ISBN 1-55125-061-6
xix + 664 pages

Glossary and Abbreviations; Introduction; photos; diagrams; maps; Footnotes; Index of Ships; Index

Appendices: Royal Canadian Navy Personnel Casualties; Senior Appointments within the RCN; Canadian Navy Warship Losses; Axis Submarine Losses to Canadian Forces; German Officer Ranks and RCN/RN Equivalents

   In most nations, government-sponsored official histories of the Second World War have long since been completed, or at least ground to a permanent halt. The Canadian official history is an exception, with a fresh naval volume newly published. Interestingly, it's labeled "volume II, part 1" which might induce some head scratching.
   Fortunately, the Introduction clarifies the convoluted evolution of the naval volumes. The first two volumes of The Naval Service of Canada: Its Official History were written by Gilbert Tucker and his staff immediately after the war and dealt with, respectively, Origins and Early Years and Activities on Shore during the Second World War. Due to budget reductions, Tucker's planned third volume on operations was not produced. Instead, Joseph Schull, a well-known Canadian writer and RCN public affairs officer, using materials gathered by the Navy's historical office, produced an action-packed popular history, Far Distant Ships, focusing on the exploits of Canadian seamen. This latter volume, appearing in 1950, was actually published before the two volumes which had been written earlier.
   Despite Schull's popular account, a gap remained for more than fifty years: no official history existed covering RCN operations during WWII in the manner of Morison's series on the USN or Roskill's books about the Royal Navy. That's where No Higher Purpose comes in. Instead of just completing the Tucker series, Canada's Department of National Defence is funding an entirely new series of books about the Royal Canadian Navy. Volume one will deal with the early years of the RCN and volume three will cover the post-WWII years. Volume two, divided into two parts, belatedly fills Tucker's gap with a detailed, wide-ranging operational history based on archival sources. The first part, No Higher Purpose, tells the story from September 1939 through April 1943 while the second part, A Blue Water Navy, will continue the story through the end of the war.
   No Higher Purpose tackles all the topics readers expect: planning and mobilization, early operations, the convoy battles, U-boats in Canadian waters, and so on (although RCN participation in the Dieppe raid will appear in volume two). Here's the table of contents:

Planning, Mobilization and War
Responding to the New Challenge
The RCN and the Anglo-American Alliance
Implementing Anglo-American Convoy Agreements, I
Implementing the Convoy Agreements, II
The Pacific Coast and Alaska
Paukenschlag and the Caribbean
The Battle of the St Lawrence
North Atlantic Convoy Operations, I
North Atlantic Convoy Operations, II
The Creation of Canadian North-West Atlantic Command

   Of course, during the fifty years since the books by Schull and Tucker came out, plenty of other titles covering the RCN have appeared on the scene and tackled the same subjects. Marc Milner, for example, contributed two excellent books on Canada's role in the North Atlantic battles while David Zimmerman's aptly titled The Great Naval Battle of Ottawa looked at politics and technology in the RCN, and U-Boats against Canada by Michael Hadley remains unsurpassed for German submarines in Canadian waters. Given the wealth of resources currently available, it seems useful to compare No Higher Purpose with some of them rather than to simply describe the new book.
   To begin with, it's worthwhile to look at the differences between Douglas' new volume and Far Distant Ships. Here's how Douglas describes the loss of HMCS Weyburn in February 1943:

