October 1944 was a relatively quiet month in terms of shipping losses with 10 vessels reported lost during that month, none to war causes (e.g. torpedo, mine). In fact it was the weather that seems to have been the major factor for most of them, although the loss of LCP(L) 52, a Landing Craft Personnel (Large), was attributed to foundering following a fire in the Solent on 11 October.
Barge Norman sank off the Kent coast on 7 October, and another barge, Congo, is reported as having similarly sunk off the Essex coast on 13 October. LCT(A) 2454(Landing Craft Tank, Armoured) was forced ashore in wind conditions SW 4, freshening to force 5, on Chesil Beach, Dorset, on the latter date. [1]
Things were not looking good for vessels of shallow draught in high seas in autumn gales.
In a previous edition for November 1943 we looked at the collective loss of several landing craft from a single convoy off the Isles of Scilly. Almost a year later, a similar tragedy occurred with convoy KMS 66 (UK–Mediterranean Slow), which set out from the Clyde on 14 October 1944, with some LCTs under tow by the merchants in the convoy, a mixture of British, Belgian and Norwegian vessels. Further vessels joined convoy from Belfast the next day, and Liverpool and Milford Haven the day after, as the convoy steamed south out of the Irish Sea.
On 18 October 1944 KMS 66 ran into trouble off Land’s End in wind conditions reported at 6am that morning as WSW force 7 at the Lizard, W x S force 6 off the Isles of Scilly. [2] At 10.50 Nairnbank, which was towing LCT 494and LCT 7014, reported that contact had been lost with the former. [3]
By 12 the conditions had worsened to WSW force 8 at the Lizard, SW x W force 7 at the Isles of Scilly.
All hell subsequently broke loose over the next 24 hours. Calls for assistance were made from the foundering LCTs, towing merchants reported on the status of their ‘children’ and issued commands, orders were issued to escorts and merchants to search for the LCTs and assist in rescue, widening beyond the immediate convoy to other convoys in the area, and contact repeatedly made with the Admiralty and Commander-in-Chief Western Approaches. It was a frantic period. [4]
At 6pm conditions were force 8 from both the Lizard and the Isles of Scilly but it is also stated elsewhere that conditions were force 9. [5] Conditions remained similar at midnight and 6am the next day (19 October) abating somewhat towards the Isles of Scilly. The weather abated further over the course of the evening but by midnight of 19/20 October LCTs480, 488, 491, and 7014 had either foundered or been sunk following rescue efforts, and LCTs 494and 7015 remained unaccounted for. There were men lost from all of these vessels, from other LCTs which, however, survived the incident, and from rescuing vessels.
History has a nasty habit of repeating itself and never more so than on this occasion, which was almost a carbon copy of the events of November 1943.
It seems that one of the LCTs lost in this incident may have been discovered, as reported by Royal Navy News in 2023, while LCT 7074 survives in preservation and is open to the public.
D-Day was one day in history. It finally marked the day that the war turned, in Churchill’s famous phrase, from the ‘end of the beginning’ to the ‘beginning of the end.’ [1] As an equally famous saying has it, ‘Rome wasn’t built in a day’, and it would take some months before the Allies were able to encircle the Germans at the Falaise Pocket [12 to 21 August 1944] south of Caen and the Normandy landing beaches, to clear the way to Paris, liberated shortly after [19 August to 25 August 1944]. It would take until the end of the war to fully drive the occupiers out of France.
The ongoing invasion effort required ongoing logistical support. Resistance came not only from land forces but also from seaborne forces, so for this entry we take a look at a number of ships wrecked while supporting operations in France, the common theme of the wrecks this month.
It is a tale of landing craft, Liberty ships, and ‘Government stores’.
The first of this group were lost on 8 August when convoy EBC 66 [Bristol Channel to France] was attacked while bound from Barry for Seine Bay. EBC 66 was a multinational convoy comprising British, American, Norwegian and Dutch ships, and escorted by three Flower-class corvettes from different forces: HMS Petunia; ex-HMS Lotus loaned to the Free French as Commandant d’Estienne d’Orves, named after a French naval officer executed by the Nazis in 1941, and HMCS Regina of the Royal Canadian Navy.
Off Trevose Head, north Cornwall, U-667 struck among the convoy. First to be attacked was the American Liberty Ship Ezra Weston, laden with ‘Government’ and general cargo, specified as 20mm guns, acid and military vehicles, from Avonmouth for Falmouth and the invasion beaches, which was torpedoed below the waterline at around 7.30 in the evening. This attack was initially attributed to a mine. Her captain attempted to beach her but she was in a sinking condition and beginning to break up. She broke in two at 9.45pm and had to be abandoned, fortunately without loss of life. LCT 644 took off the majority of the crew, 4 officers later leaving the vessel in a lifeboat. [2]
HMCS Regina stayed nearby to ‘become a sitting duck for the next torpedo’, as survivors put it. [3] She was struck at 10.48pm, and though 30 men were lost in the engine and boiler room, the survivors owed their lives two factors: to the Ezra Weston, as most were on deck watching over the stricken merchant in their care, and to the crewman on watch who had had the foresight to order her depth charges to be made safe. The survivors were picked up by LCT 644 and the Admiralty Trawler Jacques Morgand (formerly a Dieppe trawler and seized at Falmouth in July 1940). [4]
The two ships lie virtually side by side off the coast of Cornwall, within a few hundred metres of each other, and Regina showing evidence of an implosion on the seabed after her rapid sinking in less than half a minute, with a debris trail of unexploded depth charges. The Ezra Weston is split in two.
On the same day Fort Yale, a vessel on Lend-Lease to the UK from the US, was mined and damaged onthe other side of the Channel at Arromanches while on convoy ETM 56 (Southend to Seine Bay, motor transport to France) having been on ‘Special Services’ shuttling between the Thames and the Seine since the early days of the Normandy invasion. She was released from service on 12 August with engine damage, but apparently still afloat. On 15 August any further service was deferred pending repairs, but she was able to proceed back to Southend from the Seine under tow of two tugs, one British and one American, on 19 August. [5]
On 23 August she was torpedoed in mid-Channel SE of the Isle of Wight, with the majority of the crew being picked up and landed at Portsmouth.
On 14 August a near carbon-copy of the attack on Ezra Weston and HMCS Regina in roughly the same area, off Hartland Point this time, dispatched the American LST 921 and British LCI(L) 99, respectively a Landing Ship Tank and a Landing Craft Infantry (Large). They too were on an EBC convoy,EBC 72, and that number shows the frequency of convoys bound for Normandy: daily increments since EBC 66 on 8 August. [6] Their attacker was also U-667, which would herself not last much longer: her last known radio contact was on 25 August, but she failed to arrive at the rendezvous point the following day, having been lost in a British minefield off La Rochelle. [7]
We return now to another Southend to Seine Bay convoy, this time ETC 72, a coastal convoy. On 19 August they were in mid-Channel when U-413 torpedoed Saint Enogat SE of St. Catherine’s Point, Isle of Wight. Most of the personnel survived to be picked up and landed at Juno Beach. In a strange way, her place of loss reflects her service career. Built as part of War Standard tonnage in 1918 as War Clarion, she was sold post-war to one of the French railway companies: her new name Saint Enogat reflected the Breton area served by her new owner, the Chemins de fer de l’État, but she passed in 1920 to the Société Maritime Nationale. [8]
After the fall of France in 1940, Saint Enogat was seized at Plymouth and was transferred to the Ministry of War Transport (MOWT). She would return to France on the ‘Store Transport Service’ following the Normandy invasion, regularly shuttling between Southend and the invasion beaches, until her loss. Her sinking was initially attributed to a mine, but a later note adds: ‘Considered vessel more probably torpedoed by s/m.’ [9]
Our final and most famous wreck of the vessels bound for Normandy during August 1944 is undoubtedly the Liberty Ship Richard Montgomery, wrecked the following day on 20 August and regularly making headlines since.
Unlike the others, however, she was not lost to war causes. She crossed the Atlantic as part of convoy HX 301 from New York for Liverpool, arriving in Oban on 8 August, thence joining convoy ‘northabout’ round Scotland, after which she fed into a southbound convoy bound for the Thames. She then anchored in the Thames Estuary on Sheerness Middle Sand to await yet another convoy for her final destination of Cherbourg to support the invasion with her cargo of munitions.
There she broke her back and started to settle into the sand, with only half her cargo salvageable. She is designated under Section 2 of the Protection of Wrecks Act 1973 as a dangerous wreck, administered by the Maritime and Coastguard Agency through the Receiver of Wreck. [11] She lies within a well-demarcated exclusion zone and it has often been said that no other ship can now run onto Sheerness Middle Sand because of her, a most unusual case of one maritime hazard replacing the previous hazard at that location. [12]
Her story, from her background to her modern-day management, can be read in full in a dedicated article on GOV.UK
Famous in her own right, the Richard Montgomery is nevertheless part of a wider story, a bigger picture, and a maritime landscape of war that fed into the continuing battle to liberate France after D-Day.
