The following article was originally published int THE LOG. A quarterly journal of the Nautical Association of Australia INC. November 2003. Thanks to This e-mail address is being protected from spam bots, you need JavaScript enabled to view it for permission to reprint, and Garry Cousins for bringing it to our attention.

FROM SINGAPORE TO 60° SOUTH ON TARANAKI

from G. Marlow

In 1966 I was the Petty Officer, R.P.I (senior specialist radar rating) on the Royal New Zealand Navy Type 12 frigate HMNZS Taranaki. She had served eight months in the Far East attached to the Royal Navy based at the Sembawang RN Naval Base in Singapore as part of the Commonwealth Stratagic Reserve assisting the newly independent Malaysia in their struggle against Indonesian confrontation.

Taranaki sailed for home on 15 April 1966, and because of the "war" with Indonesia we were obliged to go the long way around over the top of New Guinea, and after eight months away the prospect of a three week "plod" to Auckland didn't excite too many of the ship's company.

Three days later Taranaki berthed at Labuan for a few hours to bunker and then on to Manus Island and the RAN fuelling jetty to top up. Five hours later we sailed for Townsville and three days later we were in the Jomara Passage, our gateway into the Coral Sea.

On the way south, somewhere off Cairns, we had the opportunity to exercise with a RAAF P2V patrol aircraft. It was supposed to be one aircraft but another asked if he could "play" as well and as the aircraft controller who was I to say no to the RAAF?

On 27 April Taranaki berthed alongside at Townsville and the stay had its moments. There was to be a small windfall for those in the crew with an entrepreneurial bent.

Before sailing from Auckland the previous year, cash for wages in the denominations of the nations to be visited, had been taken onboard and crisp new Australian pound notes were amongst them. In the interim Australia had converted to decimal currency and when we went ashore in Townsville our mint-condition pound notes were in great demand, at a premium of course.

The other event of note was the warning from the local constabulary that it was university "rag week" and a paint bomb, come graffiti attack, could be expected. The anti-Vietnam War movement was in full swing and any warship, even a New Zealand one, was a predicable target. During the evening the fire hoses were laid out around the upper deck and connected. The ship's company were informed of the possibility of a raid and the duty part of the watch was told they might be required at short notice later in the evening. From dusk a lookout was posted on the seaward side of the bridge and told to stand well back from the bridge windows so as not to be seen. The Quartermaster, Bosun's Mate and Duty Petty Officer were instructed not to go to the outboard side in case their presence discouraged any would be "attackers" from chancing their arm. Sure enough at 2230 the bridge lookout reported three dinghies and a raft-like craft approaching the ship. When they got to within 50 metres the Officer of the Day warned them to keep clear and then retired to the other side. At 20 metres the doors flew open and the Duty Watch, with great gusto, manned the fire hoses and at full force delivered a wall of water from five points, the result, chaos in the harbour. What had more than infuriated the seamen was that they had spent most of the day over the side on stages washing down in preparation for a quick paint job the next day so we could look "tiddley" for out arrival in Auckland. Next morning a large crowd of students arrived at the wharf to protest the treatment they had received. The police were also there and appeared to be rather happy at the outcome of the previous night's events.

The Captain, Commander Keith Michael Saul, stood at the top of the gangway and when all was quiet he informed the students that they should consider themselves lucky as if they had approached the ship in this manner some five to six weeks before when Taranaki had been on anti-infiltration patrols off the North Borneo coast, they would have been fired on and if swimming would have been hand grenaded.

Perhaps it gave them something to think about - but who knows, and one wonders if any of them recall the incident now? This little bit of excitement was merely a prelude to what was to come.

Arrival alongside the Devonport Naval Base in Auckland on 5 May saw most of the ship's company go on leave the next day. A "retard" party of some 40 (including myself), assisted by the dockyard and base maintenance parties, started into "essential defects" as the ship was programmed to soon take part in the Royal New Zealand Navy annual  exercise off the North Island east coast in June.

