Railways 200: a maritime perspective, Part Three

All Aboard!

In the last blog we looked at the 19th century rise in passenger travel and the drive to make the connectivity between trains and ships an ever more seamless experience for both passengers and cargo. But how could that experience be made even more seamless?

Train ferries: the beginnings

The answer: by making it multi-modal! The concept had its origins in Scotland, on boats on the Forth & Clyde Canal onto which railway wagons were loaded from the Monkland & Kirkintilloch Railway from 1833 onwards [1].

As stated in Part Two, the new ‘rail and sail’ technologies were brought into use on existing routes, with trains serving existing ports. In the next – also Scottish – case, this included ferries traversing the Firth of Forth. The passage across from Burntisland to Granton evolved towards a conventional train-ferry-train arrangement, but from 1850 onwards trains were rolled on to the purpose-built paddle steamer Leviathan and rolled off again at the other end. This permitted the carriage of ‘goods, minerals, etc. without breaking bulk’, i.e. without having to be unloaded from the train, loaded on to the ferry, unloaded off the ferry, and once more loaded onto the train. [2]

‘The first experimental trial took place on Wednesday last . . . 12 trucks, laden with coals and general merchandise, were taken on board at Burntisland in about seven minutes. The time occupied by the steamer in crossing was 25 minutes, and the trucks were safely run ashore at Grandon in the course of three minutes afterwards.’ [3]

The train ferry had a 40 year lifespan until the Forth Bridge – still in operation today – effectively replaced it in 1890.

Train ferries: the 20th century

There was a short-lived attempt to run a train ferry to the Isle of Wight between 1884-1888 [4] but it would not be until the First World War that the concept of the train ferry came into its own again in UK waters – more specifically, English waters – meeting a critical need. The Richborough train ferries came into being, with corresponding infrastructure built at Calais and Dunkirk, shuttling war matériel back and forth across the Channel. These were known simply as Train Ferries 1 to 3 (TF1 to TF3). [5]

Historic black and white print of the hull of a vessel propped up by timber props (left of image). The sheer size of the hull casts shadows and dwarfs the tiny figures working underneath (bottom right of image)
Building a Cross-Channel Train-ferry : Underneath the bows (Art.IWM ART 1481) Part of a series by the artist recording shipbuilding on the Clyde, this image is sometimes labelled in other collections as Building a Cross-Channel Ferry. If this is indeed a train ferry, it almost certainly references TF3, which was built on the Clyde by Fairfield, Govan.
Muirhead Bone, Wellington House and Ministry of Information Commission, First World War Copyright: © IWM. Original Source:
http://www.iwm.org.uk/collections/item/object/2634

The then new-fangled medium of film provides extraordinary footage of the train ferry berthing at Dunkirk, a locomotive reversing from landside and coupling up with the wagons, filled with tanks and shells – which also illustrates that the modus operandi was to carry rolling stock only and be re-linked with a locomotive at the other end, not to run a locomotive onto the ferry. Aerial photographs – again a remarkable new hybrid technology facilitated by the war, of camera equipment on board aircraft – of the train ferry making the crossing with wagon-loads of tanks, confirm that locos did not also make the crossing. The film and aerial photos also show that the train ferries were painted in dazzle camouflage – a temporary measure adopted in the latter stages of the war (see our blog on March 1918 for more on dazzle camouflage).

Multi-modal transport here intersects with the temporary – the military train ferries and the ship camouflage regime – in a conjunction of new technologies and new ideas.

Historic black & white photograph of railway wagons on either side of a train ferry, with empty tracks in the middle. The ferry is in port being loaded as the gantry is visible in the background. Wires from the vessel's superstructure criss-cross the foreground.
First World War train ferry
Science Museum Group Collection © The Board of Trustees of the Science Museum https://collection.sciencemuseumgroup.org.uk/objects/co417786/horwich-collection CC BY-NC-SA 4.0

TF4 was built at Cammell Laird, Birkenhead, for the St. Lawrence River in Canada, but was also rendered obsolete three years after delivery by the opening of the Quebec Bridge in 1917. [6] She was navigated back to Britain for the Southampton-Cherbourg train ferry run over 17 days, which, in a transatlantic landscape of war, was no mean feat for a fairly evidently slow vessel that would have proven very vulnerable both to deep-sea waves and any lurking enemy dangers.

TF4’s time on the Southampton-Cherbourg service was also to be brief, ending in 1919, but she was a remarkable vessel which operated differently to the others, with a platform that could be lowered to connect with the landward end, rather than using linkspans to ‘bridge the gap’ as TF1-TF3 did.

Modern photograph of train ferry model in glass case
Model of the Leonard at the Williamson Art Gallery & Museum, Birkenhead, where she was built, on showing rolling stock conveyed on the raised platform which could be lowered as required. Wikimedia Commons Creative Commons 3.0

Rolling on into the mid 20th century

It would not be until the early 1920s that the train ferries would once more be put to use for their intended purpose, in a joint Anglo-Belgian enterprise between the Great Eastern Ferry Company Ltd. and the Société Belgo-Anglaise des Ferry Boats, for a service to be run from 1923 onwards between Harwich and Zeebrugge. [7]

The question was how to transport the landside infrastructure at Southampton to Harwich. The proposed solution was to ‘load the bridge on one barge, and the towers and machinery on another’ in tow of the tug Plumgarth in early September. This did not end well. ‘When out in the North Sea the weather became very rough, and the continued heavy rolling motion caused slight damage to the barge with the tower on it, and she started to take in water.’ [8]

The master of the tug tried to reach Harwich, but ‘. . . the waves pounded in between the two barges, causing one to drag on the other in a submerged condition.’ [9] The incident occurred on the 5th of September and by the 12th the wreck sites of the barges and the infrastructure had been marked in a Trinity House Notice to Mariners. [10] By the following week one of the barges had been raised, with salvage works ongoing. [11] By the beginning of October the ferry bridge (or linkspan) had been brought ashore at Harwich, but it was not possible to raise the towers.

History does not record whether the second barge was recovered, but it may have been underneath the towers. The wreckage was cleared by explosives, since it lay in the fairway on the approaches to Harwich, but the site is now uncharted, suggesting that any archaeological remains may, at best, be level with the seabed. [12]

Fortunately the towers from Richborough were still available to mesh with the linkspan from Southampton and the Harwich-Zeebrugge service commenced operations in 1924.

Historic black and white aerial view of Harwich harbour, with the train ferry docked in the foreground, with rails running onto the ship at bottom right. The shoreline is seen at right with other ships berthed or moving about in the harbour.
Trinity Pier and the Train Ferry Berth, Harwich, 1952 EAW043676 © Historic England Archive

The Harwich train ferry continued in operation until 1987, alongside the Night Ferry service between Dover and Dunkirk, introduced in 1936. Both services ceased operations for the duration of the Second World War, while the train ferries once more went to war, and TF3 was lost to a mine off Dieppe in 1945. [13]

A vintage colour poster advertising 'The Night Ferry' train service, featuring a nighttime scene with sleeping cars and train details, over a timetable advertising the nightly service in both directions between London and Paris. The poster has evidence of streaks which look like water or oil damage to the left.
British Railways (Southern Region) Night Ferry poster, Barber, 1953
Science Museum Group Collection © The Board of Trustees of the Science Museum https://collection.sciencemuseumgroup.org.uk/objects/co231568/the-night-ferry CC BY-NC-SA 4.0

Both services resumed post-war, the Dover-Dunkirk service ceasing operations in 1980, but the Harwich-Zeebrugge ferry managing to survive until 1987. The berth at Harwich was listed at Grade II that year. [14]

Modern colour photograph of the 1923 gantry, painted in grey, and rusty dock infrastructure, under a cloudy sky.
View of the gantry towers at Harwich Train Ferry Berth from the south-east, 2014
DP165500© Historic England Archive

Trains on board ship

We have seen that small ships could be carried on trains in kit form, and we have also seen that full trains (minus their locomotives) could be carried on board ship, fusing the two modes of transport together. There were other circumstances in which ships carried trains, including locomotives, and other railway materials – wheels, carriages, sleepers, and so on – primarily for export during the expansion of the railways during the 19th century. At that time these export cargoes were often described by the catch-all term ‘railway iron’.

Our earliest example of such a wreck is the Ann, lost in 1844 off Whitby with a locomotive consigned from Newcastle for one of the south coast railways. [15] Even though Britain’s railways were booming, there was no other way to get stock to its intended destination on a network that was not yet fully joined up.

Thereafter losses of ships carrying railway components occurred with some regularity, and underline the truly international nature of Britain’s railway exports. The English brigantine Spartan stranded in Cornwall during a storm in 1846, with ‘railway iron’ from Cardiff for Livorno, for example. [16]

In 1849 the Archelaus of New Orleans foundered at her anchors off Lundy Island, again bound from Cardiff with ‘railway iron’ but for New York. ‘Railway bars’ were regularly brought up from the wreck over the course of the ensuing six months by a number of local vessels engaged in the salvage operation. [17]

Occasionally the wrecks would involve three countries: Britain as the manufacturer and exporter of the railway components, the destination country to which they were consigned, conveyed by a ship belonging to a third country. A good example is the Dutch galliot Jonge Wirther, which again stranded on the Cornish coast en route from Cardiff to Stettin (now Szczecin) in 1846. [18]

The export trade in British railway technology was truly global. The American full-rigged ship Cornelia likewise foundered off the Isles of Scilly while bound from Greenock for Santos in Brazil with rolling stock and railway components in 1861. The Palala was wrecked on Kimmeridge Ledge, Dorset, in 1886 while bound for Durban with a general cargo including wines, candles, tins of paint, and eight railway carriages. [19]

A modern colour 3D scan of a shipwreck showing railway wheels  and machinery, covered in sediment.
Perspective view of the Brackenholme and her export cargo of rolling stock components for Denmark lost off St. Catherine’s Point, Isle of Wight, following a collision in 1865 with HMS Supply.
Maritime Archaeology Trust

Such exports continued into the 20th century, including railway carriages consigned for France in the First World War: see our blogs for the Africa, 1915, and St. Chamond, 1918, which also makes a comparison with the Fort Massac, lost in the Thames Estuary with a loco from Darlington consigned for South Africa in 1946.

One story that comes up over and over again with consignments of ‘railway iron’ is its propensity for the cargo to shift, with predictably disastrous results. This happened to the full-rigged ship Ganges in 1881, stranding on the Goodwin Sands en route from Middlesbrough for Calcutta; the clipper South Australian, which foundered off Lundy in 1889 while bound from Cardiff to Rosario (and now a Scheduled Ancient Monument). [19]

Possibly our most extraordinary story of an unfortunate railway cargo concerns the English schooner Georgiana, bound from London for Cork with railway sleepers in 1881. She ran aground near the Manacles and ‘signals of distress were made by pouring paraffin on an old sail and lighting it.’ Though this was successful in alerting rescuers to the crew, it was disastrous as it ‘ignited some of the creosoted railway sleepers’ and burnt the vessel to the waterline. [20]

Coming full circle: the last rail & steamship experience

And finally . . . no blog linking the sea with the railways is complete without referring to the Southend Pier Railway running for most of the length of the Grade II-listed pier, the longest pleasure pier in the world. The pier head is approximately 1 and a third miles out to sea on a stretch of mud flat shoreline in which the sea can recede up to a mile at low tide. Since the pier head therefore stands in deep water, the pier thus served a practical purpose in enabling vessels to draw alongside to take trips out into the Thames Estuary.

This tradition continues today with the regular visits to the pier by paddle steamer Waverley, the last sea-going steamer still operating in the world, to pick up passengers for pleasure cruises in the Thames. Part of the experience is taking the train out to sea! And so we come full circle, for the Waverley was built for the London and North-Eastern Railway (LNER) in 1947, just before the railways were nationalised in 1948.

Historic black and white aerial view of the Southend Pier Railway stretching over water from top left to lower right: the railway is seen in operation with a train towards lower right
A train near Middle Landing on Southend Pier, 1928 EPW024886 Source: Historic England Archive

We hope you’ve enjoyed your voyage on the high seas and the connections we’ve made between trains and ships!

With many thanks to Andrew Wyngard, railway consultant for this blog.

Logo celebrating 200 years of train travel since 1825, featuring stylized numbers and a train graphic.

Footnotes

[1] Hennessey R 2016 ‘The Train Ferries: Part One’ Backtrack (30:11 661-667); ‘The Train Ferries: Part Two’ Backtrack (30:12, 742-747)

[2] ‘Melancholy Accident at Burntisland’, The Scotsman, 30 January 1850, No.3,137, p3

[3] ‘The Floating Railway across the Forth’, Bell’s Life in London & Sporting Chronicle 10 February 1850, p2 [issue not numbered]

[4] Hennessey 2016; Burns R 2023 ‘Train Ferries’, Maritime Archaeology Trust online

[5] ibid. ; Batchelor, S 2014 Port of Richborough and the birth of the cross-Channel train ferry Railway Museum online

[6] Hennessey 2016. She was converted post-war into the oil tanker Limax, and was broken up at Kobe, Japan, in 1932 (Report of Total Loss, Casualty &c. for Limax, 26 January 1932, LRF-PUN-W639-0101-W)

[7] ‘The Harwich Train Ferries’, Harwich and Dovercourt: a time gone by, online (nd); National Heritage List for England, Harwich Train Ferry Berth, official list entry 1187897, first listed 1987

[8] ‘250-ton Ferry Bridge Lost: Lighters founder six miles from port’, Lancashire Daily Post, 6 September 1923, No.11,307, p4

[9] ibid.

[10] Notice to Mariners No.64 of 1923 Liverpool Journal of Commerce, 15 September 1923, No.30,232, p6

[11] ‘The Sunken Train-Ferry Bridge’, Staffordshire Sentinel, 18 September 1923, p3

[12] Shields Daily News, 4 October 1923, No.20,150, p6; ‘The Harwich Train Ferries’, Harwich and Dovercourt: a time gone by, online (nd); examination of UKHO data in and around the position quoted in [10] above

[13] The Loss of the Train Ferry HMS Daffodil Maritime Archaeology Trust, online

[14] National Heritage List for England, Harwich Train Ferry Berth, official list entry 1187897, first listed 1987

[15] Historic England NMHR records

[16] Historic England NMHR records

[17] Historic England NMHR records

[18] Historic England NMHR records

[19] Historic England NMHR records

[20] Historic England NMHR records; Royal Cornwall Gazette, 25 February 1881, p6

Railways 200: a maritime perspective, Part Two

Full Steam Ahead: Tourism and Freight

In the second part of our three-part Railways 200 special we go full steam ahead . . .

