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The following story by Terence Robertson is out of copyright and appears courtesy of and with thanks to Mike Kemble, and Captain Frederic John Walker.

Soon after handing over office to his relief, Walker put in a request that with only a few exceptions the whole crew, officers and men, of Stork should be appointed to Starling. Most of them had been paid off from Stork when she passed into dock yard hands, and were now on leave. Telegrams went out from Derby House ordering as many as were available to report to Fairfield鈥檚 Dockyard near Glasgow to stand-by Job Number SL 197. Fairfield鈥檚 was soon working overtime. Job Number SL 197, an embryo ship which by the end of March, was to become the sloop-of-war, HMS Starling, was not only needed urgently by the Admiralty, but even more so by Captain John Walker whose letter to the management left them in no doubt at all of the fate awaiting them if the ship were delayed in any way. For the next two weeks, SL 197 was the focal point for hundreds of workers. Riveters clattered and chattered their deafening way along the hull; welders鈥� lamps hissed defiance at the daily drizzle; railway goods wagons clanged alongside, shunted there by noisily officious engines; towering cranes trundled crazily up and down in whining unison, their giraffe-like arms swaying drunkenly skywards. The bare-ribbed carcass of rusting metal became a red paint-splotched shell stuffed daily with engines and instruments of war, while bits of superstructure appeared round a stumpy, grotesque mast. Keeping wondering eyes on this magical transformation of jumbled confusion of scrap metal into the recognisable shape of a ship were Lieutenant Impey, former asdic officer of Stork, Lieutenant John Filleul, RN, and Sub-Lieutenant Alan Burn, RNVR (author of The Fighting Captain), a newcomer to the Walker entourage. As 鈥渟tand-by鈥� officers waiting for the time to walk aboard, they lived in a hotel ashore by night and in a tiny wooden hut in the Yard by day. They did not quite know what would emerge from the muddy inferno job Number SL197. Filleul, newly promoted, was overjoyed at his appointment to the embryo Starling. Ever since he had sailed in Stork and returned from the fierce, drawn-out defence of convoy HG 84, he had become a fervent support of his captain. While on leave, he had received the telegram appointing him to Starling. Next he learned that most of Stork鈥檚 crew were also being transferred at the request of their new commanding officer.
During the long evenings ashore waiting for SL 197 to become a ship with a name, Filleul told stories of Stork and Walker to Alan Burn, a stocky, square-faced recent arrival to Western Approaches Command who had heard of his new commanding officer and imagined him a stickler for discipline and not at all likely to tolerate mistakes a reservist officer might be expected to make, particularly from such a key department head as the Gunnery Officer. At last came March 21st, Commissioning Day, and those key officers and ratings who had watched a ship grow from the tangled chaos of Fairfield鈥檚 gazed in wonderment again at the sleek, newly-painted warship with bristling guns and business like equipment giving her the appearance of a healthy warrior impatiently waiting for the order that would fling him into the line. To Walker, this day meant a long-delayed return to the Atlantic battlefield. He knew some of the faces confronting him on the quarter deck as he addressed the ship鈥檚 company. On brief acquaintance with those officers he had met for the first time, he was satisfied there would be no hitches to prevent the working-up trials being cut shorter than usual. He was particularly pleased that Lieutenant Impey, RN, his asdic officer in Stork, had been sent to Starling as First Lieutenant. His Commission Speech was short, most of these men knew what he wanted of them, and after the officers had exchanged handshakes with the Yard superintendents the bo鈥檚un鈥檚 mate piped: 鈥淪ecure for sea. All hands prepare for leaving harbour. Sea-duty men to their stations.鈥� A few minutes later, the engines throbbed alive and H.M.Starling, at last a ship with a name instead of a number, sailed down the Clyde on her maiden voyage to the Western Approaches. Hundreds of workers lined the docksides to wave and tout 鈥済ood luck鈥�, for they were as proud of the ship as the crew who now sailed in her. While steaming down the Clyde they received a general signal from Commander-in-Chief, Western Approaches, to all units in the Command saying it was intended to operate five support Groups over the North Atlantic convoy routes, and initial Groups would proceed to sea on March 2 These 3uld remain under operational control of C-in-C Western Approaches regardless of 鈥淐hop鈥�. The officers of Starling now received some idea of what their duties were to be. Walker already knew, but his eye was fixed on the Bay. He would go along with the plan to support the convoy escorts for the moment, but his main target for the future operations was Biscay itself. For the next ten days it was trials, exercises, exercises and trials for the crew of Starling. From the first Captain Walker made it clear to officers and men that their job in the war was to sink U-boats, and everything was directed to achieve the highest possible competence in this art; day and night this simple idea of 鈥渒ill the Boche before he kills you鈥� drove Starlings crew to semi-exhaustion until one day they sailed from Liverpool, a confident, keen fighting unit ready for war, impatient to get into the battlefield to seek out and destroy the enemy.
