by Gene Masters
Not so for the Italians and their Polish guards. They were marched off to a warehouse just off the pier. There, the Italians would join some 1,400 other (more or less) Italian prisoners of war who had been warehoused in Durban, all under the watchful eyes of the Royal Army. The POWs, now all of about 1,800 of them, were awaiting transport to England, destined be interned there as farm workers.
On liberty in Durban, Robby, McLoughlin, Tinsdale, Martin, and Fellows were enjoying some frosty South African Castle Lager beer, when who should walk in but the Polish guard, Stanislaw, and several of his mates.
“Stanislaw,” Robby called out, “come join us!” The Poles, recognizing the English sailors who had cruised from Port Said with them, happily joined the five sailors.
“Hello, mates,” Stanislaw greeted them. “Good to see you! But you are way before us with the beer. We are must be catching up.”
“Stanislaw, my lad,” McLoughlin opined, “your English is improving. I think I just understood what you said!”
“I learn English well, Jim.” Stanislaw beamed. “Marco is teaching.”
Robby pictured the little sergeant in the ragged Royal Italian Royal Army uniform. From what little contact he and the others had had with—Scarpetti, was it?—he had, after all, found him to be a decent enough bloke—for an Italian. Too bad they were on opposite sides in this miserable war. Otherwise they might have become real friends. Then he thought better of it. Marco was obviously well educated, and even more obviously from the Italian upper crust, while Robby was just one of the common working men back home. Were it not for “this miserable war,” they would never have met in the first place.
* * * * *
HMT Laconia, a battle-worn, old, gray lady, tied up alongside the pier at Durban, Union of South Africa, on 28 August. In her glory days, the RMS Laconia was a Cunard-White Star luxury passenger liner, plying the route between Liverpool and New York. At the onset of the war, she was requisitioned for the war effort by the British government, and converted for use as a troopship. This included removing all the signs and accouterments of luxury travel, and painting over the White Star logo on the stack, and covering her sparkling white-with-blue, pin-striped colors with a dull merchant Navy gray. They had also mounted a discarded, Royal Navy, six-inch gun on the stern. The Laconia was a much bigger ship than the ship Robby and the others had ridden from Port Said. She was over 600 feet long, and displaced some 20,000 tons.
* * * * *
From dockside, looking up at their new home, McLoughlin exclaimed “I know that ship!”
“What?” Robby said.
“That ship—I know her. They’ve covered her up with that ugly gray paint, but I’d recognize her lines anywhere. She’s the old Laconia. My dad was her chief steward, worked her on the route between Southampton and New York. I was all over her when I was a tyke!”
Once aboard, however, McLoughlin’s thrill at seeing the old girl was muted. Gone were her garden lounges, potted plants, and gracious stairways with their polished teak railings. The old Laconia even had a lounge that was the authentic replica of a fully stocked English pub. Those were, instead, replaced with the austere requirements of a ship at war. Designed for no more than 2000 passengers, she could now be crowded with 2700. Robby noted that, in addition to the ship’s full complement of lifeboats, there were also wooden rafts lashed to the deck; these would supplement the lifeboats in a genuine emergency.
Robby and his mates were quartered belowdecks in the stern of the ship, and assigned for duty under one Royal Navy Lieutenant Percy Tillie. Their quarters had been fitted out in the newer style, with actual bunks to sleep in; hooks for their hammocks were replaced with canvas mats fixed to rectangles of steel pipe, topped with a thin mattress. Four high, these bunks could be folded back and trussed up out of the way during the day.
“What do we do with our hammocks?” Robby wondered aloud.
“Make a good pillow,” McLoughlin volunteered.
There were other servicemen aboard—Army and RAF—but they were just passengers, of whom nothing was expected. And this was a ship, after all, and Robby and the others were Royal Navy, so, this would be a duty assignment. The Laconia was a DEMS (a Defence Equipment Merchant Ship), which merely meant she was armed. On her stern was that six-inch gun, bolted to the deck. And Robby, his mates, and the other navy men aboard, were assigned to maintain and man that gun under the watchful eye of Lieutenant Tillie.
