Saltash Castle was portrayed by Castle-class corvette HMS Portchester Castle, pennant F362, as in the film. Although she had been paid off in 1947, she was held in reserve until broken up in 1958, and so could be made available for use in the film. There is also a moment when the Compass Rose discovers a lifeboat floating alone on the sea, a single dead man inside, sitting at the rudder: Here were the ships, assembling for their long uncertain voyage: here was Compass Rose, appointed to guard them: here was Ferraby himself, a watchkeeping officer — or practically so — charged specifically with a share of that guardianship. His pale face flushed, his expression set in a new mold of determination, Ferraby surveyed the convoy with pride and a feeling of absolute proprietorship. Our ships, he thought: our cargoes, our men. . . . None would be surrendered, of this convoy or of any other, if it depended on any effort of his. the time for sensibility was past, gentleness was outdated, and feeling need not come again till the unfeeling job was over." p. 106.

It had gone on too long, it had failed too horribly, it had cost too much. They had been at action stations for virtually eight days on end, missing hours of sleep, making do with scratch meals of cocoa and corned-beef sandwiches, living all the time under recurrent anxieties that often reached a desperate tension. There had hardly been a moment of the voyage when they could forget the danger that lay in wait for them and the days of strain that stretched ahead, and relax and find peace. They had been hungry and dirty and tired, from one sunrise to the next: they had lived in a ship crammed and disorganized by nearly three times her normal complement. Through it all, they had had to preserve an alertness and a keyed-up efficiency, hard enough to maintain even in normal circumstances. Stand by to get those survivors inboard. We won’t lower a boat — they’ll have to swim or row towards us. God knows they can see us easily enough. Use a megaphone to hurry them up.”

This had been on my "to read" list for years. The notion of "war at sea" is not one that comes easily to me. I once had an argument with someone whilst rowing on Roath Park Lake. I got scared, because I was in a position of conflict with about 2 feet of water below me. It reminded me of the time, one balmy June day, when the clinker I was rowing in on the very warm Isis river sprung a leak. Two of the scariest moments of my life. THE war to which they went had hardly settled down, even in broad outline, to any recognizable pattern. Can’t be soon enough for me, sir. Proper uproar, this is. A lot of the lads wish they’d joined the Army instead.” They surfaced in secret places, betraying themselves and their frustrated plans: they rose within sight of land, they rose far away in mortal waters, where on the map of the battle, the crosses that were the sunken ships were etched so many and so close that the ink ran together. They surfaced above their handiwork, in hatred or in fear, sometimes snarling their continued rage, sometimes accepting thankfully a truce they had never offered to other ships, other sailors.

The novel, based on the author's experience of serving in corvettes and frigates in the North Atlantic in the Second World War, gives a matter-of-fact but moving portrayal of ordinary men learning to fight and survive in a violent, exhausting battle against the elements and a ruthless enemy. The First Lieutenant used an expression which is novel to me,” he began. “I wish you’d explain what it means.” The ending is low-key, and I like this. The book gives readers a glimpse into another aspect of the Second World War. It is a book featuring so-called “fictional characters”, but it draws the true to life reality of the war as it played out for the men stationed on escort ships guarding convoys. I repeat—Monsarrat writes of that which he knows. It is a masterpiece, I feel in some respects very ahead of its time (coming from my novice literature experience) it doesn’t shy away from anything, even delving into the troubles of married life with a no holes barred approach, which I would guess for the time it was written was taboo to say the least.

Now that I’ve got your attention, let me say that The Cruel Sea is not the greatest war novel of all time. This book focuses on humans that are thrown into war from their peacetime lives. Accountants, bankers, journalists, cargo ship captains, pension seeking peacetime sailors, are all placed in a war that they, as individuals, had very little to do with its inception. From there, the changes in the characters are illustrated through the most extreme of circumstances and the ever-accumulating risk associated with time. Decisions are made and sacrifices are suffered. The enemy becomes transformed from humans with differing points of view into mere objects of resistance: worthy of a hatred that can only be bestowed upon the most inhuman of threats. And the defenders are transformed into machines that are virtually unaware of the hatred that they display. While Leading Signalman Wells was replying, first making Compass Rose’s number and then taking down a long signal about the organization of the convoy, Ericson studied the line of ships coming toward them. They were of all shapes and sizes: tankers, big freighters, small ships that would surely have been better off in the coasting trade than trying the hazards of an Atlantic passage. Some were deep-laden, some were in ballast and uncomfortably high out of the water: they steamed in single file from the narrow Mersey channel: their pendants flew bravely in the sunshine, they seemed almost glad to be putting to sea again. . . . That could hardly be true, thought Ericson with a smile, remembering the tearful good-byes, the hang-overs, the feeling of “Oh-God-here-we-go-again” that attended every sailing; but there was something about the file of ships — forty-six of them — that suggested a willingness to make the voyage, a tough confidence in the future. Halliwell's Film Guide described the film as a "competent transcription of a bestselling book, cleanly produced and acted". [19] See also [ edit ]