Vanoc was
built at John Brown & Company's Clydebank shipyard and launched on
14 June 1917. She was commissioned on 15 August 1917 with the pennant
number H33. She was named after a Knight of King Arthur in Sir Walter Scott’s narrative poem The Bridal of Triermain. In
the First World War she was used as a minelayer and convoy escort roles
and in 1919, she took part in British operations in the Baltic as part
of Allied efforts to intervene in the Russian Civil War.
In 1939 she was part of the 2nd Destroyer Flotila based at Plymouth and accompanied HMS Scarborough in February 1940 on her first Atlantic
escort duties after Scarborough's refit. She accompanied
the Polish troop transport MS Chrobry into Namsos in Norway just before sunrise on 17 April 1940. On 29 April 1940 she deployed
with the destroyers HMS Echo, Firedrake, Havelock and Arrow to evacuate
troops from Mo and Bodų. The troops were taken to Harstad in
preparation for their final evacuation from Norway. In June 1940, Vanoc took part in Operation Ariel, the evacuation of
British and allied troops from ports in north western France, escorting a
convoy of 10 ships from St Nazaire on 18 June.
In March 1941 Vancoc was one of three V & W Class destroyers which sunk the u-boats commanded by Germany's three top u-boat aces. HMS Wolverine is credited with having sunk U-47, commanded by Gunther Prien, on 8 March 1941. Vanoc was a member of the 5th Escort group at Liverpool led by Lt Cdr Donald G.F.W. Macintyre RN in HMS Walker; within two weeks U-100 (Joachim Schepke) was rammed and sunk by HMS Vanoc and Otto Kretschmer was captured when U-99 was forced to surface by HMS Walker and scuttled by her crew. A brief outline of events is given below.
On 15 March the Group was escorting Convoy HX 112 when U-100,
commanded by Joachim Schepke, sighted the convoy, and made a surface
attack, torpedoing the
tanker Erdona. The destroyer Scimitar spotted U-100
and summoned Vanoc and Walker. The three destroyers depth charged her, and Vanoc and Scimitar kept the submarine submerged while the convoy continued. Schepke evaded the destroyers and re-sighted the convoy later that
night, sending location signals that helped to direct more U-boats
against the convoy.
At about 10:00 pm on the following night, the 16 - 17 March, U-boat ace Otto Kretschmer in U-99 infiltrated
the convoy and fired her remaining eight torpedoes, hitting six merchant
ships and sinking five of them. At 01:30 a u-boat was detected by Walker's sonar and attacked by Walker and Vanoc,
Walker left to rescue survivors from the merchant ships sunk by U-99 leaving Vanoc to
continue the attack. The depth charges caused serious flooding aboard
U-100 (Joachim Schepke) which was forced to surface. She was spotted by Vanoc
on her primitive Type 286M radar, the
first confirmed British surface ship radar sighting of a U-boat, and
rammed. Only six of her crew survived with Schepke amongst those
killed. U-99 tried to slip out of the convoy on the surface, but
was spotted by Walker and
dived. Walker picked up U-99 on her sonar and attacked with depth
charges, forcing her to the surface. Vanoc spotted the
surfaced U-99, and both destroyers opened fire on the stricken U-boat,
which was scuttled by her crew. Read the account by Walter Edney and the photographs on the website about HMS Walker. The sinking of the three U-Boat aces in March followed by the the
capture of U-110 and its Enigma machine and code books in May was a
turning point in the Battle of the Atlantic.
Gainsborough, a market town in Lincolnshire, had informally adopted HMS Vanoc at the beginning of the war but this was formalised when the town helld a Warship Week in Gainsborough from 14-21 Feb 1942
which raised £250,000 in National Savings to pay for the cost of a new
destroyer, the equivalent of £9 0s 2d per head of the population.
In March, 1942 Vanoc joined Escort Group B-5 which included the destroyers HMS
Havelock, Caldwell, Walker, frigate Swale, and the corvettes Pimpernel,
Godetia, Saxifrage, Buttercup and Lavender.
Escort Group B-5
was reassigned to Caribbean trade convoys from March 1942. From July to
August 1942 Vanoc was deployed for convoy escort off the east coast of
Canada and USA. In September 1942 HMS Vanoc and HMS Veteran
were the escorts of a convoy of Great Lake River Steamers from the
Gulf of the St Lawrence to the Clyde designated as Convoy
RB1 but widely known as Convoy Maniac. its passage to the UK
during which three of the steamers and HMS Veteran were torpedoed by U-404 is described below by James Reed.
On 16 March 1944 in the Straits of Gibraltar at position 35°55' N
05°41' W Vanoc co-operated with the frigate HMS Affleck and three 3 US
Catalina aircraft (VP 63) in sinking U-392 with a hedgehog
attack, resulting in 52 dead (all hands) from U-392's crew. On 21
January 1945 Vanoc collided with, and sank, the naval trawler HMS
Computator off Normandy (49°42' N 00°37' W).
Former Full Members of the V & W Destroyer Assoociation A.
Barber (Stirling, Scotland), D. Blair (Woking, Surrey), R. Fleeman
(Northampton), O. Pamplin (Haverhill, Suffolk), James Reed
(Southampton),
E. Wells (Wimborne, Dorset), R. Whalen (Deer Lake, Newfoundland), Please get in touch if you knew one of the men or have a family member who served in HMS Vanoc
Two months after the outbreak of war the Sheffield Daily Telegraph on Monday 11 December 1939 reported that
"HMS Vanoc
has been adopted by the ARP Wardens’ Post at Nether Edge Liberal Reform
Club, Sheffield, believed to be the only post in the city with a
regular knitting circle. Women’s wardens – among who is Sir Henry
Cowards daughter – and wardens’ wives, are knitting comforts to send to
the ship, and tomorrow will hold a whist drive in aid of their wool
fund".
This private initiative may have been the first adoption of a V
& W Class destroyer. By December 1941 Gainsborough, a market town
in Lincolnshire between Sheffield and the Humber estuary, had
established a close relationship with HMS Vanoc and formally adopted her when
the town held a Warship Week from 14-21 Feb 1942 which raised £250,000
in National Savings to pay for the cost of a new destroyer, the
equivalent of £9 0s 2d per head of the population.
Preparing a Mark 11 or 1V torpedo aboard HMS Vanoc in August 1941 Office of War Information, Washington Overseas Picture Division, 1944.
Library of Congress Photograph ID LC-USZ62-132627
This is an extract from Walter Edney's autobiography written in 1993 and edited by his son, Jonathan Edney, and published as Scuppers to Skipper: A personal account of life in the Royal Navy 1934-1958 (2015) by Lt.Cdr. Walter P. Edney, RN (1918-2003)
This book provides both a personal
story and a deep insight into life in the Royal Navy during the mid
20th Century. It contains fascinating details of daily life aboard ship
as well as exciting accounts of wartime action in North Atlantic convoy
duty - including the infamous sinking of two U-boat aces "Otto
Kretschmer in U-99" and "Joachim Schepke in U-100" in a single night.
