[pau1f0rd]

To be placed with my will and in the event of my death to be given to my wife

At sea

	Lieutenant- Commander Keith Morrison

My Beloved Wife, I hope that this letter may never have to be given to you, for it is about a subject which we never speak of or even allow ourselves to think of.... that is, of my not coming home safely to you and to our children. Nevertheless, I cannot blink at the fact that there is more danger to be faced now than there was last year, or if we meet the enemy in any strength our chances of survival in these coming winter months are not very good.... & so because of that darling I am writing this letter to you to ask you to do certain things, & to tell you a few things.

I cannot thank you enough, my darling for all you have been to me ever since we met... no man ever had a better wife... our separations and our anxieties have been hard, but your courage & cheerfulness & great love have brought nothing but happiness to me.

You can look back over these last 7 years & find happiness at every turn - & I have lived solely & simply for you, & you have done the same for me. You will remember saying Goodnight on the steps of the Macquarie Club; driving to Mittagong, Old Sambo & the cottage: Fountains Abbey, Brittany, how we asked Old Foxey to dinner, our lovely house which has always been a Home, the day that Michael was born - all those things have been ours, and all our happy memories coupled with scores of others which have done so much to make life beautiful & wonderful to us.

I want you to find happiness in all those things, dear heart & if I have to die I don't want it to break your life up or change you. There are two little lives who are going to need you more than ever because I am gone, & you must do your best for them & bring them up to be a credit to you & a mirror of the love in which they were born.

If you ever want to marry again for any reason at all I shall quite understand: you are too young to contemplate living your life alone to its end, & if you do marry I pray that it may be to a good man who can give you that constant companionship & care, which I have never been able to give you. By marrying again you would be in no way unfaithful to my memory, all I want is your happiness.

You have had a hard life as a sailor's wife, but it has brought out all that is gold in you, & not a single flaw shown... As regards our sons darling - two boys will be a hard task for you but always use a firm hand & keep the upper hand too.

It is my earnest wish that neither of them go to sea or join any of the Services as a profession - rather would I that they grew up to the suburban Home life in which you & I would have been so ideally happy: they won't be able to understand that when they are young, but they will as they grow older.

Do not make the mistake of stinting yourself to try and educate them above your means - & maybe no influence at the end of it to help them into a good job. I had to strive for my living & was just beginning to get somewhere... so it can be done if one works hard.

It is a great joy to me when you tell me how generous Michael is with his sweets & toys, & I feel sure that Anthony will be the same. Try to bring them up to appreciate the beauty of nature & things generally - think how much happiness we have gained from a beautiful sunset or a lovely view or an old, old castle. It is a sense not given to everyone. I expect you'll take them to Australia & become good Australians, & you will be very wise if you do. It is a wonderful country & I hold it very dear in my affections - & there will be opportunities there for them than in England.

If I have to die I am not afraid to do so & I know I will have died in supporting a righteous cause. Don't let my death affect the attitude towards the war: and we must win for the sake of civilisation... & if we were to lose, my death & those of many others would have been in vain - & it is hard enough to leave you without that.

There is nothing spectacular in my War Effort to leave behind for my sons, but I die conscious that I have always done my job to the best of my ability & always had the faith and reliance of those above me. Someone has to do the dull work, & until one has actually had to do it one doesn't realise how hard it is, with this prolonged separation from one's loved ones & thoughts of them being bombed or invaded ever present...

Try to bring the children up with a love of the Church such as we have - not religion thrust upon them, but feeling they can turn to God as friend for help.

Not much more, Precious: it will be very hard if I have to die without holding you in my arms again & telling you of that great love I have for you... but pray God that I shan't have to.

God bless you and our darling sons always - you are my Light & my Love & my Life & I have lived just for you. My great sorrow if I have to "pass on", is the sorrow I will cause you - but fight it Beloved... but fight it as we have always fought all our sorrows.

Ever your devoted and loving Xxxxxxxxxxxx Husband.

[pau1f0rd]

I read this in the Telegraph today, and it touched me deeply. I was literally wiping away tears as my train pulled into London.

[DoughtyOne]

Impressive and touching...

Thank you.

[Cornpone]

"Mother, please do not grieve but rather console yourself in the fact that I am happy. Try to enjoy the remainder of your life as best you can and have no regrets, for you have been a wonderful mother and I love you. Jim."

North Africa, 1942. Found in the sunglass case of an American pilot killed in the battle for Tunis.

[MinuteGal]

Two handkerchief job.

This is why there'll always be an England (I hope).

Leni

[singfreedom]

What a loving and inspirational letter of goodbye! Thanks for posting it.

Its a great shame some cannot understand such honor in the passing of a loved one during a just war (Sheehan).

[Constantine XIII]

BUMP

[Cathy]

Tissue Alert.

That was a wonderful story of Patriotism and Love.

[BluH2o]

Now ... for the rest of the story ...

