“GREY ROVER”
Pennant No. A 269 International Callsign GYXM Registered LONDON
Previous Name N/A Lloyds Identity No. 6923163
Builder Swan Hunter Shipbuilders Ltd, (Hebburn Yard), Hebburn on Tyne.
Launched 17th April 1969 Completed 10th April 1970
Displacement (Light-ship) 4,700 tons. (Loaded) 11,522 tons.
Measurement Tonnage N.R.T. 3,185 G.R.T. 7,509 DWT 6,822
Dimensions Length O.A. 461 ft. Beam 63 ft. Draft 24 ft.
Main Machinery 2 x Ruston & Hornsby 16 cylinder marine diesels. Because of vibration problems these were later replaced with 2 x Pielstick 16 cylinder marine diesels. Single shaft. Controllable pitch propeller. 400 H.P. Bow thruster. Speed 19 knots.
Ships Badge Granted in 1969. The badge depicts a greylag goose in flight over water, on a light blue background.
Remarks GREY ROVER was one of a class of initially three Small Fleet Tankers. Two more were built a year or so later. The others of the original group were “GREEN” and “BLUE”, with the “BLACK” and “GOLD” making up the final pair.
These ships were all designed to replenish warships underway with various fuels, lubricants and fresh water, as well as a limited amount of dry and refrigerated stores. A helicopter landing platform and aircraft refuelling facility was provided abaft the accommodation. Heavy jackstay store rigs were mounted port and starboard on a goalpost gantry abaft the funnel, served by a stores lift from a dry cargo space below. They were fitted with a single fuel replenishment gantry amidships, supporting a pair of abeam replenishment derricks. The ship could also supply fuels via stern hoses. The hull was strengthened for operations in ice.
The “BLACK” and “GOLD” were built with a foremast, whilst the other three had theirs fitted during a convenient refit period around 1980. This mast did little more than provide a stable platform for the forward masthead steaming light.
“GREY ROVER” was struck underwater by the submerged Canadian submarine “Okanagan” on 28th July 1973, during an exercise in the Clyde estuary. For details of this collision with numerous images please click HERE
She took part in the 1973-74 ‘Cod War’ off Iceland.
“GREY ROVER” was still in service in 1997.
“GREY ROVER”
17th July 1973 to 12th March 1974
British Crew
1st Officer
I joined this ship where she was lying at anchor off the tiny harbour of Campbeltown, on the Mull of Kintyre, following a marathon 24-hour journey from my home at Plymouth. It all began with a four-hour train journey from Plymouth to London, to catch an overnight sleeper to Glasgow. The following morning I caught a local train down the north bank of the River Clyde to Helensburgh, from where I got a taxi to take me to the submarine base at Faslane. After a couple of hours delay and a bite of lunch, a ‘tilly’ (utility van), took me the last 103 miles to Campbeltown, driving through glens, past mountains and along the western coast of the Mull. It was all extremely scenic. A final boat trip took me out to the ship, which was anchored in Campbeltown loch, where I gratefully dumped my heavy suitcases in my cabin, in time for the evening meal.
As 1st Officer here, I was the senior bridge watchkeeper, on the 4-8 watch at sea. My duties were as the navigator/operations officer, sharing a bit of flight deck work with the Chief Officer.
We were employed initially by “Comclyde”, the Flag Officer responsible for naval activity in and around the Clyde area. This activity consisted mainly of exercises and trials involving nuclear and conventional submarines, operating out of their specialised base, “HMS Neptune”, at Faslane on the Gairloch. Our frequent role was to act as a target ship for their training exercises and the commanding officer qualifying courses known as ‘Coqexes’ or ‘Perishers’. The ship would be asked to steam up and down the Firth of Clyde in zig-zag patterns or on a straight course, whilst the submarine would lay in wait and simulate torpedo attacks. If the sea was calm enough it was possible to detect the periscope on radar or even see it visually. If within the rules of the exercise, we were then free to steer towards our threat, to try to narrow the target profile or force the submarine to abandon the attack and go deep. Clearly these exercises did not involve the large strategic missile boats, who were not normally expected to attack shipping but remain hidden at all times.
Just eleven days after joining this ship I was involved in my only collision at sea, which involved a Canadian conventional submarine called “Okanagan”. She was an ‘Oberon’ class diesel powered boat built at Chatham Dockyard in 1963. On this occasion she was going through her ‘passing out’ inspection with “Comclyde” staff, prior to returning to Canada and rejoining their fleet.
We had been with her the previous day, carrying out all the high-speed exercises where we were her target for several torpedo attacks. Overnight we had sailed around the back of the island of Arran, northwards through the Kilbrannan Sound, around the top of the island and east through the Sound of Bute. In the gathering dawn we were moving at a steady four knots on a south-easterly course down the Clyde estuary, passing about four miles off Brodick Bay. Somewhere in this area, “Okanagan” was to sneak up on us and film our underwater fittings through her periscope. At about 0730 and whilst I was still on watch, I spotted a periscope, still some way off, coming towards us out of Brodick Bay. I maintained a steady course and speed as required by the exercise orders and watched the tip of the periscope pop up every now and again as it got closer.