Walter Edney joined the Royal Navy in 1934 at the lowest rank: a boy
seaman. Over the next 25 years, he rose through the ranks, eventually
becoming a Commissioned Officer and the commander of HMS Fenton.
To do this he had to cross a huge class divide between "lower ranks"
and "higher ranks" and his promotion was exceptional.
This book is
taken directly from his personal memoirs written based on the detailed
dairies that he kept through his life. As a result it provides a
first-hand account of Naval life as well as a warm personal story.
During his career, Walter Edney served on HMS Iron Duke, HMS Nelson, HMS Maidstone, HMS Vanoc, HMS Sheffield, HMS Constance among others. Before WW2 he showed the strength of the British Empire aboard HMS Nelson. During WW2 he fought on HMS Vanoc
in the North Atlantic, protecting convoys of merchant ships against
U-boat attack. He also landed at Anzio in Italy to provide a
communications centre.
He begins this chapter in his life when he joined HMS Vanoc in Norway as a Leading Telegrapher at the end of May 1940 and ends it when he left Vanoc as a Petty Officer after he was injured by a shall splinter at Gibraltar at the end of 1942.
****************
Leading Telegrapher Walter Edney in the Wireless Office on HMS Vanoc
Life
aboard these V & W escort destroyers was rough - to put it mildly.
There was no refrigeration and on leaving harbour, fresh meat had to be
kept in the upper deck lockers. After three days any meat remaining
became inedible. From then on there was only tinned meat and the only
tinned meat available in 1940 was corned beef. I have never eaten
corned beef since. Much the same has to be said about bread, supplies
of which were sufficient for three days after which it was too stale or
mouldy and we lived on biscuits -- hard ship's biscuits, but not those
from which weevils had to be shaken out first.
Sanitary arrangements were somewhat primitive, and consisted of a
shelter on the upper deck, fitted with a long bench containing about a
dozen tin bowls. Cold water was pumped up and each man queued to fill
his bowl. Showering was non-existent but a two-gallon bucket of cold
water was used for a bath in the open on deck. The only hot water was
obtained from the galley where the cook kept an urn, heated from the
range, for tea making purposes only.
The cook wasn’t responsible for preparing meals; his role was to keep
the galley range burning and supervise the galley. At 8 am, the cook of
each mess (taken in turn by members of the mess) would assemble for his
mess's issue of bread and meat. If fresh meat, it could be any type or
cut and each mess received a different cut. If it was corned beef there
was no problem. The cook of each mess was then responsible for
producing a meal for the mess out of the joint he had been issued. More
often than not, fresh meat was made into a hot pot or stew and corned
beef into some kind of shepherd's pie if potatoes were available.
It seems incredible now but the mess decks and galley were swarming
with cockroaches -- not huge ones but a little larger than a fly and no
one took the slightest notice of them – it would have been a waste of
time anyway, there were so many, running around the table as we ate.
I can’t remember how we kept warm, but never remember feeling
particularly cold. We wore plenty of clothing including thick white
roll neck submarine sweaters - I still have one. There may have been
pipes running through the mess decks with hot water from the ship's
engine room. Our sleeping quarters comprised a hammock slung in the
mess decks in the usual manner.
To compensate for these conditions we were paid what was known as “hard
lying money,” the princely sum of one shilling (5p) per day - quite a
lot in those days when the weekly payment for a leading telegraphist
was in the order of 30 shillings (£l-50.)
Joining ship in Norway
When I was appointed to Vanoc
she was in Norway doing her best to assist our army stem the German
offensive but in the main, evacuating our soldiers who had been cut
off. I was sent to Glasgow on 29th May where I stayed two days before
being sent on to Scapa Flow to join HMS Veteran -- another destroyer of the same class, on 1st June. Veteran sailed immediately for Norway, arriving after an uneventful journey at Harstad (Northern Norway) on 4th June. Here we met HMS Vanoc,
busily evacuating troops and I transferred to my permanent ship. We
took the troops to Narvik where they were to make their last stand and
spent three days patrolling and bombarding the Norwegian coast.
Subsequently our troops were taken offshore to troopships for return
home.
The Wireless Office and Telegraphists
The wireless office of which I was to be in charge was situated on the
lower part of the bridge and consisted of two receiving sets and a very
ancient arc/spark transmitter which jammed everyone else within a
radius of 20 miles when used. My original communication complement was
just 3 telegraphists.
I relieved the Leading Telegraphist, a real nautical character who
looked as though he had been at sea with Nelson. He had a heavy black
beard and looked like an old sea dog of about 60. In fact, he was
probably less than 40. His name was Bill Mansfield and it did not take
him long to turn the reins over to me. Then he was away, probably to a
troopship but I never saw nor heard of him again.
The staff that I inherited consisted of just three telegraphists, all
“hostilities only.” They were characters of such diversity that the
details are worth including here. Firstly there wasJack Oldfield.
Here was a man well into his thirties who hailed from a manor house in
Sittingboume, Kent. From a most wealthy background, he had been
educated at a top public school, Marlborough or possibly Winchester. He
spoke in an impeccable manner as would Royalty, never loudly, never
shouting, and always in perfect English He was polite and courteous
always. In peacetime he had entered politics as a member of the Greater
London Council and had unsuccessfully attempted to become a Member of
Parliament at the election in 1937. Oddly enough, despite his
background, he was a Labour candidate, hence his entry into the Royal
Navy at the outbreak of war as just an ordinary sailor, instead of as a
Sub-Lieutenant which would normally have been the case for a man of his
education. We became great friends and corresponded long after the war
until in the l960's he invited me down to his Manor where he was
engaged in mushroom farming. Still more odd was the fact that after we
had parted company, whilst in Canada, he was recalled to London to
contest a political seat. He failed and then took his commission and
became an officer. He also switched his allegiance from Labour to
Conservative at this time.
The second member was “Dinger” Bell, a pleasant but quite uninspiring
Irish lad from Belfast with a very strong Irish accent and the third
was Ted Scott, a regular service telegraphist from Devonport depot.
Lazy and lethargic would be putting it mildly. Pity really because he
was a good operator, but seemed to have little interest in life or the
goings on. He also had marital problems also, but this was hardly
surprising. The four of us kept watch throughout each 24 hours on the
basis of the four watch system -- a motley staff without a doubt.
On the 8th June, after most British
troops had been evacuated, we sailed for Sullom Voe, Orkney Islands.
The weather was fine, but there was a sizeable swell. I had not been to
sea in a vessel this small and it is not surprising that I was seasick
and lay prostrate, feeling very sorry for myself in the small wireless
office.
HMS Vanoc at Sullom Voe, Orkney Islands.
On the morning of the 9th, about half-way between Norway and the
Orkneys we were attacked by a German Bomber - a Junkers 88 which
straddled us with bombs doing little damage but blowing away our
aerials. This consisted of a four wire stretch from the topyard of our
mainmast to the mizzen mast on “x” gun deck aft. We could not remain at
sea without communications, so, seasick or not, I had to get up and get
on with repairs. I was amazed that although this was a communication
problem everybody aboard turned in to help, be they seamen, stokers,
electricians or whatever. I had never seen cooperation like this on
larger ships and soon learned that this was a hallmark of life in the
destroyers. Repairs were completed on the rolling ship and my
seasickness disappeared rapidly, never to return on this voyage.