If the railways and the steamship were virtually born together, they also grew up together. The railways not only facilitated the development of new ports and new markets: together they enabled both domestic and international travel for work, study and leisure. They opened up tourist travel, which percolated down the social classes as workers’ holidays began to gain traction with employers and the law – especially to the seaside, to ‘London-on-Sea’ at Southend and Brighton, and to other resorts. Nowhere was it easier to access the sea by rail than at the Kent resort of Ramsgate, decanting passengers straight onto the beach.

Historic B&W aerial photograph of Ramsgate Harbour Station, showing people walking straight from the station onto the beach; a park and genteel terraces in the town are shown in the upper register of the image
Ramsgate Harbour Station, 1920. Ramsgate Harbour Station was operational between 1863 and 1926.
EPW000093 Source: Historic England Archive

Isambard Kingdom Brunel and Bristol

Elsewhere passengers started their overseas journeys by rail. Trains provided connections with steamship and ferry services. Bristol is a city which became a transport hub – Isambard Kingdom Brunel’s transatlantic steamer and early ocean liner, the SS Great Western, entered service in 1838, followed by the SS Great Britain in 1845. (A liner is a vessel that provides a regular ocean-going passenger and/or cargo service between two or more fixed points, in this case Bristol and New York.) From 1841 the Great Western Railway (GWR) terminus at Bristol, also designed by Brunel, provided a connection for passengers to and from the liner, with a hotel also built for the convenience of passengers.

Modern colour photograph, Brunel's old station now beside a busy road with plenty of car traffic. The front elevation is built of cream limestone but areas behind, such as the side returns and chimney stacks, are built of less prestigious and darker Pennant stone.
Brunel’s Old Bristol Station, 2013 adjoining the present-day station. Its Tudor Revival style with its crenellations and oriel windows gives an impression of age and prestige
Peter Broster Wikimedia Commons CC-BY-2.0

In this case the connection was not entirely seamless, as passengers still had to traverse the city, and potentially stay overnight in the hotel, but it is a travel cityscape which sprang from the brain of one man – and one which is still legible in the city today with the Grade I-listed old station next to the present-day Temple Meads (itself built in the 1870s), Grade II-listed hotel (known today as Brunel House) and SS Great Britain in preservation in the city.

Modern colour photograph seen looking down from a nearby window over the SS Great Britain displayed in dock and 'dressed overall' with flags flying between her six masts. and the city beyond. The river is seen to left and foreground.
SS Great Britain in Bristol, 2025
© Anthony O’Neil, geograph.co.uk CC BY-SA 2.0

How many visitors to Bristol today alight from Temple Meads, with Brunel’s original station on their right, to see the SS Great Britain and realise that they are following in the footsteps (or perhaps train wheels!) of passengers making the original transatlantic connection?

The Port of Liverpool and the Great Western Railway

Another ‘nearly seamless’ integration between the railways and port infrastructure can be seen in the Great Western Railway warehouse and office on the dockside at Liverpool, dating from the late 19th century. The GWR did not actually reach Liverpool itself, but goods could be moved by barge between the GWR’s Morpeth Dock at Birkenhead [1] and their warehouse at Liverpool alongside the Manchester Dock (filled in: now underlying the Museum of Liverpool) – a reminder that the railways also joined up with canal and river traffic in many different locations.

Modern colour photograph of Liverpool: edge of dock in foreground with propeller to left and steam crane to right, with the black & white hull of the ship just beyond in the middle ground. The deck lies under the lower roof of the warehouse saying RAILWAY, while the upper structure lies beneath the upper roof structure of the warehouse with the words GREAT WESTERN RAILWAY, creating a visual echo in the composition, also echoed by the building works beyond, and the varied heights and sizes of the Port of Liverpool and Royal Liver Building domes at the top of the image.
In this 2009 photograph the Great Western Railway warehouse is sandwiched between dockside infrastructure and the museum ship Edmund Gardner on the one side and on the other the dome of the Port of Liverpool building, with the Royal Liver Building beyond – two of the iconic ‘Three Graces’ of Liverpool fronting the River Mersey.
DP073748 © Historic England Archive

The rise of passenger travel

As the great age of the steam liner expanded, so also did the railways, and the two fed off one another, not only in Britain, but in parallel developments in other countries in Europe and elsewhere. This in turn enabled mass tourism (Cook’s Tours from 1855 to Europe, for example), emigration, and its darker side, colonialism. The liners, linking with railways on both sides of the Atlantic, made it possible for Charles Dickens to connect with his audiences in the United States and for Frances Hodgson Burnett of Little Lord Fauntleroy fame to regularly criss-cross the Atlantic.

Historic B&W photograph of men, women and children posing beside a railway carriage to the left, steam rising against the roof of the station
Passengers waiting on the platform at Waterloo for the Cunard Steamship Company boat train, probably for Southampton, 1913. The photograph was commissioned by Cunard from Bedford Lemere, who also specialised in photographing newly-built liners.
BL22173/001 Source: Historic England Archive

In the same way, liners grew not only to serve specific passenger routes such as Southampton or Liverpool to New York, or to serve European colonies abroad, but also to become cargo specialists. The late 19th and early 20th centuries saw the rise of cargo liners and of refrigeration, benefiting not only the growth of fish and chips (see Part One) but also enabling meat to be shipped from South America and Australia under refrigerated conditions, for example by the Nelson Line, and despatched onwards by rail. Our records mark the loss of the Nelson Line’s Highland Fling on Enys Rocks, Cornwall in 1907, and Highland Brigade, torpedoed off St. Catherine’s Point, 1918. [2]

Like the coal magnates of the north-east before them (as covered in Part One), the railway companies saw the potential in an integrated market and a seamless experience. They would run passenger trains to the ports: thence it was but a short step towards commissioning the building of steamers, operating ferry services in their own right, and providing onward travel.

Trains and ships in the Lake District

Sometimes the ‘onward travel’ was a new development in its own right and an extension of the leisure experience within Britain. The steam yacht Gondola, the idea inspired by Venetian travels, as well as her name and hull form, was commissioned by Sir James Ramsden of the Furness Railway Company and entered service from 1859. The Gondola allowed passengers alighting from the Furness line at Coniston to enjoy pleasure cruises on Coniston Water in the Lake District, enhancing their holiday experience. [3]

The links between railways and ships were especially close in the Lake District, because trains could also transport small ships like these: the Gondola‘s hull was transported in four sections by rail and heavy horse to Coniston to be assembled locally, a methodology also adopted for the motor vessel Teal on nearby Windermere in 1938. [4] The railway line to Coniston was closed in 1962 so the link between Gondola and the railway that once brought passengers to her has been broken. [5]

Modern colour photo of the Gondola on the lake against a background of green tree and heather-covered mountains
Steam yacht Gondola on a cruise on Coniston Water in 2011 © Ian Greig CC BY-SA 2.0

The growth of the ferry

Where the railways could most easily dovetail with the steamers and provide the most seamless experience was on what we would today call ‘short-haul’ routes and ferries across to Ireland, France, Belgium and the Netherlands. They built on existing ports and routes with a history of passenger demand. The experience could be completely seamless and was a strong selling point. ‘The train comes to a standstill bang opposite the boat’ at Southampton, as described in promotional literature for the Southern Railway in 1931. [6]

The wreck record illuminates how old some of these ferry or ‘passage’ routes could sometimes be. The Duke of York ‘passage boat’ struck the Goodwin Sands in 1791 en route from Dunkirk to Dover – perhaps even with some refugees from Revolutionary France? (Turner was ‘nearly swampt’ on landing at Calais in 1802 as his painting Calais Pier demonstrates.) In 1669 one of the regular packets between Harwich and Hellevoetsluis (the precursor of the Harwich-Hook of Holland service which still continues today), was wrecked at Dunwich.

Some railway + ferry services were run by prestige named trains, such as the Golden Arrow train of the Southern Railway, which linked with the Southern’s first-class ferry Canterbury at Dover, which in turn connected with the reciprocal Flèche d’Or train which took passengers from Calais to Paris.

Steam locomotive in green and black livery with a Golden Arrow on its side (to right of image) and the prominent Clan Line Merchant Navy Class logo, enclosing the line's house flag of a red lion rampant
The post-war Golden Arrow seen at the Railways 200 Greatest Gathering in Derby, August 2025, one of the Merchant Navy class, commemorating the Clan Line. © Andrew Wyngard

In general, the railway steamers had a fairly good safety record, but collisions in fog could and did happen, most notably with the Normandy paddle steamer, belonging to the London & South-Western Railway Company, which was involved in a collision off the Needles in 1870 with considerable loss of life while en route to the Channel Islands. [7]

Another collision in fog which ended more happily was that in the Channel between the London, Brighton & South Coast Railway steamer Seaford, having left Dieppe with passengers for Newhaven, and ‘le cargo-boat’ steamer Lyon, belonging to the French railway firm Compagnie des chemins de fer de l’Ouest, voyaging in the opposite direction under a reciprocal service arrangement. All on board the sinking Seaford were saved by the French ship, which returned to Newhaven, and ‘special trains’ were run for the passengers to get them home, although a few people were sent to hospital with broken legs and ankles. [8]

Vintage Southern Railway booklet cover featuring a map and promotional text for weekend and holiday travel to the continent, dated May 1st, 1939.
1939 Southern Railway brochure with map of connections, the last hurrah of passenger services before World War II. The Art Deco cover design blends stylised ships (white and pink) with steam trains (green) (Author’s own collection)

In 1918 the London & South-Western Railway ferry South Western was attacked by U-boat while on a cargo run from Southampton to St. Malo. More commonly, however, the railway ferries were lost outside both their normal roles and usual routes during both World Wars. They found themselves requisitioned for war service and were sometimes sunk on that service, such as the Southern Railway’s Tonbridge, which pivoted from her cross-Channel service to become a net layer (setting anti-submarine nets), and was sunk by a bomber off Sheringham in 1941.

Railway ferries also played their part both at Dunkirk in 1940 and during D-Day on 1944, including one very special class of ferry which we will take a look at next week in the conclusion to this blog series.

An artistic depiction of the steamship SS Canterbury with the Red Ensign flying astern, steam billowing from her funnels, and heading towards the White Cliffs of Dover
Southern Railway steamer SS Canterbury (of the Golden Arrow service described above) approaching Dover. Walter Thomas, c.1936 Science Museum Group Collection © The Board of Trustees of the Science Museum
A vintage black and white photograph of the ship in wartime livery, with an aeroplane flying overhead.
HMS Canterbury (FL 7489) Underway, at sea. As HMS Canterbury, the railway company ferry would participate in Dunkirk and D-Day
Copyright: © IWM. Original Source: http://www.iwm.org.uk/collections/item/object/205124826

All aboard for Part 3 next week . . .

With many thanks to Andrew Wyngard, railway consultant for this blog.

Logo celebrating 200 years of train travel since 1825, featuring the number '200' in stylized red design with a train track element.

Footnotes

[1] The Great Western Railway Warehouse and Office, Coastal and Intertidal Zone Archaeological Network (CITiZAN), online; photograph of the warehouse and office, CITiZAN, online

[2] Historic England NMHR records

[3] History of Steam Yacht Gondola, National Trust, online

[4] Gondola, National Historic Ships, online; Teal, National Historic Ships, online; MV Teal, Windermere Lake Cruises, online; ‘Lake Flotilla’, Liverpool Echo, No.17,595, 6 June 1936, p4

[5] Andrews, M and Holme, G, 2005 The Coniston Railway (Pinner: Cumbrian Railways Association)

[6] Leigh-Bennett, E P and Fougasse 1931 Southern Ways & Means (Plaistow: Southern Railway)

[7] Historic England NMHR records. It should be noted that the comment on the safety record pertains principally to records of losses within English waters, which are relatively few by comparison with the regularity of the service and the number of journeys undertaken; however, other wrecks did occur outside English waters, around the other home nations, the Channel Islands, and the coast of France.

[8] Historic England NMHR records; ‘A Channel Steamer Sunk: Loss of the Seaford‘, Morning Advertiser, 21 August 1895, No.32,535, p5; ‘Le Naufrage du Seaford’, La Marseillaise, p3 (in French)

[z] Railways 200 Fridays – PS Waverley, National Historic Ships, online

Railways 200: a maritime perspective, Part One

Parallel lines – the growth of the railways and the steamers

Historic sepia postcard of parallel rows of multiple railway lines stretching into the distance, with the vertical posts of the coal hoists of the dock just visible to the top of the photograph. The postcard bears the punning title on the front 'Just a few lines from Immingham'
Postcard of the railways towards Immingham Dock around 1912 from the C J Wills & Sons collection. The firm of C J Wills & Sons were railway contractors whose work included Immingham Dock, built for the expansion of the coal trade initially. In the distance the coal hoists servicing the southern side of the dock can be seen.
AL0589/054/01 Source: Historic England Archive

To celebrate the 200th anniversary of the world’s first passenger-carrying railway service on the Stockton and Darlington Railway on 27 September 1825 we take a look – in a three-part special – at the close relationship between the railways and the sea, a mutually interdependent relationship from the very beginning.

It’s a story full of surprises, so read on!

Steam ships and steam trains were forged in the same era on the anvil of the Industrial Revolution. The world’s oldest surviving steam locomotive is Puffing Billy, built 1813-14 for the Wylam Colliery near Newcastle-upon-Tyne.

Meanwhile the wreck record demonstrates that steam ships stuttered into life on small passenger vessels in inshore waters, but were prone to disasters: in 1817 a steam packet on the River Yare exploded just after leaving Norwich for Great Yarmouth, with the loss of half the passengers. [1]

Later that same year. the Regent steam packet, a ‘fine vessel of its kind’ which had apparently cost £1100 to build, suffered a fire en route to Margate. According to a passenger, the fire came from the wooden casing on the deck surrounding the chimney of the steam engine. (Just like today, the press was keen to hear from survivors of any incident and print eyewitness accounts.) There were only two buckets on board to put out the fire, so all that the master could do was order everyone on deck and close all the hatches to deprive the fire of oxygen. He then made a signal of distress and directed the vessel towards Whitstable, the heat trapped inside still keeping the boiler going.

