The moist star upon whose influence Neptune’s empire stands Was sick almost to doomsday with eclipse.
Hamlet, Act I, Scene 1
Following the German invasion of the Soviet Union in June 1941, Joseph Stalin had left Prime Minister Winston Churchill in no doubt of the ‘mortal menace’ with which the Russian people were threatened and of their need for material assistance. For his part Churchill had agreed to do everything that ‘time, geography and our growing resources,’ would permit. There were three routes by which such supplies could be sent to Russia: across the Pacific from the United States to Vladivostok and then by rail across Siberia; through the Persian Gulf to the ports of Hormuz and Basra, and thence overland; or directly from Britain, and later Iceland, to Murmansk (and later Archangel). Of these the last was the shortest and most direct but also the most dangerous, because the Germans could hardly fail to locate the convoys of loaded merchant ships unless conditions were exceptionally unfavourable for air reconnaissance.
Following their occupation of Norway, the Germans had established no fewer than six airfields in the north. With U-boat bases at Bergen and Trondheim, it was an easy matter for submarine patrol lines to be established across the probable route of any convoy. Finally, the Germans could employ their heavy ships to intercept the merchant vessels, especially during the latter part of their journey when they passed east of a line drawn from the southern end of Spitzbergen through Bear Island to the North Cape in Norway – an area in which it was difficult to give adequate protection.1
Notwithstanding the dangers, during the early months German opposition to the convoys was surprisingly weak. The first Arctic convoy, code-named Dervish and consisting of seven ships, sailed in August 1941; then ten ships sailed in September, both without losses. Instead of adopting a code prefix denoting port of origin and destination for the convoys, the initials ‘PQ’ outward and ‘QP’ homeward were used.2 By the end of the year, 53 ships had made the voyage with only one loss. In the New Year, however, there were signs that resistance to this traffic was about to be stepped up. In March 1942 the powerful German battleship Tirpitz was ordered to sea to intercept a convoy of 16 ships in PQ 12 bound for Murmansk; fortunately bad weather and a lack of air reconnaissance meant that both outbound and inbound convoys – oblivious of the narrow escape from destruction they had had – reached their appointed destinations without incident. The next convoy to sail, PQ 13, was not so lucky. Assailed by a savage storm which scattered the convoy, as well as a concerted attack from German destroyers, of the 19 ships which sailed in April, five were lost. Icy weather conditions also impeded the passage of the convoys. Out of the 24 ships in PQ 14, 16 had to return to Reykjavik because of ice and weather damage and one was lost.
On 28 May 1942, by which time two more convoys had sailed with increasing losses, the Admiralty informed the Senior British Naval Officer, North Russia, that four oil-burning Rescue Ships had been allocated for service with the Arctic convoys – the Copeland, Rathlin, Zamalek and Zaafaran. This meant depleting the already inadequate number of Rescue Ships available for the North Atlantic convoys, but, as experience was to show, the need for them in the Arctic convoys was even greater.
With the coming of the summer, better flying conditions and continuous daylight for twenty-four hours, the chances of the Germans locating the convoys were greatly increased. In May, intelligence reports indicated that a large number of German aircraft had been moved to airfields in northern Norway, from which they could cover the last half of the convoy’s route. By June the Admiralty had received intelligence of Operation Knight’s Move (Unternehmen Rösselsprung), the German plan to bring out their heavy surface ships, the Tirpitz and the Hipper, to attack the next eastbound convoy to North Russia. Ships bound for the port of Murmansk had no option but to run the gauntlet of air opposition, as the port itself was within a few minutes’ flying time of the German airfields at Petsamo and Kirkenes. This proximity also meant that, in addition to attacks en route, the ships could be attacked in harbour after their arrival. Since the route of these convoys was restricted by geographical and physical factors, the task of the German U-boats deployed to intercept them was made easier. The ice barrier to the north meant that even ships bound for Archangel, 500 miles to the east, could not avoid coming within range of attack. Moreover, the Germans believed that neither their submarines nor their surface ships in the Barents Sea to the east of the North Cape, were likely to encounter any opposition from British carriers and heavy ships, which had not so far penetrated it. Russian opposition – both in the air and on the surface – was discounted. By the summer of 1942, therefore, the dice were heavily loaded against the merchant ships sailing in the Arctic convoys, their passage under constant review in the Admiralty.3
* * *
It was to convoy PQ 17, a designation that would become world-famous, that three Rescue Ships – the Rathlin, Zaafaran and the Zamalek – were assigned. The inclusion of three rescue vessels in one convoy was evidence of the Admiralty’s concern for the personnel of the 36 merchant ships intended to sail in it. ‘Tail-end Charlies,’ recorded Paul Lund, serving in the trawler Lord Austin, adding that they were a ‘welcome yet sobering addition.’4
To protect the convoy, initially escorted by three minesweepers and four anti-submarine trawlers (the Lord Austin was one), a close escort force under Commander John ( Jack) Broome in the destroyer HMS Keppel was provided, including five more destroyers, four corvettes, two anti-aircraft ships, Palomares and Pozarica (known by those who sailed in her as ‘Pozy’) and two submarines. Attached to the convoy for refuelling purposes was the tanker, Gray Ranger (later replaced by the Aldersdale when the Gray Ranger left the convoy due to ice damage). Close cover would come from the British heavy cruisers London and Norfolk and the US cruisers Tuscaloosa and Wichita, under the command of Rear Admiral Louis (‘Turtle’) Hamilton flying his flag in the London, with three destroyers in company. Heavy cover would be given by ships of the Home Fleet, Admiral Tovey flying his flag in the battleship Duke of York, in company with the US battleship Washington, the aircraft carrier HMS Victorious, two cruisers and 12 destroyers.5