St Nazaire
Our stop at Sullom Voe was brief, time enough to refuel and re-arm then
it was off to St. Nazaire in Northern France, calling briefly at
Greenock on the way. The British Army were taking a battering in France
with the heavily armed Germans pushing forward on all fronts -- quite
unstoppable. Our job at St. Nazaire was to evacuate as many of the
British troops as we could and get them aboard troopships for return
home. At the same time, in the English Channel, a mass evacuation was
taking place at Dunkirk, where a miracle was achieved in getting the
majority of our troops home. During our evacuation at St. Nazaire, we
had just completed loading one troopship, with some 1,000 or more
soldiers when she was bombed and sunk by German Aircraft - I believe
one bomb went straight down her funnel and blew her to pieces - how
many survivors there were I do not know, but not many I suspect. The
job was completed by 18 June when we returned to Plymouth, for a break,
to get our breath back and await further developments. Seemingly,
relatively quiet, we were sent to Liverpool on 1st July for convoy duty.
Whilst operating from Liverpool during July and August I took the
opportunity to pass the examination for W/T2 (Wireless Telegraphist 2nd
grade). This was the technical qualification required for advancement
to Petty Officer Telegraphist, the educational examination having been
obtained in my days aboard HMS Nelson
in 1936. This was of a lower standard than normally required and it
would be necessary for me to attend a training course which lasted
several weeks at the Signal School, HMS Mercury at Petersfield, before taking the full examination and I could not be spared at this stage in the war.
Anti-invasion Patrol
A German invasion was widely expected and in September the German
Luftwaffe attempted to take control of the air. While the Battle of
Britain was fought and won it was our duty to prevent a seaborne
invasion landing troops along our South Coast. On 8 September we were
assigned to the Anti-Invasion Patrol in the English Channel, constantly
on patrol from Dover to Isle of Wight and refuelling as necessary at
Portsmouth or Southampton. By 28th September, the immediate invasion
scare was over and we settled ourselves in Portsmouth alternating
between immediate notice and four hours’ notice to sail.
"The Vanoc Boys 1940"
Updating the Wireless Department
This breathing space was an
opportunity to update the wireless department. Our old and useless
arc/spark transmitter was taken out and a modern set installed. We also
had RDF (RADAR) fitted, primitive though it was compared with later
installations. Depth charges and throwers were fitted, plus
anti-submarine equipment, and many other modifications made. On 7 November 1940, I was promoted
to Acting Petty Officer Telegraphist (temporary) on the basis of the
examination I had pressed in August. I was just 22 and not far from my
ultimate ambition of Chief Petty Officer, with 18 years yet to serve.
I remained in sailor's uniform (not the
square rig of a confirmed Petty Officers) but wore the appropriate
insignia on my right arm together with the good conduct stripe I
received at the age of 21. It was almost unheard of for a rating with
less than eight years service to be a petty officer, but the war
helped and I did it in four years. I moved from the sailors’ mess deck
in the bows of the ship to the petty officers’ mess, a much more
civilized mess, completely separate and consisting of around eight
other petty officers. It also meant that I could take my daily issue of
rum, neat, without water added.
The work in the Wireless Office gave me the opportunity to get home to
Bognor and see my family when we were at four hours’ notice for
sailing. The train journey to Bognor was about one hour. I frequently
took Jack Oldfield with me which, looking back, must have frightened my
mother to death. To me he was just a colleague but I fear my mother
must have been full of apprehension. However, we went and enjoyed
ourselves. My brother and I used to delight in getting Jack down to the
Pavilion for roller skating. He couldn't skate of course but we would
get him on the rink and push him until he fell. We had great fun but I
don't know whether he enjoyed it. We were at sea from time to time, on
anti-submarine or depth charge trials, sometimes escorting a convoy
through the channel. Throughout this, whilst at immediate notice, we
had our wireless watches to keep. On 9 January 1941 while in harbour,
bombs were dropped, close to the ship and on 10th we moved out to
Spithead. Just as well as on that night the Air Blitz on Portsmouth
took place and the town was still burning on 11th.
On 19 January I was granted a week's leave and went to Liverpool to see
a young girl whom I had met there during our spell of convoy duty
between July and September the previous year and with whom I had
maintained communication by letter. I stayed in one of the service
hostels, probably the Union Jack Club, which was quite comfortable.
Some time was spent with Doris at the cinema or the Grafton Dance Hall,
some on my own at the great Liverpool Empire Hall. On return from leave
my new transmitter and RADAR had been fitted and I spent many hours
with the Warrant Telegraphist of the dockyard, tuning it followed by
RADAR trials at sea. By 5 February we were ready and left Portsmouth
for Liverpool in rough seas which made me quite seasick.
We arrived at Liverpool on the 7 February and sailed with our convoy on
the 9th. These convoy trips lasted about ten days. We refuelled at
Londonderry and could not operate more than ten days without refuelling
again. We escorted an outbound convoy for five days almost halfway
across the Atlantic and then picked up the homeward convoy. The speed
of the convoy was that of the slowest ship and was at best six knots on
an irregular zig-zag course to avoid torpedoes from U-Boats. This
doubled the distance we travelled. The weather was often rough,
uncomfortable, cold and unpleasant, but the job had to be done to keep
our island fed and clothed. The respite in harbour varied between 2 or
3 days to a week, depending on the maintenance required. Obviously we
all made the most of our time in port by getting ashore whenever
possible, going dancing, drinking, or visiting the shows or a cinema.
Rum was a daily issue to all seamen not of commissioned officer rank,
over the age of 21. For the sailors it was diluted, 3 of water to one
full tot of rum, it had to be consumed on the spot of issue, 12 noon
daily. Alternatively, those who did not want a rum issue could be paid
four pence daily. I found the concoction insipid and elected for the
extra pay. However as a Petty Officer with neat rum available I chose
the rum which was “lifting” to take and, although illegal, could be
bottled as it would keep. Mostly I drank mine daily, bearing in mind
that eight full tots was the equivalent of a full bottle of spirits.
Another concession of the navy was a monthly issue of tobacco or
cigarettes. This amounted to one pound of tobacco, either pipe or
cigarette, or 500 previously rolled cigarettes. There was a small
charge for this, but it was negligible as it was duty free. There was
also an issue of leaf tobacco in lieu, if required. This was the plain
tobacco leaf, which the old salts rolled tightly and bound with tarred
hemp, what was known as a “prick” and was subsequently cut in thin
slices to smoke in a pipe. Guaranteed to make any normal youngster
violently sick, it was a dying art - none of the navy could take that.
For my part I did not bother drawing my tobacco issue, sensibly knowing
it was no good for me.
The most momentous event of my life was about to happen ...