There was ‘terror and agitation’ among the passengers and the fire was ‘only kept from penetrating through the deck by the constant application of water’ from the two buckets to hand, but fortunately the vessel ‘grounded on the sand at Whitstable, when three boats from that place, which had overshot them, arrived to their assistance, and safely took on board all the passengers and crew’, who included children. The vessel burnt to the waterline and as the tide ebbed the keel and engine were exposed on the sand. [2]

‘King Coal’: the railways and the coal industry

From the beginning the railways were intimately connected with the coal industry. The earliest railways originated in the horse-drawn waggonways which brought coal out of the pits to waterways for onward despatch to market. Puffing Billy and its sister engine Wylam Dilly demonstrate the evolution of the waggonways from horse power to steam power.

View of Wylam Dilly locomative from above in a museum setting, giving prominent attention to its tall chimney and small size
Wylam Dilly at the National Museum of Scotland
Kim Traynor CC-BY-SA 3.0

At this period coal was not directly loaded onto the collier brigs of the Tyne from the shore, but taken out to the ships by the flat-bottomed barge-like Tyne keels, who gave their name to a standardised measure of coal (one keel = 21 tons 4 cwt). The keelmen of the Tyne went on strike in 1822 and a strange story persists that the Wylam Dilly locomotive was loaded onto a keel in order to break the strike by towing a number of keels behind her.

"Wylam Dilly" B&W illustration depicting the locomotive converted to a paddle tug on the River Tyne, surrounded by ships and the Newcastle skyline.
The ‘Amphibious’ Wylam Dilly, the print that tells a remarkable tale
Image © National Museums Scotland

This attractive story seems difficult to substantiate, however: it seems an audacious experiment which would surely have attracted the attention of the press. However, while both local and national newspapers devoted many column inches to the keelmen’s strike and the authorities’ and colliery-owners’ responses, the press is remarkably silent on such an event – despite the twin novelties of steam propulsion at sea, still in its infancy, and the repurposing of a railway engine for riverine use. [3]

The story does, however, serve as a neat illustration of the fundamental links between the railways and the sea, linked by coal. From the outset the powerful coal magnates of the north, landowners with several collieries, saw the potential in facilitating the links between the coalfields and outlets to the sea for domestic export, the best route to moving large quantities of coal. It was this great trade in coal from the 16th century onwards that gave rise to the expression ‘coals to Newcastle’ as an expression for a futile endeavour: coal was Newcastle, benefiting from the rich Durham and Northumberland seams, and the trade was so profitable that ships taking coal to London ran in ballast (empty) on the voyage home: there was no real need for a return or exchange cargo.

The railways and the ports

Just five years after that inaugural passenger service in 1825, the Stockton and Darlington Railway was linked to a new port at Middlesbrough on the Tees for the transhipment of coal via the River Tees, but the demand soon outgrew the port and further development was needed.

Historic B&W aerial photo of rail lines surrounding a dock in the foreground, with several ships in it. In the middle ground is the Tees with the Transporter Bridge to left, and in the background a rural landscape contrasting with the industrial riverscape
Middlesbrough Dock and the Transporter Bridge, 1949
This post-war view of the dock (opened 1842) and the Transporter Bridge (opened 1911) well illustrates the integration of rail and maritime transport, replicated in many locations across the country
EAW024124
Source: Historic England Archive

At the same time the Marquis of Londonderry saw an opportunity to develop Seaham on the Durham coast to ship the coal from his nearby coalfields, connected by a railway line from Rainton from 1831. [4] The increase in maritime trade was not without its hazards: the number of shipwrecks associated with the region grew commensurately with the growth in shipping using the port. [5]

Coal thus made of the north-east a perfectly closed-loop economy. Coal was used in the manufacture of iron and steel for the engines and bodies of locomotives, trains and steamships, which were themselves powered by coal. Shipbuilding flourished accordingly in Britain’s industrial centres, particularly where there was a strong coal hinterland. Built using coal, powered by coal, and destined to carry coal, the steam collier built on the banks of the Tyne and the Wear unlocked cargo capacity for ever greater shipments of coal to meet demand. Coal created both its own demands and the means to fulfil them.

In terms of the coal trade, railways were intended at the beginning – through the development of port connections – to serve the shipping of coal, and not to replace it. The growth in freight hauled by rail, including coal, never did put the steam colliers out of work for many and complex reasons, not least the fact that from the outset the railways facilitated access to the ports, and hence port development by the coal magnates.

From our 21st century perspective, this approach, while understandable in terms of the bigger picture, seems counter-intuitive. The reliance on shipping rather than devolution to the railways to reach the domestic market would certainly come to place Britain in great danger during the two World Wars. Coal was needed to, quite literally, ‘keep the home fires burning’: it was required for factory production, for domestic heating, lighting and cooking, to build and to power the trains that connected the country, for shipbuilding and to bunker both British steamers and ships from all over the world arriving at British ports. It was therefore vulnerable to supply disruption and economic loss in both income and ships – and, of course, human lives.

Historic black and white print of three men lit up by the engines into which they are shovelling coal in a vast and dark space symbolising the power of the engines and the size of the ship, and underlining the fact the machines depend on these men.
Heroes : in the stokeholds of the Mercantile Marine
Three stokers shovel coal aboard ship
James McBey, 1917 (Art.IWM ART 1409).
Copyright: © IWM. Original Source: http://www.iwm.org.uk/collections/item/object/17930

The steam colliers were vital, and thus became a clear target of the Scarborough minefield laid by enemy shipping during the First World War. During the Second World War colliers likewise had to contend with mines and the ever-present possibility of a U-boat strike or bombardment from the air. [For a little more on the attacks on collier shipping in the First World War, see our previous blogs on Sir Francis (June 1917) and The Schooners’ Last Stand, (September 1917).]

Fish’n’Chips

As well as taking goods to market – and facilitating their international export as well as domestic circulation by sea – the railways also brought fish from market. The expansion of the railway network over Britain coincided with the development of the steam trawler exploiting the fish stocks of the North Sea and North Atlantic.

The catch could be brought to market more quickly by steam trawler and onward despatch by the burgeoning railway network meant that from the late 19th century onwards inland communities could benefit as much as coastal communities from ready access to fish. It was a cheap meal – because it could be brought in quickly and in quantity – and a nutritious and filling one, particularly important for the diet of working-class communities in industrial cities.

The steam fleets of Kingston-upon-Hull, Grimsby, and Fleetwood were particularly noteworthy, and well placed to reach the great cities of the industrial north and the Midlands – and beyond – by railway. The steam trawlers and the railways together made fish and chips a national dish.

Streetscape of brick terraced houses with round-headed door frames and windows. To right is a shop window bearing a stained glass Art Deco sunrise design with the legend 'Titus Street Fisheries' at the top.
Titus Street Fisheries fish and chip shop, 38 Titus Street, Saltaire, taken c.1966-1974, from the Eileen Deste collection. DES01/01/0626 © Historic England Archive

The wreck record parallels the twin growth of the steam trawler and the railways. Our earliest record of a steamer in the fishing trade being lost at sea in English waters dates from March 1853. The George Bolton was a ‘new screw steam schooner, which had been introduced in the fishing trade for the purpose of expediting the conveyance of fish from the coast of Holland to the London market’. She was supplied with a ‘full cargo of cod-fish, shipped on board of her from the numerous craft engaged in those fisheries, for Grimsby, where she would discharge her cargo, and thence conveyed to London by railway.’ Her boilers exploded off the Humber, almost cleaving her in two, and she sank, although collier brigs in the vicinity were able to rescue survivors, some much scalded by the explosion. [6]

Part 2 follows next week with the ever-closer connections between trains and steamers in the 20th century

With many thanks to Andrew Wyngard, railway consultant for this blog.

Logo celebrating 200 years of train travel since 1825, featuring a stylised number '200' in red with the zeros reminiscent of train wheels and terminating in the British double-arrow train logo

Footnotes

[1] Historic England NMHR records; ‘Horrible explosion of a steam packet’ Lancaster Gazette, 12 April 1817, No.826, p1

[2] Historic England NMHR records; ‘Total Loss of a Margate Steam Packet’. Stamford Mercury, 11 July 1817, No.4,503, p4

[3] The source for the story appears to be the print presented by Forster Bros, based at Scotwood-on-Tyne, depicting the Wylam Dilly ‘made to answer as a paddle tug’ in 1822 (reproduced above and in Grelling, M, nd, “Wylam Dilly: one of the world’s oldest locomotives”, National Museums Scotland). but it does not appear to be a contemporary record of events. It is undated: the typefaces and grammatical details in the caption appear more consistent with the mid- to late 19th century. It was certainly extant by 1912 when it was republished in a Newcastle paper in 1912 (Newcastle Daily Chronicle, September 10, 1912. p3) to celebrate the centenary of Henry Bell’s steamboat, the paddle steamer Comet. The newspaper credits Messrs Ord and Company, 45 Hartington Street, Newcastle, as the source of the print. John Shute Ord, shipbroker, was resident at that address in 1911 (England and Wales Census, 1911).

The caption reads “Wylam Dilly” Taken off Railway Waggon Way and fitted on a Keel called “Tom and Jerry”, at Lemington, and made to answer as a Paddle Tug, going by Quayside, Newcastle. By the mid-19th century the practice of capitalising nouns in English was very old-fashioned, but persisted to some extent in press circles, and this may be a hallmark of the print. i.e. it was handled by a press associated with the newspaper industry. There were Forsters owning tugs on the Tyne from the 1830s at least: Scotswood appears in connection with Forster ownership from the 1870s to the 1920s. There is sufficient detail in the print to suggest details from memory, perhaps from local rivermen as the Forsters had been – Tom and Jerry was a popular novel and play of 1821, just the sort of inspiration for a vessel name that was very common, Lemington was the end point of the Wylam waggonway to the river, and both Wylam and Lemington were places name-checked in acounts of the strike.

So far, so plausible – yet the print remains puzzling, in the face of the silence in the contemporary press on the Wylam Dilly‘s purported use on the river in 1822 and the fairly rudimentary nature of the paddle wheels as shown more by the movement of the water than in size or action. So far the origin of the story remains untraced, but the ‘presented’ caption at the bottom suggests to me that the original was commissioned or presented for a local publication on local industrial heritage. Wylam and Lemington were key locales in the strike, and Wylam Dilly in use on the waggonway at that time – that much is certain. Whether the locomotive actually made it onto the river is less certain.

[4] Seaham Town Council, nd, Seaham Harbour 1828-1851, published online

[5] Cant, S 2013 England’s Shipwreck Heritage: from logboats to U-boats (Swindon: English Heritage) p179

[6] Historic England NMHR records; ‘Blowing up of two Steam Vessels, and Loss of Life’, Morning Advertiser, 14 March 1853, No.19,258, p3

Diary of the Second World War – August 1945

Graphic commemorating the 80th anniversary of VJ Day, featuring a bold 'V' with '80' above and 'VJ DAY' below.

The Terukuni Maru

In our final Diary of the Second World War, 80 years after VJ Day on 15 August 1945, we take a brief look at what it took in terms of shipping losses to enemy causes in the immediate post-war world before we circle back to the early months of the war and a rare loss of a Japanese vessel in English waters, and an even rarer one under the circumstances of war.

Sweeping the Peace

The immediate post-war world was dedicated to achieving the peace and in this the world’s navies and merchant fleets played as large a part as they had done during the days of war – but in shipping lanes that were considerably safer than they had been for the past six years: no approaching aircraft with a payload of bombs, no warships on the prowl on the surface of the sea, no submarines waiting to loose a torpedo and hole a vessel below the waterline.

Even as the new world order started to take shape and ships brought home troops, POWs and refugees, home, carried occupation forces, and took dispossessed persons and GI brides to new lives on other continents, there remained one more issue that was harder to deal with than simply ceasing fire.

After both World Wars there were occasional losses to stray mines following the cessation of hostilities (see our post on losses after the First World War, which were recorded right up to 1925). Between VE Day on 8 May 1945 to VJ Day 15 August 1945, there was only one war-related loss in English waters: HMS Kurd, mined off the Lizard with the loss of 16 crew while on those self-same necessary clearance activities in July 1945.

As late as 1950 the Ramsgate trawler Volante exploded after striking a mine in the Thames Estuary, although fortunately, in that case, all hands escaped.

These were the very last direct maritime victims of the Second World War within English territorial waters. Mines continued to wash up on beaches on a regular basis until the 1950s and 1960s and less frequently since then, although they still occur and require dealing with.

A Japanese liner in 1939

From the immediate post-war period, we now circle back to think about VJ Day and events earlier in the Second World War. Of course, the events in question – the atomic bombs unleashed on Hiroshima and Nagasaki, and the surrender of Japan – took place on the other side of the world and so we cannot commemorate the end of the war directly with events in our waters in the year of 1945.

The war, however, came to Japan’s door in the waters of the Thames Estuary in November 1939 with the loss of the Terukuni Maru – described in the contemporary press as a ‘crack liner’ – i.e. a first-class liner (a slightly old-fashioned usage now, but which survives in expressions such as ‘crack shot’). Her prestige was demonstrated in several ways, such as the fact that she was a motor-driven vessel, rather than a steamer.

1930s  lithograph postcard of the Terukuni Maru in port bow view at sea, with the legend of her owners NYK Line to top right, underneath her name and tonnage in both English and Japanese
1930s postcard of the motor vessel Terukuni Maru (Public domain: Wikimedia Commons)

Terukuni Maru and Nagasaki

The Terukuni Maru was completed in 1930 for the Nippon Yusen Kaisha (NYK) Line as a link between Japan and Europe. She was built by Mitsubishi at Nagasaki, reflecting the increasing pre-war Japanese industrial confidence which saw ships built domestically, rather than via orders placed with foreign shipyards. [1] This shipyard would be devastated by the atom bomb dropped on Nagasaki on August 9, 1945. An annotated aerial view of Nagasaki in the US National Archives from 1945 identifies the shipyard (marked 2 on plan), while the shipyard is seen devastated in this aerial view of 1946 with sunken shipping also visible.

The final voyage of Terukuni Maru

The Terukuni Maru left Yokohama for London on 24 September 1939 – but not without war risk insurance: it was a journey that may have seemed safe in the Far East but would become increasingly risky as it neared a Europe in conflict.

As they neared the English coast in November 1939, that journey would become riskier still. There had been plentiful recent minelaying all along the east coast of England: by U-boats on the Suffolk coast and off the mouths of the Thames and Humber by destroyer groups, each claiming several ships. US naval intelligence warned that ‘thirty-nine mines had been sighted adrift off the English coast’. [2] British intelligence suggested that on the nights of 20 and 21 November German mine-laying aircraft had been active. [3] Among the ships attributed to the Thames destroyer group’s activities was the Dutch liner Simon Bolivar, bound from Amsterdam to South America, on 18 November.

