Diary of the War – November 1944

HMS Grethe Mortensen

A light blue vessel is seen in broadside view berthed alongside a quay, with her small wooden cabin on deck. A white oil tanker lies behind, and behind the tanker coastal dunes are visible against a blue sky.
The 1931-built Esbjerg cutter E1 Claus Sørensen, now in preservation, gives an idea of what Grethe Mortensen might have looked like as a two-masted motor fishing vessel.
Photographed in 2019 by Thomas Dahlstrøm Nielsen Wikimedia Commons CC-BY-4.0

‘A riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma.’ So spoke Winston Churchill during a radio broadcast in October 1939, focusing on what the main actors would do next following the invasion of Poland. One of the key, and much-repeated, phrases that have come down to us from the Second World War, it could have been applied to many of the war’s subsequent events.

Prize of war

One of those events was the loss of HMS Grethe Mortensen, whose name suggests origins outside the Royal Navy. The first we hear of her in English records is as as the MFV Grethe Mortensen in prize case TS 13/1429 [1] taken by the King’s Proctor, a legal official acting for the Crown in the High Court of Admiralty (now HM Procurator-General and Treasury Solicitor). However, as the record has not yet been digitised, more details are only accessible by visiting the National Archives in person.

So little is known about her that one standard secondary wreck work states: ‘built as a large private steam yacht, this vessel was completed as a special service vessel in 1943. Was abandoned in a sinking condition after detonating a German-laid mine’, extrapolated from the bare-bones details available and accessible at the time of compilation, primarily from secondary sources. [1]

Nevertheless what we do learn from a brief glance at the Prize Court catalogue entry is that the three letters MFV demonstrate that she was a motor fishing vessel, so she was neither a private yacht nor steam-powered.

Prize cases are redolent of an earlier era, of privateering and sea battles during the Age of Sail in fact, but they occurred in both World Wars. When a ship is captured she becomes a prize of war: the capturing nation will interrogate the case according to prize rules, distribute any bounty to the capturing crew for the capture, and reassign the vessel in either their merchant navy or naval forces.

The key is that to all intents and purposes the Grethe Mortensen was an enemy vessel, and her name is distinctive enough for us to be sure we have the right vessel when we trace her in records. Names such as Two Sisters or Friends (in any language) are as difficult as Smith or Jones in genealogy!

A Danish ship

We can track her down in a Danish shipping register for 1944, wherein we can confirm that she was a 2-masted fishing vessel built of oak, beech and fir at Nordby in 1943, fitted with an engine developing 77HP, with a draught of 7.5ft, 40 tons gross, 14 tons net, and owned by H Mortensen of Esbjerg, Denmark. These details are confirmed by an official record of Danish losses in 1946, which include a retrospective record for Danish vessels lost during the war: according to that source, the loss was apparently not reported at Esbjerg until 16 January 1946. There was a war on, after all, and she was in a foreign service.

What we can now see is that she was small, and new, and we can also now confirm that she was definitely a motor fishing vessel, her original Danish nationality, and her service under the British flag. The official shipping statistics state her tonnage as 38 tons – close enough.

Why would Britain have regarded her as an enemy vessel? – because Denmark was under occupation by Nazi German forces from 1940. Grethe Mortensen was built in Denmark during the occupation years and thus was not a pre-existing vessel which had, for example, made her way to an Allied or neutral port on the fall of Denmark. Without sight of the prize case, which would no doubt shed light on the matter, we can only surmise that she was captured while out fishing, perhaps during a raid or after straying into English waters.

Transformation to Special Service Vessel

We turn now to British sources to see if we can discover a little more. We find out from an officially published list that Special Service Vessel, the requisitioned Grethe Mortensen, of 35 tons, built in 1943, was abandoned on 7 November 1944 in a sinking condition off North Foreland, Kent. [3] We know it is the right vessel – the name, the year of build, and the slightly variant tonnage again, this time 35, and it reconfirms her service under the British flag.

We can now see that she is classified among Royal Naval vessels and is a somewhat obscure ‘Special Service Vessel’, so she was on some form of war duty when she was lost. She is very small, and constructed of wood, so her role in that guise remains unclear.

What we can understand is that ‘Special Service Vessels’ is a label for ships that did not fit easily into any regular category of naval forces, and that during the Second World War a variety of ships of all shapes and sizes played a variety of roles.

We don’t really know exactly what she was doing, but from her position of loss – not in harbour in the role of harbour defence, like many small vessels, but offshore, located between the gateway to the English Channel at the Downs and the approaches to the Thames Estuary – we can surmise that she was probably in some sort of patrol role.