On Sunday 9th, I went ashore with Jack Oldfield for drinks at a pub and
then on for a meal at the rather elite Exchange Hotel and on Monday
10th I was invited to join Jack -- the canteen manager and Paul, the
ship's supply petty officer to go with them to the Grafton, for a blind
date. It was not a blind date for them - they had met a couple of girls
the previous time in port - Iris and Esther and had been invited to
Iris' birthday party on the 24th February. Iris had a sister, Thelma,
who appeared to be unattached at the time but was rather young, just
17. It was agreed that Iris and Esther would bring Thelma along to the
Grafton and Jack and Paul would take me, to make up the six. Needless
to say, we had a great time. I found Thelma, very lively, very
entertaining and most attractive with a tremendous personality and sex
appeal. I plied her with drink, in which she had not imbibed before at
her young age, and then escorted her home by tram to Stoneycroft. The
following day I met her again and took her home where her very kind
parents gave me a bed for the night, returning to Vanoc
the following morning. I again met her later that day and we went to
the cinema. There was quite a heavy air raid on Liverpool whist we were
in the cinema, but we sat through it all and then had to walk home all
the way from Lime Street in the centre of Liverpool to Stoneycroft -
about 5 miles, as there was no transport running. Many a time on that
long walk home did we drop flat on our faces on the pavement as the
bombs dropped, but we made it uninjured. It had been a lovely four days
in harbour and when we sailed with the next convoy on 13th March, I was
very happy.
Vanoc after an Atlantic gale
The end of three U-Boat Aces
The next convoy escort began as most others, quite peacefully in a calm
sea, up through the Irish Sea to Londonderry for refuelling. Little did
we know what lay ahead. We wasted little time in Londonderry and sailed
again at almost full speed, 20 knots, to pick up a convoy. The sea
remained calm. During the night of 14th, although we had not met the
convoy, it was reported that one of their number, a tanker, had been
torpedoed. We finally reached them on Saturday 15 March 1941 in
mid-Atlantic and joined HMS Walker
to bring the convoy home. By midnight four more ships had been
torpedoed and it became clear that U-Boats were operating among the
convoy, surfacing and firing torpedoes at will. What use could two
First World War destroyers be against this? Just after midnight, Walker
sighted the fluorescent wash of a U-Boat retreating on the surface and
gave chase, dropping a pattern of depth charges (10) over the likely
diving position of the U-Boat. Unfortunately, contact was lost, the
U-Boat disappeared and Walker steamed on to pick up survivors from yet
another tanker. The U-Boat had been damaged by the depth charges and
unable to stay under water for long it surfaced to inspect the damage.
As it surfaced my RADAR operator immediately reported a dark green blob
which he thought might be a U-Boat. This was reported to HMS Walker
and both ships raced at top speed along the bearing given by the RADAR
operator. After a little more than a mile, the silhouette of a U-Boat
could be seen on the surface, and without hesitation our Captain gave
the order “Stand by to ram.” This we did, in no uncertain manner, at
full speed, hitting the U-Boat amidships and toppling her over. It
brought Vanoc to a sudden
standstill, embedded in the U-Boat which was only cleared by both
engines being set full astern. The U-Boat rose high in the air and
sunk, the Captain still on the bridge wearing his white cap but badly
injured went down with her. There were few survivors, just five from a
crew of 50 who had probably jumped over-board before the collision.
We later found out that the U-Boat we had sunk was U-100, captained by
a Lieut. Capt. Schwepke, a U-Boat Ace who had sunk many thousand tons
of British shipping. This was the first time that such a primitive and
crude RADAR set had led to a successful attack on a U-Boat, bearing in
mind that the set had only been installed a few months before and the
aerial had to be rotated manually.
We swept the surface of the waters with our searchlight to pick up
survivors. I well remember and will do so always, the cries of men in
the icy waters “Camerade.” In my youth, my bitterness towards them was
extreme; they had sunk our ships and many of our seamen drowned at sea.
Their air force (the Luftwaffe) had bombed our cities relentlessly
killing thousands of innocent civilians. I just had to shout “Leave
them there.” Fortunately, perhaps, the older members of our crew had
more compassion and pulled up the side as many as they could, before
the next alarm. It amounted to just five, one officer and four men.
Whilst recovering these survivors the Walker
ASDIC operator reported an echo which, on investigation, placed the
u-boat directly under our stem, where we were stopped recovering
survivors. There was only one thing to do, get away quickly and depth
charge the area, followed by a run over the spot by HMS Walker which
also dropped a bank of depth charges. Any further survivors in the
water, and there were some, could not possibly have survived this
fierce attack. After a short while, a U-Boat surfaced just astern of
us, so close that it was necessary to move out of the way fairly
quickly for fear of being torpedoed or fired upon. Walker and Vanoc
both opened fire at the U-Boat, with no answering fire and no movement
from the U-Boat it was clear that she was badly damaged and the crew
would have to surrender. The U-Boat flashed a message in English to Walker
that she was sinking. The bow of the U-Boat rose in the air and she
slithered down to her grave. The whole of the crew took to the water,
all saved, including the captain, with the exception of the Engineer
Officer and two seamen.
What we had achieved! This was U-99, captained by Lieut. Cmdr.
Kretschmer, the unchallenged Ace of the German U-Boat fleet after Prien
who had been sunk with his U-Boat a few days before by HMS Wolverine
- another of the old V & W class. But what of ourselves? The damage
to our bow was extensive, but the water-tight doors were holding and
the engines were sound; we would be of little further use as an escort
but we remained with the convoy at slow speed and left them for Loch
Ewe, Scotland on the morning of 18th. We were desperately short of
fuel, having steamed at high speed to meet the convoy and been at full
power during the action. It took three hours to refuel and we left to
re-join the convoy for Liverpool, but did not proceed into harbour as
usual. We anchored outside in the Mersey. The following day, the 20
March, we proceeded up harbour at 11 am, to be met by the Admiral of
Western Approaches and many other top brass. We received
congratulations all round, discharged our prisoners, and settled
ourselves in Gladstone Dock for what was to be a period of repairs to
our bow, among other modifications. In due course, many months later,
awards were made for this action, our own Captain and the Captain of Walker
were both awarded the Distinguished Service Cross, our ASDIC operator
the Distinguished Service Medal and for my part, not that I know what
it was, I received a mention in dispatches. I suppose my part had been
keeping sound and efficient communications including the RADAR which
was my responsibility. A good account of this action is given in The Golden Horseshoe by Terence Robertson.
"I was in the
wireless office, which was on the deck underneath the bridge, so I
could not see what was actually happening but I knew that our ship was
dropping depth charges.
