Victims of atlantis

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of

Victims of

Atlantis John Richardson

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Foreword

By Nigel Lawrence, Editor of ‘Shipping Today and Yesterday.’

When we think of the dangers and perils that were posed to the Merchant Navy during World War II, we may tend to think of U-Boats attacking North Atlantic convoys, German Pocket Battleships sinking poorly armed merchant vessels, the Luftwaffe bombing coastal shipping, and sea mines in their many forms that were laid around the British coast. But there was yet another threat to the merchant ships of the Allies, one that had been quite successful during the conflict of WW1, a threat that was the notoriously feared German Surface Raiders.

In all there were nine German Raiders in WW2, ordinary looking merchant ships that accounted for the staggering total of over 800,000 gross tons, these were ships that were sunk or captured, as well as those that were mined both in home waters or abroad.

Those Axis Surface Raiders were quite autonomous as they roamed the oceans alone, and very often they were disguised as non-combatant ships flying neutral flags. Armed with six cleverly concealed 5. 9 inch guns there were also those of smaller calibre, as well as torpedoes and reconnaissance seaplanes. Some carried mines that were laid with great success, and often operated in waters where merchant vessels sailed alone and unescorted.

Much has been written about the Surface Raider Kormoran, and of her legendary battle on 19th November 1941 with the light cruiser HMAS Sydney. That action off Western Australia resulted in the sinking of the Australian warship with all hands. Kormoran was also sunk in the conflict but 318 of her 399 crew survived. Before Komoran's own demise she’d sunk more than 68,000 tons of Allied shipping. However, there were only four of the nine German Raiders that accounted for over 100,000 gross tons of Allied shipping. The notorious Michel, Thor and Pinguin achieved that total, but the one that stood out with the highest amount of tonnage was Atlantis, with 145,960 tons.

Those German Surface Raiders certainly did capture the imagination, and none more so than Atlantis. That 7,862 ton ship known as “Schiff 16” to the Germans, and Raider-C to the Royal Navy, had been built by Bremer Vulkan at Vegesack as the Goldenfels. She was one of seven sister ships built in 1938 for the DDG Hansa Line of Bremen. Atlantis was the first of the 3

Raiders to be commissioned on 19th December 1939, her commander was Kapitan Bernhard Rogge. Disguised as the Russian freighter Krim, the Atlantis sailed through the Kiel Canal and into the North Sea on 31st March 1940; she was accompanied by the Raiders W idder and Orion.

On 3rd May 1940 Atlantis sank her first victim, the SS Scientist of Liverpool in the Atlantic. On board that ship making his first trip to sea was Cadet Graeme Cubbin, and it is from his memoirs that John Richardson the author of this book, has skilfully recounted the story of the capture and sinking of the Raider’s first 9 victims. At that point Cadet Cubbin left the A tlantis to be imprisoned as a POW in Italian Somaliland but the author has gone on to describe the Raider’s 13 other victims.

The ability of Atlantis to disguise herself so convincingly is surely one of the captivating features of this remarkable vessel. Another appealing aspect of the ship was the manner in which Kapitan Rogge carried out his duties. As a German officer he knew his job was to sink Allied ships, and this he did with great efficiency. Indeed, he played strictly by the rules of the Geneva Convention and treated his prisoners in exactly the same manner as he did his own crew. The captain of the British vessel, City of Bagdad, J. Armstrong White, which was sunk by Atlantis sunk on 11th July 1941, stated, "His treatment of prisoners left respect, instead of hatred".

Due to the honourable way in which he carried out his duties, Kapitan Rogge was one of the few German officers of flag rank who was not arrested by the Allies after the war. Indeed, many of his former captives visited him at his nautical instrument shop in Hamburg during the post-war years.

Emperor Hirohito of Japan awarded just three ceremonial swords to officers of the German Military. One was to Hermann Goering in his capacity as commanding officer of the Luftwaffe, one was to Field Marshall Irwin Rommel, while the other was to Kapitan Bernhard Rogge. That alone shows the esteem in which he was held by ally and foe alike. He was also awarded the Oak Leaves to the Knight's Cross of the Iron Cross. The Knight's Cross of the Iron Cross being the highest German award as recognition for extreme battlefield bravery or successful military leadership during the War. What makes all this more surprising is that Rogge was one quarter Jewish. He was one of the many German officers who were forced to apply for a German Blood Certificate to allow their racial background to be overlooked.

Victims of Atlantis' is a superb account of the birth, life and eventual demise of the Atlantis, a story that will captivate us all for many years to come.

Nigel Lawrence January 2113 4

The 22 Ships that were captured or sunk by Atlantis

Scientist

United Kingdom

3 May 1940

6,200 GRT

Tirrana

Norway

10 June 1940

7,230 t

City of Baghdad

United Kingdom

11 July 1940

7,505 t

Kemmendine

United Kingdom

13 July 1940

7,770 t

Talleyrand

Norway

2 August 1940

6,730 t

King City

United Kingdom

24 August 1940

4,745 t

Athelking

United Kingdom

9 September 1940

9,550 t

Benarty

United Kingdom

10 September 1940

5,800 t

Commissaire Ramel France

20 September 1940

10,060 t

Durmitor

Yugoslavia

22 October 1940

5,620 t

Teddy

Norway

9 November 1940

6,750 t

Ole Jacob

Norway

10 November 1940

8,305 t

Automedon

United Kingdom

11 November 1940

7,530 t

Mandasor

United Kingdom

24 January 1941

5,145 t

Speybank

United Kingdom

31 January 1941

5,150 t

Ketty Brøvig

Norway

2 February 1941

7,300 t

Zamzam

Egypt

17 April 1941

8,300 t

Rabaul

United Kingdom

14 May 1941

6,810 t

Trafalgar

United Kingdom

24 May 1941

4,530 t

Tottenham

United Kingdom

17 June 1941

4,760 t

Balzac

United Kingdom

23 June 1941

5,375 t

Silvaplana

Norway

10 Sept 1941

4,790 t

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156 Mentioned Ships including 96 Ship Illustrations Abbekerk Admiral. Graf Spee KMS Admiral Hipper KMS Admiral. Scheer KMS Anglo Saxon Albert Leo Schlageter Antenor AMC Argus HMS Ark Royal HMS Athelking Atlantis Aubrieta HMS Author Automedon Babitonga Barrister Balzac Benarty Benno Bismarck KMS Black Ranger RFA Broadway HMS Brastagi Bulldog HMS Canberra HMAS Ceres HMS Commissaire Ramel Charlotte Sleimnan Charles H Crump City of Baghdad City of Exeter Coburg Cornwall HMS Craftsman Deutschland KMS Devonshire HMS Director Doggerbank Dorsetshire HMS Dresden Duquesa Durmitor Eagle HMS Esso Hamburg Excellent HMS Forester Freya Furious HMS Glasgow HMS Gloucestershire Goldenfels Governor

Hessen KMS

Queen Mary

Interpreter Inventor Iron Duke HMS

Rabaul Renown HMS

Kandenfels Kashii Maru Kassos Karlsrhue KMS Kemmendine Ketty Brovig King City King George V - HMS Knute Nelson Kota Nopan Kormoran Krim Lancashire Leander HMNZS Leopard KMS Leicestershire Linguist Lusitania Maharonda Malakand Maoma Mandasor Manxman HMS Montana Master Elias Kulukundis Munsterland Nelson HMS Nea Hellas Norfolk HMS Novelist Nowshera Ole Jacob Orion Oxfordshire Patrician Pelorus HMS Philosopher Pietermaritzburg SAS Pinguin Plutarch Polyphemus Port Brisbane Port Wellington President Pretorious SAS President Kruger SAS President Steyn SAS Prinz Eugen KMS 6 Python

Sagres Scientist Scholar Sheffield HMS Silvaplana Speaker Speybank Storstad Strategist Strathaird Statesman Successor Suffolk HMS Swiftsure HMS Sydney HMAS Tactician Tafelberg SAS Tallyrand Tamesis Tannenfels Tarifa Teddy Tirranna Tottenham Trafalgar Troilus Twickenham Tuna HMS U-A U-68 U-126 U129 U124 Uckermark

Virginia HMS War Genista Warhew Warspite HMS Widder Wolf Zamzam

British Naval Strength in 1939

It has been said by many, if not most, that at the start of WW2 when Great Britain had the largest navy in the world, the Royal Navy was far below its required strength. All due of course, to government financial restraints after recovering from WW1.

Of the 15 battleships and battle cruisers the RN possessed only two were post WW1, the other 13 that were of pre WW1 vintage were regarded as being old and obsolete. Indeed, had not WW2 been looming since Hitler came to power, it has been widely viewed that those latter 13 ships would have been scrapped before 1939.

Even the so called ‘Mighty Hood’ of 1918 had been patched up to such a great extent, that with 3,000 tons of extra deck armour, as well as her age old boilers, her speed was down by quite a few knots from her original 32.

The ‘modern’ battleships HMS Rodney and Nelson also had their misgivings. Their building being curtailed by the Versailles agreement; their original main armament of fifteen 16 inch guns was reduced to nine, as well as their hull lengths and speed being reduced from a designed 30 to 23 knots. So in effect, the Royal Navy had no modern battleships to begin the war with; just five of the King George V class that were under construction. The RN had seven aircraft carriers as well as five more being built; however, as the war progressed a number of merchant ships were converted with flight

decks and referred to as being ‘Woolworth Carriers;’ while some passenger ships were converted to Armed Merchant Cruisers - or AMCs. The 66 cruisers the RN had were also mostly pre WW1. The exceptions to those being the County Class of heavy cruisers, the Town Class and Leander light cruisers; after the outstanding County Class, Great Britain never built any more heavy cruisers.

There were also 23 new cruisers which had been laid down by 1939, the main bulk of them being Colony Class light cruisers. In the destroyer group of ships there were 184, half of which were pre WW1, while 32 fast 37 knot fleet escorts and ‘Hunt Class’ were soon under construction. There were 60 submarines in the service with nine under construction. In all there were 200,000 officers and men in the Royal Navy at the start of WW2; a figure rose to over 800,000 for Dominion Navies before the war ended.

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Picture caption Top - HMS King George V was one of five sister ships that were laid down before WW2 began. Due to the Versailles treaty to which Great Britain abided, those five ships were limited to 35,000 displacement tons. Their main armament being ten fourteen inch guns. The above photo taken at Reykjavik after a Russian Convoy, shows the huge gash in her bows after a collision in the fog with one of her ill fated escorts HMS Punjabi.

Below - HMS Rodney and her sister ship Nelson had been designed as 50,000 tonners, but due to the Versailles Treaty their building was altered during construction. Instead of having fifteen 16 inch guns they were completed with just nine in A,B, and C turrets. Because the area abaft the mast had been reduced by 200 feet, where X and Y turrets were to be positioned, those two ships were completed with an odd appearance. Both HMS King George V above, and HMS Rodney below, played the major role in the battle against the Bismarck.

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The Author

After a year in the sea cadets and then two years in a sea school, it was at the age of 16 that I joined the Merchant Navy at South Shields in May 1953. I was so impressed with

my new way of life on board the MV Willesden of London, that for seven months during two voyages I kept a diary of the ship’s daily activities - Willesden was a WW2 Empire Boat, and I was the sailor’s mess boy or ‘peggy.’

The rather uneducated scribbling of my diary was accompanied with my feeble attempts at drawing ships; but the biggest problem I had in my attempts to be become an artist was obtaining suitable paper. Paper never went to waste in the 1950’s, it was hard to come by, and especially on a ship at sea. In a stationary shop ashore, paper for drawing and sketching was most expensive, and on a deck boy’s wages of £10 a month, those sketch books with all their added requirements were out of my financial reach.

But most fortunately for me in those long gone days, just about everybody on board smoked cigarettes which came in packets or flat boxes of 50. Therefore, as the sailor’s peggy I was able to collect plenty of the empty 9 x 6 inch ( 21x 15 cm) cardboard cigarette boxes, and after cutting off the backs, I could use them for both writing and drawing on. When I paid off after seven months I had scores of those backs with my writings and dawdling efforts at drawing on them. Unfortunately they were all in pencil, and with the passage of time my writings and drawings began to fade away, but before they’d done so, I had them typed out and published in 1999 as ‘A Deck Boy’s Diary.’

After serving on various Red Ensign ships on deck, I joined the South African Navy in 1976 and served on supply ships and latterly Ton Class minesweepers. What a marvellous difference there was between some of the old Red Ensign tramps I’d served on and the SA ‘grey navy,’ where although the humour and comraderie of the Red Ensign sailor could never be replaced, the pay, leave and conditions in the SAN were a

vast improvement. By that time I’d been pursuing my hobby of drawing and painting ever since my first ship, and as can be expected I’d somewhat improved. Indeed, after a few years in the SAN, one of the added responsibilities or privileges I was given, was to 9

be handed the prestigious but unpaid part time post of ‘Marine Artist’ for the SA Navy.

When I’d been the sailor’s peggy, or mess boy, on my first ship in 1953, I was of course the youngest on board. But on the Ton Class minesweeper SAS Kimberley 37 years later, I was by far the oldest and the old man of the ship. At 53 the young ratings in their good humour called me ‘uncle,’ but thanks to my ‘Old Man’ the captain, not only did he encourage me to have my 1953 diaries published, after he’d read them, but also gave me the inspiration I needed to write about the sailing ships I’d painted as well as writing other articles on maritime history.

At that particular time I had always been under the impression that only the educated and well to do wrote books, and I really thought it was beyond me to do such things.

Indeed, during my days at school, which I left at 14, I didn’t exactly shine at maths, English, grammar or much else for that matter, but have since come to realise that just about anybody of what ever age they are, can write about anything they choose, and within reason, can achieve anything they want.

But that wasn’t all! After leaving the SAN and on arriving back at Liverpool in 1992, it was while I was searching for information on a certain sailing ship of T&J Harrisons, that I was advised to contact Captain Graeme Cubbin. He wrote that magnificent book titled ‘Harrisons of Liverpool’ and was at the time the curator of the T&J Harrison Lines Museum. We met, and have since established a friendship that is second to none.

Indeed, even though he is presently in his 90th year, he still reads through all my writings, makes corrections, proof reads my work, and gives me his years of priceless experience and advice. Furthermore, after reading the diary of my first ship, Captain Cubbin gave me the diary of his first ship, it was the SS Scientist of Liverpool, a vessel that was sunk by A tlantis in May 1940. As a company midshipman on board he spent 165 days on the German Raider. Therefore, and as a consequence, his diaries are the main theme for this publication titled ‘Victims of Atlantis.’

John Richardson 2012

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SS Scientist

This story had its beginnings on 29 June 1923 at Kensington, Liverpool, when Graeme Cubbin the eldest of four children, was born to the master grocer and provision

merchant William Alfred Cubbin and his wife Elsie. In those years most people in Liverpool had some kind of connection with the sea, and in just about every household of the city, there always seemed to be someone or other who was serving in either the Royal or Merchant Navy, or else they were dock workers, ship’s riggers, shipping clerks or many of the other professions and trades that were connected with ships and the sea.

Indeed, Graeme’s grandfather, a Manxman, had been a master mariner in the service of M Langlands, a shipping company which was later to become the Coast Lines of Liverpool; he also had an uncle and two cousins in the service of T&J Harrison Lines.

The parents of Graeme Cubbin knew the importance of their son having a good education, so at the age of five his schooling began at the Upper Park Street Board School of Liverpool. On reaching the age of eleven he transferred to the Oulton High School in Clarence Street, where his father paid fees of £2.10 .0 a term for his education.

In the 1930s the objective of many young men was to pursue a life at sea, and although it became the dream of Graeme Cubbin in 1937, his sentiments were not shared by his parents, because like so many others, they could quite clearly see that war was imminent and life at sea held many perils. Indeed, the year of 1937 was one of great significance to the 14 year old Graeme Cubbin. In Bremen, Germany, a motor-ship named Goldenfels had recently been launched by Bremer Vulkan for the DDG Hansa Line, whilst at the end of the same year, a steamer to be later named Scientist, was laid down as yard number 911 at Lithgow’s of Port Glasgow for T&J Harrison Lines of Liverpool.

Built at 6,199 gross and 3,794 nett tons, the future Scientist’s deadweight tons would be

9,000; other dimensions were 435 x 56 x 32 feet with an international code of GNGR. As a coal burner her engines were triple expansion with a Baur Wach exhaust turbine which gave the ship a service speed of 14 ½ knots with an extra three or four knots up 11

her sleeve. Two masted with five cargo hatches, she had a deep tank in number four hold; that tank could be used for either water ballast or as cargo space. The building costs of the SS Scientist eventually amounted to £192,330.

In the following two years there were further developments with regard to the two ships mentioned. The first named Goldenfels which had been in service for the DDG Hansa Line for a year had already made a few short voyages, but because her capabilities as an armed merchant raider were noted, she was commandeered by the Nazi Government of Germany in November 1939; while Scientist, the second of the two, had been completed and after having made five short voyages was currently in service for Harrison Lines. Although those two ships were in no way connected, they were to be highly significant in the early sea career of Graeme Cubbin.