Danish sources shed very little light on the matter: ‘G.M. sailed in the British navy, and was lost in October 1944.’ is the terse one-liner in official loss records. [4]

Danish fishermen in Britain in WWII

She is mentioned again in passing in a 1961 article on Danish fishermen in Britain during the war, including the efforts of Danes living in Britain to raise money to build Spitfires. [5] Like the Belgians in Brixham (February 1943) Danes plied their fishing trade under the British flag at Fleetwood and Blackpool, fishing the cod-rich grounds off Iceland, and were ‘welcomed with open arms’.

It is said that four fishermen came over – their vessel sadly not named – in ‘quite an unusual way’: they rescued the crew of an American bomber which had crashed ‘into the drink’ (the English phrase is used!). The fishermen, with limited petrol for their engine, were going to make for home in Vestjylland (West Jutland) with the rescued crew. Instead the Americans persuaded them to set sail for England, helped along by a fair wind, and on arrival they were permitted to make use of British Danish-language radio channels to let their families know they were alive and in good health.

According to the article, two cutters from that Danish-British fleet were lost ‘during the war’, one being Grethe Mortensen of Esbjerg, 38 tons. It goes on to relate that she was taken over by the Royal Navy, and there were no Danes aboard when she was lost in October 1944.

It would appear from this article that Grethe Mortensen was part of the fishing fleet that had escaped and made its home in Britain, but voluntary action like this seems inconsistent with a Prize Court action. Curiouser and curiouser.

A July 1945 edition of the same source [6] has another virtually throwaway comment. It tells us that there is ‘sad news from England’ with a number of Danes drowned on a British-flagged fishing vessel on 21 April 1945, including a man from Esbjerg. He and that wreck form the focus of the article: we learn that he came over as first mate on either the Erling or Grethe Mortensen, both of Esbjerg, ‘which were taken over by the English on 14 May 1943’, which sounds both forcible and as if Grethe Mortensen had not spent very long at sea before this happened, given that 1943 was her year of build.

Her ‘circumstances’

Thus both British and Danish official and informal sources alike suggest that Grethe Mortensen was compulsorily taken over by the British under some obscure circumstance: she was more than requisitioned, she was the subject of a Prize Court action. So was the Erling. So there was definitely something about their ‘circumstances’. [7]

I have written frequently about wartime censorship, but it struck me that this might have made a newsworthy story even if published some time after the event (weeks or months). It had all the right ingredients for a snippet that contained a modicum of good news after four years of war.

We read on 11 September 1943 that: ‘Six Danish fishing vessels arrived last week in a British port, having been intercepted in the North Sea by British naval units . . . The boats set out from Esbjerg when Denmark was in a state of extreme tension . . . Each ship had a good catch of prime North Sea plaice, which was landed and sold.’

The article ends: ‘Approximately one third of the boats [two, then!] will be available again for fishing, and the older men, including the skippers, will man them. The younger men will go into the forces here . . . ‘ [8]

This does sound like a ‘capture’ and it hints that the fate of the other four boats was intended to be in some other capacity to be assigned but not publicised. Further, like the Erling and the Grethe Mortensen, they came from Esbjerg. We lack any confirmatory detail, as we would expect under the conditions of wartime journalism, but this seems that this might refer to the incident that led to the portals of the Prize Court.

What was her fate?

What happened to Grethe Mortensen on the day she was lost in November 1944, however, is less clear. As we have been able to demolish any assertion in a key secondary source that she was originally a steam-powered private yacht that was completed at the builder’s as a ‘special service vessel’, and as none of the other sources mention loss to war causes, any suggestion originating from the same secondary source that she was lost to a mine may also be unlikely.

Looking at the weather for 7 November 1944 in Met Office records [9], there does not seem to be anything particularly unusual about the meteorological conditions that day either: predominantly westerly, wind forces approximately 3-6. As we have shown before, however, vessels can be lost in similar conditions if they are unlucky enough, and the one clue we may have is that observations at 6-hourly intervals show the wind alternately veering and backing a couple of points either way. Perhaps that was enough for a small vessel to spring a leak or take on water and be overwhelmed by the sea.

It’s also interesting that Danish sources consistently report the vessel as lost in October, rather than November, but that information appears to be second-hand. On the other hand, dates in British Vessels Lost at Sea tend to be reliable, so I suspect that 7 November at least is accurate. It is difficult to know whether the date of capture in early September 1943 is reliable (‘last week’ could hide a multitude of sins if you wanted to be vague and escape the censor’s pencil) but I suspect it is, because reference is made to the Danish general strike or ‘August Uprising’ of August 1943. It would also seem more plausible for the date of capture than 14 May 1943 for a vessel recorded as newly built that same year.