The next thing I remember was a terrible crashing noise and everyone in
the wireless office was thrown about. We all thought that the Vanoc had
been torpedoed as the ship toppled over at an alarming angle. However,
the lights stayed on and after some time the ship gradually righted
itself. Meanwhile, Petty Officer Walter Edney had already started to
put the confidential papers into the weighted bag ready to thrown
overboard if needs be. My instant reaction was to inflate my life belt
that we always wore on the body when at action stations. After the ship
had returned to an even keel I could hear a lot of noise and commotion
coming from the upper deck and on the bridge so I went out of the
wireless office to see what was happening. I could hear men in the sea
shouting and calling for help. Our searchlights were scanning the water
trying to see them in the blackness. Our crew flung nets over the side
of the ship to try to help the German sailors in the sea to climb up
the nets to safety. I realised by then that the Vanoc had rammed the U-boat. While the survivors were being picked up the Vanoc was stationary and it was very vulnerable from attack from other U-boats in the vicinity. The Walker
circled around us to try to offer protection from attack. It was very
difficult to pick up survivors and we only managed to save one officer
and five ratings from the sea. I learned later that the submarine that
we had sunk was the U-100, captained by the famous 29-year-old U-boat
ace Joachim Schepke.
The U-boat was about 1000 yards from the Vanoc
after the depth charges were used and it was forced to surface when it
was badly damaged. It was then located by the ships new radar system
and the order was given to make full speed ahead and to ram. The Vanoc
hit the submarine at full force in the middle by the conning tower. The
men near the conning tower were flung into the sea. When the Vanoc rammed the U-boat the captain was standing near the tower and he was unable to get away before the Vanoc's
bows crashed into his boat at right angles. He had both his legs
severed and his body fell into the sea. The U-boat then sank with the
rest of the crew still on board. The six survivors were made prisoners
of war aboard Vanoc and they considered themselves lucky to be alive. A short time later the Walker received another ASDIC contact with a second U-boat and Vanoc was ordered to join Walker
to locate the submarine and to drop depth charges. Before long the
depth charges found the target and badly damaged U-99 surfaced. This
time all but three of the crew were picked up and taken on board HMS Walker.
The U-boat sank and the German sailors were made prisoners of war. The
captain of the second U-boat, was Otto Kretschmer, another U-boat ace,
young and much decorated by Hitler for so much success in sinking
merchant ships.
In one memorable night, 17th March 1941, two of Germany's ace U-boat
commanders were put out of action. One killed and the other taken
prisoner for the duration of the war. The Vanoc and Walker
rejoined the convoy of the remaining merchant ships and smaller navel
ships and reached Liverpool a few days later without further incident.
As we drew up to Princes Landing Stage we were welcomed by a group of
high ranking naval officers from Western Approaches Headquarters that
was based in Derby House nearby overlooking the River Mersey. The
German sailors were taken ashore and sent off to prisoner of war camps.
The five ratings on the Vanoc
had slept and ate with us in our mess and were able to converse with
one of our men who could speak a little German. They were treated well
and were no trouble. When they left the ship we gave them a small
package of chocolate each. As they left the ship and walked down the
landing stage they turned and waved farewell to us on board. The one
officer turned and made the nazi salute. They were all convinced that
Germany would win the war in a matter of months but as we all know now
they were very wrong. They would have spent many years in a prison camp
before being allowed to return to Germany at the end of the war.
As the bows of the Vanoc were
badly damaged when it rammed the U-boat we were all given four weeks
leave when she was repaired in dock. After our leave we rejoined the
ship in Liverpool and continued to do convoy duty in the North Atlantic
for the rest of 1941."
The Telegraphers in the Wireless Office on HMS Vancoc
Walter Edney is in the centre at the back and Fred Chilton is front right. John Richard Anthony Oldfield (1899-1999), known as Jack Oldfield, may be the older rating standing on the left next to Walter Edney.
Liverpool
Well, the first thing
for me to do on return to Liverpool was to call and see Thelma, which I
did without delay. I had a good hot bath at her home, went out and got
very drunk. We were going to be in dock some time for repairs, so two
weeks leave was immediately granted although I did not go myself until
a week later. There was work to do on board before the “Dockies” took
over - dismantling certain transmitters, taking down wireless aerials,
and rewiring the radio office, but I was able to get ashore each
evening and be with Thelma. We spent our evenings at the Grafton,
dancing, or went to the cinema or even, on a Sunday, for a picnic in
North Wales. Thelma was working, of course. I frequently stayed
overnight in her home. Her parents treated me as though I was their own
son; I had meals provided, hot baths, and all home comforts, which
considering they were on strict rations, was exceptionally good of them
and very much appreciated.
So much for Thelma's family background. Our vessel was soon moved to
Birkenhead and dry docked for repairs. Home leave was granted and I
went South to visit my parents. I spent most of my leave with my
brother, going to cinemas or at the roller skating rink or the pub with
my father. I had a very nice two weeks and a lovely girl to return to
in Liverpool. There was not a great deal to do on board while dockyard
repairs were taking place and life aboard was not at all comfortable.
Consequently, the opportunity was taken for plenty of home leave. Late
in April, I applied for my full qualifying course for P.O.
Telegraphist, at the Signal School, at Petersfield, Hants. In late
April I had a further week's leave and took Thelma to my home in Bognor
to meet my parents. I think she found my home somewhat different to her
own and was probably glad to leave when I saw her off on the train a
week later. I went directly from this leave to the Signal School at
Petersfield.
It was a disastrous trip home for Thelma. Liverpool had been heavily
bombed the previous night. The city was ablaze, with thousands of
refugees tramping out carrying what little belongings they could
salvage. They were making their way to the outskirts, anywhere away
from the burning city. Thelma was terrified of course, but joined the
refugees. She had no choice, eventually arriving home, footsore and
weary to see most of the houses in her street had been bombed flat. She
was sure that her home and her family were gone. In the event, it was
the houses opposite to hers which had taken the hit and her mother and
sister were safe though severely shaken Her father was missing. He had
been on police duty in the city the previous night – fire watching from
the roofs of buildings and it was not known whether he had survived.
Fortunately he did, for he turned up home, many hours later, blackened
and dishevelled, but safe.
I spent two weeks of intense study at Petersfield during which I was informed that I was to be drafted to HMS Talybont, a small new destroyer escort which had just completed building. This worried me intensely. Vanoc was
not entitled to a fully qualified petty officer, but it probably meant
that my days of operating from Liverpool and seeing Thelma would have
to come to an end. I protested and so did my officers from Vanoc, on my behalf, so the draft was not enforced and I was allowed to stay. I returned to Vanoc
in mid-May. Repairs to the ship were finally completed by mid-June and
we sailed on the 19th for Londonderry where we carried out trials of
all the new equipment and fully tested everything, bringing ourselves
back to fighting fitness. We had one week of working up trials. Whilst
in dock, I had got together with the ship's gunner - a petty officer
who had a gunnery station on the upper deck. I had to have some of my
new wireless equipment fitted into his office, which backed on to my
wireless office. We had built for ourselves a pair of bunks in what was
known as the Transmitting Station and from now on, our sleeping
arrangements would be quite civilized. We sailed to collect our next
convoy from Greenock on 24th June. Meanwhile the results of my
examination came through - I had passed, top of the class and was able
to drop the “Temporary” from my title.
Atlantic Convoys
The next three months were spent on convoy escort duty, each trip
lasting seven to ten days with usually three days in harbour at
Liverpool. Ships of the convoy were often sunk and sometimes, but not
always, survivors were rescued by the escorting destroyers. Frequently
depth charges were dropped when an Asdic (SONAR) contact was obtained
but there was never confirmation of any further U-Boat sinkings.