After obtaining his School Certificate at the age of 16 in August 1939, it was in the following month of September, prior to beginning his career at sea, that Graeme attended the Liverpool Nautical College in Byrom Street. In the meantime Germany cast the first stone by invading Poland, which in turn started off WW2 on 3 September 1939.

After completing his nautical studies in January 1940, and because he wanted to be a deck officer,

applications were made by Graeme Cubbin to various shipping companies for employment either as an apprentice, a cadet or a midshipman. But even though WW2 had already begun, when life at sea offered great dangers for all at sea, jobs on ships of any description were generally hard to come by. However, the Liverpool ship owners Thos & Jas Harrison, managers of the Charente Steamship Company, gave Graeme his first and only job in life, a job that was to span for over 46 years from February 1940 until April 1986.

After the normal medicals and interviews Graeme was accepted as a company cadet; his wages were to be 10/- per month or £6 per annum; a sum which in our modern day terms of 2012, equates to a daily wage of 4d in old money or 1½ New Pence - per day. He also received a £2.10.0 monthly war bonus or danger money allowance from his most benevolent government.

The bond of £50 paid to T&J Harrisons by Graeme’s father was an enormous amount of money to pay, and in reality of the times, that £50 was a year’s wages for many of the working class.

Indeed, the school leaving age in those pre war days was 14, and any boy or girl who earned a pound a week, or £50 a year, was said to be extremely well paid. Moreover, on top of the £50 bond payment to his employers, Graeme like all other cadets had to rig himself out with a

company uniform and many other requirements, items such as an expensive sextant, books, tables and many other necessities for his navigational studies. The cost of those extras which was also paid by Graeme’s father, probably amounted to the same as his bond payment of £50.

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SS Scientist During his 160 day incarceration on board the German Raider Atlantis, 16 year old Cadet Graeme Cubbin made the above pastel drawing of his first ship SS Scientist.

The scene represents the passing of North Foreland on 3 March 1940.

At that time the two white bands on the funnel had been over-painted red; note the paravane on the foc’sle head, and the four inch anti-submarine gun on the poop deck.

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After being launched by Lithgow’s at Port Glasgow on 30 May 1938, and completed ten weeks later on 12 August, the coal-burning Scientist filled her deep tanks and left the Clyde in ballast for Liverpool on 18 August 1938. Loading a general cargo she sailed on 26 August to begin her maiden voyage under the command of Captain George R Windsor OBE. That voyage took the ship to Kingston, Colon, Belize, Havana, and Newport News, before returning to her home port of Liverpool on 1 November after a two months and five day voyage.

After discharging at Liverpool, and then on her arrival at the Bristol Channel port of Newport on 30 November, Scientist left for Glasgow then back to Liverpool. Sailing on 17 December for Cape Town she arrived there on 5 January 1939 The rest of the voyage took the SS Scientist to Mossel Bay, Port Elizabeth, East London and Durban; coaling at Dakar whilst homeward bound, she paid off on 20 February 1939 at Hull, thus completing a two months and four day voyage.

On spending two days in a Middlesbrough dry-dock before loading at the same port, the ship’s third voyage which began on the Tees on 9 February, took her to Antwerp, London, Durban, Lourenco Marques, Beira, Mombasa and back to Lourenco Marques, before completing a four

month voyage at Liverpool on 9 June 1939.

Voyage Number 4 for the SS Scientist began on 26 June from Middlesbrough for another run to South and East Africa. On the way home, however, and although war had not yet been declared, the signs were already there. In view of the impending conflict, the ship was obliged to anchor at Freetown on 7 August to join a homeward bound convoy. Three days later the escorted convoy sailed. But due to it being a slow 7-9 knot convoy the passage took 20 days and Scientist did not pay off until 4 October 1939 at Liverpool. Leaving the Mersey port on 1 November 1939 her next voyage was to Durban, Lourenco Marques and back to Durban before joining a Freetown convoy and then paying off at Liverpool on 27 January 1940; it was there that the diarist of this story, Cadet Graeme Cubbin, signed on a joined his first ship the SS Scientist on 13 February 1940. At the Herculaneum Dock at the South end of Liverpool, where the SS Scientist was coaling, Cadet Cubbin who was proudly wearing his new uniform stopped momentarily on the quayside to glance up at his first ship. Harrisons of Liverpool named each of their ships after a profession, and this one, his first ship, was named Scientist. She was riding high out of the water, light ship so to speak, which quite simply meant that her holds were empty, and also meant a longer than

normal walk up the extended gangway with his bags.

But there was something unusual about Scientist’s appearance! ‘Harrison Boat’s’ are affectionately known as being ‘Two of Fat and One of Lean.’ Inasmuch, that their funnels are 14

painted black with a single red band between two white bands. Therefore, the appellation given to

Harrisons of Liverpool has always been ‘Two of Fat and One of Lean.’

But quite strangely there were no white bands on the funnel markings - just one enlarged broad red band. Graeme was later to learn that the painting out of the two white bands had been some kind of a ploy to confuse the enemy. Another thing he noticed was a four inch gun being mounted on the poop deck. Such a piece of artillery known as an anti submarine gun is primarily used as a defensive weapon if attacked by a surfaced submarine or any other more powerful enemy. On the foc’sle head paravanes were being installed by Royal Navy fitters. Later on after the ship had sailed, Graeme was employed as a sight setter on the four inch gun; while his boat station was at number two boat.

Leaving Liverpool on 20 February 1940 in ballast, the SS Scientist joined a London bound convoy at the Bar Light Ship in Liverpool Bay. In his convoy duties Cadet Cubbin worked four on and four off with his cabin mate Sam Ellman, a South African who was a SATS General Botha protégé in the fourth and final year of his apprenticeship. Anchoring at Tilbury on 23 February, the ship moved into the South West India Dock on the following day. After a ten day stay at the Capital City, Scientist had loaded a general cargo for Cape Town, Port Elizabeth, East London, Durban, Lourenco Marques and Beira. On 6 March the steamer anchored off Southend to form up in a convoy which sailed on the following morning.

A week later on 14 March when the convoy was abeam of Gibraltar, Scientist detached from the main group and proceeded independently towards Cape Town.

The 78 man crew for Scientist’s Voyage Number 6, was compiled by Quartermaster W Whiteside for the benefit of Cadet Graeme Cubbin’s diary (while they were captives on board Atlantis) Mr Whiteside was one of Scientist’s four quartermasters. The 19 Europeans and one passenger on

board are listed below. The other members of the crew were Lascars but their names did not become available at the time. For the records, however, there were 20 Lascars on deck, 33 greasers, firemen and trimmers in the engine room with 8 cooks and stewards.

After an uneventful passage to South Africa the SS Scientist discharged at Durban; she left there on 10 April for Lourenco Marques, then Beira, back to Lourenco Marques and then on to Durban where on embarking a passenger named Mr C Chicken, she left unescorted on 27 April 1940.

After rounding the Cape of Good Hope on 30 April, a course was set towards Freetown, a Sierra Leone anchorage port where on her arrival, she would form up with a homeward bound convoy.

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SCIENTIST’S EUROPEAN CREW MEMBERS FOR VOYAGE NUMBER SIX Supplied by Cadet Graeme Cubbin.

Master, GR Windsor OBE – 1st Mate A Watson, 2nd TW Anderson, 3rd RJ

Connolly – Cadets, SE Ellman, G Cubbin. Chief Engineer R Skarrow – 2nd JV Cubbon – 3rd D Foulis – 4th W Grainger – 5th G McConnell - Radio Officer FCH Compton – Carpenter W Raw – Gunner C Burns.- Quartermasters: W Whiteside, R Evans, P Cooper, R Barrow.

Chief Steward Mr Howarth, - Passenger – Mr C Chicken who joined at Durban.

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Kapitan zur See Bernhard Rogge Kapitan zur See Bernhard Rogge, commander of A tlantis, was born on 4 November1899 at Schleswig.

At the age of 16 he joined the Imperial Navy as Fahnrich zur See (Midshipman) on 13 December 1915.

(The ‘zur See’ was given on being commissioned into the German Navy) 10 January 1919 he was promoted to Oberleutenant zur See. 1 January 1928 to Kapitanleutenant.

1 October 1934 to Korvettankapitan -Fregattankapitan 1 November 1937 to Kapitan Leutenant zur See 1 November 1939 - Kapitan zur See 1 March 1943 Konteradmiral 1 March 1945 Vizeadmiral

The ships on which Bernhard Rogge served.

Heavy cruiser Freya 1915 Heavy cruiser Moltke 1915 - 1916 Light cruiser Stralsund 1916 Light cruiser Pillau 1916 - 1918

Retired 1919, reactivated 1920 in coastal defence.

Light cruiser A mazone 1924 - 1926 Sailing Yacht Asta 1928 Passenger ship Schleiswig Holstein 1928 Sail training ship Niobe 1928 - 1930 Light cruiser Emden 1930 - 1931 Light cruiser Karlsruhe 1935 - 1936 O/C Sail training ship Gorch Foch 1936 - 1938

O/C Sail training ship Albert Leo Schalgeter 1939.

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The ram bowed armoured cruiser Freya, was Fahnrich (Midshipman) Bernhard Rogge’s first ship in 1915.Armoured cruisers were referred to as heavy cruisers after 1930.

Presently sailing as the Portuguese Sagres, the above barque was built as the Albert Leo Schlageter. Kapitan Bernhard Rogge was her commander at the outbreak of WW2.

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Goldenfels

In the last quarter of the nineteenth century a large number of merchant ships were sailing under the German flag, but many of them were sailing vessels that were regarded as being slow and unreliable. But the merchants of Bremen wanted a better reliability combined with greater speed for the transportation of their goods. They therefore formulated a plan for change which did not include ships of sail. On 3 December 1881, a new company to be known as Deutschen Dampfschiffahrts Gesselschaft Hansa, otherwise known as DDG Hansa was formed. The managers of that new company knew only too well, that to enter the world of shipping and capture new markets abroad, bigger, better and faster steam ships were the future.

DDG Hansa quickly acquired an auxiliary steamer as their first ship and named her Stolzenfels. That sail assisted vessel which was bought on the stocks, had been built on speculation by Charles Mitchell of Newcastle in 1881 (Lost in a collision at Saigon in 1884 with the P&O Line’s SS Canton.) Stolzenfels was followed in 1882 by the auxiliary steamers Drachenfels, Ehrenfels, Rola1ndsdeck, Lahnech, Rheinsrein and Liebenstein.

None of those seven pioneering ships lasted for very long, but what they did achieve, was to set the foundations of a strong and reliable DDG Hansa, a company that soon opened trading links from Germany to the Middle East, East Africa, Madagascar, India, Burma and the United States.

For the following 33 years under sound management the company grew at an astounding rate. At the beginning of WW1 in 1914, DDG Hansa owned 67 steam ships with 14 more under construction; but at the end of that ‘Great War,’ the entire fleet except for the SS Sonneck had been lost, either through enemy action or as war reparations. But the SS Trostenberg of 1920 began the re-birth of the company, while fast ships combined with quick turn arounds became the company hallmark.

On 16 December 1937 a large and powerful new motor ship named Goldenfels later to be known as A tlantis, was added to the ranks of DDG Hansa. One of seven sister ships she was named after a castle in Stromberg. Another of those seven sisters was named 19

Tannenfels, a ship which during WW2 became a supply ship closely associated with Atlantis.

While yet another was the Kandenfels, renamed Pinguin, a ship that was to become equally as notorious as Atlantis. The MS Goldenfels and her sisters were the ultimate in the latest of merchant ship requirements; indeed, she offered everything that any cargo ship owner could ever wish for. At 7,862 gross tons she could carry 11,000 tons of cargo, had a 488 foot length, a beam of 61 feet and a depth of 31 feet. In her engine room, both a port and starboard six cylinder two stroke Mann diesel engine were coupled to one shaft, and they comfortably gave her a service speed of 15 and a maximum of 17.5 knots.

After Hitler had come to power in 1933, Germany openly flouted the Versailles convention by building warships much larger than the regulations allowed. But the building of large and fast merchant ships like Goldenfels was quite legal. A warship such as a light cruiser would normally take two years or more to build, but a big and fast cargo ship like Goldenfels could be constructed in just a few months, and then if required, could be quickly converted to have the same armament as a light cruiser in just a few weeks. As a destructive ‘Q’ ship, she could then roam the oceans of the world resembling an innocent looking merchantman, and indeed, Goldenfels became one of

those converted ships.

It had been done before with great success. In the previous war a humble little sailing ship named Seadler had caused mayhem in both the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans. She sank over 30,000 tons of shipping and kept the Royal Navy on its toes for long periods in wide expanses. There was also the converted steamer W olf, an innocent looking ship which accounted for the sinking of 13 ships totalling 80,594 tons, while the SS Moew which was the most successful of all, sank 34 ships amounting to 174,900 tons, plus the mining of the 17,000 ton battleship HMS King Edward V11 in the Pentland Firth. Therefore, ‘Surface Raiders’ ‘Commerce Raiders’ ‘Auxiliary Raiders’ or just plain ‘Raiders,’ call them what you will, were the type of ships in which the Germans were very interested in and well acquainted with. Being ideally suited for use as an armed merchant raider, and with the war having already begun, it was in November 1939 that the motor ship Goldenfels was requisitioned by the Kriegsmarine with the title of ‘Schiff 16.’ Under the direction of Kapitan zur See Bernhard Rogge, top secret work began on the ship at the Deutche Schiff - Und de Masch A G Bremen as Yard No 2 - for conversion to an armed merchant raider.

That work involved the strengthening of her hull for the mounting of Six 5.9 inch, one 75 mm,

one twin 37 mm, and four 20 mm guns; there were also four single 21 inch waterline torpedoes, a 92 mine stowage and two Heinkel 114 aircraft But although the 5.9 or 150 mm guns were of WW1 vintage, they were nevertheless more than good enough for their intended purpose with a maximum eight mile range. They were mounted on the upper deck concealed behind flaps that 20

looked like so many garage doors that could be raised in just a few seconds. To assist in the accuracy of the guns, a range finder disguised as a water tank was positioned on the roof of the bridge on the Monkey Island. Furthermore, on the tall foremast table was a crow’s nest, so characteristic on German merchant ships, periscopes were also fitted near the truck to enable the lookouts in the crow’s nest to see even further. The tall funnel of ‘Schiff 16’ could be quickly shortened , or lengthened, by unbolting and sending up or down the top portion.

Photographic evidence of A tlantis shows that in all of her different 27 disguises, she at times had a large crow’s nest, and in this observation post there were probably two, three or even four lookouts – one for each quadrant - and a PO to supervise. Entry into the ‘nest’ was up through the hollow foremast. There was also a crow’s nest at the after end of the main-mast, as well as there being a lookout on each wing of the bridge. So in all the raider had plenty of eyes, as well as her seaplane.

The ship’s main armament was similar to that of a small light cruiser, and although she lacked a cruiser’s speed, she offered something more – Surprise of disguise! The conversion of Goldenfels under the direction of Kapitan Rogge included accommodation and storage layouts in the holds.

Because as well as carrying a 349 handpicked crew of 21 officers and 328 ratings, there was also accommodation for 350 or more future prisoners. When he’d been given his complement, Kapitan Rogge personally interviewed each and every man. He knew the voyage which lay ahead was going to last for at least 12 months, and he wanted men of the highest calibre who could stand up to great strains and stresses, and for that reason he dismissed more than half of the 214 ratings he’d been assigned. He told the drafting officer who’d first supplied him with his crew, that not only did he want replacements for the men he’d dismissed, he also wanted 12 of the senior ratings from his last ship; the sail trainer Albert Leo Schlageter. It was only after much difficulty however, that Kapitan Rogge got the twelve from his last ship which eventually made his complement up.

The Kriegsmarine commandeered a fleet of ten of those modern merchant ships; all of which were fast enough to outpace most normal cargo ships, and even many a passenger or troop ship.

After having been taken over by the Kriegsmarine in November 1939, the name Goldenfels was changed to ‘Schiff Number 2’ in the Bremen dockyard – and then to ‘HSK Schiff 16’ by the Kriegsmarine, but when she was commissioned on 21 December 1939 at Kiel, and on the

direction of her new commander, who had the privilege of choosing a name for his ship, she discarded her three previous identities and became the KMS (Krieg’s Marine Schiff) Atlantis.

Prior to joining Goldenfels, Kapitan zur See Rogge who had always been a great lover of sail had 21

commanded the sail training ship A lbert Leo Schlageter. Rogge was not a member of the ruling Nazi Party, but because he had a Jewish grandmother, and like so many other naval officers, he was compelled to sign a ‘blood clearance certificate’ to overlook his Jewish blood line.

