Escape from Crete

Skills developed on an old Auckland mullet boat, the Nomad, saved World War II soldier Bella Johnston from a German bullet when he was stranded in Crete, writes SANDRA GORTER.

During World War II one New Zealand soldier and his mates had every reason to be thankful for his Kiwi boating upbringing.

As a tanned, chunky teenager in the early 1930s, Bella Johnston had brought the champion mullet boat Nomad alive with his cheeky sense of humour.

Earlier in the century mullet boats were popular in the Hauraki Gulf as fishing vessels. Their shallow draught allowed them to sail the creeks and rivers of the gulf and their beamy hulls were designed to carry a sizeable catch of mullet, a fish eagerly sought after by the markets of Auckland.

They had a lot of sail for small boats, which made them ideal for a fast return to Auckland, where the first boat back to the docks got the best prices.

By Johnston's time, mullet boats had been overtaken as fishing boats by larger vessels with engines. But far from being redundant, the mullet boats were eagerly sought after by yachties looking for fast boats to compete in the racing held by the boating clubs of the Waitemata.

Many of Auckland's young men learned to sail in these small, fast boats. In the 1930s, sailing was one of the few activities available to young people looking for a social life.

Bella Johnston, Tom Townson, Harry Gillard and the crew of the Nomad were a tight-knit group and the bonds of friendship, firmly reinforced by the successes they enjoyed racing, were to last a lifetime.

In those pre-World War II days Herne Bay was on the city outskirts, near the end of the tramline. There was no harbour bridge or motorway around the foreshore as there is now and, like most suburbs, Herne Bay supported its own sailing club. The Nomad was among its fleet of mullet boats.

A former crew member, Harry Gillard, of St Heliers, recalls these early days of Waitemata racing. "My days in mullet boats were probably the best sailing days of my life," says Gillard, who is now in his 80s.

"You got a good crew and they used to stick together - cut each other's throats racing and be the best of mates off the water.

"The mullet boats taught us to take care of the boats and to watch the weather. You didn't have a motor to get you out of trouble in a gale - you had to look out for trouble before it happened.

"We had a lot of fun. In the winter days during the Depression we would haul up at Cox's Creek and everybody would help each other. It was a marvellous feeling and of course in those days you knew everyone on the harbour."

When war broke out in 1939 the racing fleet was largely put in dry dock. The young crews left home for the war in Europe and the Pacific and if they came back, it was as men.

Johnston left New Zealand along with others from the Herne Bay Club in the 5th Field Artillery. Johnston's decision was a disappointment to his father. The grandson of Ngati Kuri chief Hatarana Whakaruru, he had wanted his son to train as an officer with the 28th (Maori) Battalion. Instead he chose to fight with his sailing friends from Herne Bay.

As events unfolded, this was a lucky choice for his comrades. Johnston's sailing experience on the Hauraki Gulf not only saved his life when he and thousands of others were stranded on the Greek island of Crete, he was able to help to save the lives of the men with him.

The story begins in 1942 when the 5th Field Artillery was caught, with the Allied Armies, in the retreat from Crete. Johnston was captured and herded into a compound near Galatos with other prisoners.

Food was wretchedly scarce for guards and prisoners alike and to augment their meagre diet many prisoners crawled under the wire at night, crossed the road to a vineyard and ate the green grapes before returning for their share of the prison camp food.

Johnston wrote in his unpublished memoirs, "How we didn't die of colic I'll never know."

He and his mates were caught outside the wire one night. Unable to crawl back inside without being apprehended, they headed inland, sheltering in villages and referring to themselves as His Majesty's Bludgers in recognition of the wonderful generosity they received from the Cretan people.

With his dark skin and Maori features Johnston could pass for a local, and he often used this to his advantage.

He wandered the island, chasing an often-repeated rumour of rescue by Allied submarines, but after a few months on the run he was captured.

Despite interrogation by the Gestapo, Johnston gave nothing away - infuriating his Nazi interrogator to the point where he promised that if Johnston was ever caught again, he had a Mauser ready with a bullet carved with his name.

For good measure he put a 4000-drachma price on Johnston's head.

"It was time to think of a way to export myself from Crete - fast," Johnston commented.

Somehow he ran into two Kiwis - Gil Collins and Tom Moir - who had been looking at ways to escape as well. Moir had scouted a fishing village and found several serviceable boats.

He had already gathered together a party of 10 who were hellbent on escaping.

His problem: none of them had sailing experience. Johnston, with his sailing and racing background, was "just what he needed".

In the black of a Cretan night, Johnston and the 10 men boarded the fishing caique and set sail for Egypt, 900km to the south. Johnston was skipper, providing vital sailing and navigation skills - and, in the extreme circumstances, his even more important sense of humour.

It took the caique and its unlikely crew four days to get to the Northern African coast navigating by the stars.

"We headed due south for no specific place, just Africa," wrote Johnston. "About the only position we were sure of was that we were in the Mediterranean.

"We had little food and stored water in a variety of containers. There was petrol, diesel, olive oil, engine oil, wine and a couple of unidentified flavours. Needless to say we arrived in Africa with our water supply practically intact!"

Even when they arrived it was not plain sailing. The men tried to identify themselves to an RAF Sunderland that circled overhead by waving their pay books in the air.

"Not surprisingly the drongos in the Sunderland were unable to identify them at first."

Instead, it trained its rear twin guns on them by way of invitation to come ashore.

There were no medals for the men who made this escape. When he arrived in Egypt, Johnston was asked to return to Crete to help to evacuate the remaining Allied troops.

He would never talk about the mission, other than to say that he went by submarine. His family do know that he received a Military Medal from General Freyberg for his part in the operation.

After the war Johnston took up sailing again, this time in his own Logan B-class keeler, Kotiri.

When he sold the Kotiri it was to buy an engagement ring for Nancy Irvine, who became his wife. The Nomad was less fortunate.

Like most of the Auckland fleet she had been laid up for the duration of the war and after 20 years in the mud under the cliffs at Pt Chevalier she was in a sorry condition.

In 1974, inspired by her history and racing record, present owner Ron Copeland eventually persuaded the widow of former crew member Tommy Soloman, to sell her. It was a huge wrench for the family.

Ron and Michelle Copeland embarked on a 12-year restoration of the Nomad at the bottom of their garden in Bayswater.

They still race and cruise her today and were at the helm when Nomad won her class in the Logan regatta in 2000 alongside the enormous, 1930s J-class America's Cup yacht, Velsheda, one of the glamour boats of the regatta which was raced between the rounds of the Louis Vuitton and the America's Cup in 2000 and attracted classic yachts from the Mediterranean, America and around the world.

Although Johnston died in 1975 the crew still often recall his piercing wit and sailing ability with obvious affection.

And, as with many of the old boats of Auckland, the stories of the early crew - including Johnston's adventures in Crete - have become a part of the history of the Nomad.

Earlier this year Ron Copeland contacted Johnston's sister Jean and his daughters, Robyn, Dale and Briar. The daughters especially, knew little of their father's sailing past and welcomed the chance to learn more of his early life sailing on the Hauraki Gulf.

One cloudy day in October they celebrated with Ron Copeland on the Nomad and toasted a life and a boat so happily entwined.