From the dockside warehouse, the Italian prisoners and their Polish guards filed sullenly aboard Laconia. The Poles who had sailed with Robby and his mates from Port Said had been augmented by Polish officer cadets, requisitioned for that duty by the Royal Army brass that had overall responsibility for the POWs. The addition of the cadets brought the number of Poles aboard to 103. The Italians were to be housed under lock and key, deep in the bowels of the ship.
Donald Logan, his wife Violet, and their five-month-old baby daughter Helen, occupied an interior cabin on Laconia’s O1 deck. Other British passengers on board, and headed home, included some diplomats, some civil servants, and their families.
* * * * *
“Are we ready for sea?” Captain Sharp asked his third officer, Thomas Buckingham. Buckingham had assumed the duties of the second officer, who had been transferred to hospital ashore with a virulent case of Malaria. The day had dawned clear and sunny, the weather reasonably cool.
“Yes, Sir, Captain,” Buckingham replied. “The ship is ready for sea. The Pilot is aboard, the gangway’s up and secured, all shore water and power are secured, and all mooring lines are singled. The first officer reports the propulsion plant is on line and ready for sea.”
“So, we are ready for sea, are we?” Sharp commented, addressing nobody in particular, and gazing up at the sooty black smoke spewing from the ship’s single stack. Buckingham was equally dismayed at the sight, but knew that the first officer, who was the ship’s chief engineer, had done all he could to clear the stack emissions. But the old ship was at least a year and a half overdue for engine overhaul, and the fuel oil that had been loaded aboard in Mombasa had been of dubious quality.
Three days later, the ship docked in Cape Town, where it took aboard additional passengers, mostly civilians: bureaucrats and their families, some Embassy staff. Cape Town was further south than Durban, almost as far south as one could travel and still be in Africa, but it was, in fact, a hundred miles west of L’Aqulhas, Africa’s southernmost city, set at the very southern tip of the continent. The weather there was only slightly cooler than it had been in Durban, but the days were just as clear and sunny.
The Laconia loitered in Cape Town for just two days, but Robby, McLoughlin, and the others got to pull liberty there, finding the beer much as it had been in Durban.
They were just getting the lay of the land, when it was time to leave; this time the destination was Liverpool. Jim McLoughlin was overjoyed with the prospect of returning to his home, and told Robby as much. It was 4 September.
Aside from Laconia’s 463 officers and crew (which included Robby’s lot), aboard were 87 civilians (including women and children), 286 British Army and RAF personnel, 1,793 Italian POWs, and their 103 Polish guards, Stanislaw Kominsky among them.
And among the Italians held below, deep in Laconia’s third hold, was Marco Scarpetti.
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14
Mideast Atlantic, August, 1942
U-156 had departed Lorient for its fourth war patrol on 20 August. At sea, conditions were much as they had been when the boat had departed on her last patrol: the sea slightly choppy, the weather still clear, but now much warmer. Vice Admiral Dönitz had told Hartenstein that he was assigning his boat for this patrol to some of the quieter waters of the Middle Atlantic; both he and his crew deserved “a little rest.”
Hartenstein and the crew of U-156 had thus been ordered to patrol the waters south of the Bay of Biscay, and off the west African coast. The area was not deemed to be target rich, un
like the Central Atlantic waters assigned to U-156 on her third war patrol. But Hartenstein and his crew had already drawn blood. Just one week out of Lorient, U-156 had sunk the 6,000-ton SS Clan Macwirther just off the coast of Casablanca. The weather had stayed pretty much as it had been off Lorient, hot and clear, with the sea, again calm, with gentle swells and a slight chop.
As with Laconia, the Clan Macwirther was a DEMS ship, and had been carrying manganese ore, linseed, pig iron, and assorted general cargo. Two torpedoes, fired from a submerged U-156, had sent her to the bottom in just ten minutes. Three lifeboats, containing 79 survivors, managed to escape the ship before she went down.
The Befehlshaber der U-Boote—the BdU—or Commander of U-boats, had issued standing orders that U-boat commanders should make every effort to locate and take prisoner the first and second officer of any ship sunk.
