J W Stanworth Memoirs - part 5

These ars my Grandfathers memoirs part 5

I was home from September until November and the Ministry of Pensions passed me as fit to return to sea again. I joined the s.s. “Oakcrest” in Birkenhead as Chief Steward again. I didn’t mind as long as there was a refrigerator on board. She was a Scottish built ship but quite an old vessel. She belonged to a Yugoslav company and all names over doors were in Yugoslavian. Her name was s.s. “Korama” but had been handed over to the British Ministry of Shipping and given to J & C Harrisons to manage after renaming her “Oakcrest”. I was pleased to find that the Captain was the same Captain I was with on the “Harcalo” when she was lost — Captain Dyer.

We sailed from Birkenhead on November 15th and Joined a convoy in Liverpool Bay bound for Canada for further orders. The weather was reasonably good for the North Atlantic at that time of the year but in the evening of the 21st November we had trouble with our steering gear and had to drop out of the convoy while our engineers did some repairs. Repairs were completed by 2 a.m. and we were making as much speed as possible trying to overhaul the convoy when a torpedo struck the ship in No. 2 hold port side at 6 a.m. No. 2 hold on most ships reaches under the bridge housing as far as No. 3 hold so as we had no cargo it was an enormous space to fill with water.

I was sleeping on my settee fully clothed and as the torpedo struck quite close to my room, I landed on the floor by my door. I grabbed my life jacket and mackintosh, a sealed tin containing 500 cigarettes, matches and a few odds and ends and dashed to the lifeboat deck.

I could smell the unmistakable odour of cordite and it reminded me of my previous shipwreck. The starboard lifeboat was the first to be lowered and as it touched the water with only four boys in it they let go of the rope holding it to the ship (this rope is called the painter) and the boat was soon out of sight.

There was a rush for the port lifeboat, then we realised the 2nd Engineer had dashed out of the engine room and had forgotten to turn the steam off so the engine was churning on, scooping the water through the great hole the torpedo had torn in our side.

The ship had developed a 50-degree list by now and I must admit that I didn’t give much for our chances. The lifeboat would not lower and we were ploughing along, the seas touching the lifeboat at times. The rope would not run through the wooden blocks holding the boat in the davits. The Captain shouted to the Carpenter “When I shout ‘go’ chop the rope”. The Captain waited for the next sea to approach and as it came near shouted, “GO”. It was perfectly timed and as the carpenter chopped the rope, one of the seamen let go of the rope and the boat dropped about two feet into the sea and was being towed along at about six to eight knots. I can only guess it was that speed, but who can prove otherwise.

By now the ship was listing very dangerously and the crew were doing their best to get in the lifeboat as quickly as humanly possible. As the sea lifted the boat two or three would jump in and men standing on the rope ladder waited their opportunity to step in as it rose on a sea.

I think two men got in after I jumped and someone shouted, “She’s going”. We were all convinced that the ship had broken in half as the forward end disappeared and we thought the weight of the boilers and engines weighed the after end down, so the ship was standing vertically with her stern in the air.

We let go of the painter and rowed for our lives, trying to get away from the ship as we knew the suction would draw us down too when the ship sank.

The ship was towering above us and everything was dropping around us. There was a muffled explosion, which must have happened as the water reached the boilers. She sank about 30 feet, hesitated, then sank another 30 feet or so then made her final plunge below the water.

We all had red lights attached to our life jackets, which lit when the water touched them. We stayed in the vicinity hoping to find people in the water. We had 25 men in our boat, four were in the other boat, which meant that 12 men has gone down with the ship, including Captain Dryer, the Chief and 2nd officers, the Chief Engineer, the Carpenter and the 3rd and 4th Engineers, also 5 firemen/stokers. We failed to find anybody.

Going back to the statement I made earlier that we all thought the ship had broken in half, I was telling the ships Captain my story and he told me that the weight of the water in the fore end of the ship, especially with the engines pushing the water in, would sink the fore end causing the stern to rise in the air, which is what happened.

I cannot explain what the 12 men on the boat deck did not jump for it when the ships bow sank. Maybe self-preservation makes one grab the nearest object when one feels the deck rising to a vertical position under ones feet.

Whilst we were in the lifeboat about half an hour after the ship had sunk, we saw two large flashes in the sky near the horizon, followed by two explosions so we wondered if two other ships had been torpedoed.

It became daylight about 9 a.m. and we spotted a ship heading towards us. We had a portable transmitter in the lifeboat and the three radio operators so they hastily erected an aerial and began sending SOS messages. As the ship came to a position about a mile from us she turned away and appeared to be zigzagging. Messages were sent by the operators telling the ship our position in Morse, such as — “we are off your port bow” — “we are amidships your port side” — “we are on your port quarter” etc., but she seemed to take no notice. She sailed on and disappeared.