Working up trials on A tlantis began soon after she was commissioned into the Kriegsmarine, but the vicious winter of 1939-40 played a big part in her sea trials. The handpicked crew were put through their paces in no small manner, and all at a time when below zero temperatures and blizzards had beset the Kiel Canal and it’s surrounds. On 11 March 1940 A tlantis passed through the Kiel Canal and into the Baltic where was assisted in breaking out through the ice by the converted ice breaking WW1 battleship Hessen.

During her working up trials A tlantis adopted a large number of disguises with differing colour schemes,. She had telescopic masts to aid her in the 27 differing disguises, a number of height extensions to her funnel, and even had a dummy canvas funnel to be placed just abaft the bridge.

For the benefit of any spies watching from ashore, her disguise as a minesweeper showed a false wooden gun on the foc’sle head. On her passage through the ice for gunnery practice in the North Sea, A tlantis was accompanied by the raiders W idder, Korvettan Kapitan Helmuth von

Ruckterschell, and Orion, Kapitan zur See Kurt Weyher. So intense were the gunnery trials of those three ships off the Jade Inlet, that signals were flashed from shore stations to the SKS authorities (Seekriegslietung) reporting that a full scale naval battle was in progress. During the hours of darkness on 19 March 1940, after a hectic week of trials, the dummy canvas funnel was stowed away; the ship’s side colour changed from grey to green, and when daylight arrived, Atlantis had become the Norwegian motor ship Knute Nelson. But after all that work of disguising the ship as a Norwegian had been completed, it was then erroneously discovered, that the MS Knute Nelson had recently been sunk. Therefore, another disguise was implemented on 31 March 1940; Atlantis then sailed in a break out attempt under the name of a Russian Fleet Auxiliary ship named Kim; complete with a hammer and sickle on her funnel, and although she only had one screw, a warning in Russian at both sides of her stern read ‘Twin Screws Beware of Propellers.’

Her escorts were the torpedo boats Leopard, (Kapitan Hans Trummer,) W olf, (Leutenant S Broder Peters,) and the U Boat U37 (Korvettan Kapitan Werner Hartman.) (For the sinking of so many allied ships in the North Atlantic, Kapitan Hartman and his submarine U 337 were to gain

great acclaim in Germany at a later date.)

Ship’s captains would normally hope for good weather on any given day, and especially on sailing day; but in order to keep himself hidden from the view of the blockading British warships, Kapitan Rogge did the opposite and waited a whole week for the weather to deteriorate.

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Ship Disguises Minelaying, Minesweeping Refuelling at Sea and Reconnaissance Planes

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The general purpose of A tlantis was threefold. First as an ocean raider, secondly as a supply ship, and thirdly as a minelayer. Indeed, before she left Germany she’d been loaded with 92 contact mines with the object of laying them off Cape Aghulas. The laying of such mines on this cruise was in fact the priority of A tlantis. To sew 92 mines and get half a dozen or so hits would have made the cruise more than worthwhile. But in the meantime, whilst she was on her way to the promontory of Africa, the plan was if she did get the chance to sink any Allied shipping on the way then she should do so, and such was the case of the SS Scientist being sunk.

Atlantis was not built as a minelayer; she was a merchant ship which had temporarily been converted to Minelaying. In the after holds where the mines were stowed on bogeys, those holds had been specially prepared with rail tracks on which the mines were positioned for bringing them up on deck. On being brought up they could placed in position for dropping them over the stern and sewn at the desired intervals, or simply dropped over the side with the use of derricks. On the previous page Cadet Cubbin tells

of A tlantis slowing down when the ship was thought to be off Cape Aghulas. It was indeed a correct assumption.

While steaming at about six knots, in the darkness, A tlantis was able to lay her mines with great precision to make the desired grid formation. That grid would be made to suit the circumstances of where enemy ships would pass through. However, if a ship master suspected that such a minefield was in operation off Cape Aghulas, he would give the area a wide berth - but not all did so and although some hits were recorded whether they were from Atlantis mines or not could not be recorded. Incidentally, the SS City of Lincoln hit a mine in 1946.

The three main types of sea mines during WW2 were contact mines, magnetic mines and acoustic mines. On being brought up on deck they could be dropped overboard using a derrick, or rolled aft on what looked like a small railway line forming a line as shown on the photograph. To be jettisoned, the mine laying officer with watch in hand, would give the order to launch, depending on the speed of the ship and the grid graph, the time distance to launch may be between 10 - 20 seconds from either side of the stern. Many types of ships were used as minelayers, even trawlers and drifters. But the most noted purpose built minelayers were those of the Abdiel Class of which HMS Manxman was one.

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Eventually he got his wish and the weather turned most unpleasant with poor visibility, and that was just what Rogge had been waiting for. To mark the start of a historic voyage, A tlantis was assisted into the North Sea by the ice-breaker Hessen, a former battleship of WW1.

Because he was playing the role of the Russian Krim, he set a course that would ‘appear’ as though he was heading towards Murmansk in neutral Russia. But on reaching the North Sea it became an extremely rough ride, because as well as force 10-12 gales and mountainous seas; Atlantis was chased by two unidentified warships between the Shetland’s and the coast of Norway. The torpedo boats had returned to base in the heavy weather, but U377 which stayed on was faring so badly she had to dive and follow the propellers of Atlantis. Eventually the U Boat surfaced when the weather somewhat improved; she was

then re-fuelled by A tlantis and

dismissed to return to her patrol. Escaping in the increasingly heavy weather, the raider’s Chief Engineer Wilhelm Kielhorn harboured great fears as to the engines which were being driven flat out in the heavy seas, and also for the ship’s hull which was being battered.

Kapitan Rogge who had vast experience in sail turned a blind eye to such a ship when an unidentified three masted barque was sighted near the Denmark Straits. She was heading East and

probably bound for Scandinavia. He had a great love for any kind of sailing ship and decided not to attack her. His excuse at the time being that the little barque was not worth the effort and it may give him away, as well as the fact that he didn’t want to house any prisoners at such an early time in his cruise. Indeed, stowed in number five hold there were 92 mines; his first task before attacking any Allied ships was to lay those mines, the proposed area for their laying was to be off Cape Aghulas. So Kapitan Rogge didn’t really want any interferences until they’d been laid.

After passing through the Denmark Straits, it was on 8 April 1940 that the raider’s Navigation Officer Kamenz reported to his captain that A tlantis was clear and in the North Atlantic. The Line was crossed on 22 April when a new disguise was adopted. Work went on all night with paint being slapped onto every part of the ship. As a result it was at first light of 23 April that the Russian Krim became the Japanese 8,400 ton Kashii Maru of the Kokuai Kisen Line. Complete with the Rising Sun on both her sides she had a black funnel and a white letter ‘K’ painted on a red top.

On 2 May 1940, smoke coming from the 9,654 ton Ellerman passenger ship City of Exeter was sighted off the port bow. A signal was sent from the raider asking for identification but no reply

was given. Kapitan Rogge decided not to attack the British ship because the probability of having a large number of passengers, as prisoners, was one thing he did not want to accommodate so early in his cruise; so he passed her by and continued heading South to lay his 92 mines off Cape 25

Aghulas. But photographs were taken by the Ellerman vessel’s captain, who later reported that the so called Kashii Maru was a suspicious ship.

Atlantis had a Heinkel seaplane that was stowed in number two hold but it did not have a steam catapult. After being assembled in the hold that seaplane had to be lifted out with two derricks in a union purchase before being lowered into the water. But because the plane was light and flimsy such an operation could only be achieved in calm waters. The Heinkel was referred to as the eyes of the ship, and that valuable piece of spotting equipment could quickly and easily be stowed away into its crate to save space; once airborne any ship 50 or 60 miles away could be seen on a clear horizon.

After the City of Exeter sighting on 2 May 1940, it was on the following day of 3 May when Atlantis which was still on a Southerly course sighted smoke in the afternoon watch. It was the lookouts who reported the smoke, because with the sea being too choppy the seaplane could not be launched. The distant ship was heading in a Northerly direction, while the so called Kashii Maru was heading South. Kapitan Rogge therefore decided to turn his ship 180 degrees, slow down to six or seven knots to allow the oncoming ship catch him up. Needless to say, on the first

sighting of the distant steamer ‘Action Stations’ were sounded on board the commerce raider.

Due to the so called K asii Maru passing the SS City of Exeter on 2 May 1940, the Ellerman Line captain was highly suspicious of the Japanese ship, and as a result, his suspicions were passed on to the admiralty. But that information was picked up by the SKL, which in turn relayed it to Kapitan Rogge on 21 May, warning him that the British were aware of his Japanese masquerading, and he should change his appearance as soon as possible. A new

disguise was needed, and fast!

After searching the ship profiles once more, it was decided that Atlantis should become the Dutch motor ship Abbekerk of the Vereenigge Nederlandsche Scheep Vaart. For the rest of that day and night while the ship was stopped, paint was slapped on under red lights, both over the side, the funnel and some parts of the superstructure.

The result being that on the following morning of 22 May, the Japanese K ashii Maru was no more and the Dutch Abbekerk had taken her place. It later came to light, however, that the Abbekerk had been reported by the American press to have been sunk on 21 May. All that work for nothing? But Rogge decided to keep the disguise; indeed, there were one or two other Dutch ships that resembled Abbekerk, and if need be, all he would have to do was change the name on the bows.

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Atlantis was caught in the ice at Kiel during her working up trials. In the picture above where an officer walks across the ice, the false forward dummy funnel is being rigged at Number 3 hatch.

Adopting 27 different disguises during her 622 day cruise, the picture below was taken in the ice shortly before she left Germany in March 1940. It shows her with a dummy forward funnel.

Note also the quickly rigged temporary crow’s nest on the after side of her main-mast.

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The above picture was taken in the Baltic Sea when Atlantis was engaged in her working up trials; she is without a dummy funnel as well as her main-mast crows nest, but has two dummy samson posts on her foc’sle head and at the poop. Note the forward and after well decks, before the 5.9 guns and their flaps were fitted.

The photo below shows her with a dummy forward funnel, while the crow’s nest is positioned half way up the lower foremast, no dummy Samson posts at her foc’sle head, while her newly erected forward well deck bulwarks are hiding her two port side150 mm guns.

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Innocent looking deck cargo to look at on the after deck, but when action stations were sounded on A tlantis, the dummy vents would be unshipped and the same innocent looking packing cases opened up; a 5.9 inch gun would then appear. There were two of those 5.9s on the after deck which had more than a 180 degree arc of fire. The port and starboard batteries had a smaller arc, each shell from a 5.9 weighed 100 pounds and had a maximum range of eight sea miles.

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The two port side 5. 9 inch guns of A tlantis. That armament on both sides, as well as the gun flaps, left the ship without its forward well deck. Two more 5.9s were disguised as crates on the after deck

The starboard side showing a 5. 9 gun with its flap raised. Two sailors on a stage are painting the ship’s side.

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Top - The first disguise A tlantis assumed was that of the Japanese Kashii Maru

It must have been a general procedure to regularly change the dummy samson posts around on Atlantis. The picture below shows the Dutch Abbekerk. Despite her 12 Samson posts, the raider Atlantis adopted the disguise of this ship on more than one occasion

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The fastest ships in the Royal Navy. HMS Manxman was one of six sister ships. Her builders trials speed was 38.5 knots but she could make more, those purpose built minelaying cruisers had the ability to race to an area at top speed, lay their mines and depart at top speed. The disadvantage of their high speed was a reduction in their range to 1,000 sea miles when steaming at top speed.

The picture below is the same ship with her stern Minelaying doors clearly visible.

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The Algerine Class minesweeper HMS Pelorus built by Lobnitz of Renfrew was commissioned into the Royal Navy in 1943. She was one of 110 sister ships, 98 for the RN and 12 for the RCN. During ‘Operation Overlord’ HMS Pelorus was one of 30 ships that swept the English Channel for mines where over 3,000 ships that took part. HMS Pelorus had the distinction of being the mine sweeper that led the 3,000 allied ships of the channel invasion.

HMS Pelorus was sold to South Africa in 1947, re-numbered M291 and renamed as SAS Maritzbug, and later to SAS Pietermaritzburg. After a collision with HMS Leopard during exercises, she was damaged at her keel and was used thereafter as a training ship. The author served on SAS Pietermaritzburg when she was an accommodation and training ship 1988 - 90 but the 51 year old ship was sunk off Simonstown as a conservation reef in 1994.

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There were three main types of sea mines during WW2; Contact mines, as laid by Atlantis, Magnetic mines and Acoustic mines. On ships like Atlantis, contact mines were stowed in the after hold. Lifted on deck they were jettisoned complete with their bogeys which detached itself.

This picture shows a contact mine being rolled into position from a small mine laying vessel. The man nearest on the right is the timekeeper. The other two men await his signal to jettison.

Mines are laid out along the deck on rails and jettisoned at precise intervals with their bogeys.

The box on the bottom contains the depth and brake register, a concrete anchor weight, and the required length of wire rope to moor the mine to the seabed.

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A crated Arado seaplane

An assembled Arado seaplane. Its main disadvantage was the position of the engine being too near the water; it was liable to get swamped in choppy seas. At times it led to the cylinder head getting cracked on a hot engine.

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An Arado of the heavy cruiser Admiral Hipper on its steam catapult.

The Heinkel was not as nimble or as fuel efficient as the Arado.

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Top - The Supermarine Walrus seaplane which was used on British capital ships and cruisers.

The high engine facing aft, allowed the craft to alight in choppy waters much easier and safer than their German counterparts could.

A Supermarine Walrus being launched from the battleship HMS W arspite, the aircraft carrier in the distance is HMS Ark Royal

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Right - A Supermarine Walrus being catapulted from the cruiser HMS Glasgow.

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Refuelling at Sea

The author served as AB on the RFA Black Ranger. She was typical of the ships used for refuelling warships in port or at sea during the years of WW2.

Two derricks are used to lift the hose line and swing it over either side to either one or two receiving ships.

Six of those Ranger Class ships were built at the beginning of WW2 and did sterling work as replenishment ships in the Russian convoys.

The funnel of each ship was offset by three feet from the centreline to port. Such a manoeuvre was intended to disrupt the fore and aft centreline from a bomber that attacked the ship from right ahead Photo - RFA Association

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But refuelling at sea adopted a different approach after WW2.With the use of cranes instead of derricks, two ships could be refuelled at the same time.

In the above photo, the South African replenishment ship Tafelberg , on which the author served as CPO, supplies fuel to the Type 12 frigates President Kruger on her port side, and the President Pretorious to her starboard.

Photo SA Navy

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The Sinking of the SS Scientist From the Diary of Cadet Graeme Cubbin - 03 May 1940 At 3.15 pm I climbed the bridge ladder to continue my watch after completing a job aft. The day was fine with light winds and a moderate sea. While restoring the gear to the bridge-box I noticed a ship about 3 points off our port bow that was steering a parallel course with us. The stranger was a large powerful looking motor ship, and at the time I thought it strange that we should be

overhauling such a fast looking vessel. Her hull was black, and as was the normal thing for neutral vessels, her national colours showed the Rising Sun of Japan painted on her ship’s side.

With upper works painted white her funnel was situated at the after end of the midship accommodation. The funnel was black with a white "K" painted on a red top; such were the marks of a well-known Japanese line.

All unsuspecting, the 2nd Officer Mr Anderson who had sighted the Jap earlier on in the watch, asked me to take the long glass and see what I could make of her, while casually saying “Make sure she has no guns mounted,” to which I reported, ironically enough, “No guns Sir.” But my statement came a moment too soon, for I had scarcely spoken when I observed the strange vessel altering course to starboard and crossing our bows, while simultaneously, three flag signals fluttered at her triatic stay - two 3 flag hoists and one 2 flag hoist. After reading out the letters to the 2nd Officer, I entered the chart room to get the Code Book. While turning up the signals (which were apparently meaningless), I heard the unmistakable report of a gun which was closely followed by a second. At Mr Anderson's bidding I dropped the Code Book and ran out to the bridge and hoisted the answering pennant at the dip.

Meanwhile the rest of the crew were waking up from their afternoon siesta. On hearing the alarm and with appropriate initiative, they dashed to their stations and stood by awaiting orders.

Thinking that our own gun was firing, Captain Windsor in his shirt sleeves ran on to the bridge demanding to know “who was playing about with that damned gun.” Sighting the Jap which was by then flying the German Ensign at the stern; and sizing up the situation, he was determined to transmit a wireless message and ordered "Hard-a-starboard" and "Full ahead". The captain then sent me along to the wireless cabin with a message QQQQ – GNGR - . 19º20' S - 04º15' E.

No sooner had I delivered the message and regained the bridge when the wireless room was hit which left the Radio Officer Mr Compton seriously injured. Seeing it was useless to resist any further, Captain Windsor ordered "Stop engines and abandon ship." He with Mr Watson the chief officer then went to his cabin to collect the ship's papers. The bridge and chart room were cleared 41

of all Code Books etc and taken to the captain's room preparatory to dumping them overboard. In the meantime the injured Sparks had managed to dump his Admiralty books. The raider had by that time ceased firing and was lying off our starboard beam while the Scientist burned fiercely.