Then, following BdU’s standing orders, Hartenstein surfaced U-156 just as the Clan Macwirther slipped below the surface. He questioned the survivors in each of the lifeboats, pulling his boat alongside and calling down from the bridge. “My apologies for sinking your ship,” he began, in his excellent English. “An unfortunate outcome of the war, you see. Is the captain or chief engineer aboard?”
“No,” came the universal response. “They were aboard the ship when the she went down.”
Hartenstein then asked the name of the ship, and the nature her cargo. After learning these details, he ordered that the survivors be given containers of water and some rations, and then personally gave them the course to the nearest landfall. (Those fortunate survivors would be later rescued by a passing British freighter.)
On departing the scene on the surface, the new first watch officer of U-156, Oberleutnant zur see Leopold Schumacher, said to Hartenstein, “I’m not at all sure that Kreigsmarine command would be sympathetic with your kindness to the enemy, Captain.”
From the moment he reported aboard, Hartenstein had been taking the measure of Schumacher. The man was actually quite handsome, he had observed, with even features and startling brown eyes. Like Hartenstein, Schumacher had served in a torpedo boat in the Spanish Civil War. But Hartenstein had left for U-boat training before Schumacher began his service in Spanish waters, and so they had never actually met in that theater. What Hartenstein had seen of Schumacher thus far, however, he had approved. Still, here was yet another opportunity to feel the man out.
“Really, Leo?” Hartenstein replied warily. “But I am sure that doing my duty, attacking and destroying the enemy’s ships, does not require me to abandon my humanity. Those British were men, after all, human beings just like us, just doing their duty. We must respect them for that, should we not? And show them whatever compassion we might hope to receive from them, were our roles reversed? Surely you can agree to that, can you not, Leo?”
Schumacher looked doubtful at first, but then, after a pause, finally said, “I can, Captain, and I do. I’m just not at all sure the admiral would agree. And certainly Der Fuehrer would not.”
Hartenstein laughed outright. “I think, Leo, that you are selling Admiral Dönitz short! We are Kreigsmarine, Leo, after all. Mariners. And all mariners follow the code of the sea. We serve Germany, of course, and so does the admiral. We willingly fight for the Fatherland, just as Dӧnitz does, and we fight to win. But we also fight with honor. Regimes come and go, and this one may well last for a thousand years as Der Fuhrer promises, but we fight not for a regime, not for National Socialism, but for Germany! For the Fatherland! No, Leo, we who serve in the U-boats answer to the admiral. Let him worry about Der Fuehrer.”
Schumacher again looked lost in thought. Now, Hartenstein knew, he would find out if he had read his first officer correctly. Finally, Schumacher said in response, “Food for thought, Captain. But you are certainly correct in that we serve the Fatherland, that we fight for Germany!”
Hartenstein smiled. “Very well, Leo. Then what say you, that for the time being, we just continue to do our duty, eh? We shall behave with honor, and let Admiral Dӧnitz worry about Herr Hitler!”
Schumacher nodded his assent, but Hartenstein sensed his first officer was still not in complete agreement. Very well, Leo, I’ll take that for now, he thought.
With that, Hartenstein ordered U-156 on a course south, in search of fresh prey.
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15
Southeast Atlantic, September, 1942
The Laconia had departed Cape Town on 4 September, and Royal Navy Lieutenant Percy Tillie had, on their first full day at sea, decided to assemble his gun crews and exercise the ship’s gun. The weather was much the same as it had been in Cape Town, just warmer, but still sunny and clear. The sea was calm, a sheet of bottle-blue glass.
It appeared that only Robby and Jim McLoughlin thought Lt. Tillie’s attention to duty was a good idea. “Bloody hell,” was all James Fellows could say. “What a bloody waste of time!”
“Come on, mate,” McLoughlin said, trying to sooth Fellows and the others. “What else have we got to do?”
“No,” James replied. “It’s all of a cock-up. Tillie’s having us fire shells at nothing whatever—there’s no target out there. I think he’s just trying to prove to hisself that this bloody wreck of a gun fires at all. All we are is a source of entertainment for the passengers—gives ‘em something to gawk at to pass the time.”