The Third Officer was in charge of the boat as he was the only navigator. He was only 21 and had been married for one week before we left Birkenhead. We had the Bosun and six Able Seamen in our boat, so we were lucky to have men who could understand the compass and who could handle the boat generally. The Bosun and his brother-in-law were from Waterford in Southern Ireland and had been fishermen in boats no bigger than our lifeboat, so they were really good seamen. Unfortunately the Bosun had been injured on the shoulder when the block hanging from the davits was swinging and crashed into his shoulder.

By midday we decided it was a pipe dream expecting a ship from the convoy to come looking for us, so we decided to hoist the sails and try to make the West of Ireland. During that afternoon we met the other lifeboat with the four boys in it but after several attempts to get close enough to transfer some of our men to the other boat to even it up, it was thought to be too dangerous.

We had 25 men to there four and also our boat was leaking. A man had to be bailing day and night continuously just to keep it to about a foot of water in the boat.

We were making good speed as the wind was just in a perfect position to send us along in a South Easterly direction. There was a plentiful supply of biscuits, corned beef and condensed milk and I had put a stack of various tinned meats in each boat for extras shortly after leaving the Mersey, also two bottles of brandy in each boat. I only wished we had thought of putting some extra water in each boat too. The Third Mate allowed anyone to have a drink of water whenever they wished and when I interfered, or when anyone else voiced their opinion, we were shouted down by bullied who said, “If I want a drink I’m having one and who is going to stop me”. This comes from the lack of authority which I felt sure would not have been the case has the Captain or the Chief Officer only been in the boat.

After two days in the boat half of our supply of fresh water had gone, so it was decided to ration it to two issues a day, morning and evening. A little late really as it is far better to go easier on any commodity while there is still plenty of it.

Days three and four passed without incident, most men having cat naps while sitting as there is no room for anyone to lie down and men took turns either to steer or bail water out with a bucket. Sheets of spray continually swept over the boat so everyone was wet through to the skin.

On the fifth day one of the firemen died. After making sure there was definitely no chance of brining him back to life we said a prayer and put him into the sea.

The Third Radio Officer had been seasick from the first day we left the Mersey and was still ill in the lifeboat. It was his first voyage to sea and he had just passed his training course at the Radio School. He was a very nice chap, only 19 years old. When daylight came the next morning, he had died.

The next day the Third Officer died and the naval gunner, a fine big well-built man, had died during the night. I won’t dwell on this subject but in all, eleven men died in the boat.

It started to rain, so we hurriedly lowered the sail and spread it so as to catch as much water as possible to help our meagre supply, but there was so much salt on the sail from the spray that it was as briny as the Atlantic. At least it washed the sail so we spread the sail out again and yes; you guessed it, the rain stopped!

Someone had the clever idea of removing a copper buoyancy tank from under the side of the boat. Using an axe he cut along three edges of the tank and lifted the top to form a lid. The rain would hit the lid and run back into the tank and the tank could be held to face any direction the rain was blowing from. Later in the day another shower came and the idea seemed perfect, there was at least a couple of inches of water in the tank, when a sheet of spray covered the boat and the tank nearly half full of sea water and the two men holding it towards the wind, were toppled over into the bottom of the boat. Yes, it stopped raining again. At least we got a little drink while it rained as we faced the wind with our mouths wide open and managed to catch some of it.

During the night the wind freshened and the seas became quite nasty. The rudder was smashed by one sea and we had to resort to using the steering oar. This is distinguishable by being a foot longer that the other oars. I suppose we should have taken the sail down and used only a jib sail for steering, we had already reefed the mainsail but suddenly the heel of the mast came away from its socket. There was a wooden box in the boat, which contained condensed milk. The box and nails came in very useful to make repairs to hold the heel of the mast. A rope was also made fast from the lower part of the mast to the for’ard hook, which holds the boat when lifting or lowering it from its davits. There is a locker at each end of the boat used for spare gear, such as the sea anchor, spare ropes, flares, the compass when not in use, two axes, one each end of the boat etc. When the door was removed from the fore locker to make fast the rope from the mast, two of the firemen crawled into the space, hoping to be out of the weather in there.

Shortly after daylight the wind became even stronger and it was decided to lower the sail completely. The seamen put out the sea anchor (a conical canvas bag) attached by ropes to the bow of the boat. The boat pulls on this bag and it holds the boats head on to the wind. They also put three oars lashed together into the sea; this had the same affect as the sea anchor.

It blew a full Western Ocean gale all day long and the seas were mountainous, how the boat survived that day I’ll never know. We could see a sea coming towards us, one mass of froth at the crest and I just held my breath, rather like the big dipper at the amusements at the seaside, then we were falling down into the trough of the sea and honestly the sides all around were just mountains of water. I think everybody prayed that day as they had never prayed before. Fortunately it slackened down after 24 hours and as soon as possible the mast was snipped and sails hoisted.

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