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

Diary of the War: March 1918

War Knight

The War Knight was entirely a product of the First World War. She was one of the British ‘War Standard’ ships, built to a standard pattern that enabled a faster turnover in shipbuilding to help counteract the continuing toll in British mercantile shipping losses. All had the War– prefix, and were named in classes, with some intriguing juxtapositions, such as War Crocus and War Tune. War Knight was one of a group of similarly-named vessels: War Baron and War Monarch among them. All were lost around the English coastline in 1917-18.

Her story is also characteristic of this phase of the war as ships now steamed in convoy with escorts that shuttled between appointed rendezvous locations, where the next escorts would take over. There were other countermeasures in place to ensure the safety of each convoy, such as zig-zagging at predetermined intervals of varying and therefore less predictable lengths, to help obscure their true course.

Most extraordinary of all, ships were painted in dazzle camouflage which broke up hull outlines, making it difficult for a U-boat to get an accurate fix on the vessel and determine its size, outline, speed, and course. Firing a torpedo was a scientific act which had to take account of the distance travelled by the target in between firing the torpedo and its contact with the intended victim.

Art took on science in this battle to keep ships safe from attack, and the ‘Cubist ships’, as they were known to contemporaries, became a common sight on the world’s oceans. It seems counter-intuitive to conceal large moving objects in abstract eye-catching patterns and bright colours, but the patterns were carefully worked out to disrupt the ship’s outline as far as possible. Nor were the two sides of the vessel the same: each side would carry a different pattern, and the paint scheme would be carried through any visible area of a ship, such as cabins or recessed elements of superstructure.

I will let the paintings below tell the story, all seen from sea, all with the viewpoint of another ship at sea in the same convoy, and all painted by a lieutenant in the Royal Naval Reserve, who certainly married his knowledge of the sea, observation of contemporary shipping, and his artistic talent to considerable effect.  In painting 1 below, we see our first dazzled ship, an oiler, like the War Knight, at reasonably close quarters, from astern of another ship in convoy whose wake leads our eye to the dazzled ship, but even so, her bow is distorted. We have to allow for artistic licence, of course, but the ship has elements of the same palette as the cliffs behind, and the pattern at her bows echoes the vertical undulations of the cliffs. We are seeing distortion of distance as well as the ability to blend into the background.

Painting from the sea looking towards cliffs and the body of a vessel painted in dazzle camouflage.
1. A dazzled oiler, with escort, Geoffrey Stephen Allfree, 1918 © IWM (Art.IWM ART 567)

There is ‘clear blue water’ between the viewer and the ship astern as the convoy is keeping station, under the watchful eye of a British airship. Convoys could be very large, and destroyers and other escorts, such as the one seen nearer the cliffs on the left, had to act as ship-shepherds. The lead merchantman would be designated the Commodore, with every other ship in the convoy taking its station from the Commodore.

A convoy of dazzle camouflaged ships in the lower third of the painting, against a blue sea and a blue sky with pink and orange tinges to the clouds and on the horizon.
2. A Convoy in the Channel, Geoffrey Stephen Allfree, 1918 © IWM (Art.IWM ART 560)

In painting 2 above the pink tinges in the sky suggest dusk and that this might be an eastbound convoy, as it was when the War Knight‘s convoy entered the western Channel from the Atlantic on 23 March 1918, with the Mirlo as Commodore. There were several other oilers in the convoy, War Knight being on the port flank and the American oiler O B Jennings on the starboard, and a number of vessels were dazzled, including the Jennings. The convoy was put on edge by hearing ships being sunk off the Lizard in separate incidents, and we start to realise, even at this distance, the two ships nearest us look uncomfortably close to one another, as if they are huddling close for comfort.

Rough dark blue sea in lower third of painting, ships barely visible against a pink tinge of sunset on the horizon, dark clouds above.
3. Seascape with convoy and evening sky effect, Geoffrey Stephen Allfree, 1918 © IWM (Art.IWM ART 569)

Against the evening sky in 3 above, the ships seem to blend into the rough sea, particularly those nearest to us, with only their funnels and the steam they belch the main clue as to their presence – the perennial problem for all steamers in war, since the black clouds of coal-driven steam would simply give them away.

And therein, in the dark off the Isle of Wight, lay the problem. The convoy steered further to the south than originally planned, with the presence of a new minefield off the Needles revealed that day by the loss of HMS New Dawn. Just before midnight, a distress call then emanated from the south-east from a torpedoed tanker (which managed to limp in to Southampton). A supposed torpedo flash followed half an hour later, then within the next half an hour a distress call in French was heard to the south (which cannot, to this day, be reconciled with the loss of any French vessel).

Caught not between the devil and the deep blue sea, but between a minefield to the north and a hunting U-boat to the south in the darkness of the night, the decision was taken to alter course once again. Wireless could not be used in case communications were heard by the enemy, so recourse was had to a loudhailer amongst a convoy starting to scatter, barely able to see each other in the dark and with the situation exacerbated by dazzle camouflage. This confusion was further aggravated when one of the convoy, whose captain was perhaps being hypervigilant, challenged the escort’s authority and caused further delay in getting the message out to all the ships.