   On 22 February 1943 a hundred ships formed up off Gibraltar into two groups; convoy GUS 4, fifty-one ships bound for the United States and MKS 8, forty-nine ships bound for the United Kingdom. Commander F.I. Walker in Black Swan was senior officer of the escort. HMS Vanoc, Velox, Zetland, and Wivern were slated for GUS 4; FFS La Malouine, HMS Aubretia and Boreas, HMCS Weyburn, Summerside, Pan Arthur, Alberni, and Lunenburg for MKS 8. The Canadian corvettes had arrived with the North African section of the convoy, replacing RN escorts that had been reassigned to convoy MKF 8. Walker did not like the arrangement, made to accommodate the return of four of the Canadian ships to the MOEF. "The Canadian corvettes ... were said to be excellent ships individually and had distinguished themselves against submarines during their service in the Mediterranean, but I had hoped it was realized that a collection of escort vessels hastily thrown together under a Senior Officer whom they have never met before is no substitute for an effective group and does not constitute adequate escort." It was an old complaint and Walker sent an officer by air to Algiers to make contact with the Canadian corvettes and the commodore, and although stormy conditions in Algiers harbour prevented him from boarding more than three of the corvettes, "This arrangement did ... ease the problem of co-operation and was of great value in establishing an understanding with the Commodore."
   Weyburn's brief period with MKS 8 was marked by the bravery and sacrifice that so often characterizes war at sea. At 1115z on 22 February, as the corvette rejoined the convoy off Cape Spartel after refuelling at Gibraltar, she hit a mine about 5,000 yards from the convoy and well within the swept channel. The explosion amidships on the port side opened a large hole in Weyburn's hull, buckling the deck and splitting the funnel vertically. The engine room flooded rapidly with water and oil, and flanges and steampipes burst throughout the ship. She still had way on, steaming at eight knots in a circle to port. The destroyer HMS Wivern immediately came to her assistance, and Black Swan detached from the convoy to provide an A/S screen. Although some men were jumping over the side of the crippled vessel, and two Carley floats had cleared the ship, there were a good many still on board, some of them wounded. The commanding officer of Wivern therefore "placed my foc'sle on hers, bow to stern." Twenty-two of the ship's company, including wounded, came over this way. Weyburn's captain, Lieutenant-Commander T.W. Golby RCNR, and Lieutenant Wilfred Bark were struggling to lower an unconscious lookout from the bridge to Wivern, when Stoker Petty Officer Sydney Frank Day of Wivern jumped over to Weyburn's foc'sle to her bridge to lend a hand. Just then the ship "took an alarming list and started to sink rapidly. In another ten seconds she had sunk, stern first." The time was 1131z. She took Golby, Bark, Day, and the lookout with her.
   Before Weyburn went down, Lieutenant P.S. Milsom and Ordinary Seaman D. Tansey had frantically tried to remove the primers from the depth charges on her stern and succeeded in getting all but two, which were inaccessible because of damage. Sadly, shortly after the corvette slipped below the surface, they exploded, probably killing some men in the water, besides seriously damaging Wivern. Her medical officer suffered two broken ankles, and in this condition attended to one of Weyburn's officers, Lieutenant W.A.B. Garrard, whose leg had been crushed between the hulls of the two ships while he was assisting wounded men across. No anaesthetic was available, and the medical officer himself "several times passed out from pain during the course of the operation." At 1410z, after four hours spent rescuing survivors "under intermittent and ineffectual bombardment from the Spanish batteries," Black Swan took Wivern in tow. Miraculously only eight men lost their lives.
   On the heels of the loss of Weyburn, the RCN corvettes wound up their service in the Mediterranean. After escorting MKS 8 safely to British waters, Woodstock, Alberni, Summerside, and Port Arthur were on their way back to Canada in mid-March accompanying ON 172. Lunenburg remained in the United Kingdom from April until August of 1943, undergoing a refit. Algoma was the last corvette to leave the Mediterranean station, escorting MKS 10 to the United Kingdom at the end of March.

   In Far Distant Ships, Schull gives a more personal and graphic account, which is generally the case throughout his book:

   An eventful February was to provide yet another major incident, and not a happy one. At eight o'clock on the morning of February 22 Weyburn left Gibraltar at full speed to overtake a convoy bound for the United Kingdom. Just as she joined and prepared to take up her screening position, she struck a mine. The explosion came amidships on the port side, opening a large hole, buckling the deck and splitting the funnel for its entire length. Water poured into the engine room, which was already a rocking welter of oil, and throughout the ship there was a continual crash of bursting steam pipes and flying metal parts.
   Although the corvette was lying deep in the water, she did not appear to be sinking; and the boilers had not given way. The crew recovered quickly from the effects of the explosion and began to prepare for towing. Primers were removed from all the depth charges except two which had been so jammed by the force of the explosion that it was impossible to work the detonators loose.
   Meanwhile the British destroyer Wivern had closed Weyburn bow to stern and was taking off wounded men. There seemed at first to be little immediate danger but within twenty minutes Weyburn's precarious stability vanished. Her bow reared suddenly in the water and she went straight down in a matter of seconds. There followed in close succession two terrific explosions, apparently from the depth charges whose primers had not been removed. The charges had been set at "safe," just as they had been with many other ships in a similar predicament; but the mechanism in use at that time was still not reliable. The results in this case were disastrous for both ships.
   The commanding officer and another of the officers on Weyburn's bridge were instantly killed, together with a British petty officer who had come across to give aid. A number of men in the water also lost their lives. Wivern herself was badly damaged by the double explosion, but her efforts to assist the Canadian seamen were redoubled. Her Medical Officer, Surgeon-Lieutenant P. R. C. Evans, had been thrown from his feet and had both ankles broken. Lying on his back and suffering intensely, he gave directions for the treatment of Weyburn's men, and was ably assisted by his sick bay attendant and a number of ratings whom he had instructed in first aid work. He had intended to use Wivern's mess decks as a surgery, but they had been wrecked by the later explosions. The wardroom was hastily made ready, and the gravely injured patients were lowered down the ammunition hoist.
   The most serious case was Lieutenant W. A. B. Garrard from Weyburn, one of whose feet had been frightfully crushed. He refused treatment until all the other men of his ship were cared for, remaining not only conscious but cheerfully talkative through what must have been a half hour of relentless torture. At length, with the other wounded lying about the littered, bloodstained wardroom of the listing ship, he was placed on the table. No general anaesthetic was given. The sick bay attendant took the knife while the Surgeon-Lieutenant, lying on his back with ankles broken and his own face grey with pain, directed the agonizing "cleaning up" of the wound. "Hack away, boys, I'm all in favour of it," were Garrard's words as the operation began.
   It was, as Wivern's officers pronounced it afterward, "a magnificent example of sheer guts;" and Garrard's name became, with reason, legendary among all who knew of him. Yet the other Canadian survivors, soon to leave the Mediterranean, took with them also the memory of the wounded British doctor; of the sick bay attendant, steady-handed and bathed in clammy sweat; of the British petty officer who had died while helping a wounded Canadian on Weyburn's bridge. It was not likely that they would have to be preached to thereafter of the virtues which underlay the peculiarities of the limeys.

   Douglas devotes a solid chapter of about fifty pages to the "battle of the St Lawrence" from February 1942 through December 1943. Hadley's U-Boats against Canada amounts to well over three hundred pages on exactly the same subject. Here's what No Higher Purpose has to say about the loss in the Gulf of St Lawrence of another Canadian warship:

   Their confidence was rewarded next morning, 11 September. The Bangor Clayoquot and the corvette Charlottetown, which had escorted SO 35 and were now returning to base at Gaspe, steamed directly towards U517's submerged patrol. Because Clayoquot was short of fuel, the ships were not zigzagging. Shortly after 0800, while onlookers watched from shore, six to seven miles away, one torpedo hit the starboard quarter of the corvette and another close to the engine room. The crew calmly abandoned the rapidly sinking ship. Tragically the explosion of the torpedo in the stern had evidently damaged the pistols of the depth charges stored there, all of which had been checked to make sure they were set to "safe" the day before. One of the charges detonated as the stern slipped below the surface, and it was this explosion that caused most of the casualties, five dead, including the commanding officer, and thirteen seriously injured.
   Clayoquot's counter attacks knocked its own radio out of commission, and so the Bangor was unable to signal until over three hours after the destruction of Charlottetown. Meanwhile, reports from people who had seen the incident from shore that [sic] reached senior commands within about an hour and a half, and EAC sent three aircraft to the scene. During the afternoon the British destroyer Witherington searched the Cap Chat area. The sailing of OS 34 had been delayed until Witherington arrived from Halifax on the morning of the 11th, and the convoy was only a few hours out of Bic Island when Charlottetown had been attacked. Witherington had dashed ahead of the convoy in response to the news of Charlottetown's sinking, and through much of the rest of the convoy's passage to Sydney over the next two days operated at a distance, leading other warships from Gaspe in searches around Anticosti where sighting reports—from observers on shore and a transport aircraft, both dubious sources—suggested the U-boats might be operating. U 517 had, in fact, made its way through the passage between Anticosti and the Gaspe Peninsula, south of the areas identified by the sighting reports, hoping to locate a convoy off Gaspe. All Hartwig saw were searching escorts and, more frequently aircraft—he described the waters close to the Gaspe shore as "heavily patrolled"—and therefore he had pushed east across the gulf towards Newfoundland and then reconnoitred towards Bird Rock, north of the Magdalene Islands. "Only heavy air cover encountered," Hartwig recorded, possibly reflecting the efforts of the air force General Reconnaissance schools at Charlottetown and Summerside in Prince Edward Island, which were routing as many as 140 training flights per day over the waters north of the island to support the shipping defences. The situation did not improve as the submarine made its way back towards Gaspe on 13 to 14 September; Hartwig sighted thirteen aircraft.