Prior to departure Tovey had been informed that should the convoy encounter a powerful German surface force in the Barents Sea – in all probability including the Tirpitz – the First Sea Lord, Admiral Sir Dudley Pound, had it in mind to order the convoy to scatter. The order to scatter is an accepted naval principle in ocean warfare, when a group of merchant ships is attacked by an enemy surface force greatly superior to that escorting it. In May 1940 the order to scatter had been used successfully (despite losses) when HX 84, a transatlantic 37-ship convoy, escorted only by the armed merchant cruiser, Jervis Bay, was attacked by the German ‘pocket’ battleship Admiral Scheer in mid-Atlantic. But the circumstances were entirely different in the Barents Sea, where lack of sea-room caused by the pack ice to the north would prevent ships from escaping out of range of German shore-based aircraft. Moreover, experience had shown that mutual support was essential in the face of both air and U-boat attack; without knowing what the future held, Admiral Pound’s suggestion came as a profound shock to Admiral Tovey.6
It was not until the day the convoy was due to sail that the Admiralty issued instructions regarding the conduct of the forces engaged in the operation. These stated inter alia that the safety of the convoy against surface attack to the west of Bear Island must be met by surface forces, while to the east of that island the convoy would have to depend on the submarines; that the cruiser covering force was not intended to go east of Bear Island unless the convoy was threatened by the presence of a surface force the cruisers could fight (that is, one that did not include the Tirpitz); and that, in any case, they were not to go beyond the longitude of the North Cape (25° East). If the Tirpitz were used to attack the convoy to the east of Bear Island, it was accepted that only the slender chance she might be torpedoed by a submarine stood between the convoy and its destruction. It might be asked whether it was sound policy to send merchant ships into these waters with the scales weighted so heavily against them. The answer is that the decision to continue running the convoys was made at the highest political level in the face of contrary naval advice. Having remonstrated, the Admiralty had no alternative but to carry out the Government’s instructions.7
On 24 June 1942 the Rathlin and the Zamalek sailed from the Clyde, joining the anti-aircraft ships, Palomares and Pozarica and the four corvettes; they proceeded in company to Seydisfjord on the east coast of Iceland. Here they found the Zaafaran, which had left Loch Ewe with the British section of the convoy and reached the anchorage some days previously. The convoy, under Commodore John ( Jack) Dowding in the River Afton, assembled at Hvalfjord, an inlet close to Reykjavik on the west side of the island.8 On 27 June, following the customary ‘convoy conference’, they set sail, soon encountering patches of dense fog. Their destination was the port of Archangel in the White Sea, since Murmansk had been temporarily put out of action by bombing. As the Russian Commander-in-Chief, Northern Fleet, Admiral Arseni Golovko, dryly observed: ‘As if by design – now that Murmansk has in effect ceased to exist as a town, we have just received a hundred AA guns for its defence! However they will come in useful.’9
On leaving the anchorage one ship ran aground and another suffered damage from ice and had to return. By the time the three Rescue Ships and the rest of the escort joined the convoy to the north of Iceland on 30 June, it comprised 34 merchant ships. All on board this valiant armada – most of the convoy flying the United States’ flag – were tense and expectant, having been warned that their passage was likely to be stoutly resisted by hostile German action. ‘An unsettling feature,’ recorded Paul Lund in the Lord Austin, were the regular broadcasts by Lord Haw-Haw over the ships’ radios ‘telling PQ 17 of the dire fate that awaited it, naming individual ships and making particular threats regarding the Rescue Ships Zaafaran and Zamalek, which, he sneered, certainly would not get through.’
On 1 July, a German reconnaissance aircraft located the convoy to the north-east of Jan Mayen Island and from then onwards it was continuously shadowed, the U-boats taking over when the aircraft lost touch. In the afternoon of that day the homeward-bound QP 13 passed by.10
That evening the first attack took place. The Zamalek was carrying as deck cargo a large launch with an RAF blue, white and red roundel clearly marked on the after canopy. Unfortunately this appeared to attract the attention of the German pilots and every time they attacked, Zamalek was singled out. Three of Zamalek’s gunners were wounded when the ship was sprayed with machine-gun bullets, one seriously when a splinter from a gun casing entered his eye. One bullet passed through Captain Morris’s duffle coat; when he ducked out of the way to avoid others, he sprained his ankle.11 Their ‘revenge’ came two and a half hours later when they shot the floats off a seaplane which attempted to repeat the process, causing it to crash nearby.
The air temperature was 34°F (1.1°C). ‘Still very cold,’ Surgeon Lieutenant R. D. Wilkins, the Rathlin’s medical officer, recorded on 2 July. ‘The morale is still good in the ship but the tension is growing, more marked by lack of sleep and the knowledge that the most dangerous part of the voyage is yet to be encountered.’ A thickset powerful man with a background of St Thomas’s Hospital and a bent for surgery, ‘he looked older than his years by virtue of having put on a bit of weight and sporting a well-groomed chestnut full set. The likeness to Charles Laughton as Henry VIII was irresistible.’ Wilkins’ official report provides a valuable factual account of the epoch-making voyage.12
Throughout the next day the Luftwaffe shadowed the convoy and carried out sporadic but unsuccessful attacks. Several icebergs were seen, but otherwise the day proved uneventful. ‘Then came the convoy’s best friend – fog,’ recorded Broome. ‘However much those skippers had dreaded fog at sea in the past, now, with everyone going in the same direction at the same speed, it had its advantages… When the fog lifted, the convoy was still in its precise formation. It was a splendid sight.’13 A temporary calm prevailed as they continued on their journey, passing north of Bear Island.