The raider's "warning shot" had carried away the log boom, and several subsequent salvoes had found their billet in Numbers 4 and 5 hatches setting the hatch boards on fire.

Several of the Lascars who were accommodated aft were injured. The Lascar look-out man was mortally wounded in the stomach while he was on his way down from the crow's nest; he died later on board the raider. The wheelhouse was hit soon after the order to abandon ship had been given; luckily there was no one there except QM Barrow who had returned for his dungaree jacket and fortunately escaped without injury. In all, the Germans fired 19 salvoes of four at the Scientist hitting her only 15 times - but every shot, without a doubt, was meant to hit her.

Meanwhile everyone was at their boat stations; but on seeing they were on the side of the ship exposed to the raider, and fearing she may open fire again, those on the starboard side left en masse for Numbers 2 and 4 boats on the port side. I was in No.2 boat, and while waiting for the rest of the crew to muster, I went along to Mr Watson’s cabin to get his life jacket. On my return,

the 3rd Officer Mr Connolly who was on the lower bridge awaiting further orders from the captain, sent me below to remind Chief Steward Howarth to collect the tobacco accounts etc.

After delivering my message to the chief steward, I entered the cadet’s cabin which was next door to the chief stewards to collect a few belongings and some tobacco for my mate Sam Ellman who was still at his station. Returning to the lower bridge as quickly as possible, I found that the Lascars -who without any orders, were lowering their boat. Some of them were highly excited, and as the boat touched the water the bow-man safely unhooked his fall, but the man in the stern failed to unhook his in time. As a result the boat was left hanging by the stern and shipping water with every swell.

The boat was in great danger of being swamped, and as the Tindal seemed unable to do anything but argue with the men in the boat, I arrived on the scene and let go the after boat falls altogether.

The boat was then safe although an amount water was swishing about her bottom boards. I followed Mr Chicken the passenger into the boat and was followed by the 2nd and 5th Engineers.

Mr Watson sent a message to say he was going with the Captain in No. 1 boat so we pushed off.

The raider was coming closer, and we could read her name below the Japanese characters – Kasii

Maru, at any rate such was the name I read, for there are a few versions viz – Kaki Maru, Saki Maru while QM Whiteside who passed round her stern in No. 1 boat asserted that the name was Ashira Maru. However, that was a mere detail, and no one was particularly interested for we were now close enough to see machine guns mounted on her bridge and after deck; the visions we had 42

of being mowed down without mercy did nothing to soothe the Lascar’s' excitement.

Our fears were quickly allayed, however, when we heard a voice hailing us in perfect English to “Come alongside.” At this the poor Lascars pulled with a will and we quickly brought her alongside the raider’s after well-deck.

Bewildered, we looked up at the grinning triumphant faces of the German sailors, it was only at that moment that I for one realised I was a prisoner in the hands of the German Navy. An hour previously we were a homeward bound British Merchantman, and now, by a thousand to one chance, we were the prisoners of the German Reich!

The Germans lowered a stretcher into the boat, and two sailors who came down the pilot ladder efficiently strapped up our wounded radio officer who was by that time unconscious. He was gently hoisted aboard, and then rushed to the raider's wellequipped hospital where he was given immediate and expert attention.

Meanwhile, we had been taken on to the boat deck where we were searched and interviewed by several smartly dressed officers - most of whom spoke excellent English.

After being interviewed we were allowed to go to the rail and watch proceedings. The Germans were busily stoving in the air tanks of the two boats that were alongside. They were clothed only in bathing slips, and if I am to be unbiased in this account, I must say they were men of splendid physique. The afternoon sun glinted on their shining bodies and rippling muscles as those sailors swung their axes, and I must admit that we who were watching were visibly impressed with their state of fitness.

Besides stoving in the boats, the Germans were also sending aboard the medical kits, wine bottles, compasses and lanterns etc with which the boats were supplied. Our attention was then focussed on our comrades in the remaining two boats; No. 3 with its full complement was towing No.1 which contained Captain Windsor, Chief Officer Watson, Quarter Master Whiteside, and the badly wounded look-out man. Quickly they came alongside and their occupants clambered aboard the raider. Following the two boats was the raider’s white launch which was hoisted aboard and the so called Jap began making way.

The Scientist looking very forlorn and blazing fiercely was lying on the raider's starboard side about a mile away. The Germans then informed us of their intention to sink her by gunfire. Choosing her position carefully the raider opened fire. Round after round slammed into the bridge and accommodation setting her on fire in several places, 43

but not once did the German gunners succeed in hitting her waterline. It was by that time getting dark, and the burning Scientist presented an excellent beacon to any vessel, naval or otherwise, which may have been in the vicinity. On realising this the Germans decided to despatch the ship as quickly as possible by means of a torpedo.

Carefully manoeuvering to obtain every possible advantage, the raider let go a torpedo from her port tube. A minute passed. Had the ‘tin-fish’ missed its mark? No! For suddenly a huge column of white water shot 200 feet skywards from a point on the ship's waterline just abaft her midship mark. The force of the explosion, coupled no doubt with the spray extinguished the fires, and so we left her silhouetted against the dark Eastern horizon with the dull thunder of the explosion still reverberating in our ears.

The raider sped on through the night. We estimated she was heading North West at about 18 knots. It was a cold evening, and the majority of us were left on deck while the mates and engineers were interviewed by the raider's commander, whose name we learnt later was Rogge – or ‘Rogge the Rogue’ which became the rather apt appellation we used when referring to him later on. At about 7-30 p.m. we were led below to our quarters. We were agreeably surprised on

beholding our new home. Instead of the rat-infested hold of our imaginations, we entered a small almost cosy, specially prepared room that was roughly 15 feet athwartships and 12 feet fore and aft. It was furnished with three long tables, half a dozen basket chairs, while several lockers adorned the bulkhead. The deck was laid with mats, while from the deck-head several gaily shaded electric lamps were suspended. Leading off from the ‘living room’ as we learnt to call it, were the ‘bed rooms.’ The QM's Chippy and the Gunner were allocated bunks on the starboard side, the rest of us on the port side. The bunks were quite comfortable, each one complete with straw mattress and pillow, blankets and bed-linen.

A few minutes after being shown to our quarters a German sailor brought us various culinary utensils - basins, crockery, cutlery, kettles, jugs and a big dixie, and I was sent along to the galley for our evening meal. Following my guide up ladders and along dark alleyways, I gave my imagination full play, recalling to mind all the stories of "Hunnish atrocities" I had heard. What was my fate to be? A stab in the back, or a shot from one of those shadowy ports, which were I noticed, just head high. And so my conscious mind played havoc with my imagination, until with

relief, my guide ushered me into a pitch black room and shut the door behind him. As the door clanged to the lights came on, and I found myself in a small but well stocked pantry. Here two young sailors laughed together, and asked me questions of my station aboard the Scientist while plying me the with ham sandwiches. Soon my guide, who had been to the galley for a 44

kettle of tea, returned and with my basin loaded with black bread, black sausage ("Vorst"), ham and butter, I followed my guide along more alleyways to the "Gefangenen Raum." The men had by now sorted themselves out and set out two of the three tables.

Discussing our various experiences we settled down to this our first meal aboard the raider. It was welcome, undoubtedly, but I cannot say that anyone enjoyed the unfamiliar black bread, vorst and raw ham from a palatable point of view. Finishing the meal we washed up and after separating in little groups, some round the tables and some in their bunks, recalling to mind the packed incidents of the afternoon, and offering various theories and time limits regarding our forced stay aboard the raider. And so we went tour our bunks. .

During the week which followed the Germans installed a loud speaker in our quarters. Then came a large variety of music from some sensual Vienese waltzes to modern bizarre Nazi marches; many popular English airs were also relayed from the saloon for specified periods during the day.

German news bulletins in English were also relayed and later bulletins from San Francisco, USA. Also during two actions at a later date, (King City and A thel King) one of the German officers had the gall to "broadcast" a running commentary! Besides being used for musical programmes,

news bulletins, running commentaries and weather forecasts, the "radio" was used as a "knocker up". It was a habit of the Germans to start the day with a rousing march.

At 7.00 am the stirring notes of "Sieg Heil" or "Marching through Georgia" would belch forth at full blast from the loud speaker, while we poor prisoners slept, or tried to sleep, on. It was only then that the "wireless" became unpopular to us. The Germans also gave us several packs of cards, and the games of bridge and cribbage passed many a long hour. Books were few until the capture of the Tirranna when we were almost snowed under with Australian magazines, periodicals and novels.

A great surprise to us all was the canteen list which is printed on the following page, showing items we were allowed to purchase.

45

Note: The object of rescuing the account books from a sinking ship is for them to be returned to the company, and any person who has made a purchase from the bond or slop chest will be held to account for the goods he has received and will have to pay for them, if and when he pays off. If on the other hand those account books are lost with the ship, then there is no proof of a purchase. Under normal circumstances, the wages of all ranks comes to a halt on the day their ship is sunk.

Shipping companies which traded regularly to the Sub Continent, the West Indies or the Far East were obliged to employ a certain amount of indigenous labour on their ships.

Those ratings who were employed in the deck, engine or catering departments were paid much less than their European counterparts. As a result of that cheap labour, twice and sometimes three times the number of men could be employed to do the same amount of work as one European. T&J Harrison, Clan Line, Ellerman, P&O, Henderson and Brocklebank were amongst those who were mainly involved. However, the post war new NMB Rules decreed that the same rates and conditions must be applied to West Indies seamen as UK crews. By that time, however, T&J Harrisons no longer employed Lascars.

For British seamen it must be interesting to note, the many different items on the canteen list which is otherwise known to us as ‘the bond’; it must be agreed that the variety and fullness of the German ships, in comparison to British, was very much better and most

remarkable for a ship at sea. We were allowed 0.40 Marks or 40 Pfennigs spending money per day; this equates in British money at the 1940 rate to 9.2 pence, or four new pence per day; the rate of exchange before the war started was 10 Marks to ÂŁ1.

For the first week we were allowed both a beer and a lemonade every three days; afterwards we had a beer and lemonade every night. Each Saturday, our Chief Officer Mr Watson sent a list into the canteen for items we needed, things like tobacco, cigarettes, chocolate and toothpaste.

The food we were given may have been plain, but was nevertheless wholesome nutritious and plentiful, it was indeed the same as what the German sailors were given. Although things changed from time to time, the following lists overleaf are typical examples of the menus we received during our first six weeks on board.

46

CANTEEN LIST

Tobacco 100 gm.

pkt.

0.70

Cigarettes per

"

0.35

Cig. Papers

"

0.10

Cigarillos

(12)

1.50

Chew Tobacco

plug

0.25

Pipes

per

0.60 - 0.80 - 1.00

Beer

bottle

0.15

Soda Water

,,,,,,,

0.10

Whiskey

,,,,,,,

4.00

Schlicte Gin

,,,,,,,

4.00`

Chocolate

pkt.

0.30

Cream Choc.

bar

0.10

Mints

pkt.

0.10

Fruit Drops

Marks

0.10

Caramels

10

0.15

Note Books

each

0.60

Pencils India Rubbers

0.10

Razors

1. 75

Razor Blades Toothbrushes

0.60

Toothpaste

per tube

Boot Polish

tin

Boot Brushes each

0.20 0.20

Nail Brushes Shoe Laces

0.40 - 0.75

0.25 per pair

Boot Laces

0.10 0.20

Combs

each

0.50

Hair Oil

per bottle

0.85

Manicure Set

each

1.50

Sun Glasses

1.00

Kriegsmarine Ribbon

1.00

Haircuts

0.30

47

There were no separate menus on board Atlantis, from the saloon down to the junior mess deck, everybody ate and drank the same.

BREAKFAST Black Bread Black Acorn Coffee, Butter Substitute, "Vorst" Sausage.

Cheese) Jam ) Honey )

DINNER Fresh Potatoes when available, Meat (Pork or Beef) Asparagus Soup, Macaroni, Veg Stewed Fruit, Custard Also during the week, Macaroni, Sauce, Fish Mash.

Twice a week -Curry and Rice with Vegetables.

TEA Black Bread, Butter Substitute and Tea which was an Alleged product of strawberry leaves Cheese (three varieties) Raw Ham Hot Stews.

48

Water was supplied at mid-day when we received as much as we needed for drinking, washing and cleaning teeth etc. During the hot weather, lime juice was supplied with the water. Washing water was supplied in tubs each morning, but this commodity was the least plentiful. Soap which was supplied each month was also scarce.

Each day we were allowed on deck for two hours from 11.00 am - 12.00 and 4.30 pm - 5.30

pm. A portion of the boat deck a little longer than a cricket pitch was roped off where we walked and conversed, sometimes with the German officers. It was during one of these conversations that Gunnery Officer Kasch who in wishing to discuss the Scientist’s capture, remarked that it was their first action - perhaps he wanted us to congratulate him on his good shooting.

Never shall I forget the congenial companionship of "Sleepy Valley". In this secluded corner of the "bedroom", we gathered together each evening to swap yarns and jokes, Joining in impromptu concerts, debates and sing-songs I can see them now, The Champ, Joe, Mac, Tommy, Cocky, Jock and later Sparks, all comfortably seated on four bunks, smoking luxuriously, laughing and joking as only British sailors could in such times of trouble and adversity. I took no active part in these well remembered discussions, but I was an interested listener taking comfort in these jocular and sometimes serious conversations.

Another favourite retreat of mine was "The Boudoir", a name bestowed by Dick Barrow to the room where the men lived. Many a happy hour did I spend talking and listening to the

men - Bill Whiteside in particular, who, on our arrival wrote out the 31 Articles for my own personal benefit.

Looking back over the road of events - the ethereal promises of Mogadiscio, the weary, blighted desert of the SS Durmitor days, and the crammed discomfort of the last weeks aboard the raider, I think I can be forgiven when I say these opening days of our captivity were almost happy ones - happy, but with a subtle discontent, and an atmosphere of distrust in our captors, not to mention the feeling of impending danger, which was ever present.

49

After the steamer Scientist had been sunk, A tlantis steamed North West for about thirty six hours before altering course to the Southward. Where was he off to now? South America, the Pacific, South Africa, or possibly the Indian Ocean? As the days went by our skipper declared that the raider was easting considerably. Then on the night of 10 May our prison door was locked and all became quiet - even the engines seemed to be turning more slowly. On one occasion several German sailors with strained expressions and dressed in oilskins were admitted to our quarters, and without saying a word they each helped themselves to a life jacket and left.

While on deck that afternoon, we had noticed we were steaming approximately North East, and Captain Windsor who had kept track of our movements with the instinct and knowledge of a born seaman, said we could not be far away from the Cape of Good Hope. Perhaps the raider intended to bombard one of the Cape ports, but a much more acceptable theory was that she was about to lay mines. Such was the case, for we learned at a much later date that magnetic mines had indeed been laid off Cape Agulhas.

All night long the raider crept towards the land while sowing her deadly seeds as she went along.

At one point her siren bellowed three times. Had she been discovered? Minutes passed and

nothing happened. It was probably misty on deck, and with an ironical audacity the German raider was actually warning any approaching ship o f her presence!

Disappointed we turned in, and then on going up on deck next morning, we found that most of the mess deck above our quarters was effectively screened off from our curious eyes. The raider was steaming Southward at a good speed, and the weather was already much cooler than it had been.

Kapitan Rogge was on deck walking his Scotch Terrier. That dog was known to us as "Scottie."

Scotties German name however was "Ferry." I'm afraid he was a bad tempered little dog when thwarted, but normally he was as gay as any other puppy. He enjoyed a game with anyone, particularly his countrymen who seemed to understand his disposition best!

After the usual exchange of pleasantries, Captain Windsor remarked to Rogge "I expect the shore lights were bright last night, eh, Captain?" Rogge blustered and fumed for a moment, and excused himself as he went to his room. Captain Windsor grinned and continued his morning stroll with his chief engineer. One in the eye for the Jerry said Captain Windsor, in thinking that Rogge wanted to keep his position secret.

Monday,10 June 10th 1940. We have by now been aboard the raider for nearly six weeks, and

nothing has happened to break the monotony of our lives. But something seems about to happen now. The door of our quarters has been locked, the sailors in the flat above have been unusually quiet, and the raider is pulsating with power as she slides through the water at her utmost speed.

Certainly she's sighted something. Having arrived at this conclusion, our next question is ‘What 50

has she seen ?’ Perhaps it’s a British warship - we hope so, but even the bravest of us realise that we are in a tough spot. Suppose it is the Royal Navy and they defeat the raider, will the Germans panic and leave us to drown like rats in a trap? Will she be struck in her magazine? If we have to take to the water shall we be attacked by sharks? It was a subject that didn't bear thinking about.