At the moment we appear to be no further forward with the wreck event beyond this sparse detail, but at least we have been able to put some flesh on the bare bones of the vessel herself, and understand better what she actually was – even if the mechanism by which she became a Special Service Vessel, what she was doing at the time of loss, and the circumstances of the loss itself, all combine to form ‘a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma’ that is only partially unravelled.

Footnotes

[1] Larn R & Larn B, 1995 Shipwreck Index of the British Isles: Vol 2, Hampshire, Isle of Wight, Sussex, Kent (Mainland), Kent (Downs), Kent (Goodwin Sands), Thames (London: Lloyds of London)

[2] Prize Case for the MFV Grethe Mortensen, TS 13/1429, 1943-1946, The National Archives, Kew

[3] HMSO, 1947 British Vessels Lost at Sea 1939-1945 [London: HMSO]

[4] Ministeriet for Handel, Industri og Søfart, 1948 Dansk Søulykke-Statistik 1946 (Copenhagen: Det Kongelige Søkort-Arkiv) (in Danish)

[5] Tidsskrift for Redningsvæsen: Medlemsblad for Foreningen af danske Redningsmænd (Journal of the Rescue Services: Members’ magazine for the Association of Danish Lifeboatmen), Vol. 28, No.1, January 1961 (in Danish)

[6] Tidsskrift for Redningsvæsen: Medlemsblad for Foreningen af danske Redningsmænd (Journal of the Rescue Services: Members’ magazine for the Association of Danish Lifeboatmen), Vol. 12, No.7, July 1945 (in Danish)

[7] Prize Case for the MFV Erling, TS 13/1293, 1943-1946, The National Archives, Kew

[8] Hull Daily Mail, Saturday 11 September, 1943, No.18,048, p1 (British Newspaper Archive online)

[9] Meteorological Office, 1944, Daily Weather Report 7 November 1944 DWR 1944.11 Met Office Digital Library and Archive

No.81 Gallipoli

Diary of the War No.9

To commemorate the centenary of the Gallipoli landings, which commenced on 25 April 1915, today’s post takes as its theme two wrecks in English waters: one which participated in those landings, and another transporting Anzacs (Australian and New Zealand Army Corps), so closely associated with the Gallipoli campaign.

Colour poster of a swimming man, captioned 'It is nice in the surf but what about the men in the trenches'
‘Win the War League’ poster promoting Australian recruitment during the First World War. IWM PST 12232. http://www.iwm.org.uk/collections/item/object/25051

The Fauvette was constructed in 1912 for the General Steam Navigation Company, and employed on the London-Bordeaux run, from which she evacuated British nationals when war broke out. Like so many other civilian vessels, she was requisitioned for war service, becoming HMS Fauvette in February 1915, and heading straight for the Dardanelles. By April 1915 she was carrying stores for the Allied landings. On 21 April, the crew of HMS Fentonian, a requisitioned trawler, had difficulties offloading Fauvette‘s buoys: ‘the sinkers were enormous blocks of cement weighing 35 cwt.’ (1) Fauvette continued to see service in and around Gallipoli, Mudros and Suvla Bay until the following year.

On her return to England on 9 March 1916 she struck two mines laid by UC-7 approximately 1.75 miles NE of the North Foreland and sank with the loss of 14 lives. Her position has been securely recorded since 1916 and she was earmarked for post-war dispersal, achieved by 1921. She lies within half a mile of the Emile Deschamps, whose story is told in a previous post, also mined close to home but in a different war.

A few weeks later, 25 April 1916 saw the first Anzac Day commemorating the contribution of Australian and New Zealand troops in the ill-fated Gallipoli campaign. Ironically, it was on the second Anzac Day on 25 April 1917 that today’s second featured wreck was lost. The Ballarat, a P&O liner built for the Australian emigrant service, was another requisitioned ship, serving as a trooper, shuttling to and from Australia.

On her final voyage the men were being mustered for an Anzac Day service when a torpedo, or “Tinned Fish” as one survivor put it, struck her aft on her port side, tearing off her propeller. (2) She began to settle by the stern, so the order was given to abandon ship, but when the engineer reported that the vessel was capable of limping on, the men were recalled and volunteers requested to man the stokehold. As luck would have it, the Ballarat was carrying men of the Railway Operating Division, who were well used to stoking steam engines, albeit on the rails rather than on the high seas!