* * *
Meanwhile and unknown to those at sea, at the Admiralty in London, the First Sea Lord was assessing the overall picture. On 3 July it had been established that the Tirpitz and the Hipper had moved from their accustomed berths at Trondheim. An attempted reconnaissance of Narvik had been unsuccessful and it was not immediately known whether the battleships had gone to sea or whether they were biding their time in one of the many fjords along the north coast of Norway. Pending further instructions, the escort was ordered to remain with the convoy.
The fourth of July, ‘Independence Day’ for United States personnel, began inauspiciously when, in the early hours of the morning, in bright daylight, a lone Heinkel torpedo-bomber dived out of the clouds and torpedoed the US merchant ship Christopher Newport, three men in the engine room being killed instantly. ‘It was a pitiful, sobering sight to see the huge vessel fall back maimed and helpless,’ observed Paul Lund. ‘The Zamalek was quickly on the scene and rescued 47 members of her crew of 50; among them was the captain who was carrying a revolver which he insisted he must keep as he had such a “mixed” crew. The rescue ship’s captain quietly relieved him of the gun.’14 The sea at the time was smooth as glass, with cloud level at between 300 and 400ft, a factor which had favoured the German aircraft in making a surprise attack.
All day long aircraft circled the convoy, keeping the defenders on the alert, as if attempting to wear down their resistance. ‘We were passing far to the north of Bear Island, the stark piece of land visited in normal times only by deep-sea fishermen, whose tales of incredible hardships were remembered at this moment by many men; now this island, unseen in the far distance, was the most dangerous part of the Arctic run, being the nearest land on a straight flight out from the German air bases. We awaited fresh events with keyed up expectancy,’ continued Lund. ‘In this action area a man’s thoughts turned all the more keenly to his own personal safety, which basically concerned the clothes he wore… Should he continue to wear all his thick heavy gear – or lighten himself, with the risk of being frozen stiff?’ As the men knew, heavy clothing could drag a man down in the sea, but it was essential when standing on a long watch, exposed to the freezing elements. ‘What many did was to compromise by leaving off their sea boots and wearing thick stockings and gym shoes. If sunk or blown out to sea they had a fair chance of pulling off their duffle coats, scarves, balaclavas and the rest in order to fight their way to a rescue net, but sea boots were impossible to remove and would drag a man down into the icy depths.’15
That evening the Germans struck again. On board the Rathlin, Dr Wilkins was standing on the deck:
At about 1800 hours the circling German planes were suddenly joined by between thirty and forty Heinkel torpedo bombers which approached at tremendous speed a few feet above the sea on the starboard quarter. All our guns went into action and a terrific barrage was put up by the convoy, which forced the aircraft to turn to port, but did not prevent them from firing their torpedoes into the heart of the convoy. The leader pressed home the attack in a very daring manner, passing straight down the lines of the convoy and being shot down in flames. Two torpedoes passed ahead of us, one actually under our bows, and three astern.
Notwithstanding the determined way in which the attack was delivered, on this sortie only three ships were hit. They were the Navarino, the American William Hooper and the Russian tanker Azerbaijan, loaded with linseed oil, which spouted skywards as the ship was struck. ‘In two minutes the convoy had gone from peace to bedlam and back to peace, leaving the glass sea scarred with three smoking ships and three orange bonfires which had recently been planes,’ continued Broome.16
Eight men from the Azerbaijan either jumped or were blown overboard, and one had a broken leg. The Zaafaran moved in swiftly to rescue as many as she could. ‘Most rescue ships had developed a picking up technique so that the rescue of a boatload of survivors was very rapid,’ explained MacBain in the Zaafaran, ‘[while] the collection from rafts which could not so speedily traverse the gap to a stopped ship was slower. To approach a single man in the water so closely as to be able to snatch him – at most from a boat hook’s length away – took splendid judgement, especially as experience had shown that the ship must be virtually stopped if you are not to lose men… It sticks in my mind that McGowan collected these men from the Azerbaijan in one smooth beautifully planned swoop.’17
After a time, to their amazement, they saw that the Azerbaijan was free of her great column of smoke and moving again. ‘It was strange seeing women members of the crew running aft to fire a farewell shell at the retreating enemy,’ observed McCallum, in the Zamalek.18 With a top speed of 15 knots, the Azerbaijan was able to catch the convoy up. But although the Captain had managed to save his ship, his success came at a price – an early fatality was the ship’s radio operator, his wife.19
The Zaafaran also picked up 30 survivors from the Navarino. ‘The survivors included an army officer to whom I lent personal clothing,’ continued MacBain. ‘He was a neat and meticulous type who returned my belongings neatly folded at a later date.’ The Rathlin recovered 44 from the William Hooper and 19 from the Navarino.20 Eleven more men of the William Hooper’s crew were rescued by the Zamalek. Notwithstanding the comparative speed with which the rescues were made, there were several cases of shock and hysteria. One man, who had been blown off the after gun-platform of his ship and had spent between 15 and 20 minutes in the ice-cold water was severely shocked but, after treatment, he slowly recovered. Each survivor was issued with a full set of clothing, given a tot of rum, food and cigarettes, and allotted a bunk. But it proved ‘very difficult to keep men from staying on deck,’ recorded Dr Wilkins, ‘and at every alarm there was a mad stampeding of humanity on to the upper deck.’
