Final Voyage

by Eyers, Jonathan

  Suddenly the ship lurched. For a few seconds everyone on board must have assumed the Lancastria was entering her death roll. She listed so badly to starboard that men still jumping from her port side risked death by dropping 70ft (20m) to the water. On the starboard side, however, her gunwale was so close to the water that men could simply step off into the sea. Realising that the crowds pouring up on to the top deck had made the Lancastria top heavy, and that this rather than her water intake was causing the imminent capsize, the officers with the megaphones ordered as many over to the port side as would listen.

  Seemingly miraculously for those still below decks, unaware of what was going on above them, the Lancastria slowly levelled off. She had given them a reprieve, extra time to try and escape. But it would not last long. Gradually, as she took on more and more water, the Lancastria began rolling to port, and this time moving scared young soldiers around the sun deck would not be enough to save her.

  Steam from fractured pipes hissed into companionways. Men held handkerchiefs to their faces so that they wouldn’t get burnt.

  A strong smell of explosives seeped through the cabins and companionways as thousands of men struggled to find a way out. They found passages destroyed by the explosions and exits blocked by fire. Men from the Auxiliary Pioneer Corps tried to unravel fire hoses, but the crush of those desperate to escape made it impossible to fight the flames. Steam from fractured pipes hissed into companionways. Men held handkerchiefs to their faces so that they wouldn’t get burnt.

  In some parts of the ship’s bowels those who managed to survive reported a very British, very orderly evacuation. Out of these reports came the story of Father Charles McMenemy, one of the heroes of the Lancastria’s final moments. A Roman Catholic priest, McMenemy had been in France to serve as chaplain for the troops. With nobody else to lead them, no orders and no idea which way to go, men were attracted to the padre’s calm, quiet authority. He led a group of men through ankle-deep waters at the bottom of the ship and found a way out in the side of the ship. They were only 6ft (1.8m) above the waterline. McMenemy recommended the soldiers ditch as much of their heavy uniforms as possible before they jumped in, because the clothes would only weigh the men down and make it harder for them to swim. When a sergeant-major without a lifejacket revealed he couldn’t swim, McMenemy gave the officer his own lifejacket. Then he jumped in too.

  This was far divorced from the chaos happening elsewhere. Men kicked through locked wooden doors looking for a way out. A young soldier, nerves already shredded by weeks on the run from the Germans, became hysterical. Others quickly shoved him into a cabin to calm him down and to stop the hysteria spreading. In one episode, bordering on slapstick, a slim man managed to slip through a porthole and then a somewhat less slim man tried to copy him. He promptly got stuck and called for a push. That only wedged him in tighter. Eventually they gave up and pulled him back inside instead.

  A young soldier, nerves already shredded by weeks on the run from the Germans, became hysterical.

  But panic really took hold when water started trickling down the stairs. The water had actually pooled inside the ship when the Lancastria listed to starboard and was now simply flowing through the ship, gravity carrying it to the lowest point, as she listed to port. But to the men stuck below, this was a sign that the ship was about to go under. A fight broke out on the main staircase. Men still carrying their rifles, still wearing their heavy packs as ordered by their ranking officers, surged forward into a bottleneck on every deck. Those at the very bottom of the ship, still waiting to get a foot on the first step, were already treading water, which was rising rapidly.

  The wooden staircase could not bear the weight of so many men. When it collapsed it ensured that several thousand men would have no chance of survival.

  The wooden staircase could not bear the weight of so many men. When it collapsed it ensured that several thousand men would have no chance of survival. They didn’t have enough time to find another way out. Though they would have spent the rest of their lives looking, that was soon rendered impossible. The lights went out, and this time they did not flicker back on again. For those nearing the top of the stairs there was the faint promise of daylight above. Everyone else was now trapped in darkness.

  Time running out

  The Lancastria carried 32 lifeboats, each capable of taking about 100 people, which left two thirds of those aboard without a place. Ultimately it was inconsequential that the Lancastria did not have enough boats for everyone. In the 20 minutes she took to sink only two were launched successfully. The crew ordered to launch them found many of the davits rusted. Soldiers struck the davits with the butts of their rifles to try and clear them, but it was soon too late. The Lancastria quickly listed at such an angle that no more lifeboats could be launched.

