by Ian Dear
One of the ships torpedoed that night from SC-7 was the 4255-ton Blairspey, and her master later gave a graphic account of what happened.12 It was very dark with no moon and the visibility was poor, half a mile or perhaps less. At 22.30, while about two hundred miles from land, a torpedo struck the ship on her port side by No. 1 hold about fifty to sixty feet from the bow. Unusually, there was no loud explosion, just a dull thud, and at first the master did not realise what had happened. A large column of water deluged the bridge, but there was no flame, smoke or smell. The ship staggered slightly and took on a small list to port before straightening up again. Then she stopped, as a steam joint had been broken in the engine room, which quickly filled with steam, but when an escort appeared the master reported he was confident he could get his ship into port, as his engineers were making the necessary repairs:
But while this was being done we were torpedoed again at 1am on 19 October, on the starboard side between No. 1 and No. 2 hold about 100 feet from the bow. We were all at our stations at the time. A column of water and some timber was thrown up. I gave orders to abandon ship. The explosion sounded like a dull thud and there was no flame. While abandoning ship we were again torpedoed on the port side amidships about 150 feet from the bow. There was about a 5-minute interval between these two torpedoes. I think there were 2 submarines firing at us, because the ship had stopped and was just drifting to leeward.12
Both lifeboats with all the crew got safely away, though there was a scary moment when a U-boat surfaced near them and someone in the conning tower demanded to know, in perfect English, the ship’s name. But it then submerged and the lifeboats went their separate ways. The master set sail for the nearest land, while the mate decided there was better hope of rescue if he kept his lifeboat close to the crippled ship, which, despite having three torpedoes fired into her, miraculously remained afloat. This was where the Salvonia, dispatched from Campbeltown to find another damaged ship, came upon the mate’s lifeboat on the evening of 19 October, and took the survivors aboard.
After closely inspecting the Blairspey, which must have resembled a giant colander, Lt Stanley Strowger RNR,13 now the Salvonia’s commanding officer, decided there was a fifty-fifty chance of salvaging her. But the weather at the time was too bad to connect up so he stood off and waited until first light, hoping the weather would improve. It did, and on her way back to the Blairspey the rescue tug came across two more lifeboats filled with survivors from two other merchant ships, the Sedgepool and the Clintonia, and took the survivors aboard. All that day, Sunday 20 October, the Salvonia towed the wallowing Blairspey. On the following one, flares were seen in the water and the Salvonia went to investigate. She found yet another lifeboat full of survivors from two steamers, the Port Gisborne and the Saint Malo, which had been sunk from HX-77, the convoy in front of SC-7. The Salvonia took them aboard, bringing the total number of survivors to eighty-five.
It took until Friday 25 October for the Salvonia to tow the Blairspey into the Clyde, a full week after the freighter had been first torpedoed. Such was the damage she suffered that the engineers’ accommodation protruded six feet out from her side. Remarkably, she was repaired and returned to service under a new name, Empire Spey, and saw out the war.14
The last boatload of survivors the Salvonia took aboard included a very brave man whose story cannot be passed over. Aged thirteen, he had run away to sea as a deck boy. He later returned to shore and became a prosperous businessman, and when the war came he chose to serve in the Merchant Navy. His name was Able Seaman Sydney Herbert Light, and his courage and determination before the Salvonia picked him out of the water subsequently earned him the George Medal and Lloyd’s War Medal for Bravery at Sea. This is the citation from The London Gazette of 4 February 1941, which failed to name the Salvonia in its citation:
Seaman Light’s ship [Port Gisborne] was torpedoed at night. One boat was swamped in lowering, with the result that all hands except Able Seaman Light and a greaser were thrown out. Light released the forward fall, and with the greaser holding the boat off eight other men were got aboard. The boat then drifted away from the sinking ship. As she lay broadside on the seas swept over her and daylight found her still afloat, but awash and with her crew worn out with baling. Able Seaman Light, who had taken charge, stepped the mast and set sail. Some ships were sighted, but they failed to see the boat. Heavy rain squalls caused the exhausted crew great hardship. Seaman Light kept his men in good heart and they sailed on until a lifeboat was sighted with no oars, sails or any sign of life except a canvas tent amidships. This boat was found to have sixteen men from a torpedoed merchant ship [Saint Malo] on board. Seaman Light towed the derelict boat in spite of rising seas and wind, which made it necessary to bale the whole time. They sighted an unknown rocky shore, and decided to lie off till daylight, but the boats were driven out to sea again. In a dead calm the men rowed all day till they were worn out.