Despite the losses, Broome recalled ‘a quiet feeling of confidence’ among the escort vessels and the ships of the convoy and a feeling that, providing ammunition held out – so far it ‘had been sprayed rather extravagantly’ – they could give a good account of themselves in any further action the Luftwaffe decided to take. But while these attacks had been in progress, 2,000 miles away in Whitehall a conference was being held, on the result of which the fates of the remaining 30 heavily laden merchant ships and their crews were to depend.21
* * *
At the Admiralty, Admiral Sir Dudley Pound with the Vice Chief of the Naval Staff, Vice Admiral Sir Henry Moore, and some half dozen senior officers concerned with operational convoys sat discussing a situation which all had foreseen but for which there was no satisfactory answer. In front of them lay a chart on which the latest information regarding both British and German ships was plotted, with circles showing the farthest positions which the latter could reach at various times, as well as the estimated course and positions of the Home Fleet under Admiral Tovey’s command and the convoy at corresponding hours. By then it was known that the Tirpitz had joined the Scheer in Altafjord and might therefore, even at that moment, be steering towards the convoy which it was calculated they could reach by 2am the next day. The convoy itself, with Rear Admiral Hamilton’s cruiser force, was now 130 miles north-east of Bear Island, while Admiral Tovey with the Home Fleet was cruising in an area 350 miles to the west of it.
One possibility was to reverse the course of the convoy and for the battle fleet to steer towards it at high speed until the two were within airstriking range of one another, which could have been managed by about 2am – approximately the same as the ETA of the German ships. While such action would doubtless have kept them from attacking, it would have meant challenging the whole strength of the Luftwaffe in north Norway with one carrier whose aircraft were no match for the Germans. It also meant delaying the eastward progress of the convoy (which was still 800 miles from its destination) to no purpose, unless the fleet could continue to cover it until it was beyond the likely range of attack. This, the Admiralty was not prepared to sanction.
Another course was to withdraw the cruisers, which were no match for the Tirpitz, and leave the convoy to continue its course with its destroyer escort, in the hope that by the use of smoke and threat of torpedo attack some ships might be preserved from destruction. This had the merit of keeping the ships concentrated for mutual support against air and U-boat attack and there was always the possibility of fog descending to help them. Finally, they had the option of ordering the convoy to scatter, in the hope that the German surface forces would not be willing to remain long enough in the area to round up individual ships; although some would inevitably be sunk, a reasonable proportion might escape. The disadvantage of this plan was that once the convoy had scattered it would be impossible to reassemble it, and all cohesion in defence against both air and U-boat attack would be irretrievably lost.
‘There was of course a very considerable discussion of the pros and cons,’ recalled Admiral King, Assistant Chief of the Naval Staff (Trade) who was present at the meeting. ‘Broadly the question was – Would the Tirpitz hold on to attack the convoy or not? If the answer was thought to be Yes – then the convoy should be ordered to disperse.’22 It is evident that the threat of attack by the Tirpitz was uppermost in Admiral Pound’s mind. Bad weather might save the convoy from air attack and the perpetual daylight was a hindrance to U-boats, but only fog could prevent an attack by the surface ships. As their discussion went ‘round and round’ Admiral Sir Henry Moore recorded taking a pair of dividers and moving them ‘in steps over the map to work out how long it would be before Tirpitz reached the convoy.’23
‘Finally, CNS [Pound] asked each of us in turn what we thought,’ continued King. ‘All of us, except VCNS [Moore], said we thought that the Convoy should not be ordered to disperse. VCNS said it might be advisable but on the other hand it might not!’ Then came silence. ‘CNS thought it over for a minute or two – turned to the D[irector of the] S[ignal] D[ivision] & said “make the signal to disperse”. And that was that.’24 Although the general feeling of the conference over which Pound had presided was against such action, the arguments advanced were not such as to cause Pound to change his opinion. In his long and distinguished career he could never have been called upon to make a more fateful decision.25
When, at about 10pm on 4 July, Rear Admiral Hamilton received the Admiralty’s signal prefixed ‘Most Immediate’, then ‘Cruiser force withdraw to westward at high speed,’ he assumed that the further information he had been promised was of so portentous a nature as to require drastic action. A few minutes later he received the further instruction, this time prefixed ‘Immediate’ and continuing ‘Owing to threat from surface ships convoy is to disperse and proceed to Russian ports.’ Broome, in command of the close escort force, received the same message. Soon afterwards another signal was received: ‘Most Immediate … Convoy is to scatter’, the inference being that German surface ships were in the vicinity and would soon be engaged.26
It was late that evening, just as the three Rescue Ships were rejoining the convoy on completion of their rescue work, when the signal ordering the convoy to scatter was received from the Admiralty. The order came as a tremendous shock to the morale of the crews of the merchantmen, and especially to those in the Rescue Ships loaded with survivors. They saw the cruisers and destroyer section of their escort disappearing at high speed over the western horizon without being aware of the reasons which had prompted such drastic action. Commander Humphrys Archdale, who was taking passage in the Zamalek as an ‘official observer’ on behalf of the Admiralty, remembered seeing their accompanying two submarines dive and feeling ‘great despondency’, having himself once been a submariner. ‘The shock to morale in the merchant ships was immense; all the escorts seemed obsessed by the literal interpretation that they should make off at their best speed.’27
The perceived threat of a German surface attack did not materialize. Although Operation Knight’s Move had been planned, Hitler did not give the order. The Tirpitz had therefore remained in Altafjord. 28
Not realizing what fate held in store, the jocular rivalry between the Royal Navy officers and those of the Merchant Navy persisted, the Royal Navy often being referred to by the Merchant Navy as ‘The Grey Funnel Line,’ as if it were another mercantile shipping company. When the order to scatter was received by the Zaafaran, Captain McGowan sent for Royal Navy Surgeon Lieutenant MacBain, greeting him as he stepped on the bridge with: ‘Look what your shipping firm’s done now.’ A conference ensued, in which Chief Officer George Cyril Longfield took part, to decide in what way the order to ‘scatter’ applied to the Rescue Ships. According to MacBain’s recollection, their conclusion was: ‘The “scatter” order did not say explicitly what to do about survivors, but rather implied that each ship should save herself and not risk sinking by standing by another ship. Longfield’s summary was: “We are only under orders when we are in convoy – now we are on our own we abide by the usual customs of the sea and give help wherever we can.”’