However, the engine was flooded, so once more all were lined up to abandon ship. Well over 1,500 people were safely evacuated, including the hospital cases: the Times reported that the two nurses and three chaplains aboard assisted the men to fasten their lifebelts. The parade itself, and the continuous boat muster drill they had practised during the voyage, could be said to have prevented this from becoming another tragedy of the Great War. The men were allowed to take photographs, including one extraordinary view of serried ranks of soldiers awaiting evacuation and during the evacuation itself, leaving behind a well-documented wreck. Efforts to save the ship continued, and she was taken in tow, only to sink 7 miles SW of the Lizard, Cornwall.

Wartime censorship meant that the loss was only officially announced on 2 May. The press and the Australian High Commission praised the orderly evacuation, and the sang-froid of the survivors who sent ‘representatives to London to get a souvenir of the event printed in the form of the last number of the Ballarat Beacon, which was being distributed when the ship was torpedoed.’ (3) And a final word: the Times took care to note that 15 of those rescued were also survivors of the ordeal at Gallipoli.

More Gallipoli news: Historic England has just listed war memorials associated with Gallipoli.

Hand-drawn black and white magazine cover depicting the Ballarat steamship at sea, flanked by two beacons, and a cartouche in contemporary lettering with the title 'The Ballarat Beacon'
Front cover of the Ballarat Beacon, Vol.1, No.1, 1917, National Library of Australia, http://nla.gov.au/nla.cat-vn3304869

(1) “Dardanelles: Narrative of Mine-Sweeping Trawler 448, Manned by Queen Elizabeth: the landing at “Z” Beach, Gallipoli” Naval Review, Vol.IV, No. 2, 1916, pp185-197. URL: http://www.naval-review.com/issues/1910s/1916-2.pdf 

(2) Memoirs of Hector Creswick, 15 Company Railway Operating Division, http://www.australiansatwar.gov.au/stories/stories_war=W1_id=103.htm

(3) The Times, No.41,468, 3 May 1917, p6

No.67 A Concatenation of Events

Last week I wrote about multiple wreck events in which two ships happened to come ashore at the same place at different times, so to continue this ‘multiple wrecking’ mini-series within the blog, I’d like to focus on crews who have been doubly shipwrecked in a short space of time.

In May 1940 Hervé Cras, a ship’s doctor aboard the French destroyer Jaguar, survived the S-boat attack which sank her at Dunkirk. He finally made it out of Dunkirk aboard the Emile Deschamps and later recalled how the Jaguar‘s survivors stood up to salute their ship as they steamed out of Dunkirk, but were barked at to sit down again, because the vessel was dangerously overloaded. The Emile Deschamps picked her way carefully to Kent, but was mined close to safety off the North Foreland, the very last vessel of the Dunkirk evacuation to be lost in English waters. Once more Cras survived to tell the tale – literally: he became a leading naval historian, including a book on Dunkirk itself. (1)

On 3 January 1891 the Caroline Robert de Massy foundered off Dungeness while bound from the Black Sea port of Batumi for Antwerp with oil, following a collision with the Raithwaite Hall. The crew were saved, as were the seven crew of the vessel Ferdinand van der Taelen of Antwerp, returning home on the de Massy instead of their own ship, sunk in the Mediterranean on 23 November 1891, homeward-bound from Nikolaiev with grain. (2) All on board were taken up by the Raithwaite Hall and landed at Dover, the Ferdinand‘s crew presumably awaiting the next passing ship for Antwerp. It must have taken them at least three ships to get home, possibly four, if they were picked up by another ship in the original incident before being transferred to the de Massy, as the next available vessel bound for Antwerp.

Similarly, one of the survivors of the Earl of Dalkeith packet off Boulmer in November 1807 turned out to have also been rescued from the wrecking of the Leith packet off the Humber just a few months earlier.

On a related note seamen usually (not always . . . !) exerted themselves to save the crews of other vessels in distress, since they were painfully aware that another time they would themselves be in need of help. So it proved for the crew of the Anne Henrietta: on Christmas Eve 1768 they saved the crew of the William and John: their courage was rewarded within a few weeks, when they were themselves picked up by a passing fishing smack after their ship went down off Norfolk.

This post prepares the ground for October’s edition of the War Diary, looking at a notable wreck of late October 1914.

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(1) under the pen name of Jacques Mordal, Dunkerque, 1968, Paris: Editions France Empire

(2) erroneously reported in the original source as Friedrich van der Taelen