In the towed boat, men were giving up, and Seaman Light went over into it and himself massaged two men and gave them his stockings, and dressed their wounds. Later, in his own boat again, he massaged a deck boy who was in great pain, and bound up his feet with blanket strips. Provisions and water were placed in the towed boat and later the wind rose again. After ten days of privation, weariness and danger they sighted a British ship [Salvonia]. She answered a flare from the boat and came to the rescue. In a steep sea the exhausted crews were with difficulty transferred to the steamer, where every care was given to them. Seaman Light’s courage, leadership, self-sacrifice and stout heart thus saved not only his own crew but the sixteen men whose boat he had towed and tended so well. This fine seaman kept a log of the whole voyage.15
When the Salvonia landed the exhausted survivors at Greenock, Light was asked where he might be found ashore. He asked what was the best hotel in the town and was told the Tontine. ‘Then that’s my address,’ said Light. His first stop was a naval outfitter where he bought a new outfit, telling the outfitter to send the bill to his banker. He then went off to enquire about the survivors from the lifeboat he had towed, some of whom had been sent to hospital to recover, and also about the men from his own lifeboat. To his fury he was told that as they were penniless they had been sent to the workhouse. ‘His rage at such an indignity being offered to the heroic seamen brought forth such a torrent of invective that matters were soon put right.’15
Unlike The London Gazette, Light remembered the Salvonia and the last entry in his log, which he meticulously recorded on the back of labels soaked off tins of food, read:
I will take this opportunity to express appreciation on behalf of the survivors and myself for the kind consideration and generosity offered to us by the officers and men of HMS Salvonia, and would suggest that a suitably worded letter be sent them by the Directors of the Company.16
He was obviously so impressed with the Rescue Tug Service that he joined it himself and in February 1941 one newspaper reported he was the second officer in an unnamed rescue tug based at Trinidad.
Solo rescue
Though the practice of two tugs working together was implemented whenever possible, and the escort of an ASW trawler was supposed to be mandatory, the Salvonia often had to work alone. For example, on 11 February 1941 the FOIC Greenock signalled the Salvonia, then stationed at Campbeltown under the command by Lt. SF Strowger, that she was to proceed to the south end of Colonsay island and tow in the 2325-ton SS Maclaren that had eight hundred and fifty standards of timber aboard. The ship had struck the rocks off Ardskinish Point, Colonsay, during the early hours of 8 February, and had lost her rudder and stern frame. She had also damaged her propeller, and her bottom under her forepeak and No. 1 hold. She was anchored in twelve fathoms, but was in danger of hitting the rocks again when the tide changed.
Dense fog shrouded the damaged ship when the Salvonia arrived in the area, and she signalled the freighter to send her call letters at 1245 BST and afterwards to blow her whistle at frequent intervals. This enabled the rescue
tug to take a bearing on the ship and she was eventually found with the Port Askaig lifeboat standing by. By now the fog had lifted slightly and SS Maclaren was instructed to have her anchor chain ready to connect with the towing hawser, which consisted of one hundred and twenty fathoms of eighteen-inch manila rope and a five-inch steel wire hawser.
The weather was moderate, with a force 4 wind. But progress was slow, two to three knots, as the damaged ship towed badly. She was down by the head and, without a rudder or propeller to steer her, sheered very badly. Soon she was reporting that her forepeak and No. 1 hold were leaking, and with night coming on, those aboard her were becoming increasingly anxious:
Eventually they signalled the Salvonia: ‘Where are we going?’ to which the Salvonia replied: ‘Toward Point Greenock.’
