With the New Year, new luck
Russian greeting
After reaching Archangel, the challenge for all the men of the depleted convoy PQ 17 became their physical and emotional survival in an unknown land for an unspecified amount of time. ‘The ships were moored alongside wharves and jetties in the Dvina river,’ recorded A.G.T. Yonge, radio officer in the Rathlin. ‘With us were four HM corvettes and four HM trawlers, and when friendly relations had been established between ships, we settled down to make the best of a bad job’.1 ‘Corned beef and ship’s biscuits for every meal for days on end become rather boring,’ recalled Harvey Haw, one of the Rathlin’s gunners. ‘On one occasion we were supplied with some fresh meat. There was great discussion about which animal it came from. I think Yak was the conclusion … as it was uneatable, it was of no account.’ Haw also remembered the time when Third Officer Bentley ‘closed up to a Russian tanker because there were two females on a gun crew. Of glamour there was none, but it afforded us with a little light relief in an otherwise grim situation.’2
‘On the other side of the river was a large marshy meadow and here we rigged goals for Association Football and marked out a cricket pitch,’ continued Yonge. ‘Miracles were performed in the making of bats, balls and stumps. One ship produced football boots, another jerseys, another a ball. Challenges flew from ship to ship. … A cup tie was arranged and friendly matches fixed until hardly a day passed without some sporting event. Activity was extended to other spheres – rowing tugs of war, tossing the caber, running and deck tennis…meanwhile our food supplies ran very low. The Naval authorities blamed the Russians, the Russians blamed the war; we blamed and cursed Navy, Russians and war as we sat down to corned beef and ship’s biscuit day after day.’3
Soon after their arrival (Acting) Captain Guy Maund, the Senior British Naval Officer, North Russia and Head of the British Naval Establishment in Archangel, was informed that a badly wounded man and ten survivors suffering from severe cases of immersion feet were at a small Russian settlement in a bleak and desolate area of Novaya Zemlya.4 A Russian doctor was in attendance but he admitted to being unable to cope with the situation. At that time, the title of ‘Doctor’ in Russia could be assumed by anyone who had done two years in a medical school, which may have accounted for the unfortunate predicament of the doctor in question. A fully qualified medical practioner earned the title of ‘Professor’.
Maund asked Dr Wilkins, the Rathlin’s medical officer, to fly up to the settlement in a Russian aircraft which was about to leave on one of its routine visits to meteorological stations in the Northern Command. He was to be accompanied by Commander Frankel, USN, who – as the Assistant US Naval Attaché, Air Murmansk-Archangel, was in charge of directing repairs to US vessels as well as salvaging those stranded and abandoned and assisting survivors – was anxious to see what could be done to salvage the large American fuel tanker, the Winston Salem. While escaping from the German air and submarine onslaught on 8 July it had run aground in Moller Bay on the west coast of Novaya Zemlya.5
On 19 July they left Archangel; but when they reached the airbase they found that the American-built Catalina flying boat in which they were to travel was already loaded with ten Russian passengers, six crew and a large quantity of stores for delivery to stations en route. Dr Wilkins had brought with him medical stores and equipment for emergency surgery, cigarettes, tea, sugar and blankets, but the flying boat was so overloaded with all this that, despite three attempts, it could not take off. The pilot – who had the distinction of being one of the first Russians to fly across the North Pole and land in North America in 1937 – decided that he would have to off-load some fuel. This done, the flying boat took off and flew through the night to their first station on the schedule, landing in the Kara Sea off the eastern coast of Novaya Zemlya. Having gone ashore for a meal, they took off again two hours later.6
The next stop was at a lake on the mainland, where the flying boat was refuelled and another meal taken. ‘I do not know what the food was,’ recalled Wilkins, ‘but it consisted of some form of meat floating in fat.’ Each man was provided with a fork with which he was expected to spear morsels from the communal platter. Soup, black bread and vodka completed the repast. Three hours after landing they were again airborne, with 500 miles to go to the next station at Moller Bay. When they arrived it was shrouded in dense fog, so they had to return to the lake where they had taken off. Here they had to wait for 12 hours until they received a favourable weather report; on their next attempt they were able to alight at their destination, having had a narrow escape from an encounter with a German reconnaissance aircraft. At Moller Bay Commander Frankel left the aircraft to attend to the salvage of the Winston Salem, whose crew had left their ship and were encamped ashore.
When the time came to take off again the sea was too rough, so a Russian trawler towed the flying boat some 10 miles up the coast to another more sheltered bay. There it was able to get into the air. After an hour’s flight they reached the station where the injured men were reported to be. On arrival Wilkins was greatly disappointed to find that his long and difficult journey had been a waste of time. The casualties had already been embarked in another surviving ship from the convoy, the British Empire Tide, which had called at the anchorage only a few hours previously.