Footnotes
[1] Winston Churchill, Prime Minister’s Address to the Lord Mayor’s Banquet, Mansion House, 10 November 1942
[2] Ezra Weston, Historic England, National Marine Heritage Record (NMHR) record 766919
[3] Quoted from Deep Wreck Mysteries: Fatal Decision, broadcast ITV West, 25 January 2007, 7.30pm
[4] HMCS Regina, Historic England, NMHR record 1102944; Jacques Morgand, photograph and details online
[5] Fort Yale, Historic England, NMHR record 766513; Shipping Movement Record card, BT 389/13/246, The National Archives, Kew; Report of Total Loss, Casualty &c. No.75,092 Fort Yale, Lloyd’s Register Foundation Archive & Library, LRF-PUN-W244-0106-W,
[6]LST 921Historic England, NMHR record 1534459; LCI(L) 99, NMHR record 1534460; convoyweb
Following the launch of the D-Day invasion on 6 June 1944, the citizens of Britain knew that reprisals would come. On 13 June the first of the V1 rockets, known as the ‘Doodlebugs’, struck London, and it was London and the Home Counties which would bear the brunt of the damage.
Despite this life carried on. My mother never forgot her own encounter with a doodlebug in Chelmsford, Essex, scrambling for shelter with her little brother. According to a bomb map in Essex Archives, it was probably the V1 attacks on either 18 June or 9 July 1944. [1]
Only a few days after the 9 July incident in Chelmsford, on 12 July another V1 struck near Tower Bridge. The 2-ton steam tug Naja, built in 1924 and owned by Gaselee & Son, was destroyed and sunk in the Upper Pool, east of Tower Bridge, with the loss of six men during a crew changeover.
She is the only wreck in our records known to have been destroyed by a V1.
We do know, however, that the wreck was raised immediately by PLA Wreck Lighter No.2 as shown in an image taken by City of London Police, now in the London Museum. She is badly damaged aft but the idea that has gained traction in commentary on the Naja that she suffered a direct hit cannot be correct otherwise there would have been, at best, only debris left.
It is quite understandable that she was raised instantly in a busy waterway where wreck remains would pose both a navigational hazard and a risk of accretion and siltation if not dealt with immediately.
It is a reminder that destruction and death do not always equate to archaeological remains, although the vessel was definitively written off and her register closed. [2]
[2] Appropriation Books, official No. 148526, Crew List Index Project; catalogue entry for the Registers of Shipping and Seamen, Naja, BT 110/1261/13, The National Archives, Kew
The focus this month is on motor minesweeper MMS 227and to recognise the contribution of the Free Dutch forces.. After the fall of the Netherlands, Dutch vessels contributed to the Dunkirk evacuation and to the British trooping and convoy effort, including the liner Johan de Witt, which became a troopship and convoyed many British troops around the world, including my own late father in 1944. [1] Dutch ships also served in other theatres of war such as the Italian campaign of 1943 and at D-Day. [2]
A number of small motor minesweepers were built during the war by small contractors in sheltered coastal waters around the country. As always, production was dispersed for security and to take advantage of the specialist skills of the smaller boat-builders.
These builders, like Curtis of Par, Cornwall, who built MMS 227/Marken, specialised in the manufacture of wooden ships. Wood was ideal for motor minesweepers for several reasons: to take pressure off raw materials for steel ship production and because, unlike steel, it would not set off magnetic mines.
It remained a dangerous job: over the course of both World Wars this blog has highlighted how frequently minesweepers fell victim to the very danger they were working to save others from, and small wooden craft were extremely fragile in such an explosion.
Nevertheless over 400 of these vessels were built in two classes, one slightly larger than the other, either 105ft or 127ft long. [3] In an official Admiralty photograph campaign showcasing the work of the motor minesweepers and their crews from all walks of civilian life, they were labelled as ‘The Little Ship with a Big Job.’ [4]
Several of the smaller class of minesweepers were then cascaded to Free Dutch forces operating in the 139th Minesweeping Flotilla out of Great Yarmouth and Harwich. They were all renamed after locations in the Netherlands, rather than merely numbered, as they had been in the Royal Navy.
Thus it was that MMS 227became Hr. Ms.Marken, after the island on the IJsselmeer. (Hr. Ms. or Harer Majesteits is the prefix of ships of the Koninklijke Marine or Royal Netherlands Navy, which is conventionally translated into English as HNLMS or His/Her Netherlands Majesty’s ship.) Several would survive the war and be incorporated into the peacetime Dutch Navy to continue the postwar work of mine clearance in the North Sea.
On 18 April 1944 Queen Wilhelmina visited Dutch minesweepers at Harwich, an event that would not be reported in the press until 9 May, and even then in only the briefest of terms: ‘Queen Wilhelmina of the Netherlands recently visited men of the Dutch fighting forces and Dutch minesweepers whose crews were originally trawler fishermen.’ [4]
On 20 May 1944 Marken was clearing the War Channels when she struck an acoustic mine near the Sunk Lightvessel in the Thames Estuary, and was blown in half with the loss of 16 out of her 17 crew, including her captain Gerardus Albertus Smits of the VRH (Vrijwillige Reserve Hulpschepen, approximately equivalent to the Royal Naval Voluntary Reserve). [6]
The wreck was clearly visible as broken in two until around 1981, but by 1990 had shown signs of further deterioration and beginning to be covered by sand and buried by the following year. [7]MMS 113, of similar type, lies on the western foreshore of Portsmouth Harbour, another relic of the era of the ‘little ship with the big job’.
Footnotes
[1] Oral history reminiscence, Corporal R F Cant RAF, recorded in unpublished family notes
Eighty years on from the launch of Operation Neptune on 6 June 1944, the largest seaborne invasion in history, we take a look at those craft which, for one reason or another, did not make it to the landing beaches of Normandy, but which do form part of a tangible heritage of D-Day around the southern coasts of England.
An invasion of this scale required considerable preparations, in assembling the fleet, in meeting the conditions they were likely to find geographically and militarily, and in meeting the needs of the invasion forces once the assault on Normandy began in earnest.
A key problem for the invasion forces was the issue of landing supplies in a hostile environment until French ports could be recaptured from the occupying forces. To overcome this problem, the ‘Mulberry Harbours’ were prefabricated concrete units to be towed across the Channel and assembled at Omaha and Gold, two of the five designated landing beaches. ‘Phoenix’ caissons were built to be sunk in great secrecy off the southern coasts of England to be refloated and towed across once the invasion was under way to build the Mulberry Harbours, supported by subsidiary units such as ‘Whale’ pontoons.
Not all of the Phoenix caissons could be refloated to serve their purpose, and a number of these survive at the spot they were sunk 80 years ago. They are charted in southern English waters from the Bristol Channel in the west via the English Channel facing the Normandy coast to the Thames Estuary in the east. The remains of these Phoenix units form a counterpart to the remains of the ‘as built’ Mulberry Harbours on the opposite side of the Channel. (The Portland caissons shown at the top of the blog are slightly different, in that they came back as part of a return group post-war.)
The invasion began during the night of 5-6 June. LCT(A) 2428was a Mk V Landing Craft Tank (Armoured), which, as the description implies, was intended to carry tanks which could roll off directly onto the beach to provide covering firepower. This function would itself attract fierce return fire, so to that end the vessel was fitted with protective armour plating, hence the (Armoured) suffix.
LCT(A) 2428 was laden with Centaur CS IV tanks and Caterpillar D7 armoured bulldozers as she began to make her way over to Normandy. In the early evening of 5 June she broke down and anchored near the Nab Tower, to the east of the Isle of Wight. The vessel began to capsize following damage ‘sustained by weather to double bottoms on starboard side aft’ according to a military report, and shed her lading, although fortunately without loss of life. However, she remained afloat after capsizing, posing a navigational hazard, and the only remedy was to sink her by gunfire.
LCT(A) 2428therefore lies some distance from her cargo of tanks and bulldozers, which now lie as an assemblage off Selsey Bill, Sussex – two wreck sites from one event. The remains of the tanks and bulldozers form a Scheduled Monument: read more about the scheduled site and discover more about the Landing Craft 2428 project.
An operation at the scale of Neptune required air cover and air support. The wooden Horsa glider, a personnel carrier which could be towed to deploy troops by air, came into its own in seaborne invasions on D-Day and in other theatres of war. Like the Landing Craft Tanks, some of the gliders moved off for their own specific operations on the night of 5 June 1944, while others took to the air during D-Day itself.
Among them was Horsa Mk I LH550, bound for Landing Zone N at Ranville, Normandy, which slipped tow for reasons unknown, and ditched into the sea off Worthing, West Sussex, apparently without loss of life. Unlike the Mulberry remains or LCT(A) 2428and her cargo, the last resting place of Horsa LH550 is unknown.
Convoy ETM-1, comprising American Liberty ships, sent to Britain under the Lend-Lease programme, and their escorts, left the Thames Estuary on the morning of D-Day en route to Normandy. The convoy moved south towards the Straits of Dover when one of their number, the Sambut, was struck by fire from German positions at Cap Gris Nez. War matériel by its very nature is usually hazardous, and cargo vessels laden with such dangerous cargoes extremely vulnerable. Sambut‘s cargo of petrol cans and vehicles caught fire, which led to an explosion of the gelignite she also carried, and it was impossible to save the ship, her crucial supplies, or, unfortunately, a quarter of the personnel on board. (Read our D-Day 70 blog for more detail on the loss of Sambut.) The loss of Sambut was captured on film in real time by another ship in the same convoy, and the reminiscences of a survivor of the 92nd Light Anti-Aircraft Regiment of the Royal Artillery who was on board, recorded 50 years after the event, are also in the collections of the Imperial War Museum (Reel 2, 05:50 onwards). It is a well-documented wreck and is known and charted.