Later, probably seeing her tow further down by the head, the Salvonia asked: ‘What is your condition. Will you stand tow to Clyde?’
Maclaren: ‘Why not take us to Oban.’
Salvonia: ‘You will be unable to get repairs done there.’
Maclaren: ‘No, but we can get water under control.’
Salvonia: ‘If you cannot keep water under control we will take you to Islay Sound and pump you out.’
Maclaren: ‘No. We will keep you informed about water.’
Fifteen minutes later, the Maclaren signalled, with perhaps a hint of panic: ‘Can you take me to safe anchorage. It is not prudent to go to sea.’
Salvonia: ‘I am increasing speed and altering course for Orsay Light. If necessary, will take you into Loch Indaal.’
Maclaren: ‘OK, but at your own risk.’
Salvonia: ‘Where are you leaking and by how much?’
Maclaren: ‘No. 1 hold nine feet. Increase not yet known.’
Salvonia: ‘Let us know increase.’
Maclaren: ‘What lights shall we show tonight?’
Salvonia: ‘Show no lights. Do not signal after dark unless in emergency and only use small light.’
Maclaren: ‘Have one blade on propeller. Will try slow ahead.’
Maclaren: ‘Have 11 feet of water in No. 1 hold. Pumps won’t take it.’
Maclaren: ‘My DG gear [degaussing] is out of order.’
Salvonia: ‘Will take you by swept channel. No need to worry.’
However, the ship’s master had every reason to worry as he later signalled: ‘Water port side No. 1 14 feet. Starboard side No. 1 11 feet. Forepeak full.’
And a little later: ‘Water 18 feet.’
But then: ‘Water same’, which must have come as a relief to Lt Strowger. However, there were other dangers now present and he signalled: ‘Switch your lights out. Aircraft attacking shipping in vicinity.’17
It must have been a nail-biting few hours before rescue tug and tow reached the safety of Greenock, but such work was duly rewarded when in March 1941 the CCRT recommended awards to Salvonia’s crew:
Salvonia has been employed in Western Approaches on Rescue work since the early days of the War, and has been instrumental in salving 13 ships with a total tonnage of 81,877 tons… [She] has spent long periods at sea unescorted and always subject to attack by enemy submarines and aircraft. She has worked with considerable determination and maintained great efficiency.17
Strowger was singled out for praise, the CCRT writing that he had ‘displayed great courage, devotion to duty and has set a wonderful example of cheerfulness under trying conditions’, and that he should receive ‘substantial recognition’ for his services. There is no record that he did so, but in the King’s Birthday Honours List of July 1941, Salvonia’s chief engineer, Sub-Lt GA Whittle, was awarded the MBE, one of her firemen, SH Gifford the BEM, and the chief radio officer, WE Sawnay, and one of the seamen, GM Foster, were mentioned in despatches.
Then, in August, the Director of the Trade Division forwarded to the Admiralty’s Honours and Awards Committee a list of the names of the ships Salvonia had saved: two warships [HMS Cheshire and HMS Taku, a submarine] and seventeen merchant ships totalling 101,512 tons. He suggested such outstanding work was worthy of conveying to the rescue tug crew their Lordships’ appreciation of this outstanding record. ‘With the winter months before them, it is felt that some official encouragement would be an added incentive to continue their good work.’18 Their Lordships agreed and a letter of congratulations was duly dispatched.
Even while this correspondence was being disseminated, the Salvonia was involved in another – and highly unusual – towing operation. She was at Reykjavik when she received a signal to sail immediately to the south coast, to a position near Thorlakshofn. Somewhat to the crew’s surprise, when they arrived there it wasn’t an Allied merchantman that had run aground but a German Type VIIC U-boat, U-570. This had been damaged by depth charges from an Allied aircraft on 27 August 1941 and had subsequently surrendered to naval forces, which had converged on the area to finish her off. Her crew had disposed of the U-boat’s Enigma cipher machine and codebooks, but she was, nevertheless, a valuable prize, and the ships surrounding her were ordered to prevent her at all costs from being scuttled.
