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-7- the R.C.A.F., might get home for the festive season too. In any event, Bob hopes to see them before he goes back. “I guess you will be just as happy if Bob has more routine duties in future, Mrs. Jupp?”I said as I was leaving. “I don’t know,” his mother answered. “It is part of his job, and if the emergency arose I should expect him to do his duty again.” After being away from home since the beginning of the war, facing death a score of times, crowding more danger and adventure into a few short months than most men experience in a lifetime, and a long, tiring journey across the continent terminated by a wonderful but nonetheless nerve-taxing receptionâ€"after all that, one would feel that Bob Timbrell was entitled to at least the first day in the relaxing company of his own family. It was with some difficulty that I approached him for an interview, but was gratified by the graciousness of his mother and stepfather, Mr. and Mrs. E.H. Jupp, in giving me a few minutes with him. The story of Dunkirk has been told and need not be repeated. It is one that will live long in the memory of Bob’s many friends in West Vancouver. I asked him for his story of the Margaree. The Margaree was formerly the destroyer H.M.S. Diana, Bob told me, and was recommissioned with her new name when turned over to the Canadian navy. From the b'” September to the 19'^ October she was being refitted in London docks. Bob gave a graphic description of the terrible air raid over London on September “It was absolute hell,” he said. The bombs simply rained down. I don’t think there was much to choose between that air raid and Dunkirk. We were fortunate, as only one D.A. bomb exploded anywhere near us. It pierced our side in about twenty places and showered us with the cement.” They left for a Northern Ireland port on October 19‘^ to take a lai'ge convoy across the Atlantic. Bob went off duty at midnight and was awakened by a sudden jar at 1:30 a.m. on the 22nd. He mshed out of his cabin in his pyjamas and found the deck buckled, with oil swilling about from the tanks below. He pulled on a pair of seaboots and a greatcoat over his pyjamas, but he and the only other two in that cabin found the hatch buckled and jammed. After some heavy shoulder work they forced it open. The destroyer had “been cut in two, and the forepart sank in forty seconds. There was not a single survivor. “There were thirty-six men aft,” Bob said, “and we were considerably hampered in getting across to the freighter by the heavy seas that were running. However, she managed to keep alongside and we got thirty men onto here with ropes and ladders. Two were crushed to death, and four of us were left on the Marearee.” The four remaining made a thorough search of the ship to make sure there were no casualities being left behind. By this time the freighter had drifted away, and they had to heave a raft over the side. They were floating about for an hour and a quarter before being picked up. “There was a filthy sea mnning,” said Bob. “It was impossible to launch a boat, and you can’t manoeuvre a raft. We just had to hang on until the freighter could get alongside.” They poured thirty shells into the Margai'ee that night in an effort to sink her, but were not successful. At daylight they tried to get aboard again, but found the fire had spread to the magazine. A few more shells sent the last of the Margaree to the bottom.