The Dolphin Incident

On blocks, parked up on the side of his drive, sat Bert’s vintage four-wheel-drive Massey Harris tractor that hadn’t turned a wheel since they called Hopalong Cassidy, ‘Bill’. Previously, Bert had proudly showed me the places where rods fitted into levers so it could be driven remotely, a technological breakthrough back in the day! Well not totally remote, but from the implement the tractor happened to be towing at the time. Anyway, he asked me to help him start it, because he had sold it to some overseas guy, and he decided, right or wrong that he was going to drive it onto the transporter. To drive it one last time or perhaps to hear its final roar!

He said he couldn’t remember why she stopped, but he was sure we could get it going without too much trouble. We did all the usual things making sure there was adequate oil, water and fuel. She was a crank-start, so I suggested squirting some oil into the cylinders and turning her over a few times to get the bits inside mobile, loosening stuck rings. She was hard to turn over, but we managed to have her turning free before we replaced the sparkplugs. She finally started, sounding like a chaff-cutter, so we let her run for a bit to warm up while we jacked her off the blocks. When he closed the throttle to shut her off… Boom! The backfire sent me ducking for cover!

‘Shit!’ I exclaimed. Well it did give me a fright! ‘What a retort! Loud as one of your bloody field-cannons!’ I used the simile knowingly.

‘Not quite.’ Replied Bert dryly, refilling his pipe to show he didn’t get a fright. ‘I’ve heard louder.’ And then he gave one of his guilty laughs.

‘It took you back then?’ I asked him, referring to his service in the artillery.

‘Yeah.’ He replied, and I thought he was going to leave it there. Usually if he had something to say, he would, but when it came to his war years, he was like a clam. So I was surprised at the, ‘Come inside and I’ll swing the billy... I’ll tell you about the Dolphin incident.’

The tea was black and bitter, just how Bert liked it. He pointed to the chair he wanted me to sit in, cats were on the others. We sat in silence while he gathered his thoughts – puffing on his stinking old pipe.

‘It was spring ’39, September I think, a clear, windless day, when the trawler Dolphin steamed into Lyttleton Harbour. I was a new recruit and only just posted to the artillery. I was stationed at the Godley Head Battery that overlooked the harbour entrance.’

‘I’ve been there, Bert, I know exactly where you mean.’

‘Good,’ he nodded, ‘our job was to prevent any unauthorised vessels from entering the harbour. It was a boring bloody job, we practiced whenever the Battery Commander had a mind to, but we never fired a blimmin’ shot because nobody unauthorised appeared! We had morse, semaphore flags and were in radio, contact with the Navy, whose job it was to board every craft coming in. The inspecting ship was, the Anderson… no, John Anderson and this day she happened to be short of stores and water, so had gone back to the Naval Station in the harbour.

‘Anyway, I was sitting on a rock having a smoke, a bit away from the battery when I spotted the Dolphin, a small trawler, making her way into the harbour. So I trotted over to report it to the Duty Officer. He reported it to the Battery Commander, who was in the bunker, probably having a snooze. The Navy Station was also notified over the blower, and the John Anderson was ordered back out quick-smart.

‘We were trying morse and semaphore to attract the attention of the Dolphin, but they either didn’t see or hear or maybe weren’t taking any notice. Understandable, because Lyttleton was her traditional home port, and they were used to coming and going as the pleased! They crossed the designated line that nobody was supposed to cross without an inspection! Well, it’d been well advertised and all shipping were supposed to know about it.

‘The Battery Commander, was fully in his rights to order the Duty Officer to fire a warning shot across the Dolphin’s bow to alert them that they’d better stop. Anyway, the Commander reckoned it was a good chance for them to practice live firing. Not an exploding shell mind, but a plugged one that would do no damage. The boys got all excited about a live firing! I was just the new boy about the place, actually I was the one that loaded the shell into the breech. Anyway, the Commander relayed the coordinates and the sights were set. He told the Duty Officer to fire when ready.

The crew were still buzzing and yapping about the live firing. It was the Duty Officer’s job to twiddle the knobs for aiming and as I said, I shoved the shell into the breech and then … Kaboom! It was no bloody warning shot though! The Dolphin was hit amidships, and she went down like a bloody stone! The John Anderson saw the splash but she was already going full-throttle, so it took a while for them to get there! Only one of the Dolphin’s crew survived! Poor buggers. We watched, saw it all, helpless-like!

‘There was a big investigation, but nobody was found culpable because the skipper of the Dolphin should have adhered to the Navy’s rules! But I reckon the coordinates must have been mucked up or something! Maybe they hadn’t factored in the speed of the Dolphin, I still think something was amiss! But anyway, the Minister of Defence ruled that nobody was at fault, so there we are! Nobody said anything about the poor wives being left without husbands! It gave me my first taste of what wartime was all about.’

Bert relit his pipe and gazed into the fire. In silence we sat. After a bit, and without a word, I left him to his thoughts.