The flying boat pilot relieved Wilkins of most of his stores and equipment, assuring him that they would be used to replace those expended at the station by the ‘doctor’. But Wilkins considered that the chances of the food and cigarettes ever leaving the aircraft were poor. He gave the pilot some instruction in first-aid treatment for immersion foot, in case he should come across any cases during the rest of the flight, and stressed the importance of not using heat, as those ignorant of the condition might expect to do. His mission over, he embarked in a Russian trawler.
The trawler steamed south, and, after a voyage lasting 24 hours, it reached the position where the Winston Salem had run aground. Disembarking from the Russian trawler, Dr Wilkins went on board the American ship. Meanwhile, Commander Frankel had persuaded the crew to return to the Winston Salem, and after two attempts, with the aid of two Russian tugs which had arrived, she was refloated. Escorted by three Russian trawlers, she shaped course for Archangel, and, although she was twice sighted by German aircraft, fog came to her rescue and she was not attacked. This was just as well, because the crew had thrown the breech blocks of her guns overboard when they abandoned ship. After a voyage lasting seven days, the ship – with Dr Wilkins on board – berthed at Molotovsk, one of the subsidiary ports of Archangel.
Back in Archangel Dr Wilkins found that the doctor appointed as base medical officer had not arrived and that Captain Maund had requested Dr MacBain to take up the post. Ably assisted by the Zaafaran’s chief radio officer, Cyril Wolf, MacBain had already made great progress in getting things organized, earning him Captain McGowan’s praise: ‘Surgeon Lieutenant MacBain, RNVR, did magnificent work during his stay at Archangel, where he found the medical arrangements in absolute chaos. Through his zeal, untiring energy, and devotion to duty, he was able to restore order in the shortest possible time.’
In addition to the survivors brought in by the Zamalek and 63 others who had been rescued by the Rathlin, the Empire Tide and the other ships, Commodore Dowding had collected a further 240. Together with the survivors picked up by the corvettes, trawlers and minesweepers the total number was almost 1,300, over a fifth of whom were requiring medical treatment.7 For the Russian authorities this presented a problem with which they were ill-equipped to deal. Not only was there a great shortage of food and clothing amongst their own people, but the only accommodation available to house such a large number of survivors was most primitive. Added to this, in contrast to the cold experienced during the voyage, the weather at Archangel was warm and mosquitoes abounded. ‘The anti-mosquito ointment provided has no deterrent effect, in fact it appears to encourage their appetite,’ recorded Dr Wilkins.
One of MacBain’s first actions was to set up a sick bay in a loft above some stables and, while he and his sick-berth attendant, Bryant, were away trying to locate the sick and wounded survivors, Wolf got busy. ‘On my return at the end of the day Wolf had furnished the place with furniture rigged from some packing cases, borrowed chairs and a stolen (Norwegian) typewriter and had started a nominal list of survivors.’8 From then on he became the unofficial ‘medical administrator’, keeping records of the cases dealt with and relieving the medical officers of paperwork with which they would otherwise have had to cope themselves. MacBain continued, ‘For the same reason the valuable assistance of Wilkins is remembered. He had plenty of excuse to stay in his ship as so many did, but in fact he lived ashore and worked all the hours there were with immense robust cheerfulness.’In view of the constant threat of air attack, Dr MacBain arranged for the dispersal of the medical stores. As it turned out, this was a wise precaution.
At first both sick and fit survivors were accommodated at Sevroles Hospital, but, as the numbers grew, the fitter individuals were transferred to a large school which had been requisitioned. This was a three-storey building, with numerous large rooms now converted into dormitories. The Russians did their best to provide reasonable comfort, but their standard was much lower than that to which the British and American seamen had been accustomed. The beds were hard and there was much bed-bug infestation. Despite drastic action taken to deal with the bugs, they were never entirely eliminated. Sanitation arrangements were appalling owing to the lack of water pressure.
The officer survivors were quartered in the Intourist Hotel, where a corporal of the Royal Army Medical Corps (RAMC) had been installed to attend to the numerous cases of illness among the survivors billeted there; they fared little better than the men in other locations and they too had more than their fair share of bed bugs. Several rooms in which furniture and fittings seemed to be infested had to be evacuated. Messing also presented difficulties. At first men were taken in batches to the Sevroles Hospital for meals, but, as numbers increased, the shortage of transport put a stop to this; so the authorities took over a nearby restaurant. The food consisted mainly of black bread, soup and a kind of buckwheat porridge which, if unpalatable, was at least nourishing. For all its monotony, the diet was better than what was available to the civilian population. Most marked was the shortage of green vegetables. With survivors housed in different locations, arrangements were made for the medical officers to visit the various buildings, as well as offering consulting hours at the Naval Base.