   Hadley goes into considerably more detail about operations in the Gulf of St Lawrence, especially from the German perspective, and he expands the loss of Charlottetown to several pages including a paragraph written by the ship's executive officer, excerpts from newspaper accounts and editorials, and an indictment of "serious errors of judgment" aboard Charlottetown. Here are the first paragraphs of what Hadley has to say about 11 September:

   Neither Charlottetown nor Clayoquot had any indication of U-517's presence until Hartwig's double salvo struck Charlottetown's quarter at 0803 local time, after a brief run of a mere 14 seconds. Hartwig was so close that he could see the depth charges stored on his victim's quarterdeck, which would contribute so heavily to loss of life. Charlottetown's Executive Officer, LCdr George Moors of Fort William, was on the bridge when his ship was hit; Able Seaman R. Pearson of Vancouver claimed to have glimpsed the first torpedo, which "struck aft and turned the ship completely around so that it headed in the opposite direction." The engine room artificer was apparently the only person killed by the torpedo itself. All other casualties occurred in the water.
   Immediately after the first torpedo had struck, as the Executive Officer later reported, the crew proceeded to abandon ship. No order to abandon was necessary because of the obviously severe damage to the ship's stern. Charlottetown was settling so rapidly aft that ship's company automatically followed ingrained, routine emergency measures. The starboard sea boat was "launched, but the port one could not be gotten away due to the list of the ship and the fact that it was inboard with davits swung out" and gripes off. Anxiety, fear, and determination filled the ship's last minutes. But heroism and compassion overrode even the instinct of self-preservation. Telegrapher Fred Rush (Winnipeg) gave his life-jacket to Engine Room Artificer Miller who could not swim, before himself going over the side. Rush swam about in the choppy, oil coated sea until picked up by one of the rafts. He was one of those injured by exploding depth charges as Charlottetown sank. Tommy MacDonald of Peterborough lost his life while trying to retrieve a drifting Carley float for his floundering shipmates. Survivors extolled Sick Bay Attendant Cecil Bates of Brandon who attended the injured throughout their ordeal even though he himself was hurt.
   All but three of the ship's company of sixty-four had apparently gotten clear before Charlottetown went down, some swimming, others on floats and in the boat. One was later picked up clinging precariously to a bully-beef box; another floating on one of the ship's fenders. One of the last survivors to leave was the ship's mascot Screech, who was flung into the sea at the last minute by Frank Dillon. The dog's master, Able Seaman Charles Garland of Gallagher, New Brunswick, was lost with the ship. He had, in the words of the First Lieutenant, "show[n] especial gallantry in standing by and passing out lifejackets from the locker, giving them all away when he himself could not swim." As Charlottetown sank inexorably by the stern, the commanding officer coolly assisted with rafts and the boat, made sure that everyone was safely off, and in the best traditions of the naval service, was the last to leave his ship.
   At the periscope of U-517, 4 minutes after his first shot, Hartwig observed Charlottetown's bow rise skyward as she slipped stern first to the river bottom 900 feet below. But just as she began to settle, the first of a series of depth charges on her quarterdeck exploded, followed by four or five more as Charlottetown reached greater depths, and the pressure-activated pistols discharged. Unsure whether these initial detonations were from an aircraft or an escort—lack of time and the thick fog prevented sweeping the horizon by periscope—Hartwig dived to 120 m. For some four hours after the attack, U-517 heard either "depth-charge detonations or the explosion of ammunition" in the sunken corvette (KTB). U-517's hydrophones picked up the sound of breaking bulkheads and the hulk dropping into the depths, yet its War Diary notes neither hydrophone contact with a searching escort nor its own detection by asdic. Charlottetown survivors in the water sustained severe internal injuries from these detonations. Some died almost instantly. Others, like the captain and Tommy MacDonald, survived the blasts, only to succumb later in extreme pain. Others fell victim to the cold and the oil....