There were already swept War Channels off the coast of the UK for Allied shipping and neutrals alike – mines being no respecter of neutrality – for at the outset of war Japan was neutral. Pearl Harbor on 7 December 1941 was yet to come.

Both the British naval authorities and the captain of the Terukuni Maru were well aware of the dangers ahead.

Captain B Matsukura gave an interview to The Times. in which he said that, having arrived in the Channel on the morning of 19 November, his vessel was boarded by naval officers for clearance and guidance towards the swept War Channels. [4] They finally weighed anchor for London with their 28 remaining passengers on the morning of 21 November with the assistance of a British pilot, while five crew were posted to scan for mines. However, as lunch was being served, ‘there was a terrific explosion . . . the ship shot up, several plates were broken, and three of the passengers were injured.’ [5] To Reuters he said that ‘When we struck the mine the ship shivered and jumped into the air.’ [6] The master gave his opinion that: ‘I would say it was a deep mine. If it had been an ordinary floating mine at least one of my look-outs would have seen it. My own belief is that it was a magnetic mine.’ [7]

All on board saved – including an unusual passenger

The ship’s engines were disabled and the pilot suggested beaching the ship, but it proved impossible to do so, and she began to list. However, the time it took for her to finally sink, 40 minutes later, and the relatively few passengers (most having disembarked earlier in the voyage) meant that it was possible to save all on board in eight lifeboats: 28 passengers, a passenger’s dog, 177 crew, and the pilot. The ship then finally heeled over to starboard and sank. [8]

There was another passenger – a stowaway of sorts. A falcon had flown on board, exhausted and hungry in the eastern Mediterranean, and was ‘taken care of by the bath-steward, but otherwise regarded as a bird of ill-omen.’ It was placed on board the Beaverford, one of the ships which had come to the rescue, and taken to London Zoo. The Beaverford was in Convoy HXF (Halifax-UK Fast), having made the journey ‘northabout’ via Scotland and bound for Dover, which suggests the convoy was on scene and others may well have been able to assist, including their escorts HMS Acasta and HMS Ardent. [9] The falcon’s survival made a good story and a feelgood picture for the press, even if its feathers had been somewhat ruffled by its extraordinary journey.

Images flashed around the world

But someone else also took good pictures of the wreck as it was taking place – the ship’s photographer, K Asami. The Daily Mirror told its readers: ‘You owe the amazing pictures in today’s Daily Mirror to a boy of eighteen . . . His photographs will be well paid for. It won’t be only camera work that will have earned him the money, but initiative and enterprise.’ [10]

That picture of the wreck itself is now in the Mirrorpix archives – search on Terukuni Maru – and and tells the full story at a glance – the ship heeling over to starboard, her bows already below water, the passengers escaping, and the swarms of other vessels giving assistance at the scene. The viewpoint is high, and taken from some distance, so he was able to take his photograph safe on board another vessel, giving him a stable platform to create a coherent image that told a powerful story.

Clearly he was able to take his most precious – and portable – possession with him, and became an accidental war journalist. Photography – and the democratisation of photography – made it possible to record shipwrecks as they actually happened, a trend which started to significantly come into its own during the First World War, can be said to have come of age during the Second World War, and is a precursor to today’s crowdsourced mobile phone footage that contributes so much to modern television news bulletins.

Orderly evacuations such as those on board the Terukuni Maru, or aboard the WWI loss Ballarat (subject of an earlier post) made it easier to do so, or those on board rescuing vessels could also take pictures (covered in our post on HMHS Anglia, also WWI). The teenage Asami’s astonishing photograph was syndicated around the world by radiophoto – a means of remote transmission of photography which emerged in the 1920s and 30s (also called Wirephoto by the Associated Press). For example, it was reproduced in the New York Times, where it was described as ‘passed by British censor’. [11]

Those who were there could thus bring a perspective that professional journalists just could not cover, but the conventional press could, of course, avidly film and interview survivors: check out this Gaumont newsreel of 23 November 1939.

Censorship and the War Channels

The reason Asami’s picture passed by the censor was that there was no identifiable detail as to the vessel’s location and no press report gave details other than ‘North Sea’ or ‘England’s east coast’, in conformity with British wartime censorship, even internationally. For example, in the Daily Mirror, we are told: ‘Crowds saw the crack Japanese liner Terukuni Maru sink off the East Coast yesterday after striking a Nazi mine.’ [12]

Hidden in plain sight

Yet there is an interesting story that is hidden in plain sight and wartime censorship has nothing to do with it. The position of the wreck has received no commentary as far as I am aware, until now.

The wreck’s position and identity have always been known with a consistent charting history since the date of loss, wartime reports on her position and marking, and dispersal activity in 1950 – an unbroken chain of reporting. [13]

The official Lloyd’s casualty report was finally made on 19 February 1940, and stated ‘reported to have sunk in forty minutes after striking a mine off Harwich on the 21st November, 1940’ although further correspondence ensued with the owners, who were reluctant to give up the possibility of salvage. However, by May 1940, they had ‘no objection to the record ‘Sunk – War Loss 11.39′ being made against this ship’s name in the Society’s Register Book.’ [14]

The wreck is charted and located around 3.5 miles or so NNE of the Sunk Head Tower light, and 2 miles ENE of the Inner Sunk light, nearly 12 miles east of Frinton-on-Sea, Essex. [15] The pilot’s suggestion of beaching the ship confirms its proximity to local sandbanks. [16] The Daily Mirror had said ‘crowds’ witnessed the wreck, which appears to be corroborated by the reminiscences of an eyewitness standing as a boy with his friend on the cliffs at Frinton-on-Sea, Essex, on 21 November 1939: he saw a liner he believed to be the Terukuni Maru sailing near the Sunk lightvessel go up in ‘an enormous plume of water’ and ‘turn on her side’. [17] This position also seems consistent with two boats from the Terukuni Maru, still complete with their oars and a quantity of ships’ biscuits still inside, fetching up at Den Hoorn and De Koog on the Dutch coast a couple of weeks later. [18]

What exactly was the Terukuni Maru doing there? She was heading north from the Downs off the eastern coast of Kent for London, so how come she was as far north as off the Sunk light vessel? The location of the wreck is nearly 30 miles north of Margate, where she could ’round the corner’ west into the Thames.

Map showing the location of the Terukuni Maru near the east coast of England, Frinton to the west, the approaches to the Thames to the south-west, and Margate almost due south.
Maps Data: Google Earth; Image: Landsat, Copernicus; Data: SIO, NOAA, US Navy, NGA, GEBCO

The Terukuni Maru had a British pilot on board, familiar with the many sandbanks of the Thames, and who will have been up-to-date with the war channels, adding a new layer of requirements for careful navigation – and the vessel was proceeding in accordance with instructions given when boarded by naval officers. She might well have drifted a little after being mined, since her engines were disabled, but she cannot have drifted very far, if at all, in the 40 minutes it took her to sink. Yet she was seen off Frinton-on-Sea near the Sunk light vessel by witnesses, with many vessels coming to her rescue; she was recorded by Lloyd’s as mined off Harwich; and has a consistent history of charting and identification by the UK Hydrographic Office since the time of loss.

So why was she there? Examination of data for wrecks which were mined in English waters during the first four months of the war shows that there is a small cluster off this area corresponding to those few days of activity noted above. It seems natural that the Simon Bolivar, coming across from Amsterdam on 18 November, would have joined the war channel close to Harwich (after all, Harwich and the Hook of Holland have been connected by a regular service for centuries) but it is harder to work out exactly why the Terukuni Maru was so far north of her expected peacetime course, when the weather was not a factor and her crew had expert pilotage and Admiralty advice.

The clue, perhaps, is in the words ‘the expected course’. The vessel will have been directed towards the swept War Channels, and it could be that the wreck remains of the Terukuni Maru form a tangible record of something short-term and ephemeral – a set of instructions, a change of course, a temporary alteration to the war channels, and direction towards known channels believed swept and safe – as the area near the recent wreck Simon Bolivar would have seen significant sweeping activity to make the area safe. Or was she directed away from London to Harwich?

There is an intriguing comment in a secondary source, synthesised from contemporary Australian and Singaporean newspapers, [19] which describes the position of loss as 8 miles north of Margate, 20 miles east of Shoeburyness. That position is some 24 miles south of the known and charted position of the wreck, but it would certainly be a location more compatible with a vessel turning east into the Thames from the Downs. Yet she cannot have drifted 24 miles to her final location of loss when she was seen off Harwich having exploded.

There is clearly more to discover.

Conclusion

The Terukuni Maru demonstrates the sense of menace present in the world’s shipping lanes from the outset of the Second World War and which would finally be brought to a close worldwide on VJ Day. The losses of Simon Bolivar and Terukuni Maru in close temporal and geographical proximity brought home in headlines around the world the danger posed to neutrals by unsignalled minefields in the early years of – and throughout – the war. As a neutral at this stage of the war, Japan was outraged, and this was a rare maritime loss for Japan prior to her entry into the war at Pearl Harbor in December 1941. So this wreck marks a moment in time for Japanese vessels during the Second World War.

Despite press censorship, we see also a positive shift in the documentation of shipwrecks by the growing medium of photography and the development of war journalism. The wreck’s dispersal in 1950 echoes the parallel efforts made in post-war minesweeping and the constant reminders of war debris in various forms. From September 3, 1939 to August 15, 1945, the Terukuni Maru was but one of many victims of the war in English territorial waters: the remains of some 349 vessels, some positively identified, some with potential attributions, and some unknown, are recorded in Historic England’s dataset, with many more known only from documentary evidence. [20]

It seems there is more to discover, so we may well return to the Terukuni Maru in due course.

The one Japanese loss of the Second World War in English waters, the Terukuni Maru has been an appropriate wreck to mark the final edition of the Diary of the Second World War on this blog. We will continue to cover other shipwreck stories within English waters: all Second World War entries, and those for the Diary of the First World War will remain archived and accessible.

Footnotes

[1] Lloyd’s Register Foundation Archive and Library, completion report for the Terukuni Maru, 28th June 1930, LRF-PUN-W283-0129-R. There is some confusion in some secondary sources over whether she was built at Kobe or Nagasaki, possibly because some elements of her construction were overseen by the Kobe surveyor, necessitating some correspondence with the Nagasaki surveyor, all of which is also in the Lloyd’s Register Foundation archives.

[2] Rohwer, J and Hümmelchen, G 2007-2025 Chronik des Seekrieges 1939-1945 November 1939 (Württembergische Landesbibliothek: published online) (in German); New York Times, 23 November 1939, No. 29,888, p2 (subscription service).

[3] Terukuni Maru Nippon Yusen Kaisha (NYK) Line 1930-1939 https://www.derbysulzers.com/shipterukunimaru.html, based on contemporary newspapers. This source covers the Terukuni Maru as a motor vessel fitted with Sulzer engines. Attribution to a parachute mine is supported by eyewitness accounts from Frinton-on-Sea, Essex, reminiscences in 2007 of a witness who had, with a friend, seen parachute mines being dropped as a boy of 14 on 20 November 1939.

[4] The Times, 22 November 1939, No.48,569, p8

[5] ibid.

[6] Malaya Tribune, 22 November 1939, p1

[7] Straits Times (Singapore), 6 December 1939, p10

[8] The Times, 22 November 1939, No.48,569, p8

[9] The Times, 25 November 1939, No.48,572; convoyweb Convoy HXF 8. The falcon was a peregrine falcon which arrived at the Zoo on 23 November 1939, listed as ‘caught at sea’ and presented by the Chief Officer of the SS Beaverford, Surrey Commercial Docks. It died on 29 July 1940. With very warm thanks to the Librarian at the Zoological Society of London for this information.

[10] Daily Mirror, 22 November 1939, No.11,220, pp 1, 10-11, 20

[11] New York Times, 23 November 1939, No. 29,888, p7 (subscription service)

[12] Daily Mirror, 22 November 1939, p20

[13] United Kingdom Hydrographic Office (UKHO) report 14537, 28 November 1939 onwards

[14] Lloyd’s Register Foundation Archive & Library, Report of Total Loss, Casualty, &c. for Terukuni Maru, 29 February 1940 LRF-PUN-W283-0109-W

[15] Correlation of the wreck’s charted position with key seamarks and landmarks using geospatial information tools

[16] The Times, 22 November 1939, No.48,569, p8

[17] Eyewitness writing in 2007 on his experiences as a teenager witnessing the wreck on the Warsailors Forum

[18] e.g. in De Limburger, Vol. 70, No.284, 5 December 1939, p6 (in Dutch)

[19] https://www.derbysulzers.com/shipterukunimaru.html

[20] Examination of the National Marine Heritage Record (NMHR), Historic England, August 2025

Greek freighter, SS Mount Othrys, in collision on the Thames (1945)

Historical photograph of the SS Mount Othrys, a damaged cargo vessel, highlighting its collapsed structure due to the aftermath of a collision.
Undated photograph of what may possibly be the damaged front section of Mount Othrys at the time of the accident. Unknown photographer. Copyright: © Historisches Marinearchiv, HMA (by kind permission, 17/01/2025)

Written by Tanja Watson, Maritime Research Specialist, Historic England

This week’s blog looks at the loss event of the SS Mount Othrys (όρος Όθρυς) – a Greek cargo vessel which collided with MV Erinna, a Dutch oil tanker, on the narrower part of the river Thames, near Canvey Island, on Sunday 7 January 1945. While not a war loss, the Greek-owned Panamanian-flagged freighter demonstrates an accident that can easily happen in a busy thoroughfare. Both vessels caught fire in the collision but thanks to the quick response of a nearby fireboat stationed at Holehaven, the oil tanker and most of its cargo could be rescued. The steamer, however, became a total wreck and its remains were later scrapped.