Sometimes, the convoy was bombed by aircraft but although ships were
hit non were sunk. We formed a ship's football team to play other
escort destroyers during the brief periods in harbour and I was able to
see Thelma at frequent intervals. It was a quiet and somewhat boring
period, but we were doing an important job and the convoys were getting
through. There was no way Hitler was going to starve us out. He had
missed his opportunity to invade and we were rearming and re-equipping
at breakneck speed with the help of the USA.
In October there was a slight change to our normal routine when we left
an outward-bound convoy in mid-Atlantic and proceeded to Iceland for
refuelling. Our first visit was on the 1 October for three days. This
lengthened the time for each trip, but it was a pleasure to be able to
get fresh provisions halfway through a convoy. These visits to Iceland
(Reykjavik) continued into December, sometimes in the roughest of
weathers - the seas can be very unkind in that part of the world in
late autumn and winter. Our football team was very active during this
period, never missing the opportunity to play, be it in Liverpool or
Reykjavik. I gave up my position as goalkeeper for the team which was
either boring and cold standing around or as an “Aunt Sally” for the
opposing team in mid-field.
On 10 December Vanoc entered
Liverpool for a slightly longer break than normal in order to give each
watch seven days leave. We were due to sail again on 21 December so
would not be home for Christmas. I stayed at the seaman's hostel in
Liverpool in order to see as much of Thelma as possible, which I did -
every day. By this time I had decided that I would like Thelma for my
wife and we discussed the matter. After some gentle persuasion, she
agreed, but would set no firm date for the engagement, although she
agreed to come with me and select a ring. This was surprising really as
our relationship had been far from smooth, quite the contrary. There
had been more arguments and sulking than there had been happy periods,
but underneath it all was a love on both sides I believe. On Monday
15th December we both went into Liverpool to do Christmas shopping and
looked at various engagement rings in jewellers until we found the one
Thelma liked - not gold but platinum, with two rather lovely diamonds
inset. I said she would not see it again until our engagement day. We
went to Reece's in the centre of Liverpool, upstairs to the tea rooms
for tea and cakes, during which Thelma asked to see the ring again. I
said “No,” not unless we become engaged now. She finally submitted,
said she would, and I produced the ring and placed it on her finger.
She was thrilled, I was thrilled, but I don't know if her parents were
- their permission had never been sought, but, such as they are, they
accepted the situation and wished us well. After the greatest leave
ever, I returned aboard the ship sailed for Londonderry on the 21st.
Monday 22nd saw us on our way to meet a convoy which was being attacked
by U-Boats, but on the 23rd we were ordered to chase, catch, and sink a
German tanker, close to the north coast of Spain. We were attacked by
two Junkers 88 bombers, but managed to get away without damage. That
evening we were running seriously short of fuel due to the high-speed
chase after the tanker. We discovered later that a signal from the
Admiralty, ordering us home at 4am had not been received. Now we were
ordered to proceed to Gibraltar. Christmas day was spent in a very calm
sea and we made the most of our Christmas dinner, albeit corned beef,
concocted into a dish. My diary says “Very nice dinner.” It was
extremely doubtful whether we would make Gibraltar, due to the fuel
running so low, however we made it by 2pm on Boxing Day with just 1.5
hours fuel remaining - a near thing.
Petty Officer
HMS Maidstone, my previous
ship, was stationed in Gibraltar and I wasted no time going aboard to
visit some of my old shipmates. I had left them eighteen months before
as a very junior Leading Telegraphist and was now a Petty Officer. What
is more, my Petty Officer rating had been confirmed in full in
November, so I was no longer wearing a sai1or‘s uniform, but what was
known as “square rig” - shirt, tie, jacket, trousers, and peaked cap.
Anyway, it was nice to see them again and to go ashore to the various
bars in Gibraltar with them. Needless to say, as always on these
occasions we had more than enough to drink.
I spent the morning of the 30th aboard MV Batory
and we sailed at 6pm in calm seas with this important vessel as her
escort to Milford Haven, where we arrived at 2am, January 4th. Our stop
was short, just long enough to refuel and sail again at 11am with
another important vessel for the Clyde. This duty completed on 5th
January we turned and set sail for Liverpool arriving on 6th to be
greeted by masses and masses of Christmas mail and time enougth for me
to dash ashore to Thelma's home. During these few days respite, Thelma
and I arranged an engagement party for Friday 9th January, although her
parents had all the work and expense. I invited all of my staff from Vanoc,
including Jackie Oldfield and Fred Chilton who had been with us for
some months. It was here that Fred met Thelma's sister Iris,
subsequently to wed and live a long and happy married life. We received
many engagement presents, Jackie Oldfield made a very pleasant speech
and we all had a wonderful evening running into the early hours of the
next morning. All stayed overnight, sleeping on the floor or wherever a
space could be found. Back on board the following day, we sailed with
our next convoy and returned on 18 January 1942.
It was now decided that escorts pn the western coast of North America needed strengthening. Vanoc and
several other “V” class destroyers sailed with a convoy from Liverpool
on the 25th February, arriving at St. John’s in Newfoundland on 4 March
and from there to Halifax, Nova Scotia. We escorted convoys along the
east coast to Boston and, in May, we went to Bermuda for a short refit
in the dockyard. Bermuda was a haven of peace and rest for a month. We
had a week away from the ship, camping out in the beautiful islands and
occupied ourselves with football, shooting, fishing, sailing, etc. It
was a sad day when we had to leave, but the war was still raging and in
June it was back to Halifax where, until September, we worked with
convoys along the American coast, visiting Newport and Boston on a
number of occasions. Our visits to American cities were a revelation,
far better than Halifax in Canada. Shops and stores were packed full of
goods the likes of which we had never seen at home, especially with a
war on. Needless to say, we spent all our money on goods to bring home.
I especially remember buying 20 yards of pure white satin for Thelma’s
wedding dress.
The sinking of HMS Veteran
In early September 1942 we left Halifax for St. Johns, Newfoundland, to
collect a convoy and make our way back home, leaving St. Johns on 16
September. Two days out of St. Johns ships in the convoy were being
sunk by U-Boats, a not unusual event. HMS Veteran,
an accompanying destroyer, obtained a sonar contact on a U-Boat and
left the convoy to investigate. She was never seen again, sunk at night
with all hands by torpedo. All we knew was that she did not re-join the
convoy and we could make no contact with her by radio. For me, a sad
loss of many friends. This was the ship that had taken me from Glasgow
to join Vanoc. Eventually we
reached Liverpool on 1st October after refuelling at Londonderry. Now
came the problem of getting all our goodies, purchased in the United
States, ashore without paying too much to the Customs Authorities. Many
items were honestly declared, but I did not wish to pay duty on the
yards of satin I had purchased. I wrapped it round and around my body
and put my clothes on top, looking considerably more portly than I
would normally. Dressed in this fashion, I waltzed through the dock
gates, past the dock police, my heart pounding, but I was not stopped
and got my valuable purchase back to Thelma‘s home for her dress to be
designed and made. Fortunately, her mother was a qualified dress maker
so there would be no problem in this respect.