   Probably closest in approach to the new book is Milner's North Atlantic Run. Like No Higher Purpose, Milner's book keenly studies the political and strategic angles as well as actual operations. Among other similarities, both Douglas and Milner mention the amusing incident (not so humorous at the time) when the Canadian escort Shediac missed a signal, continued on its old course when the cargo ships turned after dark, and never managed to regain contact with the convoy it was supposed to be escorting. Here's Douglas' description of events:

   SC48's initial course was well to the north, towards Greenland, and had been assigned by the US Navy Department at the end of September on the basis of advice from the Admiralty, who had no indications of a renewed German effort in these waters. Donitz was in fact at that very time planning a new deployment to the waters southeast of Greenland to begin about 10 October when a wave of boats, fresh from replenishment and refit, would be able to reach that area. Donitz was concerned that in the latter part of September deployments of boats to the area off Norway and to the Mediterranean, and the concentration in the South Atlantic that was producing meagre returns, had diffused his strength, mostly at the cost of the crucial North Atlantic theatre: "It must be emphasized repeatedly that the enemy today can no longer be found and successfully attacked by small numbers of boats."
   On 7 and 8 October, as Bletchley Park broke the U-boat cyphers for 5 and 6 October, there was evidence of this new deployment but precisely where in the north was unclear. The square assigned, disguised as GB 39, seemed to be AK 39 to the southwest of Iceland and clear of the route assigned to SC48. By 9 October, however, the Operational Intelligence Centre at the Admiralty was concerned about the possibility that the square might actually be AJ 39, southeast of Greenland and right in SC48's path. Early on 10 October, on the Admiralty's recommendation, the US Navy Department directed the convoy to follow a more southerly route. German radio traffic for 9 through 11 October, which Bletchley Park was able to decode on 12 October, confirmed that the patrol line was being established southeast of Greenland. Three boats had already been assigned to the northern part of the line, and now BdU directed four others to extend the line to the south, across SC 48's new course. The US Navy Department quickly accepted the Admiralty's advice and at mid-day on 12 October ordered the convoy to immediately make a sharp alteration to the southeast."
   Heavy seas and poor visibility that had complicated the joining up of SC 48 with the mid-ocean escort north of Newfoundland had never let up. On the evening of 10 October, Shediac, the least experienced of the escorts, had fallen away from the convoy. The ship, as the commanding officer explained, was "not provided with a telescope so that flag signals may be read at a distance." The signal crew had therefore apparently missed the visual signals ordering an evasive alteration of course to take place with the onset of darkness." The next night, Rosthern lost the convoy in increasingly heavy weather. Compounding the difficulty was the fact that the ship's compass could not be trusted. Just prior to sailing from Halifax, the dockyard had installed a radio telephone that affected the local magnetic field on the bridge, which meant that a new set of deviation corrections to apply to raw readings from the magnetic compass would have to be worked out. As the commanding officer explained, "No opportunity arose at sea to find the deviation and on joining the convoy courses were set by keeping station, and because of inexperienced wheelsman no accurate estimate of deviation could be obtained. Throughout the whole trip there was too much rolling and unsteady steering for good azimuths." Neither Rosthern nor Shediac ever managed to find the convoy again as it diverted further and further to the south.
   The escort would thus comprise the five remaining corvettes until such time as Columbia, with her limited endurance (she sailed from St. John's on the morning of 9 October, one day later, so that she could proceed at economical speed to conserve fuel) linked up with the convoy well out to sea. But as things turned out, what was intended to be the escort's sole destroyer was unable to locate the convoy on 11 October—or any time soon. The changes in SC 48's routing, uncertainty about its rate of advance in the heavy seas, and the impossibility in the overcast conditions of getting a sun or star shot to correct the dead-reckoning navigation, set the destroyer on a frustrating pursuit, sprinting to a succession of interception positions and slowly cruising along search courses at each of them without result.