Greek support

Just over 100 losses of Greek-owned vessels have been recorded within the 12 nautical mile limit of England’s coastline; circa twenty of these date from the Second World War.[1] The Mount Othrys offers the opportunity to highlight the important role Greek shipowners played under German occupation during the Second World War. Long-standing connections with the British shipping industry before the War made them an obvious ally, and their continued support of Britain throughout the War – allowing almost the entire Hellenic merchant fleet to be used for transporting goods (40 million tons of supplies) and troops alongside the Allied Forces, at great cost to the shipowners themselves – were invaluable in the fight against the Axis alliance of Germany, Italy and Japan.[2] By the end of the War, the Greek merchant fleet had lost almost 80% of their ocean-going freighters, every passenger vessel, and more than 2,000 seamen.[3]

Mount Othrys

At the outbreak of the War, Greece had the ninth largest merchant marine in the world, consisting of around 500 vessels, with an additional 100 Greek-owned steamships sailing under British and Panamanian flags. The British government chartered a number of these, Mount Othrys being one of them. A regular on the large Allied slow convoys; sailing the Sierra Leone (Freetown)/ Halifax (later New York)/ Sydney (Cape Breton) or Halifax or New York and the UK routes, it participated in 14 convoys between 1940-44, transporting supplies such as coal, pitch, and potatoes.[4]

Black and white photograph of the SS Mount Othrys, a Greek cargo vessel, in the water. The ship is shown with masts and cargo equipment visible, taken from the side with some coastline in the background.
Photograph of the SS Mount Othrys at sea, taken in September 1943 by the U.S. Coast Guard. Copyright: Historisches Marinearchiv (HMA), Raul Maya collection, HMA (by kind permission ).

The steel-hulled freighter was originally built by Harland and Wolff of Belfast in 1919 as SS Newton and under ownership of Lamport & G. Holt, for the Brazil & River Plate Steam Navigation Co. Ltd. in Liverpool.[5] In 1933, Newton was changed to Mount Othrys on transfer to Greek ownership (first Theseus Shipping Co. Ltd, Athens; then Rethymnis & Kulukundis, Panama; and in 1936, Kulukundis Shipping Company). Her final owner, Emmanuel Markou, purchased her in 1938, continuing her registration under Panamanian flag. Markou was related to the family of Manuel Kulukundis – a British-Greek banker, shipowner, and chief negotiator with the British government in the discussions around chartering the Greek merchant fleet around that time. Kulukundis and his cousin had founded the famous Rethymnis & Kulukundis (R&K) in 1921, which eventually became the largest Greek shipping office in London.[6]

The collision

On the morning of the collision, at around 10.30am, the MV Erinna, a 9,100-ton Shell tanker built in 1936, laden with 8,000 tons of motor spirit (80% octane), was pulling out into the fairway from Coryton Wharf, assisted by two tugs and heading down river, outward bound. Meanwhile, the SS Mount Othrys, a 6,500-ton vessel, was about to arrive to its destination, London, having picked up its cargo from the Canadian Port of Saint John on Newfoundland.[7] It was transporting Quaker Oats in cardboard boxes and bulk grain, and was making upriver, passing Holehaven, the creek to the west side of Canvey Island on the lower Thames.

Black and white photograph of the Greek cargo vessel SS Mount Othrys at sea, showing its steel hull and smokestack.
Photograph of the Dutch oil tanker MV Erinna, date and photographer unknown. Copyright: Stichting: Maritiem-Historische Databank, (Permission granted)

For whatever reason, as the Erinna moved out into the fairway, the Mount Othrys collided with her – striking the Erinna on the port side and bursting No7 port tank. Some 350 tons of petrol gushed out and showered the two ships and surrounding water. A spark must have ignited and both vessels were suddenly engulfed in flames. The crews on both vessels started abandoning ship, some even diving into the flaming water.[7]

The National Fire Service

Fortunately, the collision was heard by the crew of the National Fire Service (NFS) fireboat, the F.B.282 Laureate, normally stationed at nearby Holehaven, and upon seeing the flames the crew immediately scrambled to assist, laying out hose and foam branches on the deck of the fireboat. During World War II, the London Fire Brigade’s Thames River Formation used fireboats to fight fires along the banks of the Thames and protect ships in the river. It had about 70 craft, including fireboats, fire floats, and other tenders, and was ‘the first to be equipped with radio communications’.[8]

A black and white image showing a group of crew members on a small boat in the river Thames, with some members waving flags. The Tower of London is visible in the background.
With the Tower of London in the background, NFS firemen of the River Thames Formation travel down the river on their way to an incident in 1943. (D 17215) Copyright: © IWM https://www.iwm.org.uk/collections/item/object/205200557

As the first arrival to the scene, an immediate decision had to be made as the two burning vessels were starting to drift apart. The section leaders on board the Laureate judged the tanker as in the greatest danger as well as the greatest threat to any nearby shipping, jetties and wharves. Approaching the tanker’s starboard side, the firefighters clambered on board with their hoses which soon changed spraying water to foam. Altogether, the NFS men were reported to have worked for 21 hours, with some injured and taken to hospital.[9]

“The speed and effectiveness with which this was done was due not only to the resolution of the branch operators, but also to the unflagging energy of the pump operators, who, in using nearly 600 gallons of foam solution, had rapidly to unseal and empty more than 100 5-gallon tins into the multiple jet inductor.” [10]

Several members of the crews of the two ships were reported missing, believed drowned. Eventually the flames were put out and the tanker was saved with very little loss to the cargo. Other vessels continued to try and save the Mount Othrys, the Thames tug Sun VIII being one of them [11], but eventually the freighter had to be beached at Scar’s Elbow on Canvey Island.[12]

On January 8th, the day after the collision, the cargo vessel was re-floated and four tugs attempted to tow it to nearby Tilbury. This failed and the vessel was re-beached at Mucking. The superstructure and majority of the accommodation amidships had completely burnt out. The engine and boiler rooms were flooded, and the vessel hogged and was badly cracked. On the 20th January, at 02:30, the ship broke into two parts and was declared a total loss.[13]

Commendations were awarded to some of the Thames firefighters involved in putting out the fires, among the last to be given national gallantry awards: one British Empire Medal and nine King’s Commendations for Brave Conduct.[14] Three of Mount Othrys‘ crew were killed in the accident – two Greeks (both stokers) and a Brit.[15]

Footnotes

[1] National Marine Heritage Record (NMHR), Historic England. Marine records are currently searched via the Heritage Gateway (Mount Othrys, record id 1260991)
[2] Greek Shipping Miracle: Decimation of the fleet 1940-1945
[3] Voudouris, Dr. Ioannis, The Contribution of the Hellenic Merchant Fleet during the WWII (April 30, 2017)
[4] Arnold Hague Convoy Database, OS/KMS Convoy Series
[5] WWI Standard Ships, War Justice (the name given to Mount Othrys in initial construction phase)
[6] Greek Shipping Hall of Fame, Manuel E. Kulukundis (1898-1988)
[7] Historisches Marinearchiv (HMA), Mount Othrys
[8] Pike, David C, A retired London Fireman: A short history of London’s fireboats (April 18, 2021)
[9] The Crawley & District Observer, 22 September 1945, page 2
[10] Canvey Island: History & memories of a unique island community, Thomas Henry Setchell BEM
[11] Thames Tugs: London Tugs Limited, Sun VIII
[12] Historisches Marinearchiv (HMA), Mount Othrys
[13] Pike, David C, A retired London Fireman: A short history of London’s fireboats (April 18, 2021)
[14] Historisches Marinearchiv (HMA), Mount Othrys

VE Day

Flying Fortress B17G 44-8640

To commemorate the 80th anniversary of the end of the Second World War in Europe on 8 May 1945 we are republishing this blog looking at the very last craft of any kind to be lost off the coast of England.

The last few months of the war saw a significant decline in shipping and aircraft losses over the sea attributable to war causes. The last six weeks of the war saw 10 shipping casualties to war causes in English waters. Over the same period there were 6 aircraft lost to non-war causes (mechanical failure or accident, for example).

The seventh and last aircraft, and last loss of the war in English waters, was the exception, and a war loss, despite its peaceable mission – just one day before the celebration of Victory in Europe. And it is to events in Europe we must turn first of all to understand the mission of the last aircraft of the war to find a grave with most of its crew in England’s territorial sea.

Background:

As the end of the war approached, there was real desperation in the occupied Netherlands after the arduous Hongerwinter [“Hunger Winter”) of 1944-5, of whom one of the best-known survivors was the actress Audrey Hepburn, whose mother was Dutch and who grew up in the Netherlands.

The Hongerwinter arose from a terrible combination of circumstances, any one of which on its own would have been bad enough Although the Allies pushed ahead after breaking out from Normandy, the objective of Arnhem in the Netherlands in September 1944 during Operation Market Garden proved a ‘bridge too far’. Attempted strikes by Dutch railway personnel led to retaliation by the occupiers, preventing food supplies from getting through, and when this blockade was lifted, there were overwhelming obstacles to overseas relief efforts. Although the Allies had managed to capture Antwerp in September 1944, it was several weeks before the port could be used and, even if it had been in use earlier, the the occupied western provinces of the Netherlands with the greatest population density,  and least agricultural land, including Amsterdam and Rotterdam, remained cut off. The canals and rivers froze early that winter and fuel for lorries was scarce. Limited relief supplies from neutral Sweden and Switzerland had helped a little but the situation remained dire. (1) 

Sepia pen and ink wash of seated woman in hat with a boy and a girl in the background.
‘They have taken all, and our food’, Netherlands. Eric William Taylor, 1944, purchased by the War Artists’ Advisory Committee. Taylor would go on to record the liberation of Bergen-Belsen in April 1945.  © IWM Art.IWM ART LD 4989

The relief effort: 

Even as the Allies closed in on Berlin and the end of the war in Europe, they were able to refocus from a purely offensive approach towards a relief effort and the rebuilding of a new Europe. The Lancasters of the RAF and the B-17 Flying Fortresses of the USAAF based in England, which had so recently been deployed on bombing missions were perfectly suited to dropping food parcels to the Netherlands, and thus Operations Manna (RAF) and Chowhound (USAAF) were born.

Historic B&W photo of six men loading the sacks, their uniforms streaked with escaped flour.
Operation Manna: Ground crew of No.514 Squadron at RAF Waterbeach, Cambridgeshire, loading cement bags filled with foodstuffs into the bomb bay of a Lancaster bomber, 29 April 1945, destined for those parts of Holland still under German occupation. © IWM CL 2490

It was a massive logistical effort which drew upon the resources of the Allied airfields of East Anglia at very short notice from mid-April 1945, with the situation becoming urgent against German resistance and the risk of further deliberate flooding both of agricultural fields and transport infrastructure a real possibility. There were no spare parachutes available, so safe conduct for low-level food drops was arranged, to begin in late April 1945.

Black & white photo of Dutch citizen waving at three aircraft flying low over a town.
Dutch citizens wave as food is dropped from Lancaster bombers over the Netherlands in April 1945. Fotocollectie Rijksvoorlichtingsdienst Eigen © Nationaal Archief, CC0 120-0739

The mission: 

Flying Fortress B17G 44-8640 of the 334th Bomber Squadron, 95th Bomb Group, set out from USAAF Horham in Suffolk on 7 May 1945, the day after the surrender of German forces in the Netherlands and the day before Victory in Europe day. Along with its precious cargo of food there were 13 on board, including observers from the station’s Photographic Section, all anticipating a routine mission.

Nose and two engines of silver aircraft inside a hangar with white roof.
A B17G Flying Fortress under restoration at the Mighty Eighth Air Force Museum, Georgia, USA. Jud McCranie, CC BY-SA 4.0

Following a successful drop 44-8640 turned for home. There were still pockets of resistance from the occupation forces, which is believed to have had a bearing on subsequent events. No. 2 engine was reported as ‘running rough’, with smoke and oil, thought to originate from rogue flak fired by the occupation forces at the aircraft in the IJmuiden area. (2) 

According to a crashed aircraft recovery specialist based at RAF Ford, Sussex, in 1944, crew would nurse their crippled aircraft, whether shot up, suffering mechanical failure, or simply running out of fuel, back from overseas missions to the English coastline, but would then often be forced to crash-land at or near the nearest available base, unable to make it back to their home bases. (3) 

As the situation worsened, the crew of 44-8640 realised that reaching the coast was going to be impossible and, fearing an explosion, they baled out over the sea off Suffolk, in the vicinity of Benacre Ness or Southwold, with one survivor recalling that the engine dropped away in a ‘ball of flame’ as he got away. The aircraft then fell into the sea.

Two men were picked up alive by a Catalina flying boat after some time in the water, and it is their testimony that enables us to know what happened to 44-8640, but the remainder of the crew were killed, including the observers.

Commemoration: 

Those of the crew whose bodies were recovered were interred at the American Cemetery and Memorial, Coton, Cambridge, but others were never found and are presumed entombed with the aircraft on the seabed.

Five aircraft seen in a blue sky with angel h
Detail of a mosaic on the ceiling of the chapel at the American Cemetery and Memorial, Coton, depicting aircraft being escorted by angels. James O Davies DP180621 © Historic England Archive

This, the final loss of any craft in English waters to war causes, was also one of the cruel tragedies of the war: to be shot at over the Netherlands and to keep the aircraft airborne so many miles only to lose the battle so close to the English coast, and all on a humanitarian mission. Somewhere off the coast lie its remains, which are yet to be discovered but which are automatically protected under the Protection of Military Remains Act 1986.

Victory in Europe was, perhaps, a collective sigh of relief, but it was not the end of the war, which would only come in August 1945 with VJ Day. It was a victory achieved at a huge human cost which has left legible traces in the historic environment – the destruction of historic fabric from London to Coventry and beyond, the legible traces in standing buildings from the suburban semi to national museums, the construction of military installations that have since become ‘historic’ in themselves, the legacy of commemoration – and the remains of ships and aircraft on the seabed, lost to war causes over the years from 1939 to 1945.

References: 

(1) For more detail on this subject, see Sutch, A. 2016 “Manna from Heaven”, RAF Museum blog, online

(2) Onderwater, H. 1985 Operation Manna/Chowhound: the Allied food droppings April?may 1945 Netherlands: Unieboek

(3) Oral history testimony, Ronald Cant (RAF Corporal, 1942-1946) as told to his daughter in reminiscing over D-Day, 2019.

HMTS Monarch III (1916-1945)

Photograph of the third HMTS Monarch, taken in 1916 by an unknown photographer. Credited to Swan, Hunter & Wigham Richardson and sourced by K. R. Haigh, Cableships and Submarine Cables, Adlard Coles Ltd., 1968. Public Domain image. Source: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/CS_Alert_(1890)#/media/File:CS_Monarch_(3).png

With accusations of sabotage of pipelines and cables in the news here is a topical wreck of the week. Written by Tanja Watson, Marine Research Specialist at Historic England.

Today marks the 80-year anniversary of the loss of HMTS Monarch (III), a cable repair ship built in 1916 for the General Post Office (GPO) – the institution in charge of the state postal and telecommunications systems between 1870-1969. [1] There are two main types of cable ships: cable repair ships, also known as cable cutters – which tend to be smaller and more manoeuvrable, still capable of laying cable but the primary job is fixing or repairing broken sections of cable; and cable-laying ships – which are wider and designed to lay new cables.