If the conditions for the fit were tough, those for the sick – many suffering from frostbite, exposure, immersion foot, some requiring amputation, and other injuries – were even more so. In addition there was the difficult task of arranging hospital accommodation. Although the Russians willingly lent ambulances, they were unable to produce them at short notice. Matters were complicated by a shortage of interpreters, and any attempt to get things moving was invariably met by zafterer, the Russian equivalent of mañana, so that what should have been an hour’s job often took a day to accomplish.
Once removed from the Sevroles Hospital, in which they were at first accommodated, the sick were divided between Military Hospitals Nos 191 and 2524. Each ward contained 16–20 beds in a cubic space far less than that found in even the worst of British hospitals, the beds being about two feet apart. They were hard but fairly clean. There were rooms set aside for surgical dressings, and a physiotherapy department in the charge of a capable doctor. The X-ray department was greatly handicapped by a complete lack of film, so images could only be screened, and it was necessary to rely on the diagnostic capabilities of a radiographer who did not inspire confidence. There was a total lack of aseptic technique and analgesic treatment. Procedures for achieving anaesthesia were also poor, and most cases were operated on under local anaesthetic. Wound infection was the rule rather than the exception. Technique in the operating theatre could only be described as ‘non-sterile’. Rubber gloves were unobtainable, so when Dr Wilkins presented two pairs to Professor Orloff of the Archangel School of Medicine ‘he was overcome with gratitude.’
The British medical officers did their best to make good the deficiencies of drugs such as morphine, novocaine and sulphanilamide tablets and powders, but it was only by using great diplomacy that they could overcome the Russian political objections which forbade them to admit to any lack of medical supplies. Food in the hospitals was so poor that patients obliged to stay for any length of time rapidly became emaciated. As there was only one diet available, those who should have had special diets just had to make the best of it. Added to all these problems was the language difficulty, which prevented patients from making the nursing staff understand their most pressing bodily requirements. The situation was later improved when the services of a female Russian interpreter were obtained.
It was not long before the survivors discovered the local ‘black market’, in which a bar of chocolate or a packet of cigarettes fetched 50 to a 100 roubles (£1–2 sterling), to be promptly exchanged for illicit vodka, usually of the most inferior quality and in some cases containing wood alcohol. Drinking this was the cause of much illness and two recorded deaths. One of the after-effects of indulgence was an extreme thirst which caused men to drink water from the nearest tap instead of waiting to obtain a boiled supply. As the water was pumped from the Dvina, into which the town drains were emptied, it is not surprising that the results of drinking it were often disastrous.
The base chaplain, the Reverend Francis Outram, did valuable work amongst the survivors under very difficult conditions, running a library and a daily news sheet, and arranging games and sports. ‘To start with we had one football to help us, but some Russian youths ran off with this (in an unguarded moment) and after that we had none. So we had to content ourselves with sports meetings.’ He considered Tatiana Gorinova, the director of the International Club (founded in Archangel in 1925 to counter ‘capitalist propaganda’ among the seamen and located in the city centre on the bank of the Dvina river) ‘most cooperative.’ Her responsibilities included organizing political work with the foreign seamen and raising their sympathy for the Soviet Union. She also translated the texts of political reports and Soviet films into English as well as delivering the news to the foreign seamen highlighting the ‘heroic actions’ of Soviet soldiers.9
Besides holding Sunday services at the Intourist Hotel, Outram ran a confirmation class for British and American sailors, and gave them ‘letters to take to any Bishop whom they might meet on their return to civilisation. Many wrote to me subsequently, one American young man, now married and with a married daughter, writes to me every Christmas.’10 But despite all the games and athletics, the cinema shows (British and Russian), and the concerts and dances arranged at the International Club, in Outram’s opinion most of the survivors appeared unable to shake themselves out of their lethargy, and they spent much of their time lying in bed or aimlessly walking about the town.
Their plight was reported to the Admiralty and the Ministry of War Transport, and urgent consultations were held in London to decide what more could be done for them. ‘For the majority of the survivors their main need was sleep and treatment to regain the full use of their limbs,’ observed Paul Lund.11 But there were humorous moments. ‘The Russians sent charming “hostesses” to the International Club to dance with the sailors,’ continued Lund, ‘and, as many of them could not speak English, we had to call an Interpreter, or draw pictures for each other on paper. One evening, when I had been dancing with an especially charming Russian girl, I called for an Interpreter and asked her to ask the girl if I might see her home, to which the reply was “She married – if you take her home, husband kill you!” Needless to say, I did not press the request.’12
Until the days of continuous daylight came to an end there was no question of running another convoy to Russia, nor of bringing one back. During the last week of July four destroyers were sent to Archangel with ammunition to replace the large quantity which had been expended, especially by the anti-aircraft ships and the Rescue Ships, but they had little room for carrying stocks of food which were so badly needed. It was finally agreed that the US cruiser Tuscaloosa, then attached to the Home Fleet, should be sent to Murmansk, accompanied by three destroyers, one British and two American. While the Tuscaloosa carried 300 tons of stores, each of the destroyers had 40 tons, which it was hoped would ease the strain until repatriation became possible. The Tuscaloosa also carried a small hospital unit which had been urgently requested. The force sailed from the Clyde on 13 August and reached its destination without incident.