Thus O B Jennings and Aungban, on the starboard flank, started to turn north-west on the old course, as the Kia Ora and War Knight on the port flank turned south-east on the new course. As oiler smashed into oiler, the rest of the convoy were dazzled by a huge explosion and a fireball that seemed to coalesce into a single ship, according to one observer. Only a few men escaped alive from War Knight, and those with severe burns, some of whom succumbed to their wounds in hospital.

Ultimately War Knight and O B Jennings were a ‘menace to other ships’ and certainly the huge flames and burning sea would have alerted any U-boats in the vicinity to the rest of the convoy. O B Jennings was sunk by the escorts (although raised, returned to service and sunk in the Atlantic later in the war) and War Knight was taken in tow with the aim of beaching her. She then struck a mine from the very same field the convoy had been attempting to avoid, so there was nothing for it but to scuttle her too, to dowse the flames.

All the safety measures by this stage of the war – the convoy system, the zig-zagging, the dazzle camouflage, the radio silence – were all cited in the official loss report as contributory factors to this tragic collision in convoy, which became a regular feature of this phase of the war, but for the War Knight to endure so many vicissitudes was unusual. This wreck is well-known, and much has been written about the phenomenon of dazzle camouflage, but there seems to be little literature on the impact of dazzle among ships in the same convoy. Measures that served to screen ships from the eyes of enemies could also obscure them from their friends. Finally, here is the model showing the dazzle scheme for the collier Camswan, also lost in a collision in convoy off the Isle of Wight on her maiden voyage in 1917:

 

3D ship model painted in colour with abstract black patterns, photographed against a grey background.
First World War model of the dazzle scheme for the SS Camswan, c.1917. © IWM (MOD 2259)

Sources:

ADM 137/3450, The National Archives

Cant, S. 2013. England’s Shipwreck Heritage: from logboats to U-boats. Swindon: Historic England

New York Times, 18 April 1918, p7

O B Jennings

For more on the War Knight, see the Maritime Archaeology Trust’s Forgotten Wrecks of the First World War.

For more on dazzle camouflage, see the following resources: https://www.smithsonianmag.com/history/when-british-wanted-camouflage-their-warships-they-made-them-dazzle-180958657/ and http://www.bbc.co.uk/guides/zty8tfr

 

No.50 The Helverson

Wreck-on-Wreck Collision

There’s a reason why wrecks have always been marked on Admiralty Charts as a navigational hazard – for their potential to cause more wrecks. Superstructure sticking up out of the water might be a clue, but, as with icebergs, the most dangerous part is under water.

Wreck-on-wreck collisions are relatively common and are, perhaps, the seaborne equivalent of a motorway pile-up, although any subsequent wrecks may happen much later than the original wreck.

A concatenation of events led to the collision of the English Third Rate Helverson with the wreck of the Norway Merchant in the Medway on 22 July 1667. That summer was one of panic in and around the Thames, following the Raid on the Medway on 9-14 June 1667, the raid being known in Dutch as the Tocht naar Chattam (Fight at Chatham). In response, a number of ships, both merchantmen and warships, were deliberately sunk in and around the Medway as blockships to prevent any further Dutch incursions.

The Norway Merchant was one of these, and it was upon her broken stump that the Helverson, being brought to act as an accommodation hulk for the men employed in raising as many of the ships sunk as possible, became impaled. According to the Masters in Attendance at Chatham Dock, ‘she sank upright.’ It was blamed on the pilot, ‘one Basford of Stroud’ because the previous pilot had left her, suggesting he perhaps didn’t give the Norway Merchant enough clearance or was unaware of her extent. By January 1668 they had ‘got her out of the wreck on which she was sunk’, but she thereafter disappears from history. (Quotes from the Calendar of State Papers Domestic.)

Ironically, this ship created more work for the already overworked men who were busily trying to raise as many ships as they could (many of which were beyond repair anyway). And the next day there was a further flashpoint at the Hope near Tilbury between the English and Dutch fleets, with another action fought off Sheppey on 26 July, which caused yet more wrecks. Peace was concluded at the Treaty of Breda on 31 July.

Perhaps you might think Helverson is an unusual name. In a further irony, she was ex-Dutch Hilversum, captured as a prize at the Battle of Lowestoft in 1665. She started the Second Anglo-Dutch War as a Dutch ship, and ended the war as an English one. Who better to draw her portrait than Willem van de Velde the Elder, who recorded the First and Second Anglo-Dutch Wars for the Dutch, but the Third War on the English side as a pensioner of Charles II?

Portrait of the Hilversum, National Maritime Museum, Greenwich, London, 1655, http://collections.rmg.co.uk/collections/objects/143773.html
Portrait of the Hilversum, National Maritime Museum, Greenwich, London, 1655, http://collections.rmg.co.uk/collections/objects/143773.html

(For heritage buffs: according to the National Maritime Museum, Greenwich, her stern decoration preserves an image of the manor house at Hilversum, later consumed by fire.)