One of the ships approached the U-boat and, with considerable enterprise, signalled her crew: ‘If you make any attempt to scuttle I will not save anyone, and will fire on your rafts and floats’, to which the U-boat crew replied: ‘I cannot scuttle or abandon; Save us tomorrow please.’19 Saved they were and the U-boat was beached to ensure she did not sink. Salvonia’s second officer, Sub-Lt Louis Colmans RNR, later recorded:
On arrival off Thorlakshofn, we found the U-boat lying broadside to the beach and rolling heavily in the surf. Anchoring as close as possible to the shore, our boat was lowered and rowed ashore with Lt-Commander Watchlin [the Salvage Officer from Reykjavik] and myself. We had some difficulty boarding the submarine due to the heavy rolling, but managed to do so with some of our crew members.’21
An initial examination revealed that while considerable damage had been sustained to some electrical gear, and there was water and flotsam sloshing around, it looked as if the U-boat had escaped major damage. It was then examined from a salvage point of view and it was decided to put a heavy five-inch wire strop around her hull. This proved difficult, but achievable. By the time the strop was in position a party of naval experts, flown out from Britain, had boarded the submarine, having finished their journey from Reykjavik by Bren gun carrier and finally by pony. They pumped out the surplus water, worked on the engines, and got the U-boat into a seaworthy condition. One hundred and twenty fathoms of eighteen-inch manila rope and fifty fathoms of five-inch wire were then connected by the Salvonia. Colmans reported that it was a rather heavy job but noted that the Salvonia had ‘an excellent crew, consisting in the main of Brixham fishermen’.
There was a good tide and the U-boat refloated without too much difficulty, and Salvonia towed her round to Hvalfjord. ‘To all of us on Salvonia,’ the report ended, ‘this was a great day entering the fjord with so many British and American warships at anchor there.’20
The U-boat was repaired and relaunched as HMS Graph and the following year took part in three operational patrols before being decommissioned in February 1944. The next month she was being towed to the Clyde to be scrapped when the tow broke in high winds and she was driven ashore and wrecked.
Colmans’ report also recorded that on 6 September 1941 the Salvonia received yet another message of appreciation for her work with U-570, this time from the admiral commanding Iceland Command. It read: ‘Hearty congratulations on successful completion of a difficult and important operation.’
Dutch losses and problems
The casualty rate for the Dutch rescue tugs was high. In October 1940, Lauwerszee was sunk by a mine near Plymouth with the loss of twelve of her crew, and the next month Witte Zee struck rocks near Port Eynon, South Wales, and became a total loss. Zwarte Zee was another early casualty when a bomb narrowly missed her in Falmouth harbour in August 1940 and she sank in shallow water. It took until February 1941 to repair her, after whi
ch she was stationed at Campbeltown. On 17 March 1941, she and one of the new Assurance class, Prudent, were ordered to assist ships from the eastbound convoy HX-112, which had been attacked by several U-boats. Many of the ships were tankers carrying precious fuel supplies, and the convoy was heavily escorted, but even though two U-boats were sunk, six ships were torpedoed.
The two rescue tugs found nothing at the co-ordinates they had been given. They were then directed to the north-east and contact was made on the morning of 19 March with one of the escort trawlers which was standing by the 8138-ton Norwegian tanker Beduin.
‘Vessel apparently whole,’ Prudent’s commanding officer, Lt Guy Quine RNR, later reported, ‘although almost vertical with only portion of stern above water.’ A message was sent to the FOIC Greenock saying the ship was not salvageable, and the two rescue tugs then proceeded to the assistance of another Norwegian tanker, the 9000-ton Ferm. When she was reached on the evening of 19 March, the outcome for any rescue attempt seemed equally bleak, for Quine later wrote that she ‘had a very heavy list to port with main deck line under water with seas breaking over her’.
Valuable time was lost when a boat sent by the trawler escort was nearly swamped when it came alongside the Prudent. It was, anyway, much too small to take the extra men needed to connect up with the damaged tanker. The light was going fast and the commanding officers of both tugs agreed that any further attempts to board the Ferm must wait until morning.
