Alan Mc Ivor - pictured
here on the right (with his friend and shipmate John Garner)
Alan died in 2007:
It is with great sadness that I recently announced on our website of the
death of Alan Mc Ivor. I had the honour and pleasure of knowing Alan for
more than ten years. He had many traits that made him unique: a devilish
sense of humour: absolute sincerity, coupled with him also being one of
the warmest and most welcoming persons I ever had the privilege to know.
In 1997 I wrote a small article for Saga magazine –‘The Death of
Force Z’ Alan’s account of the sinking of Prince of Wales was
breathtaking but, in keeping with his humble nature, it was all matter
of fact. Indeed, when interviewing him I had to keep reminding myself
that this old ‘fella’ had taken part in one of WW2’s most pivotal
battles and here he was talking as though it was another day at the
I have lost many great friends from the association over recent years
– the ravages of age has no exceptions – Alan was one of my closest.
I will miss him immensely. My thoughts are with his wife Molly and their
family at this moment in time.
It is perhaps fitting to end this epitaph by reciting a poem taken from
Bert Wynn’s memoirs ‘Shadows of the Ensign’ (which is on our
site). In keeping with the theme of this tribute I very much doubt
whether later generations will ever be able fill the footsteps of men
such as Alan.
Chairman, Prince of Wales and Repulse Survivors Association.
'Reflections from Guzz'.
Once I looked from the Tamar Bridge at the warships down below,
ships of the modern navy with names I did not know.
And, as I stood and gazed at them on the water far below
I saw a fleet of phantom ships and men of long ago.
The Rodney and the Nelson, the Valiant and Ramilies
Repulse, Renown and Malaya, coming home from foreign seas.
I saw Revenge and Warspite, ill-fated Royal Oak,
so many ships, their names made faint by shell and fire and smoke.
And some I see to harbour come as thro glasses dark,
the Barham and the Glorious, the Eagle and the Ark,
and then, there comes the greatest, the mighty warship Hood,
dark and grey and wraithlike, from the spot on which I stood.
From the cruel North Atlantic, from the Med and Java sea,
the big ships and the little ships returned for me to see.
There's the Dorsetshire, Edinburgh, Campbeltown and Kent,
the Cossack, and Courageous, the Charybdis and Ardent.
Now I can't see very clearly, must be smoke that's in my eyes,
but mercifully hidden are the men and stilled, their raucous cries.
You don't know Shorty Hasset, he won the D.S.M.
He still fought on when Exeter was burning stern to stem.
Where now...! Dodger Long and Lofty, where now the boys and men?
They are lost and gone forever-shall we see their likes again?
I thought I saw them mustering on deck for daily prayer,
and heard 'For those in Peril' rise on the evening air.
Then darker grew the picture as the lowering night came on,
I looked down from that lofty bridge, but all the ships were gone.
Those mighty ships had vanished; gone those simple men,
we'll surely never-ever, see the likes of them again.
(Acknowledgements to 'Rodney Buzz')
Rest In Peace