  In addition to the two boats that got away, another two lifeboats were filled and began to be lowered. One of them became stuck when it was still hanging from the ropes only halfway down. This boat carried women, children and other civilians. A man lost several fingers trying to force a rope through the pulley. Another, a member of the Pioneer Corps manning the lifeboat, took out his knife and cut the rope. Not realising his error until it was too late, he was thrown into the sea along with everyone else in the boat as it fell and then dangled from the one remaining rope at the other end. Another lifeboat also capsized before it reached the water.

  As those on deck began to realise they were not going to escape the ship in a lifeboat, many began to leap.

  As those on deck began to realise they were not going to escape the ship in a lifeboat, many who had ignored the earlier suggestion to jump began to leap. One soldier, still more reticent than his comrades, looked over the side to see again how far it was from the top deck to the water’s surface. In doing so he saved his life. He saw what looked like coconuts floating below him and realised they were decapitated human heads. Other motionless soldiers floated nearby too. By jumping over the side whilst wearing a lifejacket, these men had broken their necks. The force of hitting the water made the lifejacket snap up. The reticent soldier removed his lifejacket, threw it over the side, then jumped in after it. He survived.

  Meanwhile others without lifejackets hurried back into the cabins and lounges, looking for anything that would float when they threw it overboard. Most of these makeshift floats landed on somebody already in the water. The sheer number of people in the sea made it just as hard for those in the water to swim away as it was for those wanting to jump in to do so without hitting anyone. Some men started to climb down rope ladders instead, stepping on fingers and heads in their haste. Others slid down ropes cast over the side, searing the skin off their palms as they descended too quickly.

  As the Lancastria went down by the head, men found it harder not to lose their footing. Some stumbled and then tumbled down the listing deck. The ever increasing pitch also made it difficult for those trying to jump from the rising stern, not least because that was now like jumping from the roof of a tall building. The men took running jumps over the railing. Many misjudged the distance and slid down the hull, getting stranded on the rusted propeller shaft housing, now 30ft (9m) above the sea.

  One man manned his anti-aircraft gun until the water swept him away.

  Those still coming up from below decks reached the bright, blinding sunlight and found that the lack of lifeboats – or even reasonable alternatives to lifeboats – was not actually the most pressing threat. German planes continued to take runs at the Lancastria, but instead of dropping more bombs they strafed the men. Bullet holes pocked the decks. Men who had tried to drive the bombers away with anti-aircraft fire continued to fire back at the planes, even as the bow disappeared beneath the surface and the waterline rushed up the deck. Elsewhere men were still trying to release rafts and lifeboats until the water washed over them and swelled the ropes, making untying knots impossible. One man manned his anti-aircraft gun until the water swept him away.

  The Lancastria’s d
eath roll

  At 4.08pm, only 20 minutes after the attack, the Lancastria slowly rolled over to port. Her sirens, which had wailed the entire time, were finally silenced. The men who had not jumped beforehand, including many of those who were unable to swim, simply floated off the deck as she capsized. The Lancastria settled rapidly, but hundreds of men clambered on top of the upturned hull. Some found dry cigarettes and decided they were unlikely to stay that way for long, so smoked them whilst they could. They knew there was nothing they could do to help those they had seen trapped inside the ship on the other side of portholes. As German planes returned once again to strafe the hull, many of those standing on it linked arms and began to sing British standards, starting with Roll Out the Barrel, then Hanging Out the Washing on the Siegfried Line and, as the ship sank, There’ll Always Be an England.

  There was a gentle swell as the Lancastria disappeared beneath the sea, but the downdraught sucked hundreds underwater. Many of those who couldn’t swim only floated back to the surface after they drowned. A later investigation suggested that whilst the Lancastria could never have survived the damage she suffered, she should have stayed afloat for much longer. Her watertight bulkheads should have stopped her flooding so rapidly. Perhaps the number of people crowded into the belly of the ship, below the waterline, ensured the bulkheads would never have been sealed in time, not without sentencing thousands to death. Most died anyway, but by keeping the bulkheads open everyone was at least given the chance to try and escape.