It had been agreed that on their return home the warships should bring as many hospital cases as they could accommodate. At Archangel there were 116 deserving cases, 35 of whom had been brought from Murmansk. They had been in Russian hospitals since March, and because of poor food, and the constant bombing they had experienced, they were in a poor state. The majority had immersion foot, and many had lost two or more limbs. Some had been sunk and rescued twice. Yet despite the suffering they had endured, and the reports of lethargy, most had kept remarkably cheerful, their constant inquiry when visited by the British medical officers being: ‘When are we going home?’
With that prospect for some of them now in sight, the arrangements had to be kept secret for as long as possible, and it was not until 21 August that the hospital authorities were told of the impending move. As can be imagined, the news that, at long last, some were to be repatriated caused tremendous elation amongst those who had been named, coupled with intense anxiety lest there should be a last-minute hitch and something unforeseen should happen to interfere with their departure. Thirty patients were selected for passage to Murmansk and were embarked in the minesweeper Salamander, another of the survivors of PQ 17’s escort. When the Russian doctors and nurses came down to the quayside to see them off, a remarkable farewell scene took place, in which tears and kisses were much in evidence. Whatever may have been the failings of the Russian medical services at that time, due to shortage of drugs and equipment, according to the British medical officers, in kindness and warm-heartedness they excelled themselves.
During the two nights prior to sailing there had been air raids on Archangel, and, in view of this evidence of German activity, and the pent-up feelings of the patients, all were given a sedative during their first night on board the Salamander. Accompanied by Wilkins, MacBain and McCallum they reached Murmansk in two days without interference. But there was a final ordeal in store for these much-tried men – one of those administrative muddles which seem to occur at the most inopportune moments. On arrival in the Kola Inlet, orders were received from the Senior British Naval Officer, North Russia, that, instead of embarking in the Tuscaloosa, the patients were to be landed at Vaenga, a town on the inlet a few miles from Murmansk, and accommodated in the Russian hospital there. The effect of this news on the men was ‘nothing short of pitiful;’ wrote Dr MacBain. But, after the last case had been taken away and put to bed, the order was countermanded. While the patients were being transferred to the cruiser an air raid took place, but the ‘hundred guns’ went into action and the German attacker was driven off. MacBain and his sick-berth attendant, Bryant, who had supported him so well through all the vicissitudes they had endured since the Zaafaran was sunk, returned home with them in the Tuscaloosa.
Wilkins and McCallum went back to their ships at Archangel to find that, during their absence, there had been an air raid in which a lot of their medical stores had been destroyed. ‘After your departure,’ Cyril Wolf subsequently wrote to Dr MacBain, ‘within three days Jerry came over and very nicely sorted out your pet sick bay, which was burned completely down. About a hundred of us rushed up from the Intourist and, although the building was well alight, we managed to stop the fire spreading by pulling down the neighbouring junk shed, at the same time as salvaging the survivors’ stores and all those medical stores which had been set aside for that reason. Only the stores in the sick bay itself were destroyed, the two big chests were burnt out…Some of the more valuable tablets were also saved.’Had it not been for Dr MacBain’s foresight in removing the stores before his departure, there is no doubt that their losses would have been greater.
In an attempt to boost morale, during air raid alerts the British doctors went to the hospitals to help evacuate the patients from the top floors. But in their demoralized state, and surrounded by strangers, this was not easily accomplished. ‘We had a couple of blitzes, H.E.’s etc there,’ continued Wolf, ‘and by the time we eventually left there was quite a bit of damage in places. Sevroles was blown inside out with numerous H.E. blasts, the Museum Karl Marx, or near by and generally round that quarter.’13
The rest of the survivors, the crews of the now unloaded merchant ships and those of the Rathlin and Zamalek, had to wait until mid-September before their stay in North Russia came to an end (when they travelled home in convoy QP 14). From a medical point of view the bitterest blow was the Russian veto on landing the hospital unit since great store had been set on its arrival. This was yet another instance of Russian pride, and their unwillingness to admit the inadequacy of their own medical service. They willingly accepted the supplies which accompanied the unit, but it was not until the matter was taken up by the Prime Minister, Winston Churchill, personally that the veto was withdrawn; having taken passage on board the cruiser HMS Argonaut in October, the unit was given permission to land. By that time the emergency was less acute, since the greater part of the survivors of convoy PQ 17 had returned home.14