Footnotes: Wartime Air Sea Rescue base, Tenby
Footnotes: Recollections of the wartime Air Sea Rescue base
Clifford Burkett served at Tenby Air Sea Rescue base from September 1943 to March 1944, when he was chosen to take part in the D-Day operations. In the photo below, he is in the centre of the crew (separated from the groups of men either side) on the launch which took him to the D-Day operations. In July 2013, aged 92, he told HistoryPoints: “I also served at Mountbatten (Plymouth), Fraserburgh, Lerwick (Shetland Isles) and Tayport. Tenby
was the worst of them all for shelter. All but Tenby had good sheltered moorings.
“At Tenby, however, the harbour dried out so it could not be used except for loading on stores and fuel etc. We lay on one of two buoys in the open sea, about 400 yards from the harbour and off a tall Victorian pier which shook in the action of all but a gentle sea. To board the launch we had to climb down the outside of the pier on rungs, haul in a dinghy on a circular line, and row out to the launch. The launch`s freeboard [distance from waterline to upper deck] was several feet, and we had to haul ourselves on board.
“We usually spent all day on board so as to be ready to cast off immediately the skipper came from the base on a bicycle, having received the ‘crash call’ on the telephone at the base. There was a hut on the pier with a field telephone. The medical orderly sat there and would be warned that the skipper was on his way, and would come out with the skipper [to the launch]. Because the base only had one medic, he was on duty every day and did not accompany us at night.
“At night the duty crew slept in a Nissen hut on the harbour wall, next to the office, except that one member of the crew would sleep on board, known as ‘boat watch’. I frequently volunteered for boat watch because the motion did not bother me and I got more sleep on board than I would get in the Nissen hut. I could also listen to the wireless there, on the launch’s radio.
“I was a member of the crew which picked up the crew of a 228 Squadron Sunderland, based at Pembroke Dock. The crew made a safe exit once the aircraft had made its landing – described as two elephantine bounces in the heavy seas. Credit is due to the pilot for his skill. One of the crew remarked to me: ‘We’re sorry, we didn’t have time to bring the pigeons.’ Another joking remark was: ‘When we first saw you [the launch], you were the most wonderful sight I had ever seen but as you got closer and I saw what punishment you were taking I felt I would rather stay in the dinghy.’ This occurred in January 1944, I think on the 17th.
“Because it was dangerous, the Victorian pier was dismantled soon after the war ended. I heard from a skipper who was on a Whitehall parade with me after the war that when he served at Tenby he had to get on board by dinghy from the lifeboat slipway, which was situated between the old pier and the harbour. He and the crew would have had to go somewhat further than we had to, to get to the launches on the buoys.
“Tenby was a two-launch base during the war. The off-duty crew slept in a house in the town. After breakfast we left the billet and took over as duty crew about 8am. We were on duty for 24 hours. I cannot remember how we got our lunch. Perhaps the off-duty crew returned to the base for us to have our lunch at the billet.
“When in the morning the duty crew was relieved by the other crew, we went back to the billet for breakfast. After that, we returned to the base and did maintenance on our launch until lunchtime, when we returned to the billet for lunch. From then on we could go out – but we had to leave a full note of where we were going (for example, cinema or pub) because if the duty launch was called out we had to be recalled to the base to be on duty in case another call out happened. On more than one occasion I was in the cinema when a notice was flashed on to the screen telling any crew in the audience to return to the base.
“Consequently one did not get any opportunity to explore the district, as of course we were not allowed to leave the town. During my time at Tenby we had a near miss from sinking when one of our launches, HSL 116, had her stern lifted by a freak wave and the front half buried in the water up to mid-ships. Luckily she righted just like when one drops a stick into the water. The bows were stove in, leaving a hole 4ft x 4ft in the starboard bow and abour 6ft x 4ft in the port bow. Fortunately the bulkhead between the bow and the fo’castle did not give way.
“This was the only time I ever sent an S.O.S. HSL 144, skippered by F/O Probert, came out and stood by but we were able to get back to Tenby without help. Luckily the tide was in, so we could go into the harbour. A temporary repair called a ‘tingle’ was made by chippies (boat carpenters) but with the tide going out the skipper, who I will not name, sent us out to the buoy. The idea was for the chippies to continue repair work but as soon as we left the harbour they became sick and retired to the after peak (a small compartment at the rear of the boat).
“There was still a medium sea running and the Cox’n had the extremely difficult job of trying to manoeuvre the launch so that the large hole was not exposed to the 
waves and a deckhand could get a line on to the buoy to tie up. All the crew (apart from the skipper) were still on board, and after half an hour we were still not tied up, so one of the Wireless Operators decended from the deck into the fore peak (compartment in the bows) and jumped out through the hole on to the buoy. He was then able to take the line from the deckhand and tie up to the buoy.
“We were relieved by the other crew at 8am the following day. Later the big hole was temporarily repaired and on a calm day we sailed her to the maintenance unit at Kidwelly. It was decided to write her off. HSL 116 was not finished, however. After her engines and all useful equipment had been removed, she was sold to an enterprising local coal merchant who cut her in half. He upended the halves and rented them out as self-catering quarters by the sea!”
The photo above left shows Mr Burkett in 2012. He died in August 2013.