In the breadth and diversity of the craft that were lost on 6 June 1944 within English waters – aircraft, land vehicles, cargo ships and floating harbour structures – we glimpse a little of the scale of the invasion. We recognise, too, the archaeological remains of a single day in history on this side of the Channel, linked to their counterparts lost the same day on the Normandy beaches, memorials in concrete, wood, and steel.
Sailing ship under Whitby Abbey in stormy conditions, Charles George Harper. Source: Historic England Archive
A Sturdy Whitby Collier in the Storm of November 1810
It is my pleasure to welcome Mike Salter as our guest blogger for this article, which combines the old and new meanings of the word ‘adventure’: the shipwreck adventure of a vessel named the Sea Adventure, highlighted on the 300th anniversary of her build in 1724.
At that time the word ‘adventure’ meant a commercial venture, so a shipowner would ‘adventure’ his capital on the sea (although the modern word ‘venture’ was also commonly used). This naturally led to the meaning of ‘risk’, which has segued into today’s modern meaning, an exciting and/or risky activity or event. These two elements are present in her story, which Mike has researched and compiled into a booklet (details below).
He distils his research into the Sea Adventure‘s life and times below:
Her Life: Whitby and the Collier Trade
Colliers were the workhorses of the Industrial Revolution, bringing millions of tons of coal from the coalfields of the North-East to London and the east coast ports such as (King’s) Lynn, (Great) Yarmouth and Ipswich. Overlooked by many, they nevertheless fuelled British economic growth and overseas expansion.
My interest in theSea Adventurestemmed from finding out more about the loss of King John’s regalia in the Wash, leading to finding out about a buried medieval bridge in Holbeach [1], Holbeach as a minor port and the wreck of a ship on Holbeach Marsh in November 1810. [2] (It was this research detailing her cargoes, masters, voyages and events during her lifetime that led to the booklet!)
Initial reports named her as the Sea Venture, a 100-year-old Whitby collier built in the reign of Queen Anne (1702-14). Both her name and age proved to be incorrect. Sea Adventurewas her correct name [3], and a Jarvis Coates built her in his Whitby yard in 1724 under George I. [4] This year of 2024 is therefore the tercentenary of her construction.
George Young in his 1817 History of Whitby wrote, while the ship was still in recent memory:
”The strength and durability of the Whitby ships may be inferred from the great age some of them have attained. The Sea Adventure is a noted instance; that vessel braved the storms of 86 years, having been built in 1724 and lost in 1810; nor did she go to pieces even at the last , but was carried up by the violence of the wind and of the flood tide into the midst of a field, where she was left high and dry, a good way from the sea on the coast of Lincolnshire.”
The construction of Sea Adventure was that of a ‘cat’ collier with round bluff bows, a deep waist and ‘pinked’ or tapering at the stern. The Earl of Pembroke which became Captain Cook’s Endeavour was such a ship, all of which were built more than 40 years after Sea Adventure, in Whitby. To the disgust of some, he chose these ships over sleeker vessels as they were robust, seaworthy and easily repaired on shore, especially in exotic parts. [5]
Whitby was a bustling port in the 18th and 19th centuries [6], building many ships for its shipowners and for those of many other ports. It was the seventh largest ship building port in the UK. Many ships were employed on the North Sea and Baltic routes. These were treacherous, with severe storms, rocks, sandbanks, and the threat of pirates and the press gangs. [7] R Weatherill counted more than 400 ships off Whitby at one time, with many from the north-east. He was also told that up to 800 would arrive in the Thames on one tide if there was a favourable wind. It is no wonder there were often collisions both in port and on the open sea. [8]
Whitby Harbour scene, by permission of the Whitby Literary & Philosophical Society
In 1794, during the war with France, Whitby was deemed important enough to warrant fortification against attack from seawards . There were also seamen’s strikes in Shields, broken up by the Royal Navy. Some colliers includingSea Adventure, sailed the Baltic routes.
It is interesting to note the fact that the French and Dutch navies were collaborating from 1786 onwards in the fortification of Cherbourg as a port from which to safeguard the Channel, keep a watchful eye on England’s main naval base of Portsmouth, and potentially attack England. [9]
Francis Gibson’s plan for the defences of Whitby, c1794, with Board of Ordnance ‘broad arrow’ stamp. A version of this map exists in North Yorkshire archives, with two significant differences: the defences of the Half Moon Battery, unspecified in this version, are shown in the North Yorkshire version, with 12 x 18pdrs en barbette and a ‘bomb-proof’ magazine, while the ships shown here ‘running inshore for shelter’ have grounded for ‘want of tide to carry them into harbour’ in the other version. Both versions show the line of fire afforded to an ‘enemy ship’ approaching Whitby(marked in red here). MP/WHA0096 Source Historic England Archive
Her (Very Long) Times – the longevity of ships
Sea Adventure was not unique in being lost at 86 years of age as there were several vessels which operated over 100 years.
Perhaps the most famous was Betsy Cains, built in the King’s Yard in 1690 or 1699, but which had become erroneously associated with bringing over William of Orange in 1688. Her actual history was trading with the West Indies, then transfer to the London and Baltic coal routes, followed by hire as a government transport over 1808-10, during the Napoleonic Wars. On 17th February 1827 she was wrecked at around 130 years old on the notorious Black Middens rocks while leaving her home port of Shields, laden with coal for Hamburg. Many people took pieces of her venerable timbers to make snuff boxes and other souvenirs, and Orange Lodges in particular were keen to have a memento, given the mythical association with William of Orange. [10]
Liberty and Property(known in Whitby as Old Liberty and Property) was built in 1752 and sailed the East Coast and Baltic routes, remaining on the Whitby Register until 1840. Later she transferred to Shields and was eventually wrecked in 1856 in Gotland, Sweden – at 104 years old. Her goods were sold for the benefit of the underwriters. She was described as ‘being engaged in the coal, Baltic trade and transport service – a strange old-fashioned looking craft, attracting a good deal of attention in the Thames and other ports she visited.’ [11]
In 1888, the little schooner Lively ended her days wrecked on the Norfolk coast near Cromer. Built at Whitby in 1786, she was more than 100 years old at the time of loss, and was described in an advert for sale as being suitable for beach landings. The Whitby Gazette of 2nd June 1888 carried a full report and a ‘lament’ to the much-loved old ship, the last lines of which read:
When through the bridge away she glides to find her ancient moorings Old Whitby’s ships and tars have gone, one after one in order Yet Whitby’s sons are still the same in courage and in valour. AN OLD FRIEND.
There were other ships which may have gone on to reach their century, such as theWilliam and Jane, built Whitby 1717, and transferred to Newcastle in 1789, or the Content’s Increase, built Whitby 1750 and sold to Newcastle in 1835.
Her demise – the wreck of Sea Adventure
‘Dreadful Storm’ is how newspapers described the weather event of 10 November 1810, when raging winds from the ESE forced many ships on shore between Whitby and Great Yarmouth. There was a minimum of 61 shipwrecks that night, with around 40 lost on the east coast. [12]
Model of a ‘shipwreck in a bottle’: the wreck of the Sea Adventure on Holbeach Marsh in a lightbulb some 1.5km over the salt marsh. G Leach, by permission of the Whitby Literary & Philosophical Society
That was the night which saw the loss of the Sea Adventure, bound from Shields for London with coal, a southbound voyage with land to the west on the vessel’s starboard side, which, in an ESE storm simply drove her towards shore.
The label on the ‘shipwreck in a bottle’ says the Sea Adventure ‘must have been sailed goose-winged i.e. downwind with the foresails on one side of the vessel and the mainsail on the other, leaving it too late to reduce sail, which the maker recognised from a situation he had seen. Goose- or gull–winged is defined thus: on a fore-and-aft rigged vessel ‘the jib or staysail is boomed out on the opposite side to the mainsail in a following wind to present the largest possible area of sail to the wind’ (Oxford); wing and wing with a ‘sail extended on each side, as with the foresail out on one side and the mainsail on the other’ (Collins), i.e. a 180-degree angle to maximise the area of sail exposed. (This use is seen Kipling’s poem The Coastwise Lights: ‘we greet the clippers wing-and-wing that race the Southern wool’.)
It is interesting that G. Leach (the modeller) says that the same fate befell the Esk, a Whitby whaler wrecked on Redcar Sands in September 1826, while ‘running before a storm’ on her return from a season in Greenland. [13] The Esk had picked up some sailors from the Lively whaler lost in the ice and of the three sailors who survived from the Esk, one was a William Leach, carpenter’s mate (perhaps an ancestor of the model-maker?)
The label to the ‘shipwreck in a bottle’ also picks up something crucial that illustrates the impact of this storm: that the Sea Adventure was not only driven ashore, but driven a long way inshore.
RAF photograph taken 2 December 1944 at Holbeach, showing the vast expanse of the marshland to the north. Sea Adventure was driven inshore across the fields, possibly towards the bottom left of the present image. RAF_106G_LA_67_RP_3085 Source Historic England Archive
There were comprehensive reports of the loss of Sea Adventure in the London Chronicle of the 15th November, Stamford Mercury of the 16th, Hull Packet of the 20th, and Gentleman’s Magazine, Vol. 80, Part 2, of ships wrecked or affected by this storm (described by some as a hurricane or a tempest). Of the Sea Adventure it said she was, for the first time, ‘compelled to run for Boston Deeps’ and the crew, having struggled ashore in boats, were ‘denied even the indulgence of a barn as shelter from the pelting rain’.