Then with a shrill decadent whine, the forced draught faded away and everything became deathly quiet, the silence being broken only by the swish of water against the ship's side. Quite suddenly, as a sledge hammer would shatter a pane of glass, the still electric silence in that room was smashed as the gun-flaps were released and the raider opened fire. For twelve minutes that small room became an inferno of sound as salvo after salvo was poured into the raider's target. Plaster splashed down upon us from the deck-head above, and choking cordite fumes found its way through the ventilation system. Between the deafening roars of the 5.9 -inch guns could be heard the hoarse shouts of the gunners, the whine of the ammunition hoist, and the persistent thumping of the deadly shrapnel gun mounted in the raider's bows.

After three hours of what seemed to be maximum speed, when salvo after salvo from the 5.9s the ordeal was over and all was quiet again. With a cynical smile playing about his thin lips,

Leutenant Strekker entered our room to tell us - "Eet ees a Norvegian merchant sheep ve haf captured and Tirranna ees her name." With a smart salute and a bow he departed and left us to discuss the report, but no one knew anything of the captured ship, except that she was a motor ship of the Wilhelmsen Line of Tonsberg.

The 7,230 GRT motor ship Tirranna had been built in Germany and was handed over to her Norwegian owners in 1938; with the same engines she was equal in speed to Atlantis.

When Captain Gundersen met up with Rogge he complained bitterly, saying that Norway had capitulated and made peace with Germany just a few hours earlier on that very day, and that he had quite unnecessarily killed five of his men and badly injured a dozen more.

A 27 man prize crew were sent to Tirranna, but on discovering there was only 200 tons of diesel left in her bunker tanks, which was insufficient for the ship to make it as far as Europe, she was ordered to proceed South and await further orders.

Meanwhile back on board A tlantis, it was about 1.00 pm and we were feeling hungry. But

because there was no sign of any food arriving from the galley, we opened some spare tins of sardines and mashed the contents with butter. We had some bread left from breakfast and it all made a satisfying meal. All that day we did not breathe any fresh air, and neither did we see the Norwegians. We were kept below in that stuffy cordite filled room until about six o'clock when 51

two of us were led up to the galley for ‘Essen.’ Up on deck in the gathering dusk we noticed that the raider was steaming South Eastward with her new prize steaming along about 2 points off her port bow.

Morning dawned bright and clear, while a slight ground swell caused an uncomfortable half roll, a half pitch which was peculiar to A tlantis as she lay hove-to. On her starboard bow, about half a mile away lay the Tirranna. She was a motor ship very similar in design to A tlantis; but several of the German officers declared she was a better ship than their own. Her well decks were filled with field Ambulances, Army trucks, cars and vans.

On her poop a six-inch gun was mounted. Apparently she had been chartered by the British Government in Freemantle and was bound for Mombasa loaded with stores, mails, comforts and equipment for the Imperial Forces in East Africa. Except for a large hole in her stern and twisted rails and wreckage on her boat deck, she showed little signs of damage, despite the fact that the raider had fired nearly sixty rounds at her. Evidently the German gunners were still in need of a bit of practice.

I thought the days of piracy were over, I had in fact reached the stage when I considered a pirate

story to be nothing more than a literary delight for boys rather younger than myself, but as I looked upon this modern pirate scene, I felt as if I’d been drawn back through time to an age when swash-buckling sea robbers were the vogue. Between the buccaneer and its victim, lifeboats loaded with every conceivable commodity from crates of beer to mail bags and boxes of margarine were being towed by the raider's motor launches. Derricks were swung outboard, and sling after sling of crates, bags and boxes were lowered swiftly into the raiders' gaping hatches.

Except for those on practical duties, Kapitan Rogge assembled the whole of his complement on deck and gave them a severe warning as to their treatment of the prisoners, as well as collecting souvenirs from their ships. Looking around at his officers and senior rates he said there would be no exceptions. Indeed, boarding parties sent to captured ships had been helping themselves to the cargoes and the contents of the bonded store rooms. On 14 June 1940 Atlantis took on another disguise. This time she was to be the Tarifa, which was another of the Wilhelmsen Line ships, which like Tirranna was also supposed to be on charter for the British Government.

52

Crew List of the MS Tirranna, Supplied by the Norwegian Archives

Captain Edvard Hauff Gundersen — 1st Mate Thorof Holst, 2nd Nils A Nilsen, 3rd Sven Bjornby 4th, Leif Holberg Andersen — Radio Officer Johny Haaland — Electrician Otto Kristensen — Carpenter Johan Johansen — Bosun Ole Paulsen — ABs Hilmar Engelsen, Robert Fuglevik, Floor Anderson, Kristian Kristensen — Ordinary Seaman, Alf Sverra Hansen— Deck Boys, Einar Olsen, Johan Jacobsen — Chief Engineer, Johannes Knudsrod.

2nd, Hartvig Kristiansen, 3rd Rolf Andersen — 4th Einar Christensen —Mechanics, Erling Olsen, Leonard Hilland, Thomas Berg, Leif Henriksen, David Johansen, Kjell Gundersen, Oilers Ragnar Andersen, Gunnar Nystrom — Engine Room Boy, James Andersen Steward, Frithjof Gundersen, —Cook Olaf Eliasen, — Galley Boy, Einar Jacobsen, — Mess Boy, Hakon Serensen, — Saloon Boy, John Ronning — Saloon Girl, Jenny Jensen — Passengers, Odd Nyrud, Peder Groderlund, Karl Fause, Charles Mikkelsen, Sigurd Vaage Rasmussen, Thor Haugen, Leif Barto, Birgur Bjornsby, Trond Larsen, Ole Herman Andersen. Passengers, Odd Nyrud, Peder Groderlund, Karl Fause, Charles Mikkelsen, Sigurd Vaage Rasmussen, Thor Haugen, Leif Barto, Birgur Bjornsby, Trond Larsen, Ole Herman Andersen. Hakon Serensen, Saloon Boy, John Ronning Saloon Girl, Jenny Jensen

For the following week work went on until the raider had taken in sufficient fuel, water and vittles from her victim. A German prize crew under the charge of Leutenants Waldemann and Muntz together with enough Norwegian sailors to man the ship, were then sent to the Tirranna.

When we came on deck on the following morning we found that the Tirranna had disappeared, and A tlantis, which was presently disguised as the A bbekerk, was steaming Northward at a steady twelve knots.

After several surreptitious meetings had been wangled it was two days after the capture of Tirranna that we were allowed to mix with the Norwegians. Most of them spoke perfect English, and it was with great interest that we listened to the latest British news of the fighting in Norway and the reasons for the collapse of France. They were quite a decent crowd and very much like ourselves, although there were one or two who were suspected of being other. Quite a number of 53

them were working their passage home from Australia. They did so in order to join up and help put a spoke in the wheel of the Nazi War machine; several had lost their families in the German bombing raids. Five of their comrades had been killed by the German gunners, another died later in the hospital of Atlantis and several lay wounded and helpless in the care of the German doctors.

The Norwegians had of course got all their belongings, and much of their spare clothing was given to us as ours was rather scanty with the weather being uncertain. Indeed it was winter where we were in the Southern hemisphere, and when walking the decks for our allotted exercise it could become quite chilly. They also shared their books and playing cards with us, and in general we all got on quite well with each other. I remember Anderson, or Andy as we called him; he was a typical Norseman and as unconventional and adventurous as his famous forefathers the Vikings.

Andy moved in an atmosphere of romance, a romance that was toned to perfection by years of hard and strenuous living. I see him now - his tanned features shaded by his

wide-brimmed Stetson - his wiry form poised athletically upon two self-shod feet; entrancing his English audience with tales of the Australian bush and of the South American Pampas. Andy knew the world and its people as well as a gamekeeper understood the creatures of his forests. He seemed to have settled down for some years on a sheep farm in Australia, until the rodents of Nazi Germany reared their ugly heads, it was then that he decided to return to his native Norway in order to help exterminate the plague of rats.

More than likely I was the youngest person on board A tlantis by being 16 years of age, but 29 June 1940 marked my17th birthday. Despite being wished all the best, and a hand shake or a pat on the back from his ship mates, as well as being presented with a fizzy drink and a cake, there were to be no great celebrations. Indeed, I was not the only one having a birthday, because with there being 365 days in the year, and about 730 people on board Atlantis, it would have meant on average that two people were having a birthday every single day.

The noble art of boxing was as popular with the Germans as it was with us. A full sized ring was roped off on No.2 hatch and several sets of gloves were provided for our use.

Then with much gasping (for we were well out of condition), we pummelled and pounded each other with the ardour, if not the vigour, of a crowd of lads at the local 54

Boys' Club. The Germans were to hold a Boxing Tournament and various messes were hard at it bringing their "hopefuls" up to standard.

The day came - a lovely day in early July. The ship was steaming on a Northerly course at a steady ten knots. The sea was slight, and the almost imperceptible roll would not have any appreciable effect on the footwork of the contestants. The boxing ring was bordered on each side by rows of enthusiastic Germans, eagerly speculating as to what the result of the tournament would be. In splendid isolation at the foot of the foremast sat the German officers. The prisoners were clustered in the background with some sitting astride derricks and ventilator cowls. All the Germans were dressed in spotless tropical uniforms - the scene reminding one of a function at an English Garden Party - with a crowd of nondescript tramps craning their necks from various points of vantage to obtain a glimpse of what was going on.

The judges were already in their seats, and the commentator was adjusting the "mike" to his liking, when Kapitan Rogge came in from the starboard alleyway accompanied by one or two senior officers. The Germans sprang - the prisoners shuffled to attention as that representative of German naval might was ushered to his seat. He was a large man about six feet tall and broad in

proportion. He was rather dark, with a permanent thin-lipped smile which seemed to convey to one's mind the three conflicting qualities of geniality - anxiety -and ruthlessness.

He held two Iron Crosses, a Life-Saving medal, and several medals from the last war. Although his face was quite young and free from wrinkles, his head was partly bald, thus making it rather difficult to estimate his age. He spoke sharply in his peculiar high-pitched voice - his crew answered with a deep throated "Heil" The first combatants came smartly into the ring, and Leutenant Bohle the referee introduced them to the spectators and delivered the usual caution and address.

The round lasted two minutes, in which short space of time blood began to gush from Fritz's nose, and his opponent's left eye soon succumbed to the violence of Fritz's attack.

The end of a round came, and the fighters staggered back to their corners to recuperate. The bell went a minute later, and the two battle-scarred fighters returned to the struggle with renewed vigour. Both men were too exhausted during the third and last round to inflict much damage on his opponent, though I must say that each tried his best, judging by the wild swings and lunges they made which provoked roars of merriment from the watching sailors.

The boxing tournament lasted all day, when during which time we witnessed many forms of boxing from the hammer-and-tongs schoolboy fight briefly described above, to scientific boxing of the approved style. There were one or two novel bouts fought - one of which is worthy of mention. The largest man in the ship was matched against the smallest, and it was truly funny to 55

watch their antics in the ring and out. Ellman, my mate, and a keen boxer in his training-ship days offered to meet one of the Tirranna men. The challenge was accepted, and they both disported themselves valiantly, much gore being shed on both sides. It was a good fight, the decision given being in favour of the Norwegian champion. A challenge was also issued to the Germans - a chance to pay off old scores! As we expected, the challenge was refused as, owing to the -er -international situation between the two countries, tempers might be strained, and the noble art may lose some of its sporting significance and no doubt it would!

And all this while the special duty men were at their posts; those on the bridge navigating and steering the ship, those in both crows nests with eyes peeled hoping they didn’t see the dreaded British cruiser, and those in the engine room awaiting the jangling sound of the telegraph. Indeed, all it took was a single shrill whistle from the officer of the watch to denote the sighting of a ship; that would result in State One action stations, and the decks of Atlantis would be cleared in a flash.

At the end of the day, the final bout was held with both fighters demonstrating a great deal of skill and resource. It was entrancing to watch the footwork of these champions; the rhythmic

sway of their bodies, the neat sliding stepping motion when avoiding a graceful, but deadly right or a dainty left hook. In fact it was the nearest thing to dancing I have ever seen in a boxing ring.

One could almost hear the music! The next item on the agenda was the presentation of the prizes.

After a brief speech, in which he no doubt expressed his pleasure at witnessing such a display of skill and endurance, Kapitan Rogge asked the victors to step up and receive their rewards. And what rewards! Tins of jam and fruit, bars of chocolate, and other comestibles pilfered from the Tirranna.

One young sailor was immensely proud of a huge German sausage which Kapitan Rogge had bestowed upon him with his blessing! How we British managed to repress our mirth when we saw this budding follower of the Fuehrer, a serious scowl on his broad countenance - his right arm raised in the Nazi salute and his colossal German sausage tucked under his arm, I know not!

I smile now at the recollection.

One of the basic principles upon which our modern civilisation has been founded, is the contention that business always follows pleasure. Therefore, it was in accordance with this rule that we found ourselves rudely forced from the soft silkiness of a deep sleep by the strident sound

of the Klaxon sounding "Action Stations."

56

Crew List of the MS Tirranna, Supplied by the Norwegian Archives

Captain Edvard Hauff Gundersen — 1st Mate Thorof Holst, 2nd Nils A Nilsen, 3rd Sven Bjornby 4th, Leif Holberg Andersen — Radio Officer Johny Haaland — Electrician Otto Kristensen — Carpenter Johan Johansen — Bosun Ole Paulsen — ABs Hilmar Engelsen, Robert Fuglevik, Floor Anderson, Kristian Kristensen — Ordinary Seaman, Alf Sverra Hansen— Deck Boys, Einar Olsen, Johan Jacobsen — Chief Engineer, Johannes Knudsrod.

2nd, Hartvig Kristiansen, 3rd Rolf Andersen — 4th Einar Christensen —Mechanics, Erling Olsen, Leonard Hilland, Thomas Berg, Leif Henriksen, David Johansen, Kjell Gundersen, Oilers Ragnar Andersen, Gunnar Nystrom — Engine Room Boy, James Andersen Steward,

Frithjof Gundersen, —Cook Olaf Eliasen, — Galley Boy, Einar Jacobsen.

57

The time was 0700 and the day was Saturday 11th July 1940. Half awake we scrambled into our clothes and made sure our life-jackets were handy - just in case. Our prison door was clanged to, the scamper of feet and the clacking of breeches on the gun-flat above suddenly ceased; the roar of the forced draught gradually died away like the cry of mortally stricken lion. We prisoners took out our books, pencils and playing cards, and in that close silence we waited for - we knew not what.

More than two hours later, the raider began pulsating with renewed vigour, and soon we heard the dull boom of the gun flaps as they were drawn up on their pivots. Closely following were the resounding crashes of the two six inch guns above our heads; echoed by the more distant sound of the after guns. Little flakes of plaster fluttered down from the deck-head. Again the guns crashed out, belching forth their missiles of death from flaming, reeking muzzles. Again the little room resounded to that awful message of destruction. Again and yet again, until eventually all was quiet.

In silence we watched the gay-curling waves of cordite smoke that irritated our nostrils and wondered at the fate of our fellow seamen aboard this new victim of Nazi piracy, which we soon

learned, was the Ellerman steamer – City of Baghdad of 5,800 tons.

Towards noon we were allowed on deck where we saw the City of Baghdad hove to a little abaft our port beam. The two ships rose and fell lazily on the gentle swell, while the raider's launches chugged to and fro between them. The City of Baghdad’s lifeboats had been hoisted aboard, and were now lying on the raider's fore-deck, we therefore presumed that the City Boat men had also been safely taken aboard.

The glaring sun poured its merciless rays upon the steel deck causing the paint to blister, thus making the deck uncomfortably hot beneath our inadequately shod feet. Sharks abounded in the tepid water, their dorsal fins making a sliver of white foam on the blue surface of the sea, as they nosed their way through offal and refuse in search of food.

Occasionally the staccato crack of a rifle would break the still silence, and the marksman on the bridge would grunt with satisfaction as a swirl of foam, and a darkening of the water gradually told him that another shark had tasted the accuracy of his shooting. It soon became evident to us that the raider was waiting for something to happen. The sailors lined the rails and bulwarks, regarding their victim with intent expressions creasing their features. The officers were clustered

in expectant groups, on both the lower and navigating bridges with binoculars and cameras ready for use at a moment's notice The raider's white motor-launch lay waiting between the two vessels, her engine running, and her neat stem pointing towards the City of Baghdad.

Suddenly, several white-uniformed figures appeared on the Ellerman steamer's after well deck; 58

and almost simultaneously with the appearance of the Germans, the City of Baghdad blew up. A blinding flash, a deafening roar, a column of black smoke, a momentary vision of machinery and deck fittings hurled scores of feet skywards, then the pitter-patter of falling debris. Again the blinding flash, the roar, and the falling debris as a second explosion shook the very foundations of the ether.

Then as the smoke cleared we perceived as the beginning of the last act of a drama is seen beyond the lifting curtain, the stricken British Merchantman, settling swiftly by the stern, her upper works and funnel twisted into fantastic shapes, and burning with an all-consuming fire. Then we saw something else; the sight of horrified Germans on the decks of the City of Baghdad, scurrying with rats for company in an effort to reach the forward end of the sinking ship.

The City of Baghdad with her bottom blown out and her holds chock full of steel rails and machinery, was doing her best to reach Davy Jones's Locker without any delay whatsoever.

