As a small boy, Mike Cooksey used to hear snippets of his father's wartime stories, but never knew the extent of his exploits. More than 60 years later he came face to face with a man who lived, laughed and fought under his father's command.

The sprightly 73 year old travelled from his home near Bristol to meet Tommy Shields in Larne, whose modest accounts of his actions under enemy fire belie the truth, which Mike believes saved many allied lives and in particular Mike's father.

After sifting through his father's papers Mike discovered the account of the journey of the ML1030 near Crete and subsequently learnt that its sister ship, the ML1387, had been restored and is berthed in Southampton. With his appetite whetted, Mike couldn't believe his luck when he stumbled on the YPAM story online, featuring the boat his father commanded and then discovered that a survivor of the war was alive and well and willing to share his account of the Crete evacuation.

In addition Peter Siddall, the son of the ship's stoker Harold Siddall, had aleady been in contact with Mike. The pair began to share information on their fathers Naval experiences and the ML in particular.

Audio Clip I: Mike Cooksey explains the background to meeting up with Tommy.

Mike meets Tommy at his home in Larne, Co.Antrim

The account below was published in Lloyds List and Shipping Gazette Monday November 10th I941. It was the result of a letter sent by Mike Cooksey's father, Lt W 0 Cooksey, skipper of ML 1030 to his brother in law George Stewart a Lloyds Broker who was then Chairman of Stewart Smith and Co.

Much has been written and justifiably written about the part played by small craft in the evacuation of Dunkirk, but not much has been heard of their work in the evacuation of Crete. Here is a story of the adventures of a Motor Launch which was shipped out to the middle east some time before the German attack on Crete:

"The boat duly arrived at Port Said and I had to take her round to Alexandria. Being by myself, this meant sixteen hours on the bridge making a night passage. The weather was foul, the decks leaked like a sieve, having opened up in the blazing sun coming out, the result was that everything was soaked down below. We had the decks caulked in Alexandria and started our job of night patrol, very often clicking daytime jobs as well as emergencies. This lasted until we received orders to proceed to Suda Bay in Crete. I expect that those names mean little or nothing at home, but believe me when I tell you that we who were there will always have vivid memories of everything they stood for. Before starting out I had a young 'No 1" just out from England, appointed to me; then we set out on our 500 mile run.

ML I030

We made Suda Bay safely in fairly good time and at first life was fairly normal. We did our night patrols and with the exception of occasional air raids, our days were uneventful. Life began to get very trying from May 16th onwards, when raids became more regular and of greater intensity; dive bombing was introduced and machine gunning with incendiary and explosive bullets was the order of the day. At first our Anti Aircraft batteries kept them in check, but they came over in such numbers that eventually we were more or less at their mercy and they commenced making a determined effort to sink every ship in the bay. They concentrated on the larger ships one by one.

At that time we received no direct attention unless we made things too unpleasant for them when they were attacking another ship, and this we did as often as we could. Our boat brought down one plane and participated in the bringing down of three more. However, they eventually started cleaning up the smaller craft and things got damnably hot. As you know, we are all wood, very light at that, and have little protection. Eventually on our return from night patrol we had to make the boat as inconspicuous as possible against the side of the cliff and take to the cliffs in the daytime hiding in the caves or any cover we could find until the raids were over. Our decks were by this time well peppered. We returned to the boat at night and did our usual patrol.

Then came the day when we received orders at 2.30 a.m. to clear out and try to make Alexandria, or alternatively, if it was too late, to burn our boats and try and get to Sphakia on the south coast. The message was verbal and the messenger had forgotten the name of the place that did not help much. It was too late to start away then, since we could not possibly make the south coast of Crete before dawn, and air patrols were very active from that time onwards. I therefore dropped the mast, ran out of the bay, took shelter behind a small island close to the cliffs and covered all exposed glass, hoping for the best that the patrols would miss her. I was in a small cave overlooking the most terrific and continuous bombing and machine gunning of an area about five miles square on the opposite side of the bay but that is another story.

We were not spotted, although Jerry was advancing rapidly on both sides. We slid out of the bay after dark and although machine gunned as we turned west round the headland, managed to get clear. Except for occasional scares due to flares the trip around was uneventful and we arrived at the south west corner of Crete just before dawn. I had intended to take cover under the cliffs at this point for the day and make another night dash for Alexandria. However, we found the Germans in possession a ship was burning and flares plentiful. I waited not upon the order of my going and decided to try and make and island called Gavdipulo which is about 25 miles south of Crete, hoping to get cover before we were spotted. Vain hope.

William Cooksey was actually a dentist, but had withheld that information when he was embodied to ensure that he could get back to the Little Ships on which he had already served during the latter part of WWl. He was 48 years old at the time of the Crete evacuation but declared afterwards that he never been so physically fit as a result!

At 5.30 a.m., when only 15 miles from the island, a Heinkel spotted us. He gave us the once over, decided that he didn't like us and commenced to attack. We fought him off whilst the ammunition lasted; two guns jammed and let us down, giving him his chance to do his stuff.

I called all the crew into the shelter of the wheel house with the exception of one man on the bridge to keep watch ' and let me know Jerry's movements; One man took the starboard side of the wheelhouse and one the port. I had the wheel and with a running commentary from these three lookouts, the fun started. (Jerry had been joined by a pal by then). Directly they gave the word that the bombs had been unloaded I manoeuvred the boat to avoid them.