An elegant steamer of single deck construction in steel with two screw-driven, steam turbine 6-cylinder engines, the HMTS Monarch (III) was one of several cable ships built by Swan, Hunter & Wigham Richardson Ltd at their shipyard in Wallsend, Tyne and Wear. [2] With a crew of 65 – measuring almost 68 metres in length, 10 m in breadth, and 1,150 gross register tons – it was equipped with three cable tanks and various specialist tools and features designed to sever and repair submarine telegraph cables in British waters for the next thirty years. [3]

Several of the early cable repair vessels were called HMTS Alert (I & II) and HMTS Monarch (I – V). This is about the third cable ship to be called the Monarch. The first one, built in 1830 as a passenger and cargo paddle steamer by Pearsons of Thorne for the Hull Steam Packet Company, was converted to a cable ship in 1853 for the Electric Telegraph Company, finishing as coal hulk and later broken up post 1874. The second was built in 1883 by Dunlop & Co, Port Glasgow, for GPO. It was sunk by a mine or torpedo off Folkstone in September 1915. Due to this event, the new vessel was named the Monarch (III). GPO had originally intended to replace the aging HMTS Alert (I), built in 1871 as The Lady Carmichael by A. McMillan & Son of Dumbarton, Scotland, and converted and used as a cable ship between 1890-1915, but the loss of Monarch (II) changed plans. The vessel was wrecked at Redcar (North Yorkshire), refloated and scrapped in 1932. [4]

Cable laying in the 1850s

The first telegraph cable across the English Channel was laid in 1850 by the English Channel Submarine Telegraph Company of Jacob and John Watkins Brett. [5] The following year, the British connected England, Holland, Germany, Denmark and Sweden. Another cable connected Italy with Corsica and Sardinia. By the mid-1850s, a 300-mile cable was laid across the Black Sea, allowing England and France to connect with their armies instantly (the Crimean war). In 1858, after numerous attempts, a telegraph cable was finally laid between Great Britain and North America. [6]

First World War

On 4th August 1914, within an hour of Britain declaring war on Germany, the HMTS Alert (I) was dispatched to cut the German communication cables in the Atlantic Ocean. Other ships would eventually eliminate the remainder of Germany’s cable network, but Germany was now forced to communicate by wireless transmission, which the British could intercept and decrypt. As the BBC describes it, the Alert undertook “one of the first strategic acts of information warfare in the modern world. A few hours later, the Alert had cut off almost all of Germany’s communications with the outside world. It had hit the kill switch.” [7]

Meanwhile, the Monarch (III) carried on with cable repair work around the British Isles throughout the First World War and in between the wars until she was requisitioned (or possibly charted) by the Admiralty in 1939. [8]

Photograph of HMTS Alert, by unknown photographer. Credited to Postmaster General of the United Kingdom and sourced by K. R. Haigh, Cableships and Submarine Cables, Adlard Coles Ltd., 1968. Public Domain image. Source: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/CS_Alert_(1890)#/media/File:CS_Alert_(1).png

Second World War

The British Admiralty requisitioned and equipped at least seventeen cable ships for cable service during the war. [9] HMTS Monarch (III) being one of them, was tasked with providing a telephone connection to France during preparations for Operation Neptune, the naval component of Operation Overlord. [10] In the days and nights following D-Day, the cable ships Monarch (III), under Captain Arthur Troops, and St Margaret’s were used, together with a smaller cable barge, to lay a 160-mile-long telephone cable. [11]

Landing ships with barrage ballons putting cargo ashore on one of the invasion beaches during the Battle of Normandy. Likely similar to the barrage ballons used by the British cable ships, e.g. HMTS Monarch (III). Public Domain image Source: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Barrage_balloon#/media/File:NormandySupply_edit.jpg

On Tuesday 13th June 1944, at around 1300 hrs, while the Monarch, equipped with a barrage ballon overhead to discourage air-attack, was being guarded by Trentonian (K368), a Royal Canadian Navy warship, the 1,000-ton Flower-class corvette – a squadron of US warships appeared in the vicinity. On approaching them, one of the American destroyers, USS Plunkett (DD-431), a 1,630-ton Gleaves-class destroyer, tried to contact them, first firing star shells to illuminate the area in the night, but no response was given by the Trentonian, who spotted that they were an ally and believed the signals were coming from German positions on the coast. The Canadians repeatedly flashed their recognition lights. However, these signals were missed by the USS Plunkett who opened fire on the Monarch, hitting the barrage ballon overhead. The Trentonian manoeuvred to make its identification as an Allied warship more visible, but the Americans continued to fire. About a kilometre away, while still desperately sending out messages by radio and signal lamp, the Trentonian finally moved between the Monarch and one of the US destroyers and only then did the firing stop.

The attack lasted about 10 minutes. The Monarch had been hit – the bridge was destroyed, its superstructure and steering damaged. Two of the crew were killed and 30 injured, including Captain Troops who later died from his wounds. The telephone cable the Monarch had been laying was lost over the side, and the Canadians were told not to share the incident with anyone. [12]

Four crew members standing on the deck of the HMTS Monarch (III) post the attack, surrounded by damaged cable-winding equipment and machinery.
The damage to Monarch was extensive; the broken structure to the right of the photo is Monarch’s bridge.  The communications cable she was laying was cut and lost into the channel. Source: “The Roger Litwiller Collection, courtesy Bruce Keir, RCNVR, HMCS TRENTONIAN.” (Warm thanks to Roger Litwiller for providing the image).

The following year both vessels went down by enemy action. The Trentonian was sunk by the U-1004 near Falmouth, Cornwall, in February; and the Monarch was sunk off Orford Ness, a foreland spit on the Suffolk coast, on 16th April 1945. Two crew members of the cable layer were lost. One of the survivors, Denis Simmons, stated in 2005 that they had been torpedoed on the starboard side by U-2324 (Kapitänleutnant Konstantin von Rapprad) while returning to Felixstowe, having repaired the Suffolk-Netherlands cable. [13] However, according to German sources, the U-2324 did not sink or damage any ships during its 37 day patrol between March and 9 May 1945. [14] Another crewman, Ernest Hunt, Seaman Cable Hand, who served on the Monarch ‘just prior to its sinking’, claims they “were sunk by an acoustic mine off the East Coast whilst returning to Harwich, April 1945”. [15] (A type of naval mine which monitors audio activity in its vicinity).

The wreck lies some 10 miles SE of Orford Ness, on a bed of sand, at a general depth of 30 metres. [16] It sits upright but it is very broken and is draped in marine cable. Giant cable-laying rollers lie at the bows. [17]

The Monarch almost survived the war. On the day it sank, the Allies announced that future operations over Germany would focus on cleanup rather than strategic targets, effectively ending the air war, and that Berlin was now surrounded by the Red Army. [18]

A rare type of vessel

Cable ships have always been a rare sight. In 1892, two-thirds of the world’s submarine cables were owned by Great Britain, yet in 1896, there were only 30 cable ships in the entire world, of which 24 were owned by British companies. The global telegraphic cable network was established around 1900. [19] Today there are roughly 60 cable-laying ships in the world, according to the International Cable Protection Committee (ICPC). [20] 99% of the world’s digital communications rely on subsea cables, with a global network of 1.4 million km (870,000 miles) of telecommunication cables on the seafloor. [21] The UK currently has over 70 active telecommunication cable systems, consisting of several hundreds of individual cables, managed by The Crown Estate. [22] All these, and the power cables needed to carry the electricity derived from wind, wave and tidal installations, the renewable energy, ashore – require these specialized types of vessels and remotely operated underwater vehicles (ROVs) to repair and lay new ones.

Footnotes

[1] HMTS (His Majesty’s Telegraph Ship) was a prefix used for cable ships owned by the British General Post Office (GPO) before they became a public corporation, changing to CS (Cable Ship). 

[2] History of the Atlantic Cable & Undersea Communications, Swan, Hunter & Wigham Richardson, Ltd.

[3] Wrecksite, SS Monarch (III), [subscription required]

[4] History of the Atlantic Cable & Undersea Communications, Glover, Bill, CS Lady Carmichael/ HMTS Alert (1)

[5] History of the Atlantic Cable & Undersea Communications, 1850 Dover-Calais Cable

[6] Onfray, Robert, The Cable Cutters, 11 August 2023

[7] See note [5]

[8] History of the Atlantic Cable & Undersea Communications, Monarch (3)

[9] History of the Atlantic Cable & Undersea Communications, Eric Tate and the Admiralty Cable Ships 1944-1947

[10] Kemp, Paul, Friend or Foe: Friendly Fire at Sea 1939-1945, pp. 37–38, Pen and Sword, 1993, ISBN 0850523850.

[11] Mackenzie, Duncan S., PK Porthcurno, Monarch Under Fire

[12] Litwiller, Roger, White Ensign Flying: Corvette HMCS Trentonian, 2014

[13] See note [3]

[14] uboat.net, Kapitänleutnant Konstantin von Rappard

[15] History of the Atlantic Cable & Undersea Communications, Glover, Bill, HMTS Monarch (3)

[16] UKHO Wreck Report No. 10253 [subscription required]

[17] See note [3]

[18] History – How Stuff works, World War II Timeline: April 16, 1945-April 26, 1945

[19] Naval Historical Society of Australia, Clifton, Fairlie, Occasional Paper 95: Grandfather was a cableman (18 Nov 2020)

[20] DCD, Swinhoe, Dan, The cable ship capacity crunch (6 Dec 2022)

[21] Minds and Machines, volume 34, issue 3, 2024, Submarine Cables and the Risks to Digital Sovereignty, Volume 34, article number 31

[22] The Crown Estate, Marine: Cables and pipelines

A Tale of Prize and Wreck: Part II

Historic watercolour painting of a ship at sea with the Naval Ensign aft in a swelling sea and blue sky with light cloud, set in a trompe l'oeil border and frame surmounted by the figure of Neptune and surrounded by naval arms.
HMS Hussar of 46 guns, shown in starboard broadside view under full sail, set in a decorative border of Union Jacks and naval weaponry PAD6068 National Maritime Museum, Greenwich, London CC-BY-NC-ND

From Montezuma to Modeste to Modestie and back to Modeste

Mike Salter continues his guest blog for us as he drills down what happened to the Modeste, prize to HMS Hussar, wrecked on 11 November 1810. The details of her background, capture, and wreck are unusually interesting and detailed and break new ground for us.

He continues:

During research to establish a likely scenario, Serena Cant pointed out a National Archives catalogue item within the High Court of Admiralty; Prize Court, Prize Papers series with the heading “Contested Cause. Captured ship ; Modeste  (Master Uswald) 1810.” Initially, this seemed too early as the wreck was in November 1810, and prize cases could be months or years before finalisation. [1] There was also a very brief newspaper note of a case in the Admiralty Court on 21st May 1811, involving a Modeste which claimed to be sailing under “Bremen colours and therefore claimed as such property”. The Court ordered “further proof” [2]

I asked TNA to do an initial search to confirm whether or not this was the right Modeste and it turned out it is. A day at TNA has cleared up many of the mysteries, although the result of the Court case may be hidden in another catalogue item. All references are to the HCA item as in [1] unless otherwise stated.

1. Construction and Name

Despite the auction advertisement in December 1810 stating that Modeste was a few months old, a check on Lloyd’s Register for 1809-10 reveals the presence of a vessel named Montezuma, built in America and owned by Charles Grandison from 6th June 1809. She was three-masted, 314 tons, and had a ‘Man Figurehead’. As we saw in March 1854 in the Lincolnshire Chronicle reference to the figurehead on display at the Athenæum in Boston (Lincolnshire), quoted in Part I, “Our old friend Montezuma is most brilliantly got up for the occasion.” As we shall see, the trail for her capture and subsequent wreck reveals that Montezuma was the first name of the Modeste.

Certificate printed with seal of the United States for the Port of Charleston proving Charles Grandison's ownership and citizen of the United States.
Certificate of ownership for the Montezuma, in the name of Charles Grandison, from HCA 32/1589/4248, The National Archives (TNA), Kew

However, the Lloyd’s Register entries for 1809-1810 show the vessel was actually built in Massachusetts in 1800 and was repaired and copper-sheathed in 1809. Oddly the entries continue in the List until 1814, still with Grandison and Ship’s Co. shown as owner, despite the following details of sale and the wreck in November 1810. [Serena notes: this is not at all uncommon for Lloyd’s Register – sale, disposal and wreck are not always uniformly accounted for until the last quarter of the 19th century, and vessels may remain on the Register for a number of years before they finally drop out.]

A common thread is that Mr C. Cave, who owned the Vauxhall Pleasure Gardens in Skirbeck, Boston, where the Montezuma figurehead was displayed for years before going to the Athenæum, was an auctioneer who sold the Sea Adventure, wrecked in the same storm, and would have known Messrs. Barnard and Chapman who bought the wreck of Modeste.

Modern colour photograph of figurehead bust, depicting man looking straight ahead. He wears a plumed headdress over his long hair, a fur jerkin, and the gathers of a red cloak cover his shoulders.
Ship Figurehead of a Native American bust, c.1860, a typical example of a 19th century American figurehead, depicting indigenous peoples of the Americas.
As examples of folk art, such figureheads received stylised rather than realistic treatment, focusing principally on costume detail, suggesting that the Montezuma figurehead might well have been similarly handled.
George F Harding Collection, Art Institute of Chicago CC0 Public Domain Designation

2. Early History and Sale to Bremen

The first report of Montezuma in Britain was her arrival in Liverpool in April 1800. [3] Several advertisements were placed in this and subsequent years for passengers and freight.

On 21 July 1809 she arrived in Liverpool and on 10 February 1810 the Montezuma (Grandison) arrived in New York with “lots of fore and mizzen mast damage, having been ashore.“

On 28 August 1810 the Montezuma was sold to the Free Hanseatic City of Bremen in Germany for $28,000 (c.£6,000 at the time).

A Certificate of Change of Ownership and Renaming to Modestie was issued by the Burgomasters of Bremen in September 1810, declaring that she had no contraband or prohibited goods, weapons etc.. The Master was Johann George Uswald , a citizen and inhabitant of Bremen, and the crew was 18 men .

On 20 September the Kiel Customs Controller issued a confirmation of the sale to Bremen and renaming Modestie. They mentioned the figure of 127 inscribed on the Main Mast as required by their laws (Doctors Commons translation from German).

3. Capture by HMS Hussar and the wreck of 10/11 November

This is a summary of the Public Instrument of Protest sworn by Lieutenant William McDougall in Boston, Lincolnshire, two days after the wreck (13 November).