At the end of April, they received their orders. The other five ships of the Second Support Group, Wild Goose, Wren, Kite, Cygnet and Woodpecker, had completed their training and were to meet their leader off Londonderry whence they were to proceed to the mid-Atlantic. The strategic plan to harry the U-boat on their doorstep and in their happiest hunting ground along the mid-Atlantic 鈥淐hop鈥� Line was about to be launched. The Second Support Group became a striking force on April 8th when the six sloops left the Western Approaches bound for the Atlantic deepfield where, free from troublesome aircraft, the U-boats lay in wait for the convoys. Added to Walker鈥檚 satisfaction at being on his own bridge again, was the pleasure of knowing that in command of Wild Goose was his old friend, Commander D. E. G. Wemyss. In his first tour of the Battle of the Atlantic, Walker had been a convoy escort drawing the enemy like a magnet. Now he was looking for trouble wherever it could be found. After two days鈥� steaming he was ordered to take his Group to assist a convoy inward bound from Halifax, Nova Scotia, which was being hard-pressed by a U-boat 鈥渨olf pack鈥�.

The Group made contact the following evening and spread themselves in a wide circle round both convoy and its close escort, acting as scouts to keep shadowing U-boats down where their slow speed would soon give the convoy a chance to draw ahead out of the trap. For the next three nights there were a series of alarms which gave the six sloops little more satisfaction than the chance to work together for the first time as a unit. Walker kept them in hunting formation exercises, both by day and night, giving the commanding officers the opportunity to learn his methods of handling six ships as one. In each ship, individual drills ironed out the dockyard faults and accustomed the crew to new equipment. In Starling, small defects became apparent with monotonous regularity and both officers and men expended a more than usual amount of blood, sweat and bad language before Walker announced with some irony that he might yet turn them into a crew fit to go to war. Alan Burn felt there was some justification for his captain鈥檚 attitude when, during a practice shoot, he gave the order 鈥淥pen Fire鈥�, and instead of the deafening crack of the four- inch twin guns exploding into flame, there was a painful and deathly silence. The text book said that, before taking any further action, he should order 鈥淐ease Fire鈥�. So, controlling his mounting anger at this strange inefficiency from his department, he shouted down the telephone to all guns:

鈥淐ease Firing.鈥� Immediately, the guns roared into action sending a salvo of shells hurtling over the grey Atlantic. From his action station on the bridge, Burn turned hesitantly and with some embarrassment to see how Walker had received this tendency of his gunnery people instantly to reverse orders, and was astonished to find his captain and the first lieutenant chuckling. On the fourth night, the Group left the convoy to take up its patrol where Walker exercised them again and again in zigzag and hunting manoeuvres and in drills designed to meet any emergency. Officers of the Watch found life anything but peaceful with a captain who might suddenly interrupt a peaceful afternoon by throwing a lifebuoy overboard and shouting: 鈥淭hat鈥檚 a man overboard. Pick him up without lowering the boat.鈥� When this tricky piece of ship handling had been accomplished, Walker would order: 鈥淭ell all ships to fire a depth charge set to a hundred feet.鈥� He would time each ship and send rudely informative signals to those he considered had taken too long to get their charges away. At night, he would liven up proceedings by suddenly telling the Officers of the Watch: 鈥淯-boat on the starboard bow. Illuminate it with starshell.鈥� If there were any delay, the officer was left in no doubt of what Walker thought of him. This was a favourite test and took place in nearly every watch, for Walker hoped that U-boats would see the starshell and come rushing towards him to find out what was happening. He varied it by leaving the bridge and, while passing through the wheelhouse below, ordered the helmsman to put the wheel hard over one way or the other and report to the Officer of the Watch that it had jammed. He waited and timed the hapless officer鈥檚 reactions. Gradually, the officers grew to anticipate these 鈥渟tunt鈥� alarms and a friendly rivalry sprang up in the wardroom to see who could react the quickest. This mood passed down to the men, and the gun crews or depth-charge crew of each watch would gloat wickedly over an unfortunate team which had carried out a drill only a fraction of a second slower. In this way, the dirt of the dockyard fell away from Starling and, at the end of this first uneventful voyage, the guns could fire salvoes of six rounds in thirty seconds and the depth-charge crews could fire a pattern of ten charges in fifteen seconds. The First Lieutenant maintained acidly that these were rotten performances, although Walker grinned his satisfaction. Confidence ran through the mess decks like a smooth, vintage wine and bubbled over into keen inter ship rivalry uniting the Group in a burning determination to come to grips with the enemy.