  Several thousand people now floated in the spot where the Lancastria sank, amidst a field of debris that included smashed wood, deckchairs, clothes, kitbags and lifejackets. The fight for those began immediately. Elsewhere men realised only cooperation would save lives – they formed groups of six, gathered in circles, three of them with lifejackets ensuring the men without lifejackets between them stayed afloat. Other flotsam became essential flotation devices for those who couldn’t swim, as well as those who would have to wait until early evening before rescue. Some of those who couldn’t swim desperately grabbed at those who could. Swimmers surrounded by non-swimmers realised they had to dive beneath the grasping arms to escape. People began to drown.

  For the German planes still circling overhead, the blackcoated sea and the tell-tale rainbow swirls of leaked oil proved an irresistible target.

  Many found themselves splashing in oil. Some 1,400 tons had leaked out of hold 3, and the slick continued to spread around the survivors. Oil blinded plenty, and choked those who accidentally swallowed it, drowning many. And for the German planes still circling overhead, the black-coated sea and the tell-tale rainbow swirls of leaked oil proved an irresistible target. Men in the water realised the planes were dropping incendiaries, and firing at the water not just to shoot survivors, but to set the oil on fire. Men were lifted out of the water as the bombs exploded beneath the surface. The concussion created by each detonation felt like a thump in the belly. The blasts generated waves that swept men a long way, and filled the air with a heavy spray of oil.

  But the Germans failed to ignite the oil slick. Flames flickered across small patches of oil, but the slick had now dispersed so widely that the flames did not spread. The pilots turned their attentions to the lifeboats instead, even though they mainly carried women and children. Flying low, the planes shot one of the boats to pieces. Watching the spurts of bullets hitting the water as the Germans indiscriminately targeted survivors, a man on a raft took out his pistol and shot himself.

  It would take hours to reach those in the middle of the crowd, in which time many would drown.

  By the time the Lancastria sank, word had already reached St Nazaire of the impending catastrophe and vessels of all sizes were rushing out to rescue as many as they could. When they arrived on the chaotic scene, the task seemed almost insurmountable. So many were struggling in the water that it would take hours to reach those in the middle of the crowd, in which time many would drown. Some officers had ordered their men not to abandon their rifles and kitbags, and they drowned under the weight. As desperate men swam for the remaining lifeboat, an officer on board it shot at them to prevent the boat being swamped. But other men in the water kept up their spirits by continuing to sing rousing songs as they awaited rescue. Many shed their clothes and boots to make it easier to swim and stay afloat, and when they eventually boarded the rescue vessels they did so naked or wearing only underwear. Like everyone else, however, they had to swim through the dead to reach the boats offering life.

  The other ships involved in Operation Ariel were already overladen with evacuees too, even if most of them weren’t as big as the Lancastria. There wasn’t much room for any more, but they all took as many as they could. Launches from the P&O liners Strathaird and Strathnaver brought survivors aboard, and the destroyer HMS Highlander found room for more too. Merchant vessels, including the cargo ship SS John Holt and the trawler Cambridgeshire, took over 1,000 between them. Even a minesweeper that could take no more aboard towed an overfilled lifeboat behind her.

  Out of the water came stories of heroism and miraculous survival, not just unimaginable horror. Jacqueline Tillyer was the youngest survivor. Only two years old, she had been in the restaurant with her parents when the bombs hit. Even though they were anxious to get off themselves, the soldiers all forced the family through the crowd ahead of them, and then insisted Jacqueline’s father join his wife and child in the lifeboat. This chivalry saved both father and daughter, because the lifeboat was one of the ones that sank. It was three hours before the Tillyer family were picked up by the Highlander, and during that time Jacqueline’s father held onto her by gripping her clothes in his teeth.

  And amongst all the human survivors there were also a couple of dogs too, including a mongrel that belonged to two Belgian children.