Alexander Skene, Commander of HMS Hussar, frigate, sent McDougall on board the Modestie on 1 October with one Midshipman and 12 crew from the frigate, thinking it was Danish and enemy property. (Captain Skene later deposed that the Modestie had been lying in Kiel (which was Danish at the time) being fitted out as a ship of war.)

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Location map of Fehmarn, site of the capture of Modestie, in modern Germany. As described in the original sources, Fehmarn can be seen to be off Kiel and in the Fehmarnbelt, the southern end of the Belt, south of the Kattegat. This area is the western gateway to the Baltic.
Wikimedia Commons CC-BY-SA 3.0

The Modeste was taken off the island of ‘Femeren’ (Fehmarn), south of the Belt, sailed for Dars Head [Darß], west of Rügen, Germany, then on the 5th to Gothenburg, Sweden, under convoy of HMS Stately, Captain Campbell. On 24th they reached Rob’s Snout (west Jutland). The winds were unfavourable, so they put back to Gothenburg, leaving again on the 3rd November for Yarmouth. The wind was from the N and E and the top-sail split.

Historic printed sea chart of the Kattegat and East Sea (Baltic), with the various surrounding countries' coastlines outlined in different colours, yellow for Denmark, green for Prussia, and pink for Sweden
Map of the North Sea with Kattegat showing Femeren (Fehmarn) to the south. Gothenburg, Sweden, is visible to the NE of the map opposite the point of Skagen, Denmark. ‘Robsnout or the English Sailors’, is marked SW of Skagen, approximating to the Råbjerg Mile today. Over 1809-10 other English convoys are known to have assembled off Robsnout where there was sea-room for several hundred sail, as against the narrow straits of the Kattegat with its multiple hazards. Delarochette/Faden 1791, taken by author

The vessel had insufficient ballast, too light and sailed fast, losing convoy. On 8 November they reached Dugeons Light [Dudgeon Light] off the Lincolnshire coast (placed there in 1736). They stood off ‘til 2am; wind in NE; stood up for Winterton Lighthouse seen at 2pm. Wind fell calm, strong ebb tide; 8-9pm anchored off Winterton lighthouse in hope of pilot coming out. Wind increased – no pilot came, signal was flying. Wind increased from the SW. About 9 or 10am on the 10th the cable parted from the anchor – wore and made sail to clear Haisboro’ Sands, blowing a horrendous gale from the ENE. In the night split the stay sails, no other sails could be set (lead going all night).

Set close-reefed sails and not being able to lay higher than N and NW the ship struck a sandbank in Boston Deeps – didn’t know exact position; into deep water again, gale increasing. About 5am on the 11th ship struck again, then back into deep water several times. At daybreak ship struck again but still kept going ahead for a 1/4 hour when she struck aground there being [line illegible but may have said “every chance the hull would fall over”.) With great difficulty got the boat out and part of the crew went in her – lowered a small boat down with remainder of the crew and left the ship, which was lost, except part of the rigging, sails and part of the wreck of the hull.

Weather clearing up and could see the land distant 5 or 6 miles, made for it, desiring the crew in the other boat to keep close to him. McDougall saith the above is a true and correct record, the ship Modeste having been lost. He declares to protest that the Damage and Loss of the said ship was not through any neglect or default of his or the mariners belonging to the ship, but due to the causes aforesaid.

Attestation and Seal

4. Master Uswald’s and Shipowners’ Position

The translation of a letter of 12th November from Uswald to the ship’s agents Albers & Droop said: “On night of 9th Nov. at Winterton Flats. blew fresh. In am, 10th, gale from the E and ENE, parted anchor and with storm sails set, drove. During night it was a little more moderate, set more sails, grounded at 3am on Banks. Yesterday, 11th, am, had the misfortune to strand at Gibraltar Point. Ship total loss so began to save whatever possible. He bemoans his predicament and lack of help. The ship is bilged: he is detained on the Guardship at Yarmouth.

An affidavit on 30th November from the shipowners said that the Modestie was not owned by any Enemy and had a Licence from the United Kingdom.

An affidavit from J G Uswald said “Modestie cleared Kiel in September, Uswald, master, on behalf of Bremen merchants. In ballast to Riga, then cargo to London (with licence from United Kingdom on board.) Licence was produced from a hiding place between decks. McDougall left the Modestie saying she was free to proceed but returned. On 2nd October he was informed Modestie was being sent to Yarmouth. Put back due to unfavourable winds and sailed again on 3rd Nov. No pilot when near the English coast – believes McDougall at fault.

An affidavit from two crew members of the Modestie stated that there was a licence to their knowledge and the ship was lost due to the lack of skill and ignorance of McDougall.

5. Affidavit in support of McDougall

This was sworn by Francis Napier, Edward Duffy and Thomas Allen on the 3rd December 1810, and exhibited McDougall’s statement. It discussed the ship’s papers and the licence issue, then “arrived at Winterton Light, anchored on 9th Nov. waiting for a pilot. Morning 10th Nov. blowing hard, colliers failed to stop and help find pilot. Fired rockets and raised (pilot) signal flag. 10am, parted cable and was driven out. About 5am on 11th Nov. driven onshore at Gibraltar Flats near Boston. Had kept Master Uswald informed at all times. Uswald was not prevented from making a protest. McDougall had 20 years’ experience as a mariner, 14 of which in the Royal Navy.“

6. Court proceedings and auction details

On 28th November 1810, a Commission to make Judgement was issued in the case of the Prize capture by the Hussar and it was executed on the 1st December 1810, by fixing to the pillars of the Royal Exchange.

In the meantime, an appraisal had been carried out by Thomas Alldridge, who was appointed as auctioneer by the Hussar’s Agents, on the 13th Nov. and he recommended that the ship be sold by auction at the earliest possible date as the wreck was four miles offshore and in danger of sinking into the sands.

There is an account for labourers’ wages and expenses for the period 11-22nd Nov. which includes a team of Mr Carrott, the farmer on whose premises the Auction was held on 11th Dec. (not 7th as advertised). Receipts from the Auction included £800 for the hull and bowsprit, but after all expenses the nett proceeds were only £659 18s, of which £518 11s was paid to the Customs House in Boston as a deposit for duties.

For a ship which had been sold for $28,000/£6,000 a few months before this was a tremendous loss, although there was an insurance of £6000, dated 8th Oct., presumably taken out by the Hussar’s Agents after the capture. This would have covered most of the loss, if paid.

The previous owner, Grandison, swore an oath, dated 29th Jan 1811, that he had handed over the British licence to Uswald on sale of the vessel, then named Montezuma.

Handwritten ledger of accounts dated 11 December 1810
Account sales and charges on the ship Modeste G Uswald American built captured by his Maj. Ship Hassar under Bremen colours A Skene Esqr. Excerpt from HCA 32/1589/4248, The National Archives (TNA), Kew

7. Affidavit of Captain Alexander Skene of 22 February 1811

He detained the Modestie on 1st Oct. 1810 and put McDougall on board. He returned with the ship’s papers and Master Uswald who said he was bound from Kiel to Riga (the previous owner had said Dantzig) to pick up a cargo for England.

There was no licence and Skene asked Uswald if he had one – he said ”No”. Skene believed the ship had been in Kiel to be fitted out as a ship of war. William Turner, the Hussar’s carpenter was sent on board to survey the Modestie and he concluded that “Modeste was calculated as a Ship of War”.

Skene said he found fresh produce for Hussar (she had been at sea for 4 months) and he offered to pay Uswald for it, but he refused, saying it was a trifle.

Skene said McDougall was of impeccable character and that Modestie had Danish markings on her main beam (including the figure of 127 inscribed on her main mast) but the owners maintained she was sailing under Bremen colours, i.e. as a neutral, as mentioned in newspaper reports.

8. Conclusion

  • The life of the ship, Montezuma, launched in 1800, wrecked in November 1810 was as short as that of the Sea Adventure (the subject of my previous Blog in March 2024) was long.
  • She was clearly a well-built and capable ship of 320 tons, having sailed the New York to Liverpool route and to Africa, Jamaica and South America.
  • However, her luck ran out when sold by the owner to the City State of Bremen in late August 1810 for the substantial sum of $28,000 (c. £6000)
  • Almost immediately after her name change to Modestie (not La Modeste; nor Modeste) she was captured by HMS Hussar off the Island of Fehmarn (Danish)
  • My understanding is that the United Kingdom was not (yet) war with America, nor with the City State of Bremen, but was at war with Denmark, pressured by Napoleon to exclude British ships from the Baltic. Demark had declared war on Britain after the English had bombarded Copenhagen in 1807.
  • British Orders in Council of 1807 imposed strict blockade on all ports from which British ships were excluded. Kiel (Danish) therefore had a choice whether to trade solely with Britain or not at all.
  • Further, British control of Baltic trade owed its survival to widespread fraud and deception. The ships had to be foreign and were furnished with false papers and certificates showing them to be trading with ports friendly to France. They were given a British licence conferring immunity from detention by British cruisers but they had to join a Convoy and stay with it until it reached England. [5]
  • The Saumarez Papers also say there was “Official information on the deteriorated state of the entrance to Yarmouth Roads”. This was in late 1810, making a pilot essential.
  • It does seem unlikely that a British licence given to the American ship Montezuma (licences name the vessel and Owner’s country) could be valid if transferred on sale. There was a scheme in place for temporary licences to be issued by British ships which had to be surrendered for a formal one, once in England.
  • The Court’s decision has not been discovered, but McDougall had navigated the Modestie to within 5 miles of her destination of Yarmouth and the actual cause of the loss was the parting of the anchor cable, allowing the ship to be driven by the storm some 80 miles to be wrecked off the coast of Lincolnshire. Sixty ships came to grief in similar fashion in that storm from Whitby to the Thames during that storm.
  • There was little or nothing left from the proceeds of the auction after costs, duty and expenses.
  • Captain Skene certainly went on to command large naval vessels, so it seems likely the case did not result in him being punished for the loss of Modestie , which it seems was an Act of God.
  • The actual result of the High Court of Admiralty case is most likely to be found in The National Archives but may take quite some unearthing.

Footnotes

[1] HCA 32/1589/4248, The National Archives (TNA), Kew https://discovery.nationalarchives.gov.uk/details/r/C14202011

[2] Public Ledger and Daily Advertiser 22 May 1811

[3] Staffordshire Advertiser 12 April 1800

[4] See note [2]

[5] Saumarez Papers, Navy Records Society, pp.xx, 151, 88-92.

A Tale of Prize and Wreck: Part I

The Modeste

Modern colour aerial photo of coastline to left of photo, showing beach at bottom left and at upper left the land partially inundated and overflowing onto green fields.
Aerial photograph of the Wainfleet area 20618_006 flown 12 October 2006 © Historic England Archive

Our guest blogger Mike Salter returns with a follow-up from his blog on the Sea Adventure in March 2024 on the Modeste, a ship with an intriguing tale behind her. Our thanks to him for providing such an interesting story!

He writes:

The same “Dreadful Storm” that accounted for the Sea Adventure also wrecked 60 other ships between Whitby and Great Yarmouth, in particular La Modeste, which has a number of intriguing circumstances.

She ran aground on the Main, or strand near Wainfleet on the Lincolnshire coast at 7am on Sunday 11th November 1810 [1]. As with the Sea Adventure, wrecked about 20 miles east, across the Wash on Holbeach Marsh, La Modeste was forced ashore by a powerful ESE wind which also produced an extremely high tide, flooding many miles of low-lying coastal lands and marshes.

Her Name

The majority of newspaper and other reports at the time named her as La Modeste, [2] but later, as we will see, she was referred to as Modeste. However, some newspaper reports from sources published closest to the wreck site named her as La Minerva instead. [3]

Both names were in popular contemporary use, for example the Royal Navy frigates Modeste, operational from 1793-1814, and Minerva, 1805-1815.

Details of the Wreck Event

Lloyd’s List stated on 20 November 1810 that: “A fine new, American-built ship, about 500 tons and pierced for 18 guns; Prize to the Hussar frigate, by whom she had been captured in the Cattegat, went ashore at seven o’clock on Sunday morning (11thNov.) on the Main above Wainfleet, where she bilged (i .e. had serious leaks to the hull after running aground). The name of the wreck was the Modeste. She was captured from the Danes off Kiel.”

The first advertisement for the auction of the ship on 5th Dec. 1810 named her the Modeste and said she was copper-bottomed and about 350 tons. [5] She had cost $25,000 a few months previously ($600,000 today), so was a valuable prize. Most reports say she was a prize to HMS Hussar, a 38-gun frigate built in 1807 which saw significant worldwide service, including the Baltic in 1807 and 1810, and whose commanding officer at the time was Captain Alexander Skene.

At the time of the wreck the Modeste was in the hands of Lieutenant W. MacDougall, suggesting that he had been charged with bringing her to a UK port as a prize. Steel’s Navy Lists at the National Maritime Museum show a Lieutenant J MacDougall who was appointed in 1800, but the ships on which he served are not shown. A Lieutenant Drummond was appointed to the Hussar in November 1810, so it may have been as a replacement for MacDougall if he moved to another ship.

Auctions of the Modeste and Subsequent Events

There were two known auctions associated with the Modeste. The first, as above, was on 7 December 1810 at the farm of a Mr Carrott in Friskney, near Wainfleet. It sought those ‘experienced in getting off or breaking up a vessel; and if there was no sale the farmer would buy it and break it for firewood!

The second advertisement, headed “SHIP STRANDED”, was placed in the Stamford Mercury in April 1811 by Messrs. Barnard and Chapman of Boston who had clearly bought the wreck. They wanted someone to get her off for a fixed sum or part share. The ship was in ballast and they tried to arouse interest by saying “it is supposed to have valuable items on board”.

In June 1812 the same paper reported an Inquest on two men who had drowned after a late-night boat trip to “view the means resorted to for raising the wreck”. Sadly, on leaving their boat, they had waded out to sea in the darkness, instead of towards the shore. [6]

Gold in Ballast?

Edmund Oldfield, a local historian writing in 1829, says there was hope for several years the Modeste would be refloated but this came to naught. The ballast was ”a heavy black ore“ which it was surmised contained gold. This ballast was to be the reward of those who laboured on the wreck and some people were induced to buy the labourers “shares of the booty”. After repeated analyses in London hopes of riches were dashed and it seems that the ballast may well have been copper slag which was beginning to be used at that time. The hull was eventually broken up. (Copper slag does contain gold, but at such a small percentage – a fraction of 1% – as to be worthless.)