McLoughlin drew a deep breath as Fellows and the others rattled on.
“And a lot of good that popgun will do in a real fight, then, eh?” Ralph Tinsdale opined. “Here we are, in the middle of the bloody ocean. Bad enough we’re blowing enough black smoke up in the air that we can be seen for miles by any enemy out there, and so we’re poppin’ off shells besides. Making enough noise so’s the enemy can hear us, lest he can’t see us! I tell you, Jim, if we don’t get torpedoed, it won’t be for our lack of trying. Nothin’ but a bloody target, we are. Bullocks!”
“All the more reason to be practicin’ at defendin’ ourselves, then, eh?” Robby joined in, reasoning with his friends.
“Defendin’ ourselves, are we?” Charles Martin laughed. “Not with that shite-slingin’ piece of shite. Takes forever to train her ‘round, and she’s crewed by us pack of clowns, who’ve never even aimed her at a real target. Not proper guns like the ones we had on Victory! Like James here said, ‘A bloody waste of time!’ ”
And to that, McLoughlin and Robby had no reasonable response that might calm their friends, possibly because, deep down, they agreed with them in part. The gun really was probably useless in a real fight. And for Robby, the thought of announcing their presence to lurking German U-boats was frightening. Once again, he saw the Barham inside his head. The Barham had “proper guns” like the ones we had on Victory. Bloody little good it did them! If it wasn’t Germans in airplanes trying their best to kill them, it was bloody Germans on U-boats!
* * * * *
On that same first day at sea out of Cape Town, Laconia’s passengers were issued life jackets and were assigned lifeboat stations. Lifeboat drills followed the next morning, shortly after breakfast. No lifeboat stations were assigned to the Italian prisoners in the ship’s holds, nor were they issued life jackets.
The Laconia carried twenty-eight, thirty-foot-long lifeboats, mounted in seven double tiers on each side. They were sufficient to accommodate the ship’s pre-conversion complement of passengers and crew; to accommodate the additional post-conversion human cargo, the Admiralty had directed that several wooden rafts be mounted on racks on either side of the ship. They were to be released and allowed to slide down the side of the ship, and into the water, in an emergency. Unfortunately, in order to board one of them, the survivors had to first be in the water themselves.
Now, with the Italians aboard, the Laconia carried well in excess of the number of people that could be safely accommodated were there to be an order to abandon ship. Worse, the pilfering of emergency rations and fresh water stored aboard the lifeboats was commonplace, especially by se
rvice people allowed on board in foreign ports. And the Laconia had visited several such ports en route to Cape Town.
* * * * *
Third Officer Thomas Buckingham took his newly assigned responsibilities seriously. Now third in line of command, after the captain and the chief engineer, he was expected to tour the ship on a regular basis and see to its proper running. Captain Sharp, for whatever reason, kept himself to his quarters, venturing out only on the bridge from time to time to take the air and curse the plume of black smoke spilling from Laconia’s stack. And, as for the chief engineer, he was rarely seen on the upper decks, as he was more or less stuck in the engineering spaces. He had his hands full with the aging and cantankerous propulsion plant, the very one producing that telltale plume.
For Buckingham, the upper deck passengers appeared to be faring well enough, so it was the Italian POWs that most concerned him. The contingent of British Army men aboard were technically responsible for the POWs, but neither the officers nor their men seemed to be the least bit concerned about the Italians’ welfare.
Sanitary conditions for the prisoners down in the holds were, to say the least, primitive. There was little opportunity to exercise the prisoners, and little space to do it above decks. Showers consisted of bringing the men topside in small groups and hosing them down with seawater from a fire hose. Rations for the prisoners aboard Laconia were short, with several POWs on bread and water—punishment for some now long-forgotten infraction. Some of the men were sick, and needed medical attention, and there wasn’t even deck space enough in the holds for the sick to lie down. Their Polish guards carried rifles, but had not been issued any ammunition.
Despite the language barrier, they appeared to Buckingham to be considerate enough of their prisoners, while still remaining stern enough to maintain good order. There was little that they could do for their charges, however, beyond seeing to it that they were fed their short rations on time, twice a day.