In accordance with the instructions laid down for such an emergency, ships ordered to scatter immediately ‘star’ – that is, they proceed according to a plan laid down on courses which will separate them one from another as quickly as possible. The Rathlin headed north towards the ice-barrier at her best speed, the Zaafaran and Zamalek, together with the tanker, Aldersdale, steered north-eastward. The merchant ships of the convoy also followed the divergent courses laid down for them, before resuming the course which would take them to Archangel. So PQ 17, which on the evening of 4 July had been a coherent body of ships steaming eastward in orderly array, now became 30 independent vessels engaged in what was to prove a hopeless and costly sauve qui peut.
The following day the Rathlin reached the ice-barrier, turned eastward, and fell in later that day with the anti-aircraft ship Pozarica and one of the corvettes of the former convoy escort. The sound of gunfire and bursting bombs echoed over the southern horizon, but luckily visibility along the ice-edge was poor and the ships were not sighted by the Luftwaffe which, together with a number of U-boats, were now scouring the area in search of easy victims. Pozarica and the corvette eventually drew ahead of the Rathlin, but before parting company the former let the Rathlin know she was making for the coast of Novaya Zemlya.
On 6 July the Rathlin encountered the US freighter the 5,345-ton Bellingham, and the two proceeded in company. ‘We had to alter course many times to avoid running into ice,’ recorded Dr Wilkins. After making the coast of Novaya Zemlya and altering to the southward, the Bellingham signalled that she had a case of suspected appendicitis aboard. The Rathlin hove to with a fair sea running and lowered the motorboat to take Dr Wilkins on board. Although it was not an acute case, he decided to bring the man back with him for observation, later observing: ‘I was dead sure the man was alright but was determined to take him back to Rathlin with me as I was jolly well not going to be called out to make that boat trip again!’ In the event, the patient made a quick recovery.29
The following day, the two ships encountered large formations of ice barring their path to the southward and were obliged to turn and steam north-west in search of open water, a course which inevitably brought them back into the danger area. All day long distress signals from ships and from boats’ radio sets were intercepted, many from vessels sunk several hundred miles from the nearest land. It was not long before the Rathlin and her big consort were sighted by a patrolling Focke-Wulf Condor, which attempted to bomb them. ‘The pilot must have felt sure he could deal with us himself,’ wrote Captain Banning. ‘I was glad he didn’t call out the dive bombers, for they were only some twenty minutes’ flight away. He flew into the attack himself. The Rathlin opened fire, well and truly aimed, setting the plane on fire and it crashed into the water, a blazing mass.’ When the ship closed the wreckage to pick up survivors, she found that all six members of the crew were dead.
The explosion of the bombs had broken some ammonia bottles in the Bellingham and she was obliged to stop for half an hour to rid the engine-room of the fumes. Later the two ships got underway again and the following day they made a landfall at Svyatoy Nos on the Murmansk coast, whence they were escorted by a Russian gunboat through the Gourlo and into the White Sea. They reached Archangel safely on 9 July.
The Zaafaran, Zamalek and Aldersdale were not so fortunate. By the morning of 5 July the three had become separated. There was a longstanding rivalry between the chief engineers of the two sister ships, Zaafaran and Zamalek, going back to the pleasanter times of peace and they were now engaged in a friendly ‘race’. As Zamalek was usually thought to be slightly faster but made more smoke, now that they were no longer in convoy Bill Miller in the Zaafaran was anxious to show his opposite number, A. S. Dawson, that his was the faster ship, and the Zaafaran had drawn ahead although she was still in sight on the horizon. ‘On this occasion Zaafaran ran away from [Zamalek] and cheerfully rude signals flashed between the ships,’recalled MacBain.
The visibility that day was excellent, and from the Zamalek’s bridge five other ships of the former convoy could be seen on various bearings. Two of these, the minesweeper Salamander and the freighter Ocean Freedom, joined forces with the Zamalek and the tanker, and the five vessels proceeded in company. Just a few hours later they were subjected to an attack by four dive-bombers and the Aldersdale was hit. The Salamander quickly rescued the crew while the Zamalek beat off the attackers – a reversal of roles which was undoubtedly justified in the circumstances, since the Rescue Ship was actually carrying the more formidable AA armament, besides already having 58 survivors on board.
Meanwhile the Zaafaran, some nine miles to the eastward and quite alone, was targeted by a JU88 dive-bomber. From a height of 5,000ft the aircraft swooped on the little ship. At 3,000ft it released a stick of bombs, and although Captain McGowan put his helm over trying to dodge them, the middle bomb struck his ship on the starboard side abreast the engine-room. The engines stopped dead. ‘The bomb which struck on the starboard side caused the ship to list immediately to starboard, and settle by the stern,’ recorded McGowan. When Chief Engineer Miller reported that the engine room was filling rapidly and the flooding could not be controlled, the Captain gave the order to abandon ship. Had it not been for the buoyancy drums stowed in the lower holds she would have gone down like a stone, since the explosion had practically cut her in half and, as well as the engine room, No. 2 hold was also open to the sea. ‘We were left with one motor lifeboat and a small lifeboat for the 98 people on board, but luckily we had a number of rafts.’30 The lifeboats were lowered and filled with the survivors, the crew taking to the rafts.