On 24 May the Union Steam Ship Co. collier Kaitawa disappeared off North Cape, presumed sunk. Over the weekend of 28/29 May, a general recall was issued for Taranaki ship's company to return onboard. I learnt about the recall on Monday morning the 30th whilst walking through the dockyard gates. I picked up a copy of the New Zealand Herald and read the headline: "Taranaki sails for North Cape Today". I made a quick diversion into the base Petty Officers' mess to phone my wife and say " No. We won't be going to the movies tonight". So just before noon we slipped from Calliope Jetty and ambled up the east coast at 12 knots. The sea was calm, it was a fine sunny day - a winter cruise, if it hadn't been for the serious nature of our mission.

We had onboard quite a number of "pier-head jumpers" from the barracks, replacing those who hadn't made it back from the far-flung reaches of the "Land of the Long White Cloud" for the recall, and I imagine they were rather appreciative of the calm weather. We rounded North Cape during the night and at 0600 we joined the ex-RAN corvette/minesweeper HMNZS Kiama. Following a heaving-line transfer with Kiama we started our search for Kaitawa. We searched all day along a line from Cape Maria Van Dieman to Cape Reinga.

 Just after 1700 we received a signal to proceed to Dunedin in the far south of New Zealand at best possible speed to bunker and load stores. It should be noted that any naval vessel returning to New Zealand had to have empty freezers and refrigerators to comply with quarantine regulations and, as we were to all to soon to experience, after eight months in the tropics we had no cold-weather gear onboard. For the few who victualled onboard alongside during a leave period, daily supplies of meat, milk, bread and vegetables were delivered piecemeal. The food delivered on the day we had sailed would have most likely been for five or six days only.

Both ships stopped at 1730 and the divers we carried onboard were transferred by seaboat to Kiama. My memory tells me our sonar had located the wreck of Kaitawa during the afternoon and we had Kiama drop a dan buoy on the spot. I can now find no evidence to support this but I am sure I saw a trace of Kaitawa on the operations room side-sweep sonar. The mood onboard was sombre - a sad occasion for all concerned, she was lost with all crew including a first-trip deckboy and Frank Underwood, ex RNZN, who had served in Taranaki.

After the boat was hoisted and the sonar domes housed, we turned south for Dunedin and worked up to 26 knots. On passing through Cook Strait between 1130 and 1230 the next day, we reduced to 16 knots due to the crossing traffic and then back to 26 knots again. At 0200 the following morning we took on the pilot and at 0340 berthed at the Dunedin oil jetty. It was FREEZING. We had covered 790 nautical miles from Cape Reinga to Dunedin in 34 hours at an average speed of 23 knots.

I well remember the Chinese veg. man and his truck, a baker's van, milkman, butcher and a truck with Antarctic clothing which had been flown down by an RNZAF C130 aircraft. Clouds of "steam" coming from our mouths - a far cry from the humidity of Singapore we had sweated in those few short weeks before. All hands were on deck to store ship, in all the clothing they could muster, even then teeth were chattering with the cold. We bunkered and the victuals were carried onboard.

The purpose of our rush south was to act as a weather picket for a USN aircraft to fly to McMurdo Base in the Antarctic to evacuate a U.S. serviceman with appendicitis. In those days any flight from the US Antarctic Base in Christchurch to McMurdo had to land on the ice as if the weather turned nasty they didn't have the range to return. The point of no return was 60° south, and in summer there was always a weather-picket vessel stationed there to report on the weather - if it was inclement then the aircraft would be obliged to turn back. That was in summer, but this was the middle of winter and no flights

went to Antarctica in winter. The men down there were a reduced crew, wintering over, and would not normally expect a flight until spring.