We cleaned out one plane but the second got us with the fifteenth bomb to be dropped, blowing off the forepart of the boat. Every attempt to get the dinghy and rafts was circumvented by their machine gunning us with explosive and incendiary bullets. We seemed to spend a lifetime dodging in and out of the wheelhouse while the boat went more and more down by the head. I had my" Sparks" wounded at this time. Eventually, with the boat afire, our pals either got bored or were well satisfied we could do nothing to help ourselves, and cleared off.

We had to hastily stop up the bullet holes in the dinghy with splinters of wood and tinned sausage meat plus elastoplasts and, dropping her over the side with one raft, got away with seven in the dinghy and three on the raft. We then pulled for the coast of Crete. Things were very difficult and we had to bale the whole time. There was a good sea running which kept swamping the boat. When the raft was not awash, it was capsized. Pulling was maddening there was only one pair of oars and row locks, so two men had to sit side by side on a small seat; this led to irregular pulling with the raft pulling us all angles and our course was more than erratic.

After several hours rowing, when we seemed so close to Crete, I realised we could not make it owing to the set of the tide and the wind, so altered course for the island which we reached at 3 a.m. the following day after 21 hours rowing.

We had no water or food all that time, so after a rest we searched for water. None was to be found. Things were getting rather serious. The men on the raft had never called for relief until utterly exhausted and at no time did I ever have to detail a relief. One man instantly slipped over the side and swam to the raft, which we hauled in and got the exhausted man on board all very ticklish in a ten foot dinghy and a rough sea on the quarter. By 11 a.m. the sea had moderated. We decided to discard the raft, which in any case none of us had the strength left to pull, so, all ten getting on board the 10 ft dinghy we left the island in another attempt to reach the coast of Crete. We had only about 5 inches freeboard and had to continue baling out the whole time, although we had by then repaired the worst of the holes with the leather taken off the oars.

We managed to strike the coast at 5.30 a.m. after a further 18 hours continuous rowing and baling you can guess that we were all pretty well out for the count we found a cave, hid the dinghy and flopped out. Then we began another search for water, without any luck, but by mid day we were found by an Australian soldier, who, with a couple of his pals fetched us water and dry crusts, all they could get they too were hiding up in the hills with about fifty more. We joined them at their camp that night.

Audio Clip 2 : Mike and Tommy recount the harrowing journey in the over-filled dinghy in the sea around Crete - avoiding enemy aircraft and coping with debilitating thirst and hunger.

click on Mike's map for a detailed view of the journey the men faced.

I advised them to split up their members into parties of ten the next morning and trek along the coast to a place called Sphakia, which from my chart looked to be a likely place for an evacuation, or at any rate a place where we might get hold of a boat. I arranged for half my crew to be split up amongst them to get over the water difficulty. It meant a march over foul ground and mountains of about 20 miles but with a 99% chance of getting there. My "Sub" went with them. I could not leave my wounded men and three more who had no shoes, so I called for a volunteer to come with me in the dinghy along the coast in an attempt to get them round. The Chief Engineer volunteered although he knew we stood little or no chance on account of the patrol planes in daylight. He gave his boots to the youngest of the bootless boys and the shore parties set off.

We left at about 9 a.m. I found I had to row nearly the whole way, the other boys were good for one oar each but were too raw at a pair of oars to take the dinghy close in around the rocks and reefs where we had to make our way to avoid detection. We had many scares and twice had to leave the boat and run for shelter into the rocks. However, about 4 p.m. I realised we were close to Sphakia Bay. I warned the boys that we dare not go much further in daylight as we did not know if the Germans were in occupation, so we decided to go into the first decent bit of cover we could find, wait for dark and decide what to do.

I rowed on round the next bend and saw a really big cave right ahead. Rowing like steam for it I had the shock of my life when we were challenged and for a few horrible moments thought that we had lost the rubber, but the next moment we recognised one of our own Landing Craft which was in hiding awaiting the darkness to fall to assist with the final evacuation that night. We clambered on board just in time as Jerry started machine gunning right and left apparently not at anything in particular so far as we could see, which in that cave was not far.

The evacuation was carried out and we arrived in Alexandria about 6 p.m. the following day, very much the worse for wear and owning just what we stood up in. I found my "Sub" there. He had come over in another boat. He said all our other boys had reached Sphakia but had had to conform to a routine before being allowed down on to the beach. He said that while attending to them he missed them and thought they had gone on well they had not. I think I went damn near crazy when I heard that, after all they had been through, they had got beaten at the post. For the first week I explored every possible avenue to trace their possible return, but had to give up hope in the end. I still think they are nothing worse than Prisoners of War there. They were great lads."

Tommy and Mike exchange documents and "secrets" !

Mike is currently continuing his research into the complete history of the ML1030 for the Medusa Trust.

Tommy, as ever, is in fine fettle and recalls the extreme dangers of war as if it were all a boyhood adventure - "You know, it sounds strange, but I wouldn't have missed it."

During the meeting the many in-jokes and laughter without detail, were explained away as " our little secrets". It was a great privilege to be a part of the this meeting, which was a very personal and emotional one.

YPAM would like to thank Mike and Tommy for their openness and wish them both the best of health and good fortune.