Among the last to leave the ship were Dr MacBain and Chief Officer Longfield, who had been ‘in the thick of the fight, assisting and directing the guns’ crews’. Before going over the side MacBain observed that the last action of another member of the crew was to run around the ship with an axe, setting free everything that would float. The temperature of the water was literally freezing. ‘I was fifteen minutes in the water before being able to get on board a raft which floated up from the wreck,’ recorded MacBain. ‘On boarding the raft joint sense was impaired and there was a well-marked ischaemia (restricted blood flow) of both hands and feet. Massage and work at an oar restored sensation rapidly and painlessly, except in the fingers where sensation returned slowly, still showing traces after eight weeks.’ There were a number of others who, like himself, did not suffer more seriously and the doctor attributed this to the fact that they had been obliged to jump into the freezing water fully clothed. Within four minutes Zaafaran upended and went down stern first. ‘She went down very quietly without any suction whatever,’ recorded McGowan.31
While the Zaafaran had been drawing ahead, all eyes on the Zamalek’s bridge had been focused on their faster rival. When Captain Morris saw that she had been hit, he called on his chief engineer to ‘give her all he’d got’ in order to steam at full speed towards his consort, who was already sinking, her ‘bows high up before disappearing’. After some fifty minutes of hard steaming the Zamalek reached the scene. The anti-aircraft ship Palomares, which had also seen the attack, closed in to give protection to the Zamalek while she was picking up survivors. A total of 97 men were rescued, which included the 38 survivors previously picked up by the Zaafaran. Only one man, a DEMS gunner, was lost. Captain McGowan was ‘frozen stiff and unconscious, but the Surgeon Lieutenant brought him round and saved his life.’32
Once on board, the Zaafaran’s chief engineer Miller, who had been responsible for the now abandoned ship drawing ahead, was able to show his counterpart, Dawson, how he had managed it, but not before Dawson had been greeted with, ‘Which is the better ship now?’33 Joking aside, Miller, ‘a cheerful, portly Glaswegian, worked like a Trojan thereafter in the Zamalek’s engine room.’34 In addition to her own crew, the Zamalek now had on board 154 survivors, so that she was particularly vulnerable if attacked. MacBain at once placed himself at the disposal of his colleague in the Zamalek, Surgeon Lieutenant Commander McCallum – who, in MacBain’s opinion, would in other circumstances have been the typical fatherly GP of former times. ‘He went methodically about his work on the Russian run for all the world as though he had just been called in to give his advice and lend a hand. He could never look on himself as a naval officer and his shipmates could never regard him as anything but “a real Doctor”. In the first lull we got after Zamalek picked me up almost his opening remark was “I don’t think this is quite so bad once you get resigned to it”.’35
Although there were no cases of serious injury on board, the two officers were fully engaged coping with cases of hysteria and shock which, had they not been promptly dealt with, might have led to panic. ‘Generally morale among survivors was undoubtedly low,’ recorded MacBain. ‘This appeared to be due not so much to lack of personal courage, as to a combination of several factors.’ He set these out at some length, and because they explain so clearly the basic problems with which the Rescue Ships’ medical personnel had to deal, they are worth recalling:
1. In action the survivors have nothing to do.
2. Both officers and men have recently been manning ships, not as passengers, but as part of the ship’s company. In consequence, everyone from Master to Fireman criticizes the work of his opposite number in the Rescue Ship. The latter must, therefore, leave no loophole for adverse criticism or loss of confidence, especially as the survivors are usually ‘deep sea’ men while the crew of the Rescue Ships are not.
3. Survivors for a varying period after being picked up are very ‘lifeboat’ and ‘raft’ conscious. As I know from personal experience and discussion with others, the alarm bell automatically brought visions of impending disaster, and caused one to rehearse mentally the action of abandoning ship. Therefore, to remain below was difficult.
4. In a crowded ship it is obvious that there is not enough lifeboat or raft accommodation for everyone.
5. There is a tendency for men to assume that since they are passengers their officers no longer have any authority over them. The fact that the officers know this saps their confidence and deprives them of the advantage which their leadership and example would provide.
6. In contrast to the above, the way in which the DEMS gunners picked up, quickly became part of the naval organisation within the Rescue Ship, was most marked.
On 6 July, in company with four escort ships and one cargo ship, the Zamalek proceeded to an anchorage in the Matochkin Strait, separating the two halves of Novaya Zemlya. There she was joined by more merchant ships and other escorts, all of whom had survived attack. ‘The stoic inhabitants of a small Russian settlement on the shore of the south island showed little surprise at the invasion,’ recalled Paul Lund, the Lord Austin being one of the accompanying trawlers. ‘The settlement was simply a collection of austere wooden buildings, the occupants roughly clad traders and hunters with their womenfolk, children and hunting dogs.’
A later arrival was the corvette, HMS Lotus; she had gallantly turned back to rescue survivors from the commodore’s ship, the River Afton, which had been torpedoed and sunk by a U-boat. Among the survivors was the commodore himself, John Dowding, who had been found on a raft. ‘A new strength was found in our reformed numbers and a further triumph was when, shortly after the arrival of our three trawlers, Lotus steamed in carrying more than eighty survivors – her decks teemed with heads. There were great cheers as she came slowly into the Strait, the rescued men waving.’36
On the morning of 7 July a conference was called on board the Palomares, presided over by Commodore Dowding, attended by the captains and masters of all the ships present. It was decided that no time must be lost in vacating the exposed position in which the ships were anchored. As the Palomares took the masters of the merchant ships back to their respective vessels, she stopped first at the Zamalek, where Captain Morris invited them on board for a drink. ‘There was some rapid drinking of toasts,’ recorded MacBain. ‘Captain Morris came out in his true colours as a leader. That party of dispirited and tired men [were] injected with a “devil may care” gaiety which was not all alcohol.’ Jokingly they renamed Matochkin Strait ‘Funk Creek’ and suggested that a medal should be struck for the ‘muck up in Funk Creek’ which was to have a yellow ribbon emblazoned with a white heather!
