. Musgrave RI\IVR, together with their 'tiffies'—had been working non-stop since the kamikaze struck at 07.30. With over forty casualties dead, dying and/or seriously wounded, accommodation was hopelessly inadequate and the adjoining messdeck had been pressed into service as an auxiliary ward. There, upon mess tables, lay men too badly injured to survive. A steward with a hole in his head the size of a cricket ball, loosely plugged with cotton wool, a man with both legs missing. Between them were other casualties—men unrecognizable due to the burn dressings which covered head and body alike—and even as I looked for any of my own chaps, some were quietly slipping away into eternity. I did find one, however, Able Seaman Gay, 894's squadron messenger, who was well into his forties when he joined up. Quiet, polite, conscientious, he was popular and respected by all. He sat, staring at nothing, in an advanced state of shock. "I'm afraid his mind's gone, Sir," said the Chief SBA, "I've seen them before like this. They never make a complete recovery." If it had been the captain's moment, so had it been for the PM0. After fifteen hours at the operating table, he was ordered by his superior to take some rest. His reply was to order Captain Graham out of the Sick Bay in which, as a non-medical man, he had no authority. Only when, at 2300, it was obvious that he could do no more, did this 55 year old man consent to turn in. The final toll of eleven dead and thirty-two injured but surviving, was in large measure due to his skill and leadership. The subsequent award to him of the DSC was richly deserved and widely acclaimed…

Finally, 'Guns' (Tony Davis) requested over the Tannoy system that any bomb fragments he brought to him for identification in order that he might have some information on the type of missile being used by the enemy for this sort of attack. Among the pieces which were offered was the nose cone—in fact, that of a Royal Navy 15" shell, almost certainly captured at Singapore several years earlier!