   Milner discusses the Shediac incident within the context of Canadian training and readiness:

   Even before NEF was beaten into submission by the North Atlantic, the slow march to efficiency animated both RN and RCN officers. In mid-September SC 44 lost four ships and the corvette Levis in one night's furious action. The British SOE of another convoy, SC 45, included a strong criticism of his Canadian escorts in his report of proceedings. Again Canadians were sloppy in signalling and reckless in their use of signal lamps by night. His conclusion, that 'their convoy discipline is not good,' was something of an understatement. In action and out of it, the RCN'S expansion fleet displayed an alarming propensity for ineptitude. In fairness, the escorts themselves were hardly to blame for most of this. The example of Shediac's losing her convoy following an emergency turn and then searching for five days to no avail in an attempt to relocate it made professional naval officers' hair turn grey. In the case of Shediac's misadventure, which happened in mid-October while she was escorting SC 48, no one thought to pass the alteration (arranged by flag while it was still light) directly to her. Shediac having no telescope with which to read flags, had a hopeless task, and the convoy simply sailed off the other way after dark. Rendezvous points with the convoy were unknown to Shediac for some inexplicable reason, and her wireless set was improperly tuned, so that transmissions were not received. No group of warships ever sailed so ill prepared for the most rudimentary tasks. When news of Shediac's sojourn reached the Staff at Western Approaches, it was treated as more of the same. Admiral Sir Percy Noble, C-in-C, WA, minuted a bemused 'no action' on the report, while an unknown hand summed up the whole affair in five words: 'A sad state of affairs.'

   Had it been published in 1952 along with Tucker's original volumes, No Higher Purpose would have been a spectacular, highly regarded book dealing with an important subject at a level of sophistication and authority unmatched by any other book concerning the RCN in World War II. It's still a fine, well-written book packed with information and insights. However, authors including Hadley and Milner have in the meantime stolen much of Douglas' thunder. What would have been news forty or fifty years ago is in many instances now just another version of events that have already been explicated with great competence elsewhere.
   First to the publisher or not, however, it needs to be emphasized that Douglas and his colleagues have done a sterling job. If there's one area in particular where No Higher Purpose especially shines, it's the chapter on Canadian naval operations in the Pacific. This is relatively unexplored territory, and Douglas does a great job with the story of the RCN's armed merchant cruisers on the west coast of the Americas, dealing with German merchant ships in the Pacific, the seaward defense of British Columbia (including much interesting material about the local fishing fleets), and support for operations in the Aleutians. These events will probably prove as unfamiliar to readers today as they would have been to readers fifty years ago. This chapter, as well as the whole book, is well-served by attractive maps and diagrams, many in full color.
   Bottom line? This is a very good book, highly recommended, and perhaps one of the top titles of the year. Students of Canadian naval history certainly must have this book, even though they probably already own Milner and Hadley and Schull and Zimmerman. For everyone else, this one volume (plus part two, the forthcoming A Blue Water Navy) is a sufficiently thorough and detailed work to comprise the complete RCN portion of a comprehensive WWII library. Either way, then, this one's a keeper.
   Available from online booksellers, local bookshops, or directly from Vanwell Publishing.
   Thanks to Vanwell for providing this review copy.