THE "JERVIS BAY" GOES DOWN

HMS Jervis Bay

She is an old freighter
Of some fourteen thousand tons.
Standing in the roadstead
Of a port somewhere south of Singapore.
She lists a bit,
As if wearied by the typhoons of the China Seas;
By the whole gales of Tasman;
By the turbulence of wind off Borneo.
Her gear is obsolete,

Her iron skin blistered,
Pocked with rust.
Her engines are rheumatic,
And her saw-tooth screw
Will yield less than fourteen knots . . .
She is the old Jervis Bay
Of Australian registry,
Resting, between tides, from her
Obscure drudgeries,
Somewhere south of Singapore.

She nods at her mooring cables,
Head bent to the dry monsoon.
The Jervis Bay is nodding, half asleep,
When a gig draws alongside,
And there is brought aboard,
Solemnly, a flag with a blue field -
A storied ensign - emblem of Britain's Naval Reserve.
This of itself becomes a rousing circumstance
To one so frowsed, so drably sleeping,
Somewhere south of Singapore.

Up the starboard ladder-way
There comes a new master,
Puffing somewhat with middle age.
He looks about, he looks above, below.
Forward, aft he peers.
His is the manner of a man recapturing a memory.
He is Fogarty Feegan,
Called from retirement
To command the Jervis Bay.
For ten years Fogarty Feegan
Has walked in his English garden,
Watching the roses bud, the violets bloom,
Enjoying each miracle of season
That brings white blossoms to the hawthorn hedge.
But now he has left his barrow and his slips
To bring the storied ensign, with its blue field -
Blue as the violets of his garden -
Bringing it from afar to the old Jervis Bay.

His voice rolls against the breakwater.
His big hands grasp the teakwood rail.
He swears a bit, and finally
The Jervis Bay awakens.
Soon a battery is supplied -
A small one -
Guns of five-inch calibre.
Then, with a hundred young reservists for her crew,
The Jervis Bay puts out to sea,
From somewhere south of Singapore.

Captain Fogarty Feegan
Has a distant rendezvous
With other old masters,
Summoned from retirement,
Called by their King
From their little farms,
From their office stools,
From their fireside chairs,
From the cities and the shires -
For threefold war - earth, sky, sea -
Beggars the world. Ships go down . . . each day go down,
And bottoms must be had
To bear cargoes to Britain. Up from tropical waters,
Through Suez, through the Strait of Gibraltar,
Out and across the Atlantic,
And to the Americas.
In a harbour of the North,
And with brave haste, the old hulls
Are laden to their loading lines
With cargoes for Britain.
Captain Fogarty Feegan
Listens to the rumbling of winches;
Hears the samson posts creak;
Hears the chains and blocks complain;
Harries his first Officer, Mr. Wilson, with commands,
As things needful for the life-beat
Of England's great heart
Are stowed aboard.
"Hurry, damme, Mr. Wilson, sir!"
He shouts to his First Officer.
"We are not sleeping now, Mr. Wilson,
Somewhere south of Singapore!"

From a Canadian bay,
From behind the fog-bank of November dawn,
A convoy line puts out;
Thirty-eight ships put out to sea
With cargoes for Britain,
A consignment to help sustain
The life-beat of England;
Goods to provision an isle
That for a thousand years
Has prized the freedom
And the dignity of Man.

The gun crews of the Jervis Bay
Sleep beside their battery.
They seem young seminars
With parka hoods cowling their heads
To keep out the cold sea-rime.
Night falls, a great and sombre hymn
The night of November fourth -
Nineteen hundred and forty years since Our Lord -
Is an anthem of wind and small, following sea.

The morning comes like a priest,
Upholding a golden monstrance.
The morning of the fifth
Finds the Jervis Bay and her convoy
Strung like a procession of pilgrims against the dawn.
The ship's sounds;
The practice rounds are fired.
The sun is on the meridian,
And Fogarty Feegan shoots the sun
For latitude.
Eight bells again,
And Fogarty Feegan shoots the sun
For longitude.
And then, at five o'clock
The lookout calls from the crows-nest:
"Ship, sir, off the starboard bow!"

Through his glass.
Fogarty Fcegan makes out smoke -
A black gargoyle in the sky -
East by south-east,
Then sights a ship, hull down.
And now a battleship
Comes boiling over the horizon.
She opens fire with heavy guns.
Captain Fogarty Feegan telegraphs his engine room
To strain the boilers till they burst.
He bellows. curses, brings to bear
The popguns of his battery
Against the Goliath armour of the battleship.
He sends up smoke to screen the fleet.
He orders all the consoy ships to scatter wide and fast.
Then Fogarty Feegan
Sets out alone to meet the battleship.
Five-inch guns against eleven-inch guns.
Egg-shell hull against Krupp plate.
"Damme, Mr. Wilson, sir," he shouts,
"We're not hearing mandolins today, somewhere south of
Singapore!"