The Captain had come to the bridge for his morning stroll and I pointed the periscope out to him as it approached from just forward of the starboard beam on a steady bearing. It seemed to me that the submarine was getting quite close and from an unexpected angle. My thoughts were that it would have approached from astern, diving deeper in good time to take whatever pictures were required. Still it kept coming and at the same angle. The Captain and I went out onto the starboard bridge wing and we could actually see the dark shape of the submarine under the water as it came right up to us.
Suddenly there was an almighty thump, as the conning tower of the submarine struck our hull, almost below where we were standing. The stern of the “Grey Rover” was shunted round a few degrees to port and the bow to starboard. On the bridge we were in shock for a few moments with the realisation of what had happened. The propeller was quickly declutched from the engine and I took a position of our ship. The engineers below, who must have had an awful fright, were told what had happened and checked that we had not been holed.
A couple of hundred yards away, the “Okanagan” rapidly surfaced and we could see that she had lost a large piece of her conning tower. After getting in contact with her it appeared that her periscopes and other top sensors were a write-off but otherwise she was O.K. Fortunately her conning tower was made of glass-fibre, which had taken the brunt of the impact and we had not been holed.
We both proceeded directly back to Faslane naval base, where there followed a Board of Enquiry. At the end of this investigation we were absolved completely of any responsibility for the collision. A couple of days later we were ordered to take the ship to a dry-dock at Govan, where we underwent repairs to a massive indentation in the shell plating on the starboard side of the engine room and replaced a blade on our controllable pitch propeller. We were so lucky not to have been holed. Had the conning tower of the “Okanagan” been made of something more robust than glass-fibre it could have been a very different story.
When we returned to Faslane the “Okanagan” was still there and looking a rather sorry sight. We invited the officers across to us for a few drinks and a bite to eat. It was then that they presented us with a piece of their conning tower as a memento of the event!
Other duties on the Clyde involved escorting submarines operating in the exercise areas north of Ireland, where they conducted their deep-diving trials. Our bridge was equipped with an underwater telephone, with which we could talk, albeit sounding rather bubbly, to the mariners below. We also carried, near our flight deck, a portable decompression chamber for use in any submarine emergency. The North Atlantic swell could get extremely high in this area in bad weather, with enormous mountains of water rolling in from the west. I recall on one occasion trying to measure the height of these monsters whilst we were hove to and head to sea, sitting over a submarine many hundreds of feet below. The horizon was frequently lost to view from the bridge which was sixty feet above the waterline, as the ship fell into the deep troughs of the sea. The submariners below were completely oblivious to our roller coaster ride on the surface.
Our own professional skills were also tested from time to time by “Comclyde” inspections, blind pilotage drills in the confined waters around the back of the Cumbraes, emergency exercises and the occasional RAS with a passing warship.
Towards the winter of 1973 we were tasked to proceed north to the Icelandic fishing grounds, where the second so-called “Cod War” was about to erupt. We cruised around in those inhospitable waters for several weeks, replenishing the two or three unfortunate frigates that were on station in support of the British trawlers and their escorting deep-sea tugs. The frigates were only kept on station for a couple of weeks before being relieved by others, I think because the sea conditions were often severe, giving the crews a rather rough ride. We assisted our trawlers by keeping a lookout for any Icelandic gunboat activity in our area, which tended to be to the south and east of Iceland. Occasionally we ventured up to the north to meet and refuel a lone frigate in company with a scattered group of busy trawlers.
The weather was nearly always bad and the sea rough. During these winter months it was very cold outside and nearly always dark. Replenishments were particularly arduous. On a few occasions we were forced to rendezvous with frigates in the lee of the Faroe Islands, some distance away from the fishing grounds, where the seas were less violent. Mail was dropped to us every week or so by an RAF ‘Nimrod’ aircraft when weather conditions allowed. We would heave to close by the floating mail canister and launch our crash-boat to recover the all-important cylinder. Mail for the warships would be passed on by their helicopter, or when we next met them for a RAS. I remember on one occasion that it was too rough for one of the frigate’s “Wasp” helicopters to land on our flight deck, so it hovered a few feet above. Our deck was rising and falling as the ship pitched and rolled in the swell, with the pilot mimicking our movement with great skill. The helicopter crewman in the back was so busy hoisting up the bag of goodies that he lost his footing and fell out of the aircraft. Fortunately he only dropped as far as the length of his safety strop and managed to scramble back into the aircraft. It gave me a nasty turn for a moment and must have shaken the crewman up a bit too!
I was glad, along with the rest of our crew, when we were finally released from this duty and headed back to the more friendly waters around the U.K. After another spell in the Clyde area I was paid off in March of 1974 and left the ship at Faslane for some well earned leave.