Having resumed charge of the remains of his once proud convoy, now comprising just six merchant ships including the Zamalek and 11 escorts, on the evening of the 7th Commodore Dowding led them south towards Archangel. They immediately ran into dense fog, ‘our oldest enemy becoming once again our firmest friend; if this kept up all the way we might manage the rest of our journey unmolested,’ observed Lund.37 The fog persisted until midnight the following day and during that day one of the merchant ships, the Benjamin Harrison, lost touch and returned to the anchorage. Every now and then boatloads of survivors from ships which had been sunk were encountered, and the occupants were taken on board the minesweepers and trawlers, since there was no room for any more on the Zamalek.
The reformed convoy’s troubles were not yet over. As the ships proceeded south, skirting the ice field, they met an increasing number of ice flows. ‘We did actually get stuck in a channel in the ice pack and had to back out astern,’ recalled Commander Archdale on board the Zamalek. Given the difficulties that ensued from getting stuck in the ice, on the morning of 9 July Dowding decided that it would be wise to seek more open water to the west, even though this meant increasing the risk of being detected and attacked by a still watchful enemy. Sure enough that evening, when they were only about 60 miles off the Russian coast, air attacks commenced and continued without a break for several hours.
To help assess where a missile might strike, Morris stationed Commander Archdale and an RAF Flight Lieutenant, since both had offered their assistance, one on each wing of the bridge, while he himself stood by the wheelhouse ready to give instant orders to the helmsman. The three men worked as a team. Dr MacBain recalled hearing the two officers on the wings calmly exchanging remarks like ‘Yours I think’, as they gazed skywards watching the fall of the deadly missiles and estimating their trajectories, punctuated by Captain Morris’s crisp commands: ‘Hard a-port’ or ‘Hard a-starboard.’
Once again, although the Zamalek appeared to be the centre of attraction for the German bombers, so skilfully was she manoeuvred that she managed to avoid being hit. ‘Constant attack by dive bombers all guns firing and keeping aircraft up,’ recorded Captain Morris. ‘Avoiding action taken constantly with bombers overhead weaving up for position. Good AA fire by all the guns on board… One very near miss twenty feet from stem ship swamped by huge water spray. Compasses unshipped. Attack continued without stop – plane after plane driven off. Near misses continue.’38 Eventually a near miss burst abreast the engine room and fractured the main oil supply pipe, so the engines had to be stopped; it also broke the dynamo bedplate and put out the lights. Now in complete darkness except for the light of a torch, Chief Engineer Dawson, assisted by Miller of the Zaafaran and the Christopher Newport’s chief engineer N. McConion, managed to repair the damage and the Zamalek was able to get under way again.
While the ship’s gunners were busy beating off attack after attack, Commodore Dowding had been watching the action through binoculars. He stated afterwards that he frequently thought the Zamalek had gone when she disappeared from sight amidst clouds of spray thrown up by the bomb splashes. But each time the gallant little ship emerged like an angry terrier, barking defiance at her enemies. It is not surprising that the strain of this continuous attack told on some of the survivors aboard the Zamalek. When the ship was stopped some men tried to launch a boat and leave her. Fortunately, they were restrained from doing so. Looking back, Captain Morris described his ship’s company as ‘grand’ – one of the understatements of all time! He particularly praised his gunners who, because of the continuous daylight, could never leave their guns, but who were ready at all times to beat off an attack. Their efficiency was undoubtedly instrumental in saving the ship. Others were not so lucky. During the attacks two more merchant ships were hit, the Hoosier and the El Capitan.
When the attacks finally ceased, a moving incident took place. The anti-aircraft ship Palomares closed the Zamalek. ‘For a moment there was cursing because Zamalek thought there was going to be a collision. A moment later it was realised that she had lined her deck and was giving us a cheer. As the caps went up and the sound floated across, all of us felt unexpectedly moved,’ recalled MacBain. ‘The Captain, standing on the wing of his bridge, called to Captain Morris on the loud hailer: “I would appreciate your ensign if you have done with it.” We then realised it was flying in tattered steamers like an old time battle picture. Morris gave a quick and eloquent thanks for the protection … Palomares had given us and ended by saying “but even you are not getting that ensign – it’s MINE”.’
At 4 pm on 11 July the Zamalek at last berthed safely at Archangel, where she found that the Rathlin had already arrived. Lack of accommodation ashore meant that only half of the Zamalek’s survivors could be landed, the remainder continuing to live on board. ‘80 survivors landed this day 74 remained on board,’ reported Captain Morris.39 Although they did not know it at the time, their stay in North Russia would last until September.
* * *
It was not until 24 July – 20 days after the fateful order to scatter – following a further search for survivors along the Novaya Zemlya coast by Commodore Dowding in the corvette, HMS Poppy, which had brought in six more ships, that it was possible to assess the losses suffered by PQ 17. They amounted to 23 merchant ships sunk and the Rescue Ship Zaafaran; eight, including the Zaafaran, had been sunk by air attack, seven by U-boats and nine, which had been damaged by air attack and abandoned, had been sunk by U-boats. The losses were the most severe suffered by a mercantile convoy during the war. The Germans had achieved all this at the cost of only five of their aircraft out of an estimated 234 which had assisted the U-boats in the attack. Although the German surface ships, including the Tirpitz, had eventually set sail on the afternoon of 5 July, German High Command was fearful of a trap and they were recalled within six hours of sailing.