Her end had come in one of the most severe storms to hit the east coast of England, which centred on nearby Boston itself. The London Chronicle reports that it started raining in Boston at 7am and continued all day. The ESE wind blew hard and from 6-9pm was ‘a perfect hurricane’. This combination of the hurricane force winds with a record height of tide in Boston – some 4 inches (10cm) above any previously seen – created a tidal bore or eagre of huge potency which swept away sea bank defences flooding the low-lying land. A vessel was deposited on the Turnpike Road near Boston town centre at Black Sluice, forced by the tidal surge up the River Witham.
Many sailors and some on land lost their lives, with reports of sailors who lashed themselves to masts as their ships sank, with other ships powerless to help them. Sixteen bodies were interred at Claxby (Stamford Mercury 23rd November), nine were picked up four miles from Lynn, and many, many more drowned with more bodies washed up on every tide (Hull Packet 20th November).
The meteorological explanation for the violence of the storm is discussed in an article [13] on storm-surge flood risk in eastern England:
The third category of surge is driven off the northeast side of a slow moving deep cyclone in the southern North Sea when isobars become concentrated owing to the presence of an anticyclone to the northwest of Scotland. Strong pressure gradients drive onshore winds directly onto the coasts of eastern England . . .
This report notes that the same climatology was associated with one of the highest ever high water levels reported at Boston, Lincs. on 10 November 1810, consistent with the loss of the Sea Adventure, the vessel deposited on the Turnpike Road at Boston, and other craft.
Extent of the storm – other ships driven ashore
The Hull Packet of 20 November reported that the Retfordof Gainsborough, with coals, was driven about a mile up the Marsh near Boston. Drakard’s Stamford News of 16 November reports that on the 10th ‘a barge drifted over the sea bank near the Scalp and may now be seen in the midst of pastures, with sheep grazing around.’
Three vessels were driven up the Fossdyke Washway , towards Spalding with one, the Ann, carried half a mile into the Marsh from the Fossdyke channel.
In the same report: ‘Near Sutton Wash are two vessels thrown upon a very high marsh, so they will not be got off but by cutting to the sea.” Captain Melion of theAmity, which was driven ashore near Lynn and went to pieces (he, his wife and children struggled ashore), reported that a light collier [i.e. in ballast] was left on the ebbing of the tide in the midst of a farmyard (Hull Packet 20 November).
Some sank at sea and at least one became a hazard: a Caution was issued to ‘Masters of Coasting vessels trading to Boston, Lynn and Wisbech, that six to seven miles West by North of the Sutton-on-Sea signal point the Masts of a Brig were above sea level on all but the highest Spring tides.’
Overall, most ships had a lifespan of 20-40 years, but relatively few ships were got off if driven hard into the rocks, sandbanks or shore, and even fewer which were deposited ‘high and dry’, as these ships were. Whatever their age, luck seems to have run out in the end.
After the wreck of Sea Adventure
Confusion over ship’s names, many having the same name, even from the same port, is not surprising and plays its part in the Sea Adventurestory. Many ships were called Adventure, othersSea Venture (as Sea Adventurewas in some early records) and the storm reports in papers.
But this was compounded by the fact that a ship Adventure, master Bullock, was wrecked on the same day, 10 November 1810, at Ingoldmells, north of Boston. Both ships were sold at auction but one advertisement for the later sale of theAdventureon 28 December, on the shore, referred to the Sea Adventure. Both vessels would have been broken up in situ and it is interesting to note thatSea Adventure carried 17 keels of Tanfield Moor coal (from the Durham coalfield) and was also armed, as guns were sold.
From the mid-18th century merchant ships of any size had been advised to carry arms to deter privateers. These were relatively light armaments, but in 1757 the Ann of Shields, carrying 5 guns and 8 men, saw off a French privateer of 14 guns, after a four-hour engagement. There were many other examples of successful defence; Captain Humble of the Milburn, North Shields, with 4 x 4-pounders and 13 men fought off a French schooner with 14 guns (Sun, London, 6 January 1801).
Then there wasLa Modeste, lost in the same storm as the Sea Adventure, but this is an interesting story in its own right and is a blog for another day . . .
Close-up of ‘shipwreck in a bottle’, with a figure visible on deck. Almost submerged by the waves, the boat can just be seen by the prow. By permission of the Whitby Literary & Philosophical Society
With many thanks to Mike for his blog and we look forward to his return with the Modeste in a later blog, and we would also like to thank the Whitby Literary and Philosophical Society for all their help and support in creating this blog.
A full description of the life and voyages of the Sea Adventure is in a booklet Sea Adventure: A Sturdy Whitby Collier 1724-1810, by M A W Salter, available from the Whitby Literary & Philosophical Society and North Yorks Archives.
[2] Historic England Research Records maritime dataset, Sea Adventure, HOB UID 942792
[3] Sea Adventure ship’s registration 1786 & de novo 1800 (North Yorkshire Archives); Stamford Mercury, 23 November 1810, p3
[4] Cook Museum, Whitby; Gaskin, R 1909: The Old Seaport of Whitby (Whitby: Forth) p234
[5] Gaskin, op.cit.
[6] Smith, K & Keys, R 1998 Black Diamonds by Sea: North-East Sailing Colliers 1780-1880 (Newcastle: Newcastle Libraries & Information Service)
[7] Fraser, S 2023 “Documents Relating to the Official Dutch Naval Visit to Cherbourg, 8-10 September 1786”, The Mariner’s Mirror, 109:4, 461-468, DOI: 10.1080/00253359.2023.2264658
[8] Historic England’s maritime records are full of collisions in major rivers, particularly for the Thames, Humber and Mersey, as well as in the open sea, especially the North Sea, Straits of Dover, and the English Channel.
[9] Winfield, R 2005 British Warships in the Age of Sail 1793-1817 (Barnsley: Seaforth Publishing)
[10] Historic England Research Records maritime dataset, Betsy Cains, HOB UID 1031974
[11] Liverpool Mercury 11 October 1856; Weatherill, R 1908 The ancient port of Whitby and its shipping, with some subjects of interest connected therewith. Compiled from various registeres of shipping, periodicals, local newspapers and histories, etc. (Whitby: Horne) p56
[12] Historic England Research Records maritime dataset, 2024
[13] Historic England Research Records maritime dataset, HOB UID 937642
[14] Muir Wood, R, Drayton, M, Berger, A, Burgess, P, and Wright, T, 2005 “Catastrophe loss modelling of storm-surge flood risk in eastern England”, Philosophical Transactions of the Royal Society A 363: 1407–1422 DOI: http://doi.org/10.1098/rsta.2005.1575
Today (4th March 2024) sees the 200th anniversary of the Royal National Lifeboat Institution, founded as the Royal National Institution for the Preservation of Life from Shipwreck.
That original name outlines the purpose of the institution: far too many people were being lost to shipwrecks. It was an occupational hazard of seafaring, as old as time, and our records show both that many ships went aground several times, getting off again, before finally being lost, and that individuals could likewise be shipwrecked several times in their careers with the same ship or across several ships.
The RNLI was much needed, and its foundation timely. We know that in English waters alone 220 losses were reported in 1820, 434 in 1821, 191 in 1822, 281 in 1823, and 287 in 1824. Two-thirds of those in 1824 were accounted for by two devastating storms in October and November that year, and they covered everything from small local vessels to large ocean-going ships and everything in between. Numbers of shipping losses fell back towards 171 in 1825. [1]
It’s important to say that the loss of ships and the loss of life isn’t always correlated and the purpose of the Institution was to save lives, not ships, and their foundation took place against an increasingly globalised trade which saw growing numbers of ships in English waters, in turn escalating the potential for wreck events to occur.
There are certainly events where the total loss of a ship also entails the loss of all hands – particularly where the vessel founders at sea, or gets into a very difficult position at the base of a cliff or upon dangerous rocks which make rescue nearly impossible. Sometimes, though, a vessel might go to pieces but all hands be saved. The inbound liner Suevic was wrecked off the Lizard in 1907 and to this day remains the RNLI’s biggest rescue, with over 500 crew and passengers successfully rescued, no-one being left behind. Her aft section was salvaged in the end, and rebuilt with a new bow, but the remains of her original bow still lie on the rocks from which the lifeboatmen rescued all hands over a hundred years ago.
Reading Room, SS Suevic, photographed in 1901, 6 years before the RNLI attended the wreck in 1907. Bedford Lemere BL 16481/003 Source: Historic England Archive
Conversely, a ship might remain intact but all the crew are lost, for example, swept overboard.
The RNLI and their volunteers helped sailors and passengers beat those odds, and they built on past efforts to improve the lot of the seafarer: from the lighthouses and light vessels operated by Trinity House that either warned ‘keep away, keep away’ or signalled ‘here is the safe light that guides you in’ [Our blog on Trinity House’s 500th anniversary in 2014] to the efforts of local communities and individuals. Services for coastal defence – the coastguard, the preventive and revenue men who made up the anti-smuggling forces, and the sea fencibles (coastal forces for home defence) – would often go to the assistance of vessels in distress where needed.