This is a mad thing to do
This sea-charge of the Jervis Bay,
Yet a sky of dead admirals looks down
From the Grand Haven,
Looks down at Fogarty Feegan,
Whose senile tub
Steams bow-on for the battleship.
Nelson, Drake, Beatty, Harwood;
Yes, and the Americans:
Porter, Farragut and John Paul Jones,
All look down in wonderment.

And now a burst of shrapnel rakes the Jervis Bay,
And tears the right arm from the sleeve of Fogarty Feegan.
He does not fall.
He grasps the teakwood rail with his other hand.
Masking his agony with bellowings that rise above the guns.
Nor will he let a tourniquet
Be placed upon the stump.
He waves the stump, and Mr. Wilson knows
(And the sky of dead admirals knows)
That if a hand were there.
It would be making a great fist.
Still steaming toward the battleship,
Fogarty Feegan keeps his little guns ablast.
The eyes of the setters
And of the pointers
Grow black and blue from the recoils -
Their eardrums dead.

A salvo comes with the top roll of the battle-ship,
And now the ensign -
Emblem with the blue field -
Is shot away.
Enraged, bloody, rocking on his heels,
Fogarty Feegan roars
"Hoist another ensign, damme, Mr. Wilson, sir!
Hoist another flag,
That we may fight like Englishmen!"
A boatswain procures a flag from the locker -
A flag used for the burial of the dead at sea.
"Here, sir," he cries,
As to a brace he bends
The Banner of England.

The Jervis Bay, ablaze from stern to bow,
At dusk, still fires her puny guns,
And will not change her course.
Salvos from turrets,
Guns three-over-three,
Make great geysers grow about
The old ship's wake.
But still her guns give voice.

And now she's struck below the water-line.
Her boilers go.
The Jervis Bay begins to settle by the stern.
Yet, sinking, still she faces her antagonist.
Then the waters begin to close over her.
The waters close over Fogarty Feegan,
And over the flag
That once was used for burials at sea.
And now night spreads its shroud.

Of thirty-eight ships in the convoy,
Twenty-nine are saved,
Their cargoes saved,
To help sustain the life-beat of England,
While from the sky dead admirals look on,
And claim Captain Fogarty Feegan for their own.

The Jervis Bay goes down -
Goes down as no mere casualty of storm,
To rust out, fathoms deep, in common grave
With sisters unremembered by the years.
The Jervis Bay - of Australian registry,
From somewhere south of Singapore -
Goes down in the history
Of an Isle that for a thousand years
Has prized the freedom
And the dignity of Man.

GENE FOWLER

[U S Army EOD]

A good one to ping to the Foxhole crowd. No sea monsters, I promise.

[Eastbound]

" . . . and we must win for the sake of civilisation...",

So it must be for every generation, for the wars against evil must always be won . . . 'for the sake of civilization.'

Evil apparently does not disappear when vanquished. It emerges over and over again, for it is the tool of choice for tyrants and terrorists.

[Semper911]

Crying here.

[lawgirl]

Oh how incredibly sad. And she died so young too. *sigh*

[MinuteGal]

I may have missed it, but I wonder if he was awarded the Victoria Cross for his heroism under fire when he assumed command of the vessel.

If he didn't, it's a shame. But I'll bet he did.

Leni

[Redbob]

What a great letter!

That generation truly was exceptional; they say duty as something one did, not something to be avoided if it caused discomfort.
Quite a father to be proud of, for Michael and Tony.

[R. Scott]

…when the pocket battleship Admiral Scheer was sighted on the horizon. The convoy's sole escort, an ancient converted cargo ship armed with obsolete guns, turned to meet her.

That took major cajones, but the crew had little choice.

Crippled and sinking, the Jervis Bay held the Admiral Scheer at bay, allowing the convoy to disperse into a winter storm.

They did their job.

[demlosers]

That letter bring tears to my eyes...

[Jeff Head]

This one has been printed and will be read to my family tonight. The sentiments of this letter are exactly the mettle that freedom loving people are and must be made of if they are to stay free and defeat tyranny whenever it rears its ugly head. <>p> Just for reference, here are the two combatants. Gives you a lot more feeling and flavor for what these brave men did to save the lives of others, and the critical war material they were carrying to a beleagured England.

Here's the German Battleship:

...and the "armed" freighter.

...later, in April 1945, the German battleship "got hers".

Here is a GREAT site about the Jervis Bay, HERE.

Apparently, many of the survivors from the Jervis Bay were taken aboard the Swedish freighter, Stureholm, which herself, after this convoy was converted to an armed freighter for convoy escort duties. A number of survivors from the Jervis Bay then signed on with the Stureholm.

On her first patrol, in December of 1940, the Stureholm was attacked by a U-boat (U-96) and sunk with all hands.

[Travis McGee]

God bless them all...

[lawgirl]

A Pearl Harbor Day-thinking-about-the-great-ones-we've-lost BUMP :) This story just breaks my heart on so many levels but it reminds me to make sure those I love know how I feel about them :-)