Water was already swishing about her after-well deck as the terrified boarding party reached the forward well-deck and flung over the pilot ladder. Scrambling down as far as they dared, they shouted hoarsely for the launch to come alongside. The leading seaman in charge of the boat

seemed very reluctant to venture any nearer to the sinking ship, as he probably expected a third explosion.

However, in obedience to the commands and entreaties of his comrades, he put his engine into gear and swiftly went alongside the City of Baghdad. The wretched Germans tumbled thankfully into the boat which dashed away at full speed to a safer area. Two minutes later, the City of Baghdad, which was in fact a captured DDG Hansa Line steamer of the last war, gave a lurch, and then shuddered violently, as though at some final reflection upon Nazi frightfulness, and then, as water spouted from her after ventilators and samson posts, she slid swiftly towards her last resting place.

As her bow lifted, the crews of the forward 75 mm opened fire on their fallen victim with all the callous indifference of base-born serfs of their Nazi War Lord. The action may have been regarded by them as being in the nature of a salute, a gesture of respect, but judging by their expressions of fiendish delight, I would condemn such an action merely as an obdurate, but novel diversion from target practice.

We were never told the true facts of the case, or any other facts for that matter, but our theory was

the bomb fuses had been mis-timed and the City of Baghdad had blown up prematurely.

Certainly, the officer in charge, Leutenant Fehler, was wounded in the arm, and they may have left some dead behind them. Such a possibility is not unlikely, but is only conjecture on my part.

Soon we were ordered below where we prepared our mid-day meal, and then waited impatiently 59

for our new mess-mates to come below to join us. At last they came, some in uniform, some in everyday working clothes, a few bandaged, several haggard and weary, but all dirty and wonderfully cheerful.

We welcomed them, almost literally with open arms, and listened as only we, who had not heard such music for ten weeks to the harmony of the pleasant North Country burr, mingled with unintelligible Highland accents as several voices were raised in greeting.

We listened sympathetically to the story they had to tell us. They were bound from the Dutch East Indies towards Colombo when the raider caught them.

The German opened fire without warning, killing two Lascars and severely wounding a quartermaster and the senior radio officer, who was at his wireless post calling for assistance. They abandoned ship and were picked up by the raider, where they were treated courteously by their captors. The injured had their wounds dressed, and the others were given cups of strong tea to revive them after their experience. They then witnessed the destruction of their ship from the raider's boat deck.

The Baghdad crowd as we collectively called the crew gave us all the recent news, most of which we had heard, with embellishments, on the American radio; we in our turn gave them our story and also many things we had found out concerning the internal management and tactics of our commerce captors.

Crew List of the SS City of Baghdad, Supplied by Cadet Graeme Cubbin.

Captain J Armstrong-White – 1st Mate W Piercy - 2nd Mate G Stuart - 3rd Mate H Steele – Chief Engineer R Jack - 2nd J Carneigie – 3rd J Lowrie – 4th P Grimes – 5th W Skilling –Apprentices G Treasurer and W Paton – Cadet JN Robinson –

Carpenter W McKinnon – Gunner J Stamper RN – Radio Officers W Brett and J Earp – Quartermasters E Langrick, H McKay, S Tilney, R Graham.

60

SS Kemmendine

All that night and the following day, the raider steamed in a South Westerly direction at full speed, while the morning of Monday 13th July found us taking our morning exercise on the fore-

deck. Towards eleven o'clock, we were disturbed by a voice from the bridge ordering us below.

All the look-outs were focussing their powerful glasses on some distant object on our port-bow, and several of our men who had jumped up onto the hatch, declared they could see a smudge of smoke on the horizon.

The Klaxons then began to blare forth their message of alarm and we were herded below, moving as slowly as possible and doing our best to block the narrow ladders and alleyways, often incurring a most edifying flow of Germanic vituperation from excited sailors whose right of way we obstructed. Entering our quarters the door was locked and we were left to talk and meditate as we would. Twenty minutes later, the raider opened fire, and our quarters seemed to become part of that universe of sound with which we (and no doubt the reader) had already become so accustomed. Some minutes later the bombardment ceased, only to break out anew five minutes later.

This was something new in our experience, and the incident occasioned us a certain degree of hope, coupled with a little anxiety. It was as though the raider's victim was a decoy which had returned her fire that percolated our brains. If such was the case the time had come for us to don

our life-jackets, and so, with mixed feelings, we strapped on our "petticoats", prepared for the worst but hoping for the best.

However despite the fact that one chap swore he heard the sound of a direct hit somewhere above, the firing ceased as suddenly as it began; the doctor then came below to tell us that the new prize was the Henderson liner Kemmendine (7,700 tons) of Glasgow. She had fired back at the raider after surrendering, thus causing the raider to open fire on her for a second time.

There was a bit of a stink about this infringement of International Law and common decency, and

Gunners McDonald and Riley were the victims of a stormy interview with Kapitan Rogge. It was however, all due to a misunderstanding caused no doubt by the excitement of the chase. It appeared that after the raider had opened fire, the Kemmendine’s gunners ran and loaded their weapon without waiting for the arrival of the gun's crew.

By not hearing any word from the bridge, and in61thinking that the telephone communication had

been damaged, the two men opened fire at the now quiescent raider, little knowing that their ship had already surrendered. Of course the raider answered. It was only then on the orders of their captain, that Gunners A McDonald and R Riley left the gun-platform and went to their boat stations. Incredible as it sounds, no one was either killed or injured, even though the raider had hit her about thirty times and set her on fire.

The radio officer had a very narrow escape, one of the Lascar sailors jammed his fingers in the boat lowering tackle, the fifth engineer got thoroughly soaked when he fell into the sea, and two cats were killed by shell splinters. That was the sum total of the Kemmendine’s casualties. Yet in a later action, and although the ship was hit no more than three or four times, six good men lost their lives and several others were badly injured. But more about that later.

At about one clock we were allowed on deck where we could see the Kemmendine blazing furiously on our starboard quarter. Her eight life-boats were alongside the raider, and German sailors were busy lashing them together. Hearing a cheery Glasgow-

cultured voice above us, we looked up towards the saloon deck and beheld with interest an ancient mariner, a man who between the puffs of his old pipe remarked quite composedly "Every doggie will hae it's day!" He was soon joined by several of his comrades - also Scotsmen - who soon got into noisy conversation with our Scots. Soon there was a confused babble of unintelligible sounds, punctuated with roars of laughter as someone cracked an unfathomable Scottish joke. Words which I could grasp, such as ‘Saughiehall Street’, ‘Rangers’, ‘Tail O’ the Bank’ and ‘Broomielaw’ emerged from the perplexing jumble of phrases, like sparks leaping out from a red-hot jumble of metal ore.

And all telling my English mind that these Scottish barbarians were comparing notes as to the achievements of the local football teams; and also their home address relative to that of the "Towny", and so on; very confusing I know, but with all due respect I maintain that Scotsmen, and particularly the species from Glasgow, are extremely confusing to the English intellect. Then mingling with the noise of gay and careless laugher, we heard an altogether new sound, a sound which many of us had not heard for several months, the sound of children at play. It was almost as though in response to a given signal, the men became silent as two children accompanied by their mother emerged on to the fore-deck. They looked about them rather shyly, and at the sight of so many bearded uncouth looking men, the little girl instinctively caught her brother's hand 62

and hugged her rag-doll closer. After the first momentary pause (during which, I am sure, every heart went out to these innocent victims of oppression, every mind moulded a curse on the heads of those beings who had brought about their misery), we found our voices and the children soon lost their shyness. We learnt that their names were Robin and Sally Swan. Robin was the eldest being a year older than his sister who was scarcely three years old. They soon found that the tawniest beard could not hide a British sailor's heart. In fact, they took great pleasure in tugging at a "set" occasionally much to the delight of its proud owner. Robin even announced his intention to grow a "set" some day. Despite the calamity which had befallen her and her children, the mother still wore a brave charming smile and allowed no vestige of the truth to reach the ears of her children. They were still confident in their own minds that they were going to Rangoon to see Daddy, and only a contrary word from Mummy could shake that confidence.

Something inexplicable had happened to the Kemmendine. She had been fired upon (Sally placed her little hands over her ears at the recollection) and set afire. They had

left the ship in the life-boats (poor Pussy had been left behind) They had then been taken on board this other ship where they were greeted by strange men in clean white suits who spoke English in a strange voice, and offered them lemonade and tea and chocolate.

They were not hurt and neither was Mummy or anyone else, everything was all right, and they would be seeing Daddy in a few days time. But why had the Kemmendine been fired upon? Their young minds refused to answer this question, but they soon forgot their worries while playing with us. Also among the newcomers were four other women; Mrs Blanchard and her sixteen year old daughter Joan, Mrs Hilton, and red-haired Miss Botfield. They were all Brits and faced the uncertain future with a degree of courage and fortitude that won the admiration of us all.

Our attention was next drawn to the following events. A German officer courteously requested Mrs Swan to take the children inside their cabin as the guns were about to be used. The Kemmendine’s life-boats which were by then securely lashed together were allowed to drift as the raider got under way. A few moments later, at a range of about 2000 yards, the raider's after six-inch guns opened fire on the drifting boats. Several hits were scored, and at least one boat was seen to be burning. Another was still afloat and seemed, at that distance, to be still in good shape. The raider ceased fire; our attention was then transferred to the blazing Kemmendine We then learned it was the Germans 63

intention to sink the doomed vessel by torpedo. Carefully the raider manoeuvred into the most favourable position; a pause, then the sudden hiss of compressed air as the torpedo sped on its way. Something must have happened to the depth mechanism, for we could see the deadly "fish" leaping from one wave to another on the way to its target. Half a minute passed and then the torpedo, despite the erratic course it had steered, found its billet on the waterline of No. 2 hold a little forward of the bridge. A huge column of water leapt to a point well above the Kemmendine’s foremast, but not a murmur of an explosion did we hear as we were lying well to windward.

Minutes passed but that stout ship underwent no noticeable change. Half an hour later the Kemmendine was still floating serenely and blazing furiously but still showed no signs of sinking, and so the Germans decided to launch another torpedo. Again the sharp hiss of compressed air, the splash, the long pause, and again the column of white water as the episode reached its climax. The "tin fish" found its billet in almost the same place as its predecessor. Nothing seemed to happen, and then a minute or two after the torpedo

had found its mark, we observed the Kemmendine slowly breaking in two. We could imagine the creaking beams and groaning frames, all twisting in an effort to resist the inexorable weight of the Kemmendine as she strove to break asunder.

The struggle lasted several minutes, and then the inevitable happened. With a final rending of tortured steel, and like two wrestlers breaking from a deadly embrace, the two halves drifted slowly apart. Swiftly, the Kemmendine’s after-end slid beneath the heaving expanse of water, to be closely followed by the fore-part. A cloud of steam drifted over the spot like a pall. On the raider's fore-deck we stood in silence. A telegraph clanged blatantly, foam churned under the ship's trim stern as she pointed her bows to the South. The guard cried "Unterdeck" and we filed below.

64

Crew of the SS Kemmendine Supplied by Cadet Graeme Cubbin Captain R Reid, --1st Mate M Ramsay, – 2nd J Whitehead, – 3rd K Macleod, – 4th A McCulloch. – Cadets, RE Skivington, J Park, L Brown – Chief Engineer J Fisher – 2nd T Frame – 3rd J Gibson – 4th R King – 5th A Ross – Radio Officers W Clark, R McEwan – Gunners R Riley, A McDonald – Quartermasters, J Holland, A Clarke, A Campbell, D Craig – Chief Steward R Paterson – 2nd J Holland – Doctor J McGowan – Passengers, Miss Botfield, Mrs Hilton, Mrs Blanchard, Miss Blanchard, Mrs Swan, Robin and Sally Swan.

Owing to the sudden increase in numbers it became necessary to re-arrange the living quarters. Previous to the capture of the City of Baghdad we, the crew of the Scientist who in being the privileged first-comers, had lived in the smaller but more comfortable room next to the "hanger" of No. 2 hatch. The Norwegians had lived "next door" in what

had been No. 3 hatch. It was decided that the senior officers should live in the small room (which was fitted out with 30 to 40 bunks) and junior officers and men should move into the large room which had about 200 bunks. And so it was that 'Sleepy Valley' and the "Boudoir" were broken up; only to assemble again in corners of the "place next door".

New friends were found, new cliques formed, and beer-parties became a regular feature.

How or why our captors could allow such extravagance I cannot hazard a guess, but the fact remains that crates of beer, bottles of whiskey and gin played a conspicuous part in the evening's entertainment for many days to come. Whist drives and cribbage contests were carefully planned, and even prizes awarded to successful players. The occasional cinema show given by Leutenant Strekker was always looked forward to. The films 65

were usually comical and pointless with very little serious drama in them, and although the dialogue was in German we could follow the trend of events quite well. Several films showed peaceful English rural scenes and we also obtained glimpses of familiar parts of the London which was so far away.

As you may guess, there was much theatrical and musical talent amongst us. Someone had a mouth-organ and this remarkable instrument did wonders in leading choruses and accompanying soloists, besides doing a bit of solo work on its own account. Once, at a special "command" concert, one enterprising person asked Dr Sprung for the loan of his piano-accordion; and what is more, he got it! At that, another enterprising chap offered to go and borrow a fiddle and flute, and start a quartet, but he was promptly sat upon.

There were several comedians among us, but the best ones never realised how funny they were until they were unceremoniously howled off the ‘stage!’

Our library had now achieved prodigious proportions. Besides an enormous amount of magazines, ranging from ‘Detective Weekly’ (10 cts.) to "Peg's Paper" (on sale

everywhere) we had quite an appreciable amount of serious reading matter, several Bibles and testaments, a Church of England Prayer book, many of the approved classics, novels and short stories. A librarian was appointed and books were loaned systematically so that each man had something to read. We also had several technical books on engineering, seamanship and navigation. A class for cadets was started, and much of our time was spent in studying. We asked Leutenant Mohr, the officer in charge of the prisoners, for volumes of Nautical Tables, Almanacs, etc. and we got them, together with a chart, a pair of parallel rules, compasses, pencils, paper and work-books.

Every few weeks our instructors used to set examination papers, and the cadets (there were seven of us at that time) were forced to go through all the sweat and labour of a typical Second Mate's examination. Results, very insignificant at first, but became more remarkable as time went on as our able tutors drilled the necessary knowledge into our resilient minds.

Yes! The Cadets certainly have reason to be grateful to Joe Connolly of the Scientist and Ken Macleod of the Kemmendine for the patience and broad-mindedness they showed while successfully drumming into our heads the rudiments of our future work.

However, not all of our spare time was spent below decks; indeed, as much as six hours a day was spent up above in the fresh air - usually on the boat-deck but sometimes on 66

the fore-deck. Each morning we had breakfast at 7.30, and at about 8.15 those of us who wished to see the doctor were conducted to the dispensary. At 9 o'clock in response to a shrill whistle and a gutteral command, we rushed up the ladders to the sunlit deck where we spread blankets in the cosiest corners (usually in the lee of the boats) where we either talked, read or played chess or even went to sleep. If we felt energetic we paced up and down the space allotted to us, or played quoits, and sometimes, in bursts of super-het energy, we even hurled medicine balls at each other, tumbled about on a large wrestling mat, or tried to break our necks on a horizontal bar which had been erected for the use of the more active of the Germans. We must not forget the children. A swing was slung from one of No. 3 derricks, and the false coaming of No.3 hatch was turned into a sand pit. Buckets and spades were conjured from somewhere and Robin and Sally amused themselves at the seaside. Despite the fact that the raider had recently run out of fresh potatoes, feeding at this period was at its best. Perhaps it was propaganda for the benefit of the women, but the fact remains that luxuries such as tins of milk, white

bread, cocoa, and jam appeared more frequently on our meal tables. We missed the fresh potatoes very much, their substitute being a brown, tasteless apology that had once, many moons ago, been sliced, dried and preserved in the approved German fashion. We disliked them, and I for one never got used to them, although I think however, that later on we would have welcomed them in Somaliland, where potatoes were only half preserved (and consequently half rotten) in the approved Italian fashion. However, apart from the potatoes, food was good, declining in quality and quantity only after the Tirranna had left for Germany and the raider had became more and more congested with prisoners.

Modern Day Piracy ?

The salvaging of stores and equipment from a sinking ship may seem appropriate as there is no need to let such items go to waste. But such a liberty does not apply within the Rules of War when one ship purposefully sinks another. Indeed, there is nothing in the same rules that says any attacking ship is allowed to plunder goods from stricken ships and act as a parasite. Even though some German surface raiders did feed their captives on the same ration scale as their own crews, the removal of food, water, fuel or any other items from a sinking ship can only be described as piracy.

67

When victuals in the store-rooms ran low shark meat was often on the menu. Unfortunately such fare was a last resort, shark meat tastes of an oily disinfectant.

On board Atlantis sharks were quite often caught for consumption.