The impulse was always to help. It was traditional for ships to assist one another in distress where they possibly could as it was always recognised that they themselves might be in need another time. In the event of a collision, the colliding ship not stopping to assist the crew of the collidee, which would normally bear the brunt of the impact, was as strongly deprecated as a hit and run would be on today’s roads.
There were local boatmen who would always go to the assistance of others in various places, sometimes as a result of pilotage work, such as the Scillonian gigs and the Deal boatmen, a difficult and dangerous job: half the crew of a Scillonian gig were drowned going to the rescue of the Mary in distress in 1816, while in 1809 with the sea ‘dashing over them mountains high’ the crews of several wrecks, including the Admiral Gardner (now a protected wreck) driven onto the Goodwin Sands ‘were all collected on the poops waiting for that relief which the Deal boatmen seemed anxious to afford them.’ [2]
Elsewhere there might be local charitable organisations: we read in 1797 that the sole survivor of the John’s Adventure was brought ashore at Bamburgh, Northumberland, ‘much swelled’, having ‘nearly lost the use of his speech, sight and limbs, but by the care of the Dispensers of Lord Crewe’s noble charity, he is happily restored’. [3]
There were also technological innovations that arose out of particular tragedies. One tragedy at the mouth of the Tyne inspired a competition to build the first self-righting lifeboat that could be kept permanently on station wherever needed. In 1789 collier Adventure was returning to her home port at Shields from London, but a northerly gale prevented her from coming into port and despite her crew’s valiant efforts to weather the storm and keep trying ‘in a most tempestuous sea’ they were unsuccessful, ‘the sea making a free passage over her’ and she was wrecked with loss of life in full view of the local population on the notorious Herd Sand. [4]
The same conditions that made it so difficult for her to come in made it equally difficult for vessels to go to the rescue: ‘ . . . the waves ran so high that no boats durst venture to the assistance of the crew . . . ‘. This became a common theme of many later rescues by the RNLI: they often made they way to stricken vessels against almost insuperable odds.
In a similar vein, Captain Manby was inspired by other wreck events to develop his rocket apparatus, which fired a line establishing a means of communication with the stricken ship close inshore, to which a thicker rope could be attached to afford a means of escape. ‘His invention of throwing a rope to a ship stranded on a lee shore [i.e. with wind and tide flowing towards the land making it very difficult to get off again] proved the certainty of its never-failing success on the Elizabeth of Plymouth’ at Great Yarmouth in 1808. [5]
Each of these individual and collective efforts incrementally aided the safety of life at sea but they were all disparate efforts, either with specific purposes or locally focused. The establishment of the RNLI turned lifesaving into a nationally cohesive effort with specialist resources, harnessing that will to help others seen over the centuries and making it possible for members of the public to contribute to their work, as they still do today. They have always worked with local resources, crews and boats and other organisations, historical and modern, in what we today would call inter-agency working, their boats crewed by sailors who had intimate knowledge of local conditions and hazards, and whose efforts were always recognised on a national basis.
The records in the Historic England database of wrecks therefore include over 1,500 wrecks attended by the RNLI since 1824. [6] Without doubt the death toll in all cases would have risen but for their involvement. For example, we learn in October 1824 that the schooner Reuben, of and for Grangemouth, from the Baltic with oats, stranded at Cheswick Sands and went to pieces. The local preventive boatman and fishermen who came to the rescue were awarded £2 each by the Institution – not everyone on board could be saved, but their attendance prevented a loss with all hands. [7]
In peace and in war the RNLI has come out to rescue crew and passengers, and over the history of this blog we have covered a variety of events they have attended. For example, the perils of the sea, of hidden dangers and high winds, were exacerbated during the two World Wars both for the rescuers and the rescued, amongst minefields and under aerial bombardment. We have twice paid tribute to the ‘greatest lifeboatman of them all’ Henry Blogg, in his rescue of the crew of theFernebo in 1917 and the wreck of the Monte Nevoso in 1932.
It is always worth reiterating that the conditions that see ships coming to grief are the very same conditions lifeboat crews have to battle, sometimes from the opposite direction, making rescue operations extra arduous. A lee shore or high seas – or both – could mean that local lifeboats had great difficulty putting out, and it was always a race against time before a ship broke up or sank.
Sadly the rescuers could also become victims, such as in the Mexicodisaster of 1886 off Southport, in which all the crew were ultimately rescued (and the ship recovered to be wrecked once more as the Valhalla) by the Lytham lifeboat, the Southport and St. Annes lifeboats having been lost while attending the same wreck.
Historic England’s records of shipwrecks have enabled us to appreciate not only the activities of the RNLI in and of themselves, but also the documentary record they have left behind.
A very typical characteristic of wreck reports over the centuries is that they vary enormously between sources, literally between viewpoints. The view of events from witnesses on land is very different from those at sea, and we frequently reconcile reports that come in from different coastal settlements that will describe the same location of loss very differently: 2 miles east of one, 3 miles west of another, for example. Conflicting testimonies are often given in Board of Trade inquiries into wreck events, particularly in the event of collision, where each side will seek to blame the other. Ships in convoy will each have a different understanding of what is going on during a convoy battle or naval engagement, each holding their own while rendering assistance to another, while unable to see the whole, widely-dispersed battlefield and individuals on those ships will similarly have a different understanding of what is happening according to their rank, station, activity and location. All of this can be exacerbated by literal fog or the ‘fog of war’.
The perceptions of rescuer and rescued will also naturally vary, but this is where the records of the RNLI come into their own for the purposes of shipwreck documentary research (as well as human and historic interest) and greatly increase our understanding of events, of timelines, weather conditions, and the disintegration of the vessel, recorded in great detail.
For example, in our recent blog on theSolstadin January 1944, it is the RNLI’s record of attendance that sheds more light on the event than official convoy records, and as these events slip out of living memory, the documentary resource they represent becomes ever more important in our understanding of archaeological remains.
The rich heritage of lifeboats can be found everywhere on the English coast – from listed lifeboat stations to memorials to those lost in ships and from lifeboats, and the archaeological remains of ships which were attended by the RNLI. Why not go to the Heritage List for England and Historic England archives using the keyword lifeboat to discover that heritage in our listed buildings, protected wrecks and photographic records, or visit the RNLI’s History pages?
Happy Birthday RNLI!
Footnotes
[1] Information from Historic England’s wreck database, 2024
[2] Widely reported in the press in these words, for example London Packet and Lloyd’s Evening Post, Friday January 27 to Monday January 30, 1809, No.6400, p2
[3] Newcastle Courant, 11 February 1797, No.6,297, p4
[4]Newcastle Advertiser, 21 March 1789, No.21, p2
[5]British Gazette and Berwick Advertiser, 12 March 1808, No.11, p3
[6] Information from Historic England’s wreck database, 2024
[7] British Gazette and Berwick Advertiser, 4 December 1824, No.884, p4
In early 1944 Britain was watching and waiting. ‘Lorries and tanks kept rumbling towards the south coast, so we knew something was going to happen,’ in the words of Corporal Cant, based at RAF Ford, Sussex, describing the later spring of 1944. ‘Nobody said anything about it. But more and more of them were building up. We saw, and we knew, but we didn’t know when, and we didn’t talk about it.’
There is something of that sense of anticipation in the wreck highlighted for February 1944, LCI(S)511, Landing Craft Infantry (Small) 511, on the Channel coast facing a France that soon would be the focus of a liberation effort by just such craft. With the benefit of historical hindsight, we can say ‘soon’, but at the time it must have felt that ‘soon’ would never come: scenes such as the one below, in the countdown to D-Day, were months away.
All anyone could do was watch, wait, and play their part: and only those ‘in the know’ had an overview of what was happening behind the scenes. An initial joint plan, i.e. a combined Allied plan, was issued on 1 February for the invasion, with the naval outline plan following later that month. [2]
The Landing Craft Infantry (Small), LCI(S) for short, were built 1942-3 with bullet-proof armour plating over a wooden hull structure designed by the Fairmile Marine boatbuilding company, which specialised in motor boats (the company grew out of motor manufacture). The ‘Fairmile H’ design of the LCI(S) was produced in kit form and outsourced to other small boatbuilding firms for assembly, such as Leo Robinson at Oulton Broad, Suffolk, who built LCI(S)511 and LCI(S)533. [Explore Robinson’s yard in this historic image.] Others were built on Oulton Broad by Collins and Brook Marine, and production was dispersed countrywide, both because of the small scales of the yards and for security reasons. At 110 tons, 105 feet long x 22 feet wide, they were intended to carry a complement of around 100 men (descriptions vary from 96 to 102 troops). [3]
At the same time operational bases came into being in the run-up to D-Day. From 1942 the Southwick Ship Canal on the Sussex coast between Shoreham-by-Sea and Portslade became a Combined Operations Landing Craft Base, known as the ‘stone frigate’ HMS Lizard. HMS Lizard was further developed in 1943 and by January 1944 was ‘very busy’ with both large and small landing craft. Lizard‘s vessels and personnel are known to have participated in exercises over February 1944. [4]
The former river channel of the Adur was canalised to provide a harbour free from the natural silt deposit processes that were otherwise threatening to clog up the harbour mouth. It runs parallel to the seashore, with the river and harbour mouth further west, and sloping shingle beaches on the seaward side.