At 0917 Taranaki slipped, passed Taiaroa Heads at 1040, turned to 200° and went up to 20 knots. By the evening of 4 June we were getting some serious weather. Access to the upper deck was restricted with only those who cleared out galley refuse allowed out aft to the reasonably sheltered Mk 10 mortar well where a line of gash bins were lashed to a rail. Campbell Island was detected at 0700 and sonar types 170 and 177 were lowered and used for ice detection.

The weather steadily worsened - a southwest gale with sleet and snow showers. Waves were in the 10 to 12 foot range with the odd one going to 15 to 18 and we seemed to have a permanent list to port.

All work was suspended except for those on watch and the ship's company was advised to stay in their bunks. In 25 years in the navy I had never heard of such a thing, then or after.

By noon on 6 June we were in position 57° 35' S, 169° 54' E, proceeding slow ahead at 4.5 knots, on a course of 190° and taking a real pounding. Ice was forming on the guard rails. The USN C130 had passed over during the night and I had spoken to him on the return flight. The pilot said words to the effect that he would rather be where he was than where we were and thanked us for our effort. The barometer reading at 1000 was 979.1.

During the forenoon, in my capacity of Petty Officer of the watch on deck (even if we were sitting in the cafeteria) I was called to the bridge. I was to take a couple of hands and go aft to ditch the gash as the bins were full. I went to my mess to get my Antarctic gear on and a chum, Manu Aranga, offered to give me hand. We collected two young lads, told the bridge we were ready, and the ship was turned to give us as much protection as possible - not much - and out we ventured into the mortar well. Heavy ice spray was sheeting over the after deck. After a quick discussion we decided Manu and I would do the ditching and the two lads would tend our lifelines, suitably turned up around a handrail. Soaking wet and utterly cold, slithering and sliding, we emptied, by memory, eight bins and a mound of loose crates and cartons. We were hampered by the lifelines around our waists, our heavy clothing and thick mittens.

Eventually we finished, sent the two lads back in, rang the bridge to say the task had been acomplished, double checked the lashings on the bins and went to the watertight door to go inside. Off clips and pull!

Not an inch of movement. Now Manu was a big strong Maori. He pulled, stuck. We both pulled with all combined strength. Still stuck. Just to starboard of the door was the sickbay porthole. I put my face to it to see if anyone was in, but of course could not see into the unlit compartment. By pure chance, just then someone entered the sick bay and saw my very cold, and I imagine, contorted face peering anxiously in. They rounded up a couple of hands to push the door open from the inside. I can only speculate that as the ship had gone onto recirculation of air, a vacuum had been created by the two lads when they had slammed the door shut behind them. We were totally soaked, as cold as charity, and I swear I had seen my first white Maori. Of course we had the perfect cure and as we could not have a hot shower, we broke out the illegally stored rum bottle and obtained some internal warmth.

At about 1430 Taranaki started to slowly turn to head home, very gingerly at seven knots and by 1500 we were on the way north with our permanent list now to starboard. We arrived back in Dunedin at 1530 on 8 June, my birthday! Whilst passing up Otago Harbour we passed a primary school and in the brilliant winter sunshine, we were cheered by all the children out front on the lawn, a nice welcome after a very rough voyage.

One enduring memory is of staggering along the main passageway (referred to as "Sunset Strip"). There was a full milk churn lashed to a dividing rail outside the galley servery. Opposite was the ratings' cafeteria with the swing doors lashed open to prevent them swinging with the roll of the ship. As I approached the galley, the ship gave a huge roll to starboard, the churn broke lose and skated down hill, through the doors and into the cafeteria. When I looked in a few seconds later, there on the deck sat half a dozen sailors dripping with milk and more was dripping from the deck head. The churn had careered across the deck and hit the opposite bulkhead with the inevitable result of the milk going straight up. To this day the memory of the scene still brings a smile to my lips.

So we in Taranaki can say with a bit of poetic license: "we went from Singapore to sixty south in six weeks". Not to be recommended and yes, I did eventually get to see the movie.

Vale: Manu Aranga, a good chum and a good friend.