The picture to the left shows a U-Boat crew who are also short of vittles.

Above - Stewards from Atlantis pirating the stores from one of their victims.

68

For a fortnight the raider zig-zagged Southward, but to us her intentions were evident.

She meant to rendezvous with the Tirranna and disembark the women and children.

Perhaps some of us would go along with them. We hoped so, for the chances of being intercepted by a British Man O’ War were much greater than if we remained on the raider. On the morning of 27 July the breakfast ‘Peggies’ reported that as they went up to the galley, they had seen Tirranna on the raider's port side, At 9 o'clock, when we went up on deck, the raider was hove to, and the Tirranna with all traces of damage removed, was lifting to the gentle swell on our starboard beam. Motor launches, towing clumsy pitching lifeboats were already chugging to and fro with stores.

We were told that the provisioning of the Tirranna would be accomplished in four or five days. In the meantime, a decision would be arrived at as to our future.

The next day we learned our fate, those that were to go in Tirranna consisted of women and children, all the Indian passengers, all men over 50 years of age. (One man declined the offer) and boys under 16. Mr Chicken the Scientist passenger was allowed to go,

also the wounded and men with uncertain constitutions whom the doctors believed would receive better treatment in Germany. The remainder including the captains would be obliged to accept the trend of circumstances and be the guests of Kapitan Rogge for a while longer. Captain Windsor with the very best intentions, appealed to Kapitan Rogge to allow his passenger (who was a non-combatant) to go, and also his wounded wireless operator and junior cadet. He succeeded in Mr Chicken's case, but references to my youth, my first voyage, and my future career, only made me blush, and as a result of my captain’s efforts, Kapitan Rogge more determined to retain me. As for the wireless operator, his wounds had healed, and he was obviously too resourceful to be allowed to run the risk of falling into British hands. "No! Captain Windsor, you haf heard my decision, I vish you gut morgen," and there the matter rested.

For the next few days the ships lay idle owing to the stress of bad weather, and the work was recommenced on 1 August. On the following morning Friday 4 August, we said goodbye to those who’d been our companions during the last three months. Of the Scientist we parted with Mr Skarrow the Chief Engineer, Mr Howarth the Chief Steward, Dave Foulis our Third, old Barrow the QM, and the passenger Mr Chicken.

Nothing much was said; just a quick handclasp all round, a grin, the word ‘Good Luck’ and they were off. We watched them climb down the pilot ladder, clasping their pitiful 69

bundles of possessions, and their life-jackets. They took their seats in the boat, and waved cheerfully as the engine woke into life. On the boat-deck someone called for three cheers; they were given, and answered with a wi11. As we watched the boat rise and fall over the rolling swell, someone began singing "Auld Lang Syne". It was taken up immediately and kept up until the boat drew alongside the Tirranna and its occupants clambered aboard. Their subsequent adventures are re-counted elsewhere. ,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,, It is enough to say here, that Tirranna was torpedoed by the British submarine HMS Tuna in the Gironde Estuary. 83 of her passengers and crew were drowned while the remainder of her prisoner passengers finally arrived in Vichy France and sent to prison camps in Germany.

70

MS Talleyrand

For the purpose of effect in the next account, I will imagine myself as a witness of events on the raider's navigation bridge on 2 August 1940.

It was one of those dull days which occur periodically in all parts of the globe. The sea was of a dullish grey colour, meeting the equally sombre sky in the vague, indefinite line which warned us to expect rain. Indeed, here and there white patches of mist indicated the rain-squalls were already scurrying over the blank surface of the sea.

Occasionally a watery sun peeped cautiously from behind a grey curtain of cloud only to withdraw again as though in dismay, at the prospect of shining on such a drab scene. The morning had been fine, Tirranna’s passengers had been embarked without incident with many of the officers and men on board; the officers at a farewell lunch and the men working. At noon the weather had become cold and damp. Visibility was poor and the officer of the Watch had given orders for an extra sharp look-out to be kept. An unusually thick squall was just passing over, and eyes were straining to pierce the rising mist, and then several lookouts saw it at the same instant. With anxious hails they pointed. There, silently gliding towards us was the vague outline of a long lean grey shape. For several seconds, the officer of the watch stared at the apparition, and in that few seconds that lean grey shape glided closer. With an oath, the German recovered something of his habitual composure. Shouting an order to the helmsman he frantically sounded the alarm. Telegraphs clanged and the raider got under way.

Down in the prisoners quarters the men leapt hurriedly out of their bunks. (It was a recognised item of routine to turn in for a siesta after lunch). Something told them that this was not an ordinary action. Instead of the rhythmic alarm signal to which we were by that time accustomed, the Klaxons sounded jerky and incoherent - panic personified in sound. The persistent whining of forced draught had not been shut down, and the

loud-speaker was still blaring forth some sentimental homeland ballad.

At the first strident blast from the Klaxons, there was a clatter of tables and benches overhead as the sailors dashed to their stations. Several passed our door (which was

open) and judging by the white tense faces, none of them was happy. After some delay the guard materialised and tried to lock our door. But his trembling fingers dropped the key as he was pulling the door to and he had some difficulty in retrieving it (I think it was one of the passengers who put his foot on it.) Two minutes after the alarm had gone the raider opened fire - three shots and all was silent. What had happened? We were all certain that the raider had encountered a British warship. Had she surrendered without giving fight? As if in answer to our questions, the door was opened and in stepped Dr Riel to tell us, much to our chagrin, and no doubt to that of the reader, that the raider had unexpectedly captured another Norwegian merchant ship. He wiped a little perspiration from his forehead, and with a rueful grin, admitted that ‘events had occurred too suddenly for comfort.’ The Tallyrand was painted a deluding Admiralty grey (an unusual colour for merchant ships then) and was a sister ship belonging to the same company as the raider's earlier prize Tirranna.

Some time later we were allowed on deck. The Tirranna was lying hove to on our

starboard quarter, close enough for us to see her passengers who waved reassuringly as we emerged on deck. The Tallyrand was close on our port bow, and already had a pipe line connecting her fuel tanks with those of the raider. Dirty streaks of oil on the surface of the water told us that pumping operations were now in progress. Instead of coming aboard the raider and being taken prisoner, the crew of the Tallyrand was immediately put aboard the Tirranna.

The evening of the 4th August found the work of preparing the Tirranna for her long voyage fully completed. The Germans had also methodically deprived the Tallyrand of a useful portion of her cargo and stores, some of which, together with her lifeboats and rafts, had been placed at the disposal of the Tirranna’s complement. The task of destroying the Tallyrand now confronted the Germans. This they decided to do by means of time-bombs placed in her engine room. We were brought on deck in time to see the raider's smart white launch leaving the side of the doomed vessel. Withdrawing to a safe distance, the launch stopped, while her occupants watched the Tallyrand intently.

Evidently the Germans had learnt the lesson so drastically demonstrated by the City of Baghdad during her destruction. For twenty minutes we watched and waited, while the blood-red sun sank lower in the heavens. The scene was one I shall never forget. Sun, 72

sea and sky were so artistically blended together that no humble words of mine could possibly serve to transfer that beauteous picture from its setting to your imagination.

High above, fluffy white clouds chased each other like first year lambs in a meadow of blue. A gentle breeze ruffled the heaving bosom of the ocean, while occasionally the declining sun glinted on silver wings as a shoal of flying-fish shimmered across the water. Overhead a splendid albatross circled, her mighty wings scarcely trembling as she glided gracefully between the idly floating ships. On our starboard side lay the Tallyrand, every detail clearly outlined in the concentrated, fiery glare of the sun, while beyond her lay the shadowy silhouette of Tirranna enveloped in the slight haze of the eastern sky-line.

By this time we were beginning to think the explosives officer had been too cautious in setting the fuses, but our doubts were rudely cast aside as the Tallyrand with a shattering roar, seemed to split in twain amidships. A second explosion, further aft this time, seemed to crumble her hull like matchwood. The black smoke drifted rapidly to

leeward, leaving the Tallyrand sinking by the stern. She was blazing furiously, the flames un-dulled by smoke, were intensified to an infernal brilliancy by the blood-red orb of the setting sun. For perhaps ten minutes this awe-inspiring picture thrilled the most adamantine soul, and then like a startled horse, she reared her head delicately for a moment with her decks perpendicular to the sea with more than half her length pointing skywards.

Then she slid swiftly to her last resting place, the dull rumble of her tumbling cargo sounding like the muffled roll of many drums. In silence we regarded the disturbed mass of water which had closed over the Tallyrand shutting her off for ever from the sight of man. How fervently we all hoped to be witnesses of the raider's own demise in her last dive. Meanwhile, we took a last look at the Tirranna before being marshalled below. We could see her vaguely silhouetted against the eastern sky-line, and wishing our friends the very best of good fortune, we silently bid her adieu, and filed below.

73

Crew List for the MS Tallyrand Supplied by the Norwegian Archives.

Captain. Mathias Foyne – First Mate, Per Baero – 2nd Thor Thoresen – 3rd Finn Bjorneby -- 4th Bjornes Olsen – Radio Officer Pedar Haus – Carpenter Hans Brufold -- Bosun Nils Hansen -- ABs Harald Andersen, Ole Evensen, -- Ordinary Seamen, Hans Maras, Andor Dass, -- Gunnar Hjerpekjonn, Helge Oseberg,–Deck Boys, Johny Karlsen, Just Jaren – Chief Engineer, Lars Bjorneseth, 2nd Anker Tvete, 3rd Olaf Brunsted, 4th Otto Paulsen – Stewardess, Sigrid Olsen – Electrician,

Asbjorn Foss Haneborg – Mechanics, Haakon Quistgaard, Fritz Axelsen, Sverre Svendsen, Pedar Saalar, Thomas Larsen, Olaf Simonsen, -- Oilers, Eigil Jensen, Arnt Olsen, Erling Mork, Gustav Soli, Karl Ohlsen – Cook, Ashborn Bjornsen – Galley Boy, Erling Andersen – Mess Boy, Gustaf Jansson-- Jugman Jens Bang.

74

The Tragedy of the SS King City

Two days after the MS Tirranna had escaped the clutches of Atlantis, the raider hung around Mozambique. Rogge was hoping to intercept allied merchantmen coming from

the Far East and the Sub-Continent on their way to the Cape of Good Hope. Despite the fact that Kapitan Rogge was highly regarded for his fair play and acts of humanity, it was when the SS King City became his latest victim that he lost some of that respect.

The incident took place in the middle watch of 24 August 1940, when the A tlantis was off Madagascar in 16.30 S - 65.30 E. Ugh! A beastly night if ever there was one. Mr Robson the mate chewed at the stem of his empty pipe to show his disgust. He paced the wing of his inhospitable bridge for a few moments, and then snuggled into the lee of the wheelhouse as an extra heavy squall overtook the ship. Beastly weather! Still, it wasn’t as bad as it had been, and the morning should see the wind and sea easing somewhat. Steaming without lights the officer peered grimly into the black obscurity of the night. Not that peering did any good; it was too dark for him to see his own ship’s foredeck, let alone a lurking submarine. But it was nevertheless, the duty of all good watch-keeping officers to peer, and so Mr Mate peered. He relieved the strain of his concentrated gaze by taking a few perfunctory paces to the wing of the bridge. As he did so, he reflected bitterly on the perversity of fate which had maliciously engineered a break down in the engine room in this wild godforsaken part of the ocean. Here they were, merely drifting along at barely two knots, with raiders and U Boats being reported in the vicinity. Once again the mate peered anxiously into the blackness of the night. Two blooming knots! The old tub could never do more than eight in any case, but even that was better than a two knot crawl. Bah! The mate bit deeply into his long suffering pipe stem.

Down below, the engineers sweated freely as they toiled at the recalcitrant engines. A

wheezy antiquated maze of machinery it was too. Second Engineer West removed his greasy cap and scratched his head in bewilderment. Not that he didn’t know what the problem was with the engines; he did; and it was that knowledge which caused the 75

irritation of his scalp. Why on earth he thought to himself, was an ancient craft such as this ever allowed to put to sea in the first place? Everything on it that was touched rattled and threatened to carry away.

Meanwhile in the galley, the cook was hastily chasing pots and pans as they careered wildly across his coal burning range without range bars. “Why didn’t somebody invent a galley on gimbals” enquired Taylor the second cook to his boss, as he deftly prevented a huge kettle from dousing the fires. Mr Ferreira the cooks reply need not be mentioned.

What a night! Or morning rather, the time was nearly five o’clock. Such was the state of affairs on board the SS King City during the morning watch of 24 August 1940; or at any rate that is how my imagination portrayed it on the subsequent accounts I’d been given.

At five o’clock the engineers came to realise that their efforts had all been in vain.

Having had little sleep in the preceding days, they wearily laid down their tools, and then watched as the pistons moved slower and slower in their cylinders. Then stopped!

The vast hall of machinery became silent, a silence broken only by the occasional clatter of a coal shovel and the hissing of escaping steam.

Up on the bridge the First Mate Mr Robson had halted his regular pacing. He missed the wheezing throb of the triple expansion engines, and on looking over the bridge wing noticed that his ship was moving even slower. His jaws clamped over his pipe stem as he grunted his annoyance. What the devil were those so called engineers playing at?

Removing his pipe he blew impatiently down the engine room voice pipe and opened his mouth to let fly a carefully chosen expletive. But what he said will never be known, because from that moment on all hell broke loose.

A vivid orange flash from seaward was followed by a deafening roar from somewhere beneath him. For a second and third time the phenomenon was repeated. The acrid taint of cordite fumes attacked the officer’s nostrils. Another explosion - internal this time.

What was to be done? A searchlight dazzled him for a moment, and then shifted slightly to light up the scene with a cold clear light. The Reardon Smith ship King City of Cardiff was wallowing awkwardly in the rough sea; she was ablaze in the midship accommodation, and flames poured out from what had once been the officers cabins.

The bewildered expression of the mate changed to one of horror, as out of the blackened wreckage crawled the pitiable figure of the Second Mate Mr Gasgarth. Behind him he 76

dragged the pulp of what had once been his left leg. The wounded man gave a weak cry for help, a cry that despite his weakness, was one resounding with that of pain and despair. On seeing him in his plight, the watch on deck ran to his assistance, and between them they helped him into the nearest boat which by that time was being prepared for lowering. Slowly the searchlight focussed on another part of the doomed vessel, where sailors were making a valiant attempt to enter a burning cabin.

Looking like monsters from another world in the combined glare of the flames and the searchlight, they toiled to liberate the four apprentices from the terrible inferno of the cabin in which they were trapped. The rescuers could see one of them badly caught beneath a pile of twisted metal debris; they knew he was conscious as they could hear his screams. As they toiled away a heavy beam fell with a crash and the screams stopped. Nothing more could be done for those four teenaged boys, so the men hastened to their boat stations.

Meanwhile below decks on the raider, we heaved a sigh of relief when we realised that

the last shot had been fired. The raucous clamour of the klaxons had tumbled each of us from our bunks at the unheard of time of 3 am. Half an hour later we were told not to expect an attack until daybreak in two hours time. Therefore, many of us turned in again, only to be rudely awakened a short time later by the thunder of the A tlantis guns.

In just thirty seconds the action was over. It was only when we met the survivors of the King City some time later, that the full horror of the tragedy was brought home to us. It seemed quite unbelievable, that just three shots in such a short space of time had killed six good men and injured many more. Those of you who have read thus far will realise that such a casualty list is not formidable; but in comparison to the earlier actions, when casualties had been relatively light, the SS King City’s list of dead and injured was indeed a heavy one. In comparison, when A tlantis captured the faster Norwegian Tirranna, after a three hour long chase, an estimated sixty 5.9 inch shells had been fired at her. The fleeing Norseman was actually outstripping the raider with her 18 knots, but from 8,000 yards one of those shells hit the poop deck killing all five of the gunners, and only that caused her devastated captain to surrender.

What was even more surprising, was the fact that of the 200 souls aboard the SS Kemmendine, and the heavy bombardment they had been through, there were no injuries or loss of life whatsoever. Nevertheless, us prisoners on board Atlantis were all 77

deeply touched by the grief which filled the men of the King City, and as on most tramp steamers the crew is normally a large and happy family; but the sudden death of six of their comrades filled the survivors with a bitter hatred towards the perpetrators of the outrage. There was little we could say or do, except to mourn with them.

Crew list of SS King City Supplied by Cadet G Cubbin Master H Marshall – 1st Mate K Robson – 2nd T Gasgarth – 3rd F Johns – Apprentices – H Davison, L Bailey, L Thomas, A Radford - Radio Officer S Law Carpenter A Knight – Gunner J Dial – Bosun A Doyle – AB’s J McNair, A Wiseman, G McIntyre, D McClean – Firemen - R Hardy, R Hall, E Jones, J Bushel, A Potts, A Buggs – Chief Engineer, P Lashford – 2nd R West, 3rd N Kemp, 4th J Mosey, 5th W Taylor, 6th H Dunn – Chief Steward V Priern, 2nd, GL Beattie, 3rd SM McCarthy – Chief Cook, V Ferreira, 2nd L Taylor.