Modeste Figurehead

I came across, by chance, a reference in a newspaper article of 1854, to “the figurehead of the Modeste, wrecked off the Lincolnshire coast some years since” which was being displayed in an Exhibition at the Boston (Lincs.) Athenaeum and which had previously been shown in the Vauxhall Pleasure Gardens in the Skirbeck quarter of Boston. [7] This would seem to confirm that the ship wrecked on 11 November 1810 was the Modeste, as also referenced by the Stamford Mercury auction and inquest reports on the two drowned men of 1812, and not La Minerva.

Historic B&W photograph of commercial building surmounted by a triangular pediment. Cars and buses are parked outside and a sign on the building points the way to a public air raid shelter.
A 1942 photograph of the Exchange Buildings, Market Place, Boston, Lincolnshire, near the Athenæum, also in the Market Place. The Athenæum was established in 1851 and by 1854 had taken over the site of the demolished Green Dragon Inn. In turn it would be demolished in the 1960s.
OP19538 Source Historic England Archive

There was also an oblique reference to the Aztec king Montezuma immediately after the reference to the figurehead, the significance of which later became clear, and is addressed later in this article.

Modeste, prize to HMS Hussar

There are prize reports for several ships named [La] Modeste at this time, but none recorded as a prize to HMS Hussar, frigate, in the circumstances described: capture from the Danes in the Cattegat off Kiel.

A schedule of Hussar‘s movements can be reconstructed from various newspaper, Lloyd’s List and Navy List reports, including a stint in the Rear Squadron in the Baltic Fleet Order of Sailing of July 1807. [8] Along the way there were false reports that she had been wrecked, a diplomatic row in January 1810 after on boarding the American ship John Adams, bound for a blockaded Dutch port, [9] before she sailed once more from Yarmouth to join the Baltic fleet on 3 July 1810.

In July Hussar captured the Resolution and passed through the Belt (between Sjælland and Fyn, Denmark) to the Baltic with 332 sail. [10] By 3 August she was returning through the Belt with HMS Orion and 120 sail. [11] As an indication of the sailing time, in September 1810 the Hero sailed from the Baltic to England in a mere 6 days, although 2-3 weeks was probably more usual.

On 18 August Hussar captured Julia (no location given), which was auctioned after being condemned in the High Court of Admiralty [12]: distribution of prize money was recorded in the London Gazette of 21 July 1812. This shows the procedure: sending in to a UK port; application for condemnation as prize; sale by auction and later distribution of prize money. This could take some time: two years in this case, but immediate sale could be ordered if there were good reasons.

On 2 October 1810 Hussar was reported to be back in the Yarmouth Roads: “Roebuck, Lord Gardner, Hussar 74 guns [sic] and other warships remain in the Roads.’ Lord Gardner was flag officer on the Roebuck. This report continues: ”Upwards of 20 sail, prizes to the North Sea fleet, have entered this port; the principal part of which are laden with wheat.” [13] In mid-December Hussar arrived at Leith from the Baltic, thence sailing to Portsmouth.

Date of capture of Modeste and conclusions:

From the above voyages of Hussar, it seems Modeste could have been captured, as described in newspaper reports in the Baltic, at any time from mid-August to late October (excluding the visit to Yarmouth in early October if that newspaper report is correct).

No date in July 1810 is given for the capture of the Resolution, while the Julia was captured 18 August 1810, location unknown, so these may /may not have been in the Baltic, although it seems likely.

After Hussar’s return to the Baltic in October there would have been time to send in Modeste to a UK port if she had been captured up to about the third week of that month, which suggests that Lieutenant MacDougall was put in charge of her return late in October, but was then shipwrecked on 11 November, before reaching a port where prize proceedings could be started.

All newspaper reports of the Modeste wreck and the two sales by auction of the wrecked hull state that she had been captured by HMS Hussar, but none that she had been condemned as prize to her. No Notice appears in the London Gazette which did report the capture and condemnation of the Resolution and Julia. [14]

The first auction advertisement for Modeste was on 5 December 1810, taking place two days later at the farm of Mr Carrott in Friskney, less than a month from the date of the wreck. As a local landowner with a large acreage bordering the sea he may have had ‘rights of wreck’, or it was simply a convenient venue.

The appointment of a Lieutenant Drummond to the Hussar in November 1810 may have been as a replacement for MacDougall conveying the prize to England.

It has been an interesting journey, unravelling some events surrounding the loss of a new and valuable ship, captured from the Danes, taken as prize by HMS Hussar, wrecked in Lincolnshire along with many others: speculated over for riches and finally, ignominiously broken up and sold for fence posts or firewood. The dashing HMS Hussar’s exploits in the second Baltic fleet are integral to the story.

Serena writes: There we must end Part I, but Part II will follow in which Mike explores further details of the capture and wreck of Modeste. Very rarely are we able to expose such detail in our understanding of wreck events, particularly at this period, and my thanks go to Mike for his painstaking research.

Footnotes

[1] Topographical Account of Wainfleet and Ingoldmells, Edmund Oldfield, 1829

[2] Edmund Oldfield (op.cit.); Sun (London) 17 Nov 1810; Hull Packet, 20 Nov 1810; Evening Star 5 Dec. 1810; Stamford Mercury 12 April 1811 and 18 June 1812; Lloyd’s List; London Gazette.

[3] Stamford Mercury 16 Nov. 1810; Bury and Norwich Post

[4] Rif Winfield Royal Navy in the Age of Sail 1793-1815

[5] Evening Star (London) 5 Dec. 1810

[6] Stamford Mercury 19 June 1812

[7] Lincolnshire Chronicle 24 March 1854

[8] Morning Post, 5 July 1807

[9] Hampshire Chronicle 1 January 1810; St. James’s Chronicle, 16 January 1810

[10] London Gazette, 21 July 1812; A M Ryan, The Saumarez Papers, Navy Records Society, 1968

[11] Star (London), 12 October 1810

[12] Public Ledger & Daily Advertiser 1 January 1811; London Gazette 21 July 1812

[13] Star (London), 3 October 1810

[14] See note 10 above

Diary of the War – December 1944

The archaeology of Allied convoy attacks by U-322

A historic black & white photograph  of a man in duffel coat on deck looking out at the convoy with plumes of smoke in the distance, against a swelling sea.
Leaning against a Thornycroft Depth Charge Thrower Mark II, the quarterdeck lookout on board HMS Viscount is searching the sea for submarines, with other ships in the convoy in the distance. (A 13362) Copyright: © IWM. Original Source: http://www.iwm.org.uk/collections/item/object/205186129

By Tanja Watson, Historic England

U-322, a German Type VIIC/41 U-boat, departed Horten Naval Base, south of Oslo, Norway, for her second combat patrol on 15 November 1944. Embarking on a less trafficked route around northern Scotland and western Ireland, she entered, nearly six weeks later, the heavily patrolled and mined waters of the western English Channel.

This is an account of the archaeological evidence left when she came across two Allied convoys within the space of six days.

The Type VIIC/41 submarine, one of ninety-one made, was built in 1943 by the Flender Werke yard at Lübeck, and was commissioned on 5 February 1944 under the command of twenty-four-year-old Oberleutnant zur See Gerhard Wysk. After completed training, she began her operational career with the 11th Flotilla on 1 November, departing from Kiel to Horten Naval Base the following day with the standard 52 men onboard. [1]

The 11th U-boat Flotilla was stationed in Bergen (Norway) and mainly operated in the North Sea and against the Russian convoys in the Arctic Sea. The U-322, however, was ordered to Britain and departed nine days after arriving at Horten.

At this late stage in the war, new Allied convoy tactics and technology, using high-frequency direction finding and the Hedgehog anti-submarine system, made any patrol a high risk, but particularly in the confined waters of the heavily protected English Channel a strong possibility.

The first convoy she encountered, MKS 71G (Mediterranean to the UK Slow), was an Allied convoy going from North Africa via Gibraltar to Liverpool. It was made up of 24 merchant vessels (the majority British) and seven escorts which had departed from Gibraltar on 16 December, was due to arrive in Liverpool on 24 December. [2] At 11.50 hours on 23 December 1944, the British-built but Polish-owned steam merchant SS Dumfries carrying 8,258 tons of iron ore from Bona, Algeria to the Tyne, was torpedoed and sunk by U-322 south of St. Catherine’s Point, Isle of Wight. [3]

The crew onboard the vessel, which was owned by Gdynia America Shipping Lines Ltd, Gdansk [4] were rescued by HMS Balsam, a Flower-class corvette who picked up the master (Robert Blackey) and seven crew members, landing them at Portsmouth; and HMS Pearl, an anti-submarine trawler, who picked up the remaining 41 crew members, eight gunners and two passengers, taking them to Southampton. [5]

The sinking of Dumfries was for many years attributed to U-722, but its involvement was disproved after its wreck was discovered elsewhere. [6]

The Dumfries wreck was most recently recorded by the UK Hydrographic Office [UKHO] in 2007 and noted it was sitting upright on a bed of gravel at a depth of 37 metres, largely intact. The remains are 11-12m high, 120m long, and 18m wide with a starboard lean and showing signs of breaking up. [7]

The second convoy encounter occurred seven miles southeast of Portland Bill Lighthouse on the 29 December 1944. This convoy was TBC-21, the Thames Estuary to the Bristol Channel route, bound from Southend in Essex to Milford Haven in Pembrokeshire, Wales. [8]

No longer equipped with her full torpedo load (14), after the attack on Dumfries, U-322 launched at least two torpedoes at the convoy which struck two large US Liberty ships within minutes of each other.

The first to be hit was the SS Arthur Sewell, the fourth ship in the port column. Travelling from Southampton for Mumbles, Wales, she had joined the convoy part of the way for protection. The 7,176-ton American cargo vessel was severely damaged, but the ship held and a tug, HMS Pilot (W 03), towed her to Weymouth. Five men were injured, and one killed out of a crew of sixty-nine. An injured sailor died the next day.

Built in March 1944 by the New England Shipbuilding Corporation, Portland, Maine, she was under the command of the US Maritime Commission at the time.

After the war she was first towed to Portland, temporarily repaired, and then to Bremerhaven where she was loaded with chemical ammunition, towed to sea and scuttled in the North Sea on 26 Oct 1946. [9] Her remains have yet to be located.

Historic black & white aerial photograph of large ship at centre towed by three smaller vessels to the right
Salvaged Liberty Ship, wrecked off Deal in July 1945, towed by three tugs en route to the salvage and repair yards. (CH 15583) Copyright: © IWM. Original Source: http://www.iwm.org.uk/collections/item/object/205454706

The second Liberty ship to be struck was the SS Black Hawk, the last vessel in the starboard column, travelling in ballast from Cherbourg via the Isle of Wight to Fowey on behalf of the US Army Transport Service. [10]

Four of the ship´s 41 crew were injured, one later died. There were no casualties among the 27-man armed guard. [11] The men were picked up by HMS Dahlia and landed at Brixham at 20.30 hours. [12] There is a photograph of the ship sinking.

The torpedo struck the ship on the port side, and the engines were immediately secured as the ship started to sink by the stern. A crack appeared at the #3 hatch and only the two forward compartments kept the ship afloat.

The vessel broke into two large sections, with the aft or stern end sinking into the sea off the Bill of Portland, while the bow or fore section stayed afloat. [13] This section was towed to Worbarrow Bay where it was beached on 30 December 1944. The site was marked by a can buoy until the Worbarrow Bay pipeline was laid and the large section had to be dispersed, using explosives, in 1968. Today the bow lies at a depth of 13-15m, surrounded by 50m of debris. It can be identified by the heavy anchor chain that runs almost 75m south to a 3-ton anchor. [14]

The large stern end (30 feet) which had sunk off Portland Bill, was discovered in 1963, lying in two sections, on its starboard side with a gun still bolted to its platform, at a depth of 31-45m. Dispersal operations were carried out in November that year. At some point a bronze propeller was salvaged, possibly in the 1970s, according to an image published in Diver Magazine, October 1999. The remains were not identified as potentially a Liberty ship until 1975, with the Black Hawk attribution only confirmed in 1987.

Modern colour photograph: elevated aerial view of a long stretch of green landscape with the lines of the hillfort on the left, and a sandy coastline with a bay on the right-hand side
View of Flower’s Barrow coastal hillfort looking east towards Worbarrow Bay and Worbarrow Tout.
DP 438558 © Historic England Archive

The final wreck that day is that of U-322. Having fatally damaged the two cargo vessels, she was not long after sunk by one of the convoy escorts, HMCS Calgary, a Canadian Flower-class corvette, using depth charges. She went down on 29 December 1944 in the English Channel south of Weymouth. Fifty-two men died; there were no survivors.

The wreck was identified as U-322 by Axel Niestlé after it had been initially thought that it was U-772. [15] She is recorded by UKHO as intact with extended mast, 59m long x 18m wide at a depth of approximately 42m. [16]

The wreck of the U-322 is part of a distribution of archaeological remains telling the story of one series of attacks by a submarine in WW2.

It illustrates the complications of recording and interpreting the submerged remains with a story of partial sinking, conflicting records, misidentification, salvage, clearance for navigational safety and erasure by development.

Footnotes

[1] uboat.net https://uboat.net/boats/u322.htm

[2] MKS Convoy Series, Arnold Hague Convoy Database, http://convoyweb.org.uk/mks/index.html

[3] Uboat.net, SS Dumfries, https://uboat.net/allies/merchants/ship/3396.html 

[4] Historic England, NMHR Ref No. 1246514 – record accessed via the Heritage Gateway

[5] Wrecksite, SS Dumfries, https://www.wrecksite.eu/wreck.aspx?4651

[6] See note [3]

[7] UKHO Wreck Record 18917 (Dumfries)

[8] Convoy route TBC, https://uboat.net/ops/convoys/routes.php?route=TBC; TBC-21 http://www.convoyweb.org.uk/hague/index.html

[9] Arthur Sewall, https://uboat.net/allies/merchants/ship/3405.html 

[10] https://uboat.net/allies/merchants/ship/3405.html and https://uboat.net/allies/merchants/ship/3406.html; https://www.wrecksite.eu/wreck.aspx?78432

[11] Skindeepdiving, Black Hawk

[12] https://uboat.net/allies/merchants/ship/3406.html

[13] UKHO Wreck Report No. 18557 [stern]; UKHO Wreck Report No. 18677 [bow]

[14] See note [11]

[15] https://uboat.net/boats/u322.htm

[16] UKHO Wreck Report 18541