The stores and equipment lost with the ships amounted to 430 tanks, 210 aircraft, 3,350 vehicles and 99,316 tons of cargo. Miraculously, on the ships which made it to Archangel 57,176 tons of cargo were delivered, including 896 vehicles, 164 tanks and 87 aircraft.40 Although many of the survivors of the sunk ships endured terrible hardships, adrift in open boats on the inhospitable Arctic Ocean, the loss of life was not as great as it might have been had the convoy been shelled by the powerful German surface battleships appointed to encompass its destruction. In all 153 merchant seamen were lost, while 1,300 survivors reached Archangel.41 But bitterness at what they had endured remained. As recalled by Commander Archdale: ‘The feeling was such that later in Archangel at the Sailors Club when films of the RN Film Corporation were shown the appearance of the White Ensign was met with boos and hisses.’42
In the years that followed, the ‘disastrous’ order to ‘scatter’ became the subject of much historical debate and discussion, criticism mainly being directed against the First Sea Lord, Admiral Sir Dudley Pound (notably by Captain Broome who blamed ‘the man who gave that order, and his advisers’). He was suffering from a brain tumour and it was also suggested that his failing health affected his judgement. After two strokes, Pound resigned as First Sea Lord in September 1943 and died in October, aged 66. He left very few papers; most were burnt after his death. Those that were saved were given to naval historian, Captain Stephen Roskill, to use in the official history. What is lacking is Pound’s own explanation of his actions and his first-hand account of what went on behind the scenes and off the record.43
‘Of course it was a grievous error on his part,’ continued Archdale, ‘and sprang from his habit of doing things on his own, but he was already a sick man through overwork.’44
Yet while Pound had his detractors, others defended his actions. ‘It is my impression that we had what was then considered reliable information that Tirpitz had sailed or was about to sail from Altafjord, and it appeared that PQ 17 was in almost immediate danger from surface ships,’ observed Admiral Sir Patrick Brind who, as Assistant Chief of Naval Staff, was present at the 4 July meeting.45 That Pound knew the Tirpitz was at Altafjord was confirmed following the lifting in 1974 of the ban on revealing ‘Ultra’ decrypts of intercepted German radio messages,
so that when Admiral Pound called a conference at 2000 hours that evening to discuss what action to take regarding the threatened convoy PQ 17 he knew that at any time during the next 48 hours it could be attacked by the powerful German forces now assembled in Altafjord. The fact that information regarding whether or not these forces had actually sailed could not be provided by the Operation Intelligence Centre in the Admiralty at that time did not in any way alter the extent of the threat posed by the presence of these forces.46
In response to criticism that Pound should have consulted the commanders at sea, Brind suggested that Pound ‘felt that the decision to scatter was so important that it was unfair to leave the responsibility on the shoulders of the Escort Commander. He therefore quite deliberately assumed the responsibility himself.’47 Lord Fraser of North Cape, second-in-command Home Fleet in 1942, on board the aircraft carrier HMS Victorious, had a different explanation: ‘The First Sea Lord [Pound] was very obsessed with W/T silence and he thought that the C-in-C [Tovey] when at sea was not in the position to direct affairs.’48 At the time Admiral Tovey refuted this suggestion, maintaining that, regardless of the heavy responsibilities which they had been carrying throughout the war, the ‘correct procedure’ was for those on the spot ‘to decide the action to be taken.’ He also emphasized that the three messages had led them to believe that ‘the enemy’s masts might arise above the horizon at any moment.’49
‘Responsibility for the main decision lay, of course, on the First Sea Lord’s shoulders,’ observed Captain Stephen Roskill in the official history. ‘But it must be made clear that so critical a decision was not quickly taken by him. He and the Naval Staff had previously discussed the problem in all its aspects… it is known that the Vice Chief of Naval Staff pointed out that if the convoy was to scatter it must do so soon, because the further east it steamed the less sea-room would it have in which to scatter.’50
With hindsight, Moore was anxious to clarify the distinction between the order ‘to disperse’ and the order ‘to scatter’, a question he said that he was frequently asked. ‘Dispersal would mean the convoy proceeding independently towards port but more or less bunched up as they were all of about the same speed, whereas scatter was a definite order for rapid dispersal as laid down in the Convoy Instructions.’51 However, since in the present instance all ships were bound for the same port, Archangel, it was inevitable that they would remain in fairly close company with each other for some hours, compounded by their lack of manoeuvrability because of the ice barrier.52
‘The lucky few of us made the White Sea, but at the time the thought which dominated every ship’s crew was that we were “expendable” in the attempt to run supplies to an ally, who was completely indifferent to these hazardous northern convoys losses and sinkings,’ wrote Ben Bentley, junior third officer in the Rathlin.53 Others wished to highlight the help that was forthcoming. ‘As soon as the harrowing S.O.S. messages started coming through from the merchant ships under attack or sinking, the brave little corvette, HMS Lotus, disregarded the Admiralty signal and turned back into the presumed path of the enemy to rescue some 80 survivors,’ related John Beardmore, navigating officer in HMS Poppy.
Likewise the trawler Ayrshire… took charge of three fleeing US merchant ships, led them into the ice fields of the great Ice Barrier where they painted themselves white to avoid detection by the Luftwaffe, thence to Novaya Zemlaya where they were rescued by the corvettes and taken on to Archangel. The conduct and the bravery shown by these smaller naval vessels crewed almost entirely by ex-civilians (amateur yachtsmen, actors, bank clerks and so on) mostly in their early twenties, to a great extent mitigated the shame of the Admiralty.54
Year after year, with insufficient guard,
Often with none, you have adventured thus;
Some, reaching harbour, maimed and battle-scarred
Some, never more returning, lost to us.