patrolling the seas round the convoy like an alert sheepdog guarding his flock, Aldis flickering as he exchanged signals with the Naval escort.
A bit late to jump in with this tale, but never mind:
My Dad was a Visual Signaller (Bunting Tosser) in HMS Forester, with Canadian Close Escort Group C1 based in Londonderry. Now Dad was a hardened "regular" matelot, not an HO "Hostilities Only" rating and he managed the impressive pitching and rolling of a small ship in the North Atlantic completely impassively. A cold fried egg sliding about his plate in an Atlantic gale was no problem and he'd eat the HO's rations too when they turned green.
Apparently the aircrews found the naval signallers' lamp aiming a bit too slack as they were more accustomed to flashing at larger targets. Someone in Liverpool decided that signallers should be sent off to fly with an aircraft and see for themselves the problem from the aircrew POV. So, next time into Londonderry, while the rest of the crew enjoyed a spot of shore leave, Dad and the other three Bunting Tossers were sent off to do a spot of flying. He clambered aboard the alloted Catalina and settled himself against a bulkhead. As the aircraft taxied out and performed the take-off roll it was just like being afloat. No problem. As soon as they became airborne it was another story - he was violently sick and lay groaning on the floor for the whole trip. And Catalina sorties were very long affairs indeed.