  Father McMenemy, who had already saved the lives of those he led to safety through the bottom of the flooding ship, swam for 45 minutes before being picked up by a French tug. He then spent the rest of the day hauling others out of the water. He wasn’t the only survivor to immediately join the rescue efforts. A man covered in oil dived into the sea again and again to drag flailing non-swimmers to the side of a rescue boat where they could be pulled out. Amongst all of the human survivors there were a couple of dogs too, including a mongrel that belonged to two Belgian children. Neither of the children survived.

  Given what had happened to the Lancastria, and without food, an escort and in some cases any radio capability, it might have been safer for the vessels around St Nazaire to return to France and surrender to the approaching Germans rather than attempt to make it back to Britain. None of them did. Even injured men taken back to shore by a French fishing boat later chose a risky nighttime crossing (standing up the whole way) on a collier rather than remain in France under Red Cross protection. The captain of the Oronsay had broken his leg when the planes destroyed his bridge but he too chose to limp back to Britain using the auxiliary steering gear, a handheld sextant and his own memory. His ship had taken on 3ft (1m) of water after being holed, but the pumps kept her water intake at bay long enough to reach home. The pumps failed less than half an hour later.

  About 23,000 were evacuated from St Nazaire that day, including 2,477 survivors from the Lancastria. That number also included many who were seriously wounded, such as those who had swallowed oil, and who died later. As the survivors headed back to Britain they heard the news – France had surrendered to Germany, and the previous day Philippe Petain had signed the Vichy agreement with the Nazis. Soon the survivors would share in the gloom of their countrymen, but for at least one day they could simply be glad to be alive.

  Officially forgotten

  The first five weeks of his premiership came to define Winston Churchill’s career and secure his legend. Three of the four speeches for which he is most famous were made in just over a month. In his first speech as Prime Minister on 13th May he claimed to offer only ‘blood, toil, tears and sweat’. Three weeks later, as Germ
any overran most of Europe, he pledged to ‘fight on the beaches’. And on 18th June, the day after the sinking of the Lancastria, he not only coined the phrase ‘Battle of Britain’, but prophesised that a thousand years later people would still call it Britain’s ‘finest hour’. Had Germany won the war, these speeches, coming in such quick succession, would seem like increasingly desperate rhetoric. But Churchill understood that nothing would ensure a German victory more than a British belief in its inevitability. That is why the evacuation of Dunkirk was recast as a tactical move and a great success, and why the government suppressed any reporting of the Lancastria’s fate.

  Because the Ministry of Defence’s records on the disaster were sealed for 100 years, there is no official death toll, just a range of estimates. The British government accepted that over 1,700 died – those people whose presence on the ship could be confirmed but who were not amongst the survivors. But seeing as the Lancastria’s crew lost count of the numbers boarding after about 6,000, and only 2,477 survived, the lowest possible number of fatalities would still be over 3,000. The memorial to the disaster by the beach at St Nazaire commemorates more than 4,000 deaths, but it’s likely that even this figure could underestimate the true scale of the loss by several thousand. If the higher figure is accurate then it accounts for one third of all the men the British Army lost between the declaration of war in September 1939 and the fall of France the following June. Many of those who died on the Lancastria were listed as missing in action, as if they had been lost on the battlefield, even when survivors knew they had been on the ship with them.

  Churchill ordered the issue of a D-Notice, an official request to the media not to cover stories that might have an effect on national security. Contrary to popular misconception a D-Notice was not legally enforceable, but for five weeks every newspaper in Britain complied. The fall of France was a far bigger story anyway. The New York Times broke the story in the United States, and on 26th July The Scotsman finally broke the British media’s silence. The chance of a scoop gone, other newspapers followed suit. The Daily Herald made it front page news and the Sunday Express printed a photo taken from the Highlander of men on the Lancastria’s capsized hull. But the story did not run for long, not least because the Battle of Britain was just beginning, but also because many survivors – and indeed rescuers too – refused to talk about what had happened for fear of court martial. For years after the war, everything that was known about Britain’s worst maritime disaster was pieced together from what little was said by those who dared to say anything at all, such as crewmen revealing just how many they let on board.