As a ship canal for both smaller and larger vessels, landing craft could be virtually hidden in plain sight, and as a USAAF air photo from April 1944 in Historic England’s collections shows, it would all appear quite innocuous, with existing buildings requisitioned to form the base, and a natural gathering place for craft.
The advantages of this location as a base were a natural seaward defence with an easily controlled harbour mouth, and on the shoreward side are sloping shingle beaches, ideal for rehearsing landings.
The day after the Allies issued their joint plan on 1 February 1944, LCI(S)511 was beached at Portslade, Sussex, to become a total loss. [5] What happened there? There seems to have been nothing particularly unusual about the weather that day, with local readings recording a force 4 (‘moderate breeze’) at south-westerly and temperatures mild, between 49-53 degrees Fahrenheit, which would be recorded as 9-11 degrees Celsius today. [6]
We know of at least 74 other vessels that were lost in force 4 conditions in English waters since records of weather conditions at the time of loss began in the mid-19th century. They tend to have two broad characteristics: either something else happened to them, such as springing a leak, running aground or involvement in a collision, i.e. factors which are not weather-dependent and can be overwhelming in themselves; or they were small vessels, fishing smacks, yachts, cutters, barges, and so on, which could be quite disproportionately affected by weather conditions, depending on wind direction and their activity or lading at the time.
Records appear to be quite brief, but it is possible to read between the lines a little. The key word is that LCI(S)511 was beached. There are only two reasons for beaching vessels, i.e. to deliberately put them ashore: the first, and more benign, reason, is that they can be effectively ‘parked’, as sailing colliers once did to deliver their coal on the Sussex coast, or fishing boats can still be seen today drawn up on the foreshore in many places – and, of course, beaching was what landing craft were designed to do!
As we have seen, much of the Sussex coast, as at Portslade, comprises a gently sloping shingle shoreline, ideal for beaching vessels, and this history of safe landing grounds was what fitted Portslade and Shoreham on either side of the Adur to be a landing craft base.
However, beaching on the foreshore can leave the craft so drawn up very vulnerable if a storm subsequently ensues. In other words, they can be safely beached, then lost after beaching, but this seems unlikely in the weather conditions reported for 2 February 1944. With the beach ideal for the landing craft’s function, the design of the vessel suited for that purpose, and the base so close by, and operational and repair support therefore easily accessible, it seems surprising that LCI(S)511 became a total loss, in the brief and bald facts available to us.
So possibly something happened to LCI(S)511 thatcaused her to be beached, rather than being beached in the natural course of exercises, say. We turn now to the less benign reason for beaching vessels, which tends to happen on the nearest shore in extremis, for example having sprung a leak, taken on water, following a collision, or to avoid running onto a significant hazard nearby. In other words, something has happened to force the ship to run ashore to avoid sinking at sea.
It therefore seems plausible that something happened to LCI(S)511 at sea, possibly taking on water for some reason, or perhaps a collision, after which it proved impossible to get her into the shelter of the ship canal basin. Such an event would be natural on exercises: naval exercises ‘gone wrong’ in some way have historically caused several wrecks that are well-documented in the record, and a prior contributory factor which forced the vessel ashore seems the most plausible reason for the ensuing total loss that was reported.
The date of loss does not tally with the major exercises that were undertaken in the run-up to D-Day, but as we know that HMS Lizard was involved in exercises in February 1944, it seems reasonable to surmise that there were smaller-scale and more localised exercises that fed into major rehearsals as preparations for the invasion gathered pace.
Thus LCI(S)511 has the potential to combine both broad characteristics of vessels lost in force 4 conditions: a hint of a prior background cause, not influenced by the weather, that forced her to be beached, and the relatively small size of the vessel more vulnerable to mild weather conditions once already damaged.
Epilogue: LCI(S)508 was, until recently, seen as Valeur among the houseboat community of Shoreham-by-Sea on the Adur, not far from where LCI(S)511 met her end. For more on her story, explore footnote [7].
Footnotes
[1] Cant, R, 2012 unpublished oral history reminiscence, recorded and documented by Serena Cant
[2] Naval Historical Branch (nd) Operation Neptune: The Normandy Invasion: D Day 6 June 1944 (Ministry of Defence: published online)
[3] Slee, G 2000- Combined Operations (published online); naval-history.net (nd) Royal Navy Vessels Lost at Sea, 1939-45 – by type: Amphibious Warfare Vessels (published online), based on HMSO British Vessels Lost at Sea 1914-18 and 1939-45 (London: HMSO) known as BVLS; Navypedia (nd) LCI(S) type small infantry landing craft (LCI(S)501) (1943) (published online); Wikipedia (nd) Fairmile H landing craft (published online)
[4] Royal Navy Research Archive (nd) HMS Lizard: Combined Operations Landing Craft Base (published online)
[5] BVLS, Section III, p56
[6] Met Office 1944 Daily Weather Report February 1944, 2 February 1944 (online)
[7] Spitfires of the Sea (nd) Shoreham Survivors (published online); O’Sullivan, T 2021 ‘Tales from the Riverbank’, Beach News: the magazine of Shoreham Beach Residents’ Association, Summer 2021 issue (online)
The SS Solstad – a Swedish ship torpedoed in Convoy WP 457
It’s hardly attention-grabbing to summarise the facts of a ship’s loss in the headline title. But the more you look at it, the more there is in those bald facts that piques curiosity.
Wasn’t Sweden neutral in the Second World War? Why was a ship from a neutral nation torpedoed? (Neutrals were never immune to loss from war causes: often mines, which struck indiscriminately, but our records show that they were often torpedo targets, too.) What, in fact, was a ship from a neutral country doing in a British-led convoy wholly within British waters voyaging from one British port to another?
The Loss Event
The convoy prefix WP indicates Wales to Portsmouth. On 2 January 1944 the MV Underwood left Liverpool, arriving 3 January at Milford Haven. That day the MV Polperrosailed from Ellesmere Port for Milford Haven, arriving 4 January; at the same time the SSSolstad left Swansea for Milford Haven. On 5 January the assembled convoy finally put to sea from Milford Haven for Portsmouth with their escorts, including the destroyer HMS Mackay and the Isles-class naval trawler (i.e. a purpose-built Admiralty trawler, rather than a requisitioned fishing vessel) HMT Wallasea. [1]
The convoy rounded Cape Cornwall and Land’s End and on 6 January 1944 seven E-boats (German Schnellboote, ‘fast boats’) of the German 5th Flotilla, divided into two flanks, under the command of Kapitänleutnant Karl Muller, were lying in wait to make a surprise attack from the landward. Just before 3am that morning, they opened fire. [2] At 5.25am the ‘resident naval officer at Penzance reported that a convoy had been attacked about five miles south of Treen coastguard hut’. [3] This suggests that the report had come from the coastguard at Treen. Twenty-five minutes later Penlee’s motor lifeboat W and S was on its way in a moderate south-westerly with a rough sea out into Mount’s Bay and on into the Channel. They found two rafts at the position stated, one with two men on it, and the other ten men and two women ‘survivors from the Swedish steamer Solstad, bound with coal from Swansea to London.’
The lifeboat picked them up, ‘made a further search, and found nothing’, radioing for medical assistance shoreside on arrival at 9am. She then ‘put out again and made a further search . . . found only wreckage . . . ‘
There was no sign of the convoy. They must have long swept past, with HMS Mackay having kept the 2nd group of E-boats at bay, while the E-boats themselves were on their way back to base at Brest.
S 136and S 84 had sunk the Polperro, laden with coal, S 141 theUnderwood, carrying ‘Government stores’ on ‘Special Military Service’, i.e. war matériel, S 143 the Solstad, again with coal (1780 tons), and S 138 their escort Wallasea. There was loss of life from all four vessels: Polperro was lost with all hands; at least 13 deaths are recorded from the Underwood; and, although not everyone died aboard the Wallasea, the toll was particularly heavy, with 35 lives lost. Aboard Solstad one of those who died was a stewardess, Alide Reicher; two of the crew who died were, however, British. [4]
A mystery of location
All four are charted wrecks, but, of the group, only Underwood appears to have been positively identified from her propeller boss, approximately 4 miles NW of a cluster of sites derived from the reporting position of of 49˚ 57’N 005˚ 28’W on all three merchants’ Shipping Movement Cards. This includes the Underwood‘s own card, so she at least is not at the position reported therein. [5]HMT Wallasea does not have a Shipping Movement Card, but has also been assigned to the ‘cluster’ position. The Shipping Movement position is likely to have been reported by others in the convoy – the Trade Division Signal for the convoy reported 16 ships, so a fairly large and well spread out convoy – and is likely to be an approximation or aggregate of reported positions from the escorts and/or commodore (lead merchant). [6]
The three charted reports of Polperro, Wallasea and Solstad, clustered around those Shipping Movement Card co-ordinates are all ‘dead’ or ‘disproved’, i.e. do not represent wreck sites but are based on contemporary records, not archaeological remains. In any case, they are clustered around an approximate position, which is also somewhat at odds with the other position quoted, that attended by the RNLI, which at 5 miles south of Treen would be approximately 49˚ 57’N 005˚ 37’W.