Early in the morning of May 12th, the Group were steaming off Northern Ireland on their way to Liverpool. The most excited officer in Starling was John Filleul. If there were time before they sailed again he intended to marry a girl who, having said 鈥淵es鈥�, now waited in Bournemouth for him to say when the Navy could spare him for those few days necessary to organise the ceremony and a brief honeymoon. Then Walker took a hand. It was a strict rule that no ship at sea should break wireless silence except in clearly defined circumstances, one of which gave commanding officers a measure of discretion, and leaders of Groups even a little more. As captain of Starling and Leader of the Second Support Group, he used this discretion. He sent a wireless signal addressed to Captain (D), Liverpool, requesting that Miss Wendy Taylor in Bournemouth be informed that her fianc茅 was due in harbour that evening. She should proceed immediately with arrangements for the earliest possible wedding. By the time Filleul telephoned her in the evening, she had the situation under control. The wedding went off without a hitch next morning followed by a three days鈥� honeymoon. In Liverpool, Captain Walker found his Commander-in-Chief, who had received a copy of the signal, unwilling to condone his use of personal discretion in breaking wireless silence for a private and domestic reason. If he was temporarily in hot water, Walker did not mind. It was more important that his officers and men should be happy at home, in his view the root of fighting efficiency at sea. Four days later they sailed again to act as a striking force along the northern convoy routes, clearing the shipping lanes of patrolling U-boats in wait to intercept our east and west bound convoys. June 1st dawned clear and sunny. The grey Atlantic had for once stopped heaving and lay placid and oily under a hot sun shining brilliantly from a blue, cloudless sky. The 900 men of the Second Support Group threw aside their salt-caked duffle coats, damp sweaters and woollen socks for clean white singlets and uniform trousers. In Starling there was little to disturb the peaceful calm of such an unexpectedly glorious day. The sea rushed quietly past the bows in frivolous curling waves; an occasional clanking of buckets came from the decks where sailors were washing down paintwork; from the gun platform in front of and below the bridge came the steady hum of conversation as the crews on watch stripped and examined the mechanism. The elements had called a truce, Neptune was on holiday and Starling could relax. To Alan Burn, the Officer of the Watch, it seemed more like a summer鈥檚 day on a vicarage lawn. 鈥淵ou know, John,鈥� said he blissfully, 鈥淚 can almost hear the sound of tennis rackets hitting the ball over the net and see myself having tea on the lawn accompanied by the drone of wasps and bees. Marvellous thought.鈥�
Suddenly, a telephone buzzer blared urgently. Burn sprang to the receiver. "What is it?鈥� 鈥淪ubmarine on the surface transmitting on bearing 225 degrees. Must be about twenty miles away, Sir.鈥� It was the HF/DF operator reporting that his set was intercepting a U-boat chattering either to its base or another colleague. Burn snapped out his order. 鈥淧ort fifteen . . . midships . . . steady . . . steer 225. Full speed ahead both.鈥� He turned to the voice pipe reaching down to the captain鈥檚 sea cabin. 鈥淐aptain, Sir.鈥� 鈥淵es, what is it?鈥� came the muffled reply. 鈥淪ubmarine on the surface reported by HF/DF.鈥� 鈥淩ight.鈥� In a few seconds, Walker was on the bridge, checking the orders given by Alan and sending signals to the Group. The six ships were reformed in line abreast on their new course along the bearing of the U-boat, steaming at full speed. The tempo in Starling changed swiftly. She vibrated violently as the engines raced and thousands of fittings began to throb in protest. Walker turned to Burn. 鈥淪ound Action Stations.鈥� To the Yeoman of Signals: 鈥淢ake to the Group: keep station on me. Course 225, speed 18 knots, ships to be four miles apart.鈥� As he spoke, the alarm bells clanged through the ship and in seconds the decks were filled with seamen in every state of dress, or undress, dashing to their action stations. A lamp blinked from Wild Goose and the Yeoman read out: 鈥淗ave picked up U-boat on HF/DF bearing 228.鈥� Just then Starling鈥檚 HF/DF officer reported the U-boat still talking on a bearing 225. The navigator quickly ran off the two nearly parallel lines on his chart and placed the enemy between fifteen and twenty miles away. It was their first smell of the enemy since leaving the builders鈥� yard. Walker noted in his Diary: 鈥淚 fixed the U-boat鈥檚 position using bearings from Starling and Wild Goose. The date was June 1st, the Christian name of my HF/DF officer was Howe, asdic conditions were perfect, all these things promised well.鈥� At 10.15, look-outs in Starling sighted a swirl of water and, almost at once, her asdic team picked up an echo that was unmistakably a submarine.

Continued.....
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