Our stay in Liverpool was to be short-lived. We were now required for
convoy escort duties in the Mediterranean, so, on 16th October we
sailed to Gibraltar, where, until the end of 1942 we escorted convoys
along the North African coast, visiting Algeria, Oran, Casablanca, but
never as far as Malta, now under siege by the Germans but holding out
valiantly. It needed more up to date destroyers than ours to fight off
the attacks on Malta convoys. One unfortunate incident occurred whilst
alongside the harbour wall in Gibraltar during this period. The warship
ahead of us was engaged in cleaning its Bofors gun, aft. I was standing
on the Port Waist at the top of the forecastle ladder discussing some
matter with the ship's communications officer, an Australian Lieutenant
RNR. There was a huge explosion just above my head, the Bofors gun in
the vessel ahead had been accidentally fired and the shell struck the
stanchion just above my head. Splinters of metal flew everywhere
penetrating the chest of Lieut. Knott who staggered back, fell down the
ladder and was, sadly, killed. I was more fortunate, one piece (as far
as I know) of shrapnel penetrated my head, near to the brain, but not
deep enough to cause damage. Many weeks later it worked its way to the
surface and came away of its own accord. A very small piece I am happy
to say.
****************
After the war, in HMS Sheffield he
toured the major ports of North and South America to show the flag and
celebrate with the expatriate British communities. In the Korean war he
patrolled Korean waters under threat of hostile fire and, finally,
during the Cyprus crisis he patrolled in the Mediterranean Sea.
Throughout all this he raised a family of four children and was devoted
to his wife, Thelma, who he married during WW2. This book is an
authentic account of Navy life written by hands that had done all the
jobs from scrubbing the decks to saluting the Duke of Edinburgh. This
extract was first published on THE BBC Peoples War website.Scuppers to Skipper: A personal account of life in the Royal Navy 1934-1958 (2015) can be bought from Amazon as a print edition or a Kindle e-boook.
Convoy Maniac (RB.1)
and the sinking of HMS Veteran in September 1942
by James H. Reed
Conditions on V & W Class
destroyers were so bad in rough weather that the men who served on them
were paid hard-lying money. This story by James Reed was first published in Hard Lying,
the magazine of the V & W Destroyer Association and republished in
2005 by the Chairman of the Association,
Clifford ("Stormy") Fairweather, in the book of the same name which is
now out of print. It is reproduced here by kind permission of
Clifford Fairweather and his publisher, Avalon Associates, but copyright
remains with the author, James H. Reed.
*************
This story covers just a few
days, a little more than a week, but the events of that short period in
late September 1942 at the start of an early winter in the North
Atlantic will always be remembered by those who were lucky to survive
the crossing. And we also remember those
who paid the supreme price.
As far as the escorts are
concerned these events started at Halifax, Nova Scotia. Since very few of the escorts
had the fuel capacity to round up stragglers, hunt for U-boats, dash
to the rescue of those whose ships had been sunk and complete the crossing to Britain they would escort the convoy to
mid Atlantic where they would hand over responsibity to escorts from the U.K.
The
Atlantic at this time of the year was subject to heavy gales,
rough seas and fog and consequently all these ships wore the well worked look
that comes only from days, and weeks of continual fighting against
these elements. Their grey paint wore away and what remained was nearly
white from the salt.
Two such ships on that day were the old
V&W class destroyers Vanoc and Veteran both about 25 years old, but
still very sound and ideal ships for the job. The ship's crews were good comrades on
shore leave or when lying alongside, sharing sessions of tombola or just
a smoke and a yarn.
The crew of the Vanoc,
cleaning up
after a spell of convoying, watched as the 'Old Man', Commander
Churchill crossed the decks of one or two ships to come aboard after a
visit
to Naval H.Q. ashore. Needless to say a few good natured remarks passed
round the lads "What's he wants volunteers for now" and so on. These
remarks were always made discreetly but were loud enough for the 'Old
Man'
to hear but he never let on, although he must have chuckled
inwardly. Every man respected him. He was one of the old breed of no
nonsense Naval Commanders and was old enough to be the father of most
of us. Also he suffered sea sickness with the best of
us.
Shortly after the Captain's arrival on board, the
Bosun's mate piped 'clear lower deck, fall in aft', an order reserved
for rare and special occasions. The response was
immediate, and in no time a tightly packed circle was formed around the
Captain who was standing on a hatch. No dock workers were allowed on
board, just the crew. The Captain proceeded in as few
words as possible to tell us that the Veteran and the Vanoc,
were to go back home to the U.K., that a few hours shore leave would be
taken in two watches for shopping purposes and above all, not to
mention anything to anyone ashore. Secrecy was normal throughout the war but we were constrantly reminded that 'Careless Talk
Costs Lives'.
It was vital to carry as much oil fuel as possible. The water tank used for washing, cleaning, etc had
to be sacrificed for fuel to increase the range. This left one
small tank of about 1,500 gallons for drinking and cooking. No
luxuries like washing and shaving or cleaning. The only access to this
water was a small tank in the galley which was restricted to meal
times, at other times the stop cock was locked. Needless to
say the Veteran had the same rules. It must be
remembered that the complement of these very overcrowded ships could be
up to 170 officers and men, which gave no leeway in the efforts to
conserve fresh water and indeed fuel oil, over several days of
appalling weather.
The convoy was at first called
'Honeymoon'- a reference to the thousands of American couples
who had sailed in these ships in peace time. It left Halifax at 1100 on
Wednesday 16 September 1942 bound for St Johns, Newfoundland. The
convoy consisted of eight ships; there were going to be eleven ships but one was totally destroyed by fire and the other two
were found to be unsuitable for a deep sea crossing. At the
given sailing time Vanoc and Veteran
slipped their moorings and with
screws turning we got under way with the usual good hearted remarks
from our sister escort ringing in our ears. As we cleared harbour and
approached the open sea we saw for the first time the convoy we were to
escort home to the U.K.
Prior to departure for St Johns, the
escort commanders and ships captains attended a briefing at Naval H.Q.
At this meeting the official name of the convoy became R.B.1. The code name 'Honeymoon' was replaced by
'Maniac'. Captain Beckett said that the code word
was very appropriate but he considered it should be in the plural. One can
only wonder who could sardonically and cynically suggest such a
name.
The convoy left St Johns for the Atlantic crossing at 1400 on the 21st
September with the eight ships and two escorts formed into three columns. The seasoned crews of the convoy
escorts were accustomed to
all types of cargo and troop transports but the eight ships of
RB1 were different from anything we had seen before. Unlike
conventional cargo ships their superstructure was very high, two had
twin funnels and the others high single funnels. From a distance, in haze or at night, or from a
U-boats periscope they could quite easily be mistaken for large troopships, some resembling our more famous
liners. As we came closer we could see that
they were in fact coastal or river pleasure boats. By no stretch of the
imagination would any seafarer consider them to be suitable for an
Atlantic crossing as winter approached. All the ships
had undergone considerable work to 'whaleback' them with heavy timbers to protect
the most vulnerable parts of the superstructure.