Location map of the events of 6th January 1944, showing how the positions cited are at variance with one another: the lifeboat’s approximate voyage from Penlee to 5 miles south of Treen, where the Solstad was found, is shown. The yellow pin represents the known location of the Underwood, and the red pin the Shipping Movement Record cards’ approximate position for Polperro, Solstadand Underwood, and to which HMT Wallasea is also assigned. It has been proven inaccurate for Underwood, and in the light of the RNLI report, cannot be accurate for Solstad. The convoy direction was eastbound.
As we have observed in several of our previous blogs, it is not uncommon for wreck sites to be discovered some way from the location originally reported for all sorts of reasons, and in the case of a convoy the vessels would be dispersed over some distance. The position of Underwood is certainly 5 miles from Treen at approximately 49˚ 59’N 005˚ 31’W, but the bearing is SE of Treen, not south, and the ‘cluster’ location further away on a similar SE bearing.
When the RNLI first attended the wreck in the position given to them, 5 miles south of Treen, they found survivors from one ship, and when they returned they found wreckage, but it is not known how much of the wreckage was Solstad and which, if any, from the other ships – the RNLI report gives no further details. However, the discovery of Solstad‘s survivors suggests that the position reported to the RNLI was substantially correct, at least for that vessel. The lifeboat station at Penlee is on the western side of Mount’s Bay, and the lifeboat would have navigated southwards before rounding the coastline and bearing away to the south-west to intersect with the position given to them off Treen, with Underwood some 3 or 3.5 miles to the south-east as they moved out into the Channel, i.e. the identified position of Underwood now lies NE of the position to which they were bound.
The RNLI report does not mention any sighting of Underwood or any of the other vessels.
When they reached the scene to which they had been directed, they found only survivors from the Solstad; no other ships or survivors are reported (though there were survivors from Underwood and Wallasea, as well as Solstad, presumably picked up in convoy) so this does suggest that the other ships were, like Underwood, lost slightly outside both positions stated, i.e. the one given to the RNLI and the other reported on the Shipping Movement Cards. The loss of life, the fact that Solstad itself was not seen but rafts were, and the lack of any reported sighting of the other three by the lifeboat en route or at scene suggests that all four sank very quickly.
Can we reconstruct the convoy and the relative positions of the ships? The E-boats attacked from the landward side. Underwood at least might well have been on the port and landward flank of the convoy. As Solstad was at the position reported to the RNLI, then she was astern and to the south-west of the known position of Underwood. It is hard to see how HMS Mackayheld off further E-boat attack without being astern and to the west of the convoy, so close to Solstad, perhaps, and similarly Wallasea might have been the escort on the seaward flank.
Both the Merchant Shipping Movement Cards and the position off Treen reported to the RNLI either give or come out at the same latitude of approximately 49˚ 57’N, suggesting some accuracy at least to that half of the co-ordinates, potentially the starboard and seaward flank. It seems reasonable to suggest that the three unattributed wrecks in this convoy may therefore lie in an arc roughly bounded by the present position of Underwood to the north-east and the reported position of Solstad to the south-west.
The Solstad‘s loss report sheds no light on the matter, as it states ‘Sunk owing to war causes off South-West England about 6th January, 1944.’ [7]
Another mystery . . .
But to get back to the questions we asked at the start of the blog – what wasSolstad doing there in the first place? Why is there a neutral Swede in a British convoy? The answer lies in Sweden’s statement of neutrality on the outbreak of the Second World War, and the measures then undertaken by the Allies and other neutrals in the early years of the war both in terms of trade and any agreements made with Germany, such as transit agreements for the occupation of Norway. For example, in early 1940, even before the entry of the United States into the war, President Roosevelt prevented the export of aircraft and engines to Sweden to prevent them falling into German hands, and Britain likewise blockaded Swedish transatlantic traffic. [8]
Relations between the Allies and Sweden were therefore somewhat strained, but in April 1940 Germany blockaded the Skagerrak, the sea between Denmark, Norway and Sweden, in tandem with the invasion of Denmark and Norway – at stroke depriving Sweden of nearly 600,000 tons of shipping which could no longer return to their home ports. It was an opportunity, therefore, for the Allies to procure much-needed shipping on time charter (i.e. being leased for a fixed period of time, rather than per voyage). Here was where commerce could improve relations and diplomatic outcomes. [9]
Location map of the Skagerrak: the German blockade prevented westbound access to the North Sea and eastbound access to the Baltic. Creative Commons CC-BY-SA 3.0
The avenues open to the Allies for the ships of occupied nations did not apply in the case of neutral and unoccupied Sweden. However, commercial deals could be struck to mutual advantage: cash for Sweden, ships for Britain. Britain’s tonnage agreements with Scandinavian powers during the First World War were once more being played out in a different guise in this second conflict.
On 8 April 1940, Solstad‘s Shipping Movement card shows that she was in Burntisland, and therefore formed part of this group for which a commercial deal had been struck: although, unusually, her card shows all her movements from March 1939 onwards – before the war. Quite why has not yet been established, but it is a curious detail.
She was then allocated to the French on time charter to join a French convoy bound for the French Mediterranean port of Sète, and was ‘delivered at Methil’. After the fall of France in May 1940, Solstad was intended to return to the UK, but instead seems to have ended up in Casablanca in neutral Morocco, at that time a French colony under the control of the Vichy government. Thence she made her way to Barcelona, where her French time charter was transferred to Britain’s Ministry of War Transport (MOWT) from 20 July 1940.
Thereafter she worked UK to Spain and Portugal, both of which were also neutral, albeit under Fascist regimes: trade remained possible, albeit overshadowed by war. An Allied oil embargo aimed to prevent Spain joining the war on the Axis side, while Portugal preserved the ancient Anglo-Portuguese alliance and relations with Spain by remaining neutral without ever formally declaring neutrality. [10]
During this period of operations Solstad was sub-contracted to Welsh coal firms for iron pyrites. [11] Anglo-Iberian trade in the Second World War is not readily legible in archaeological remains in English waters, except for a handful of wrecks from the early years of the war. This history remains somewhat obscure from both the archaeological and documentary points of view, so there is little comparable context for the Solstad‘s early wartime history under MOWT. We can, however, say with certainty that the archaeological and documentary record reveals no Portuguese or Spanish wrecks in English waters during the war – unlike the pre- and post-war periods. [12]
For ships in convoy calls to other ports elsewhere on the Iberian peninsula were slated as to or from Gibraltar, somewhat obscuring their movements and trade. It is only by looking at the cargoes or the intended calling points if reported in convoy, and the Shipping Movement Cards, that slowly reveal the picture. In that regard, the convoys for HG 41 (Homeward – Gibraltar) of August 1940 and OG 73 (Outbound – Gibraltar), August-September 1941, in both of which Solstad participated, display more of the extent of the trade than the remains in English waters demonstrate. [13]
This is fairly unusual, as the numbers of wrecks for a given period and trade are usually reasonably proportionate to, or correspond well chronologically with, the ebbs and flows of that trade. [14]
Quite a few Swedish ships participated in these voyages – whether this is coincidental, as British-owned ships also made these voyages, or whether neutral ship to neutral nation voyages could facilitate matters, is an interesting question.
We know that while on time charter to the MOWT, the vessel continued in Swedish ownership and management – her Shipping Movement Card makes her nationality clear, supported by a survey report in December 1943, and her casualty report only a few weeks later, revealing that she belonged to Rederi AB Solstad in Stockholm, and the Swedish name of the company manager. [15]
After her last voyage to Spain in September 1941 to pick up iron pyrites, Solstad then made her way along the Spanish coast to join a 56-strong convoy of merchants with their escorts out of Gibraltar, departing on 2 October 1941.
She was then reassigned once more to British coastal convoys, and it was after just over two years of such duties, wholly within British waters, that she was finally sunk in January 1944.
Accounts of the loss event from several German-language sources based on primary material transcribed from E-boat logs, bring out another intriguing detail. They state that theSolstad was niederländisch or Dutch, but also state that the British Polperro was Swedish. [16] It is unclear whether there was a Dutch ship in the convoy – there may well have been, as many Dutch ships escaped, were transferred to the MOWT, and operated in British convoys – but we do not know all the ships involved in WP 457. Were nationalities simply swapped around in error at the time – which seems likely if Swedish nationality was attributed to a British vessel – or is there something more substantial behind this?
Solstad‘s history is thus peppered with slightly unusual details. It is a history which bears witness to the dance of the nations in time of war: a complex web of commerce, diplomacy, and warfare, which affected the ship’s operations and culminated in her loss.
Footnotes
[1] Registry of Shipping and Seamen: War of 1939-45: Merchant Shipping Movement Cards BT 389/42/240 Solstad (The National Archives, Kew) Catalogue entry; convoyweb
[2] Knifton, J 2015 “A very cunning Kapitän’, johnknifton.com, published online; Förderverein Museums-Schnellboot e.V. nd S-Boote in der Kriegsmarine 1935-1945: Die Kriegschauplätze der S-Boote: Englischer Kanal 1944 (in German) Förderverein Museums-Schnellboot e.V. published online
[3] RNLI, 1944 “Services by the Life-boats of the Institution, by Shore-boats and by Auxiliary Rescue-boats during 1944”, Lifeboat Magazine (RNLI: republished online)
[4] Knifton 2015; Merchant Shipping Movement Cards, Underwood, BT 389/31/3 (The National Archives, Kew); Commonwealth War Graves Commission records https://www.cwgc.org/
[5] United Kingdom Hydrographic Office: Underwood, UKHO No.22680; Polperro, UKHO No.22553; Solstad, UKHO No.22529; and HMT Wallasea, UKHO No.22549; Merchant Shipping Movement Cards, Polperro, BT 389/24/23; Solstad, BT 389/42/240, and Underwood, BT 389/31/3 (The National Archives, Kew)
[7] Lloyd’s Register Foundation Report of Total Loss, Casualty, &c. No.33528, January 1944, LRF-PUN-W217-0080-R
[8] Montgomery, V 1985 The Dynamics of British Policy towards Sweden, 1942-1945 (King’s College London: PhD thesis, online at the King’s Research Portal https://kclpure.kcl.ac.uk/portal/; Olsson, U 1977 The Creation of a Modern Arms Industry, 1939-1974 (Gothenburg: Institute of Economic History, Gothenburg University); Committee on Military Affairs, 1945 Elimination of German Resources for War, Hearings before a Subcommittee on Military Affairs, United States Senate, Part 5: Testimony of Treasury Department: July 2, 1945 (Washington: United States Government Printing Office)
[9] Montgomery 1985; Lottaz P and Ottosson I, with Edström, B 2022 Sweden, Japan and the Long Second World War 1931-1945 (London: Routledge)
[10] Rockoff, H & Caruana, L 2000 A Wolfram in Sheep’s Clothing: Economic Warfare in Spain and Portugal, 1940-1944, Working Paper, No.2000-08 (Rutgers University, Department of Economics, New Brunswick, NJ) doi: http://hdl.handle.net/10419/94297; Leite, J da Costa 1998 “Neutrality by Agreement: Portugal and the British Alliance in World War II” American University Law Review, Vol. 14, No.1 (1998): 185-199 Digital Commons; Trowbridge, B 2016 “History’s Unparalleled Alliance: the Anglo-Portuguese Treaty of Windsor, 9th May 1386”, gov.uk blog published online. There is other evidence of Portuguese help, or at least friendly neutrality, during the war: for example, Convoy OG 91 [Outbound – Gibraltar] in 1941 took refuge at Lisbon following an attack in the Atlantic.
[11]Registry of Shipping and Seamen: War of 1939-45: Merchant Shipping Movement Cards BT 389/42/240 Solstad (The National Archives, Kew)
[15] Lloyd’s Register Foundation, Report of Survey for Repairs &c. No.54854, Solstad, December 1943, LRF-PUN-W217-0082-R; Report of Total Loss, Casualty, &c. No.33528, January 1944, LRF-PUN-W217-0080-R
[16] Dutch nationality attributed to Solstad in Chronik des Seekrieges 1939-1945 Januar 1944 (Württembergische Landesbibliothek: published online) (in German) and Lebenslauf S-143 (Historisches Marinearchiv; published online) (in German); although Förderverein Museums-Schnellboot e.V. (published online: in German) correctly attributes Swedish nationality to the Solstad.
21st December 2023 marks the 80th anniversary of the loss of Chasseur 5/Carentan named after the port of Carentan on the Cotentin peninsula in Normandy. She was one of a number of French chasseurs sous-marins or submarine hunters ordered in 1937 and which entered service in the French Navy in 1940. [Images Défense gallery of official photographs of Chasseur 5 taken in early 1940 including remarkable views of a seaplane under tow.]
Along with Chasseurs 6 and 7, 9-11, 41 and 42, Chasseur 5 took part in Operation Dynamo, the evacuation of Dunkirk, over May-June 1940. [1] Sixteen Chasseur-class vessels were then stationed in Britain and entered the service of the Royal Navy as fast patrol and escort vessels. Although Chasseurs 6 and 7 were sunk off St. Alban’s Head under the White Ensign in October 1940, as early as July 1940 the Chasseurs began to be turned over to the Free French Navy (FNFL) and to be renamed in FNFL service after French coastal towns. For example, Chasseur 8 re-entered service under the FNFL in April 1941 as Rennes, to be attacked and sunk off the Lizard in one of the ‘tip and run’ raids of July 1942. [2]
Chasseur 5 was similarly renamed Carentan, but in most British records seems to have kept the designation Chasseur 5 with no real consistency over the nomenclature, including HMS Chasseur 5, while French records similarly note the vessel as Chasseur 5“Carentan”. [3] There is likewise some confusion over when the vessels actually entered Free French service, for example the July 1940 date, or, as some French sources state, in 1943 – the latter following a refit at Marvin’s (Coles) Yard, Cowes, Isle of Wight, where the Free French Chasseurs were stationed from 1940-1945, commanded by the 1st Destroyer Flotilla. The earlier date of 1940 seems more likely given the fact that they were assigned a base at Cowes from 1940, and named as the Chasseur Flotilla of French ships there in January 1942, including Carentan (Ch. 5). [4]
Contemporary aerial view taken on 21 June 1942 at the time Marvin’s Yard was in use as the Free French Chasseur base – seen on the west (upper bank in this view) at the entrance to Cowes. RAF_HLA_623_V_6089 Source: Historic England Archive (RAF Photography)
As thewar memorial to the Free French Submarine Chasers on the Isle of Wight states, in a bilingual inscription: ‘They were in the fighting line in the Channel, notably in the Cowes blitz, Bruneval and Dieppe raids, Liberation of France.’ [The Cowes blitz took place in May 1942.]
On 21 December 1943 Chasseur 5/Carentan, under Lieutenant de vaisseau Michel Pierre Sauvage, alias Sampson, was assigned to escort HMS Rorqual, a minelaying submarine of the Grampus class which were all named after sea creatures, from Brixham to Portsmouth. As they passed St. Alban’s Head that morning, the sea conditions deteriorated to force 7 (some sources state a SW force 9 gale) and when a huge wave struck her, she capsized.
Contemporary RNLI records state that a ‘strong and increasing south-west wind was blowing, with a heavy sea, and visibility was very poor at times’, while Met Office records show that conditions were consistently southerly force 5 between 0100 and 1300 that day off Portland Bill. These official observations were, however, point-in-time snapshots, and it appears likely, therefore, that the wind got up at mid-morning in the interval between the 0700 and the 1300 reports. [5]
At 10.27 the Swanage coastguard summoned the Swanage lifeboat Thomas Markby to go to the assistance of ‘an escort vessel which had capsized three miles south of Durlston Head.’ Less than 20 minutes later after the launch of the Thomas Markby, she reached what proved to be ‘Chasseur 5, a chaser of the French naval forces’. Rorqual was standing by as three men from Chasseur 5 clung to the capsized keel, and ‘it was only by skilful seamanship that they were rescued’ by the lifeboat. [5]
Rorqual then rescued four more of Chasseur 5‘s crew, but without tools the lifeboat Thomas Markby was unable to assist the remainder of the crew trapped in the vessel, who could be seen through a porthole. Thomas Markby arranged with Rorqual to ‘pump oil on the sea’, the classic ‘pouring oil on troubled waters’ to calm the sea in extremis, and returned to Swanage to land the rescued men and pick up saws and axes to break into the stricken vessel. However, on the return voyage the Thomas Markby was met with the news that Chasseur 5 had sunk with the remaining crew, three of whom were British.
The site of Chasseur 5/Carentan has been identified since the 1960s 1.75 miles SE of Anvil Point, Dorset. It is now a well broken wreck but, with the loss of life involved, it clearly remains a maritime grave with ample evidence of its military purpose, including shells and depth charges still in situ.
Footnotes
[1] Association of Dunkirk Little Ships nd “All Known Ships”, Association of Dunkirk Little Ships website
[2] Fondation de la France Libre 2022 Hommage aux Forces navales françaises libres: Ils ont rejoint la France libre dès juin 1940: Hommage aux jeunes du Guilvinec et de Treffiagat-Léchiagat qui ont refusé la défaite, Fondation de la France Libre, published online
[3]British sources: e.g. RNLI 1943; Catalogue entry for TNA Kew ADM 358/3155 Patrol Vessel Chasseur 5: 21 December 1943; capsized and sunk online, part of the ADM 358 series Casualty Branch: Enquiries into Missing Personnel, 1939-1945 War; the Commonwealth War Graves Commission records for the three British crew killed in this loss name the vessel as HMS Chasseur 5. Dive sites reference this vessel as HMS Carentan. French sources: the names of those who perished as recorded on the French Ministry of Defence Morts pour la Franceportal reference the vessel as chasseur 5 “Carentan”.
[4] April 1943 according to France Libre 2022; operated by the FNFL from July 1940 as Carentan, Images de Défense; Chasseur Flotilla at Cowes, January 1942, Kindell, D nd “British and Other Navies in World War 2 Day-by-Day: Royal Navy Ships, January 1942, Home Waters, Part 2”, naval-history.net
[5] Shovlar, S 1996 Dorset Shipwrecks: A comprehensive guide to the shipwrecks of Purbeck and Poole Bay (Poole: Freestyle Publications Ltd.); Larn R & Larn B 1995 Shipwreck Index of the British Isles: Vol. 1 Isles of Scilly, Cornwall, Devon, Dorset (London: Lloyd’s of London Press); RNLI 1943 “Services by the Life-boats of the Institution, by Shore-boats and by Auxiliary Rescue-boats during 1943”, Lifeboat Magazine (RNLI: republished online); Met Office 1943 Daily Weather Report December 1943, 21 December 1943 online