They carried no
cargo, no passengers, and were in ballast to reduce the top hamper and, as
we learned later, were manned entirely by volunteers from
Coastlines
Shipping, Liverpool, 500 officers
and men who came over on the Queen Mary.
Within 36 hours of sailing the convoy was in the
area of operation of the German wolf packs. Between 22 - 26 September
Vanoc received at least 29 U-boat sighting reports and there were 10
reports of U-boats making sighting reports of the convoy. RB1
was sighted and reported by U-404 which was was on patrol with U-380 and U-91. The report indicated that the convoy
was a fast troop transport convoy.
The German U-boat Command instructed
the Vorwarts group of 10 U-boats to close and engage, also group Pfiel
of seven U-boats to proceed to the scene on completion of operations
against convoy SC100. The Germans were completely fooled by
the ships' profiles and identified them as ships of the Queen Mary Class and considered the convoy so important that the
high command sent 17 U-boats to attack.
Vanoc's Commander Churchill
sent the following signal to C in C Western Atlantic:
"RB1 was shadowed
from ahead all last night and suspect shadowing continues today
Thursday 24th. Escorts have in sufficient fuel to carry out putting
down sweep. Evasive tactics proved useless in extreme visibility with
full moon. Air cover would be appreciated as soon as
possible".
Friday 25th September
Fourteen U-boats had reported being in contact with the convoy and at 1337 local time U-216 attacked
and sank the twin funnelled ship SS Boston, some of the survivors were
picked up by Veteran, and others by the rescue ship New Bedford, an
unconfirmed report gave the Veteran as having saved 48
survivors.
The two escorts were kept busy trying to keep
the U-boats at bay and the convoy together but this was not helped
by one of the merchant ships breaking down and going round
in circles when it eventually rejoined the convoy.
At about 1830, the
convoy was reformed with seven ships in line abreast with Veteran to
port and Vanoc to starboard. Later Veteran signalled to Vanoc. "Suggest
we change stations, as you seem to be getting all the action and getting short of depth charges". Vanoc agreed, "I am short of fuel, I
will take station ahead and you astern".
The next attack
came at 2057 when U-96 attacked the second of the two funnelled ships,
SS New York, the torpedoes caused a heavy explosion which started
fires, she remained afloat for some time, but was attacked again. The
convoy became disorganised and scattered. The escorts fired flares to
force the U-boats to submerge. Veteran again stood by to
take on survivors, whilst Vanoc proceeded to attempt to reform the convoy in the darkness.
Veteran reported that she was
proceeding to rejoin the convoy and that she had 28 survivors aboard.
The lookouts on both of the escorts were continuously searching for the
tell tale signs of periscopes. The U-boats were blatantly signalling to
each other information to attack, four more attacks were made but all
were unsuccessful.
Saturday 26 September
At 0736 the next morning U-404 (Von
Bulow) fired a spread of three torpedoes. Two found their target.
Veteran blew up and must have sunk within seconds for there were no
survivors. Vanoc was at this time over the horizon, trying to
reform the convoy. Lieutenant Commander T.H. Garwood had a
complement of Nine officers and 150 men in HMS Veteran and was believed to be carrying
28 survivors from the New York and 48 from the Boston.
C in
C Western Atlantic has sent a signal to HMS Sabre, HMS Scimitar and HMS
Saladin which read "If you have completed refuelling, proceed to
reinforce convoy RB1, giving the position of the now depleted
convoy.
On 1000 hours Vanoc
identified a ship ahead as the President
Warfield and at the same Saladin and Scimitar were sighted and
proceeded to escort her and were joined by the Vanoc. A coastal
command aircraft was asked to carry out a search
for the Veteran without success. All W/T signals to the stricken ship
also failed.
All the crew of the Vanoc could see of the convoy after the night action was this single funnel
ship and many thought the two ships were the only survivors. Many of the U-boats
had been outpaced and left behind but the Germans had not given up their attacks yet. The Yorktown had decided to leave
the convoy and sail independently but at 2025 on September 26th she was
sighted by U-619. The U-boat attacked, hitting her on the
port side immediately beneath the bridge. This caused a complete
collapse of the superstructure of the wooden bridge and everything
forward. The engines stopped and the ship broke up and sank
within three minutes.
The survivors in the water manned four rafts and a waterlogged boat they had
managed to right and bale out. They were picked up by the destroyer Sardonix after
being sighted by what is thought to have been a Very Long Range (VLR) B-24 Liberator. Eighteen men lost their lives out of the
ship's complement of 62.
Although unknown at the time the remaining ships of Convoy
'Maniac' on the night of Saturday September 26th were: HMS Vanoc, and five river boats, Northland, Southland, President Warfield,
New Bedford and Naushan. The ships lost were HMS Veteran, SS Boston, New
York, and Yorktown with 300 lives.
Jim Reed's opinion of the Maniac
convoy:
"I was there at the time on the only surviving
escort, HMS Vanoc. I have always had misgivings about the true reason
for this convoy and am in disagreement with what has been accepted of
its story. The year was 1942
and September was the start of the season of equinoctial
gales. The North Atlantic convoy system was at grave risk in the later months of 1942 and
only a whisker away from total collapse. More than a thousand merchant ships had been sunk and the German U-boat command had
withdrawn U-boats from other areas to concentrate on the destruction of
the North Atlantic convoy system. Over 160 U-boats were operating in
the Atlantic. There were two other grave threats to the convoys. The "Black
Hole", an area of over 300 square miles along the convoy routes
had no air cover allowing the U-boats to press home their attacks. The
other major threat was the entry into the Atlantic of the first German
milch-cows in around April 1942.
These oil tanker U-boats lying some 500 miles north-west of Bermuda,
could refuel the U-boats without them returning to their bases in
France or Germany.
Convoy Maniac was indeed
a decoy
convoy which invited destruction in the Atlantic to safeguard a great
convoy of vessels laden with munitions of desperately needed munitions.
The eight ships engaged in
trade on the Great Lakes sailed in a convoy to decoy enemy
U-boats away from a munitions and troop convoy which set
sail from America at the same time. The plan succeeded and the latter
got through without loss."
James H. Reed is the author of:
Convoy "Maniac": R.B.1 Book Guild Publishing Ltd, 2000. 114 pages, ISBN 1857764714
See also Chapter One of: The Decoys: A Tale of Three Atlantic Convoys, 1942; by Bernard Edwards
Pen and Sword Maritime, 2016, ISBN 978-1-47388-708-4
If
you want to find out more about the wartime service of a member of your
family who served on HMS Vanoc
you should first obtain a copy of their service record To
find out how follow this link: http://vandwdestroyerassociation.org.uk/Service_Records.html
If
you have stories or photographs of HMS Vanoc you would like to
contribute to the web site please contact Bill Forster
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The Telegraphers in the Wireless Office on HMS Vancoc