Total Crew 34, Survivors 28.

On board Atlantis we did not actually see the sinking of the King City, but after the survivors had been rescued and incarcerated with the rest of us, her crew were able to give us both a verbal and graphic description of the horrific events they’d encountered.

The surprise attack occurred when the middle watch had just turned in and the morning watch had turned to, with the ship waking up shortly before 5 am to begin another day.

It was then that flashes of gunfire came from out of the miserable weather, followed almost immediately by direct hits on their little coal carrying tramp steamer. Then came the explosions, clouds of smoke and steam, with coal pouring out of the ruptured 78

number four hold and into the sea. Quite naturally there was an amount of excusable panic on the Cardiff registered ship, as those who were turned in quickly turned out, in horror, shock and surprise.

It is here that we can introduce a certain character, whose genius for drawing and sketching, as well as his passion for acrimonious arguments made him most popular amongst his shipmates. His name was Cyril Burns, a gunner from our own ship Scientist. With infinite patience combined with his natural genius, and despite the fact that paper of any description was hard to come by, Burns drew many vigorous scenes with regard to the German raider’s actions. These included vivid little sketches of our ship Scientist being torpedoed, the sinking of the City of Baghdad, and the blazing Kemmendine.

At times he would combine his ability to sketch with a dry, almost cynical sense of humour, and produce a cartoon of Kapitan Rogge with his terrier cowering at his feet.

Another was of the German captain cordially welcoming a Royal Navy boarding party

aboard his ship.

On other occasions a bridge party would be the subject of Cyril Burns’ artistic skills, while the characters displayed would be surprised, if not a little sheepish, to see their portraits – true to life, with their expressions cunningly disfigured and exaggerated, with regard to their more prominent physical features, these caricatures were openly displayed for all on board to see.

Then again Cyril had a powerful flair for observation; his plans and diagrams that were made on board the raider, earned him the whole hearted admiration of all on board, and later, that of the Royal Navy to whom such documents were deemed to be most valuable. Although he had not seen the King City, it was after he’d been given a description of the ship from various members of the crew, that Cyril our gunner was able to add yet another set of drawings to his extensive series.

79

Note With regard to the unfortunate tramp steamer K ing City, it must be said that quite unlike some of the more illustrious shipping companies like Cunard, Blue Funnel, NZSC and a few more which had regular and profitable trading routes, the K ing City’s owner Sir William Reardon Smith had to rely on scraps and charters for his company to survive.

There were a large number of such tramping companies sailing under the Red Ensign, and those ill found firms were given the appellation of being ‘hungry’ by the deck and engine crowds, combined with one or two other unprintable expletives. But in order to survive the rigours of business, those so called hungry companies had to be parsimonious as they carefully counted their pennies. Although the rates of pay were the same on all foreign going ships under the Red Ensign, it was the food, conditions and overtime that were the main items of attraction for the sailors, firemen and stewards.

For more than a hundred years there were ships that carried as many apprentices as they could, quite simply because their wages were so low they were almost none existent. An example of this was the wages of Cadet Graeme Cubbin of the SS Scientist; his wages began at £6 per annum, rising by annual increments of £6 to £24 in his final year. His bond payment had been £50, so after four years of almost free labour it was returned to his father. In other words it was four years of almost free labour for the ship owner.

Cadets, midshipmen and apprentices in this respect were all in the same boat.

Due to its tonnage, each ship sailing under the Red Ensign had to ship a given number of able seamen when the ship opened her articles. In the case of K ing City that number

would have been eight, but only four AB’s were signed on. Indeed, clever Captain Marshall had counted himself and his three mates as able seamen to bring the required number up to eight. Those four aforesaid officers all had an able seaman’s certificate; it was a requirement they needed before sitting their second mate’s ticket; the result being that Captain Marshall had saved four AB’s wages by replacing them with four free labour apprentices. Just a small point of the path those so called ‘hungry outfits’ had to take in order to survive. The quantity and quality of the food was something else, and so was the accommodation. Nevertheless, whether hungry or not, those tramp steamers provided work which in hard times was often gratefully taken by the sailors, firemen and stewards.

Author 80

It was just after breakfast on 9 September 1940, when the klaxons heralded the doom of yet another unsuspecting vessel. A tanker this time, or so we were informed by the commentator speaking through the medium of the loudspeaker. The rhythmic thudding of the raider’s engines subsided to a dull throbbing noise, which made us realise that the tanker was in range of the raider’s guns. Through the inspection port of our locked door, we could see the sentry puffing away spasmodically at his cigarette.

We spoke little, and even then it was in awed whispers.

Suddenly, the resounding boom of the gun flaps was followed by the crash of the first salvo bringing flakes of plaster fluttering down from the deck-head. Crash ... Crash ...

Crash ... It was all over! Half an hour passed before the sentry opened the door. But no sooner had he hooked it back onto its clip than the staccato crack of pom-poms and the rattle of machine guns startled us all. It startled the sentry as well as ourselves, whereupon our door was locked shut again. More machine gun bursts. Later on we learned that those machine guns had been trained on the tanker’s life boats, the reason

being as follows. Quite recently the admiralty had issued orders to the effect, that British merchant ships should repeat all SOS messages.

The latest victim of the A tlantis turned out to be the 9,557 GRT Athel King of Liverpool who had sent out her distress call before surrendering and abandoning ship.

But the tanker’s message had been picked up by another ship which must have been close by over the horizon. Some time after the tanker’s crew had abandoned their ship, the nearby ship Benarty had repeated the SOS message, but the telegraphists of Atlantis had intercepted it and must have thought that the A thel King was still sending.

It was at this point when conflicting reports of murder were made. One account states that the enraged Kapitan Rogge was under the impression the A thel King’s sparky had stayed on board, and that he was still sending raider warnings after the tanker’s captain had surrendered and abandoned ship. As a result of that, the unfounded rumour goes, the supposedly livid Kapitan Rogge ordered the shelling of the A thel King and set her ablaze before machine gunning the manned lifeboats boats in the water. That unfounded story was later given to the British authorities where it was believed in wide circles.

This was probably because in August 1940, The German raider W idder had intercepted the British SS A nglo Saxon in the Atlantic when she was taking coal from Newport Mon. To Bahia Blanca. Sunk without warning Kapitan Ruckteschell of the W idder had 81

ordered the machine gunning and killing of 34 survivors in the open lifeboats. But after having been in a jolly boat for 71 days, two men survived to tell the tale and gave their account to the British authorities. The story then went around that all German raiders machine gun survivors of sunken ships.

Kapitan Rogge’s account of the A thel King’s sinking was quite different even though there were casualties on board the tanker. Some of the survivors were heavily bloodied as a result of their injuries, and the boats in which they embarked were covered in blood.

After having taken the A thel King’s survivors on board Atlantis, and then on sinking the tanker, he set about destroying the empty lifeboats with machine gun fire. However, one of those boats remained afloat, and some time later when that empty lifeboat was discovered and identified as being from the A thel King, the blood which still stained the boat started the story that the survivors of A thel King had met the same fate as those on the A nglo Saxon.

With regard to the SS A nglo Saxon, Korvettankapitan Ruckteschell of the W idder was

convicted of war crimes in 1946. His crime amongst others had been the murdering of 34 crew men of the SS A nglo Saxon in August 1940. One source states that Ruckteschell was given a life sentence and sent to prison in 1947, shortly afterwards he was pardoned through lack of sufficient evidence; but the day before his release he died in the prison; whereas Kapitan Rogge was never accused of any of War Crimes.

Shortly after the machine gunning episode from A tlantis, we were herded on deck to witness the all conquering Hun administer the coup de gras to the Athel King. We lined the rail of the boat deck and studied the molasses tanker intently. She seemed to be a ship of about 8,000 tons, her grey hull standing out sombrely against the blue of the sea, while her yellow funnel added a dash of colour to her appearance. A thel King was riding high out of the water, and we could quite clearly see the black oil dribbling like blood from the gaping wounds in her red boot topping. Her six inch gun which had been fired twice in self defence was still pointing menacingly in our direction. A fire which had started near the funnel increased until the after end of the ship became a raging inferno.

As we watched the flames reached the gun platform where the ready-use shells exploded with loud cracks in a last gesture of defiance. The raider drew off and out of the way.

Steering around to windward the raider opened fire on the hapless ship with her main armament. We watched in fascination as shell after shell tore gaping holes in the Athel 82

King’s shell plating. She began to settle by the stern while the German gunners concentrated their fire on her engine space. She was sinking fast now. Swiftly her bows rose from out of the swirling water in an ever increasing arc towards the sky. They rose until the ship’s stem was well above the sea, rising above the billowing steam like the peak of a mighty mountain above a stratum cloud.

For several moments she poised hesitating before taking the plunge. Swiftly she began to slide beneath the waves, but instead of her sinking with increasing speed, she slackened her pace as though checked by some mighty hand. With the water lapping against the break of her foc’sle head she stopped – and then most amazingly she began to rise again! I recalled a film I had one seen, a film in which Frankenstein’s monster climbs slowly and remorselessly from his steamy reeking cell. It was an uncanny but awesome sight. But to see the bows of the tanker rising from the maelstrom of steam and sea was indeed like the same great monster. A ship sailing upwards no less!

Nevertheless, the A thel King was a great tribute to those who’d built her.

But there is a limit even to the strength of a Clyde built ship, and at last her bulkheads gave way to the tremendous pressure surrounding them. As the ship sank she seemed to writhe like a living creature in the relentless grip of unseen forces. Later on we met the dishevelled crew of the tanker. From them we learned that their captain had been killed.

But there were those who said he had merely been wounded, and had then deliberately been shot by the German boarding party when they ascertained that he was a Jew. The carpenter and an apprentice had also lost their lives while the chief officer and several of the crew were receiving treatment for wounds suffered from shrapnel. The A thel King’s gun crew had fired two shots at A tlantis but recorded no hits.

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SS Athel King Crew List Supplied by Cadet G Cubbin

Captain AE Tomkins - 1st Mate, W Meneight, 2nd J Tharm, 3rd K Gorrie Apprentices H Sutcliffe, R Reece Heal - Radio Officer H Coates - Carpenter R Davies - Bosun J Doherty - ABs, J Solomon, W Chamberlain, J Morris, A Ferret -

Ordinary Seamen W Williams, S Bates, W Davies, D Ralph, Jennings, Boden Chief Engineer C Hutton, Snr 2nd W Winn, Jnr 2nd S Fisk, Snr 3rd J Wilson, Jnr 3rd E Bain, Snr 4th W Prendergast, Jnr 4th PF Malpas - Donkeyman T Winters Firemen, A Grant, J Farrel, P Larrisy, J Goliath, G Allenson, J Brown - Chief Steward WJ Smith 2nd AThornton - Cook A Martin 2nd G Bosman - Mess Room K Roberts, W Smith.

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SS Benarty

The raider signals that were sent out on the previous day by A thel King had been intercepted by the nearby SS Benarty. They in turn were re-transmitted by the Ben Line

steamer in the hope that a British warship was close by and could deal with the situation.

But most unfortunately, the only ship in the vicinity was the A tlantis, and it was her CPO radio operator Willie Krooss who intercepted the signal.

On the following morning while searching for the ship that repeated the raider signal, a tiny smudge of smoke from an obvious coal burner, was sighted by the A tlantis crow’s nest lookouts. The sea was flat calm, and Kapitan Rogge who decided to keep his ship well out of sight sent up the seaplane to find out more about the distant ship. Rogge had to be careful, indeed, it so happened that Atlantis’s fellow raider and sister ship Pinguin (ex Kandenfels) was operating in the same area, and in being aware of this, Rogge didn’t want any errors of one ship attacking the other. Therefore, in position 18º S and 54º E, A tlantis stopped to lower her seaplane over the side from number two hold.

Flying Officer Bulla and Leutenant Bouchert his observer knew their drill, in that, if it was an Allied ship, they were to fly low over her from out of the sun, bring down her radio aerial with a grapnel and rough her up a bit.

Sure enough it was an Allied ship and one that went by the name of Benarty, registered in Leith and under the ownership of William Thompson; completed by Charles Connell of Scotstoun in 1926, she was 5,880 GRT and on passage Rangoon towards Liverpool via Durban; she was carrying a valuable cargo of tin, rubber and zinc.

As a result of that the seaplane approached from out of the sun, streamed her grapnel and successfully ripped the out radio aerial. With the aerial having been brought down, the ship from Leith went flat out at 13 knots to escape. But it was all to no avail as Atlantis easily caught up with her. On closing to within range, the usual warning shots

were fired by the raider’s foc’sle head gun, but there was no immediate surrender from the fleeing Ben Line ship. On failing to stop when ordered , Gunnery Officer Kasch was directed to hit Benarty on the bridge, a salvo that quickly brought the British ship to a 85

halt. Needless to say the ship was soon ablaze fore and aft, despite the fact that Rogge wanted to keep her intact.

The white launch was quickly despatched, and Mohr its officer in charge, ordered the crew who were taking to the boats to get back on board again and put the fire out. But too many shells had needlessly been fired at the ship. Amidst the raging fires the Ben Liner’s radio office was quickly plundered by the Germans who retrieved valuable admiralty codes that should have been jettisoned in weighted bags. They contained the latest British codes which were later transmitted to the Berlin code breakers; there were also 30 bags of mail. The crew were unable to contain the fires on board Benarty so the raider’s 5.9s finished her off.

The SS Benarty carried a crew of 49, of which 21 were European with the rest being Chinese, but quite amazingly none of them were killed or even injured. Later on Captain J Watt admitted to Rogge that he’d been completely fooled by the disguise of A tlantis.

SS Benarty European crew list Supplied by Cadet Graeme Cubbin Master J Watt – 1st Mate G Sinclair, 2nd, J Keith, 3rd DB Ross. – Cadets, J Goodlet, J Fyffe – Radio Officers, A Porteous, EE du V Gout – Chief Engineer C Hutton, 2nd HM McPherson, 3rd CE Steele, 4th D Hepburn - Carpenter J Henderson – Bosun J Coole – Gunner H Mullins – AB’s A Sanderson, G Bruce, D Wallace, G Irvine, J Johnson, R Unstead.

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SS Commissaire Ramel During the month of September1940, Kapitan Rogge who was fully aware that his fellow raider Pinguin was operating in and around the Mozambique Channel area didn’t want to overlap him. However, while he was cruising around at slow speed, and even drifting from time to time in order to conserve fuel; at the same time engine room

maintenance was being carried out on her twin diesel engines. In the gloom of the 8-12 night-watch on 19 September, when Atlantis was moving slowly ahead, the after lookout in the main-mast crow’s nest saw against the moonlight, the silhouette of a darkened ship coming up from astern. She was emitting heavy palls of smoke and was identified as a single funnelled passenger ship.

The engines of Atlantis were quickly brought to life and her captain closed in to signal the darkened ship to stop - maintain radio silence – and then receive a boarding party.

No warning shots were required as the ship quickly signalled her agreement. She then identified herself as the SS Commissaire Ramel, a cargo passenger ship which had previously been owned by the French Services Contractuals de Messagaries Maritimes Line. However, after surrendering and turning her lights on, the captive ship began sending distress calls. Quite enraged at her breaking the agreement of surrender, Kapitan Rogge ordered his 5.9’s into action and sent 56 shells into the ship which set her uncontrollably ablaze.So fierce did the fires on the victim ship become, that the heat did not allow any rescuers from A tlantis to get close enough to take her crew off. With five

members of the victim crew unaccounted for in the bombardment, the other 54 of the ship’s company had already managed to take to the boats and were subsequently taken aboard the German raider. They joined the 230 prisoners already there, but because there was no chance of keeping her afloat, a resumption of gunfire sent the ship to the bottom. Once the survivors were safely on board, Kapitan Rogge demanded an explanation from Captain McKenzie as to why he transmitted distress calls after surrendering. The reply being, that on hearing his ship was under attack he hurried to

the bridge, and while he was on his way he ordered the radio officer to send the distress call, little knowing that the French officer of the watch had already surrendered. Kapitan Rogge rued the fact that such a ship had been sent to the bottom, indeed, she would have 87

made an ideal prison ship and was also carrying a worthwhile cargo of steel, wheat, soap and leather. While further engine maintenance was being carried out, with Atlantis being stopped and drifting, it was during that period of maintenance on 27 September when news reached the raider that Tirranna had been sunk by a British submarine. There were 87 fatalities amongst the passengers and prize crew, all of whom had been well known to the sailors of Atlantis. Most popular on board Atlantis were Mrs Swann and her two children Robin and Sally, but they were three of the fatal casualties. Moreover, after having been at sea for over six months, a quantity of mail sent by the raider’s crew to their homes in Germany had been lost with Tirranna. Kapitan Rogge was by then becoming increasingly desperate to capture another ship in order to offload his 293 prisoners.

NOTE The SS Commissaire Ramel was built in 1920 at La Ciotat, France, as the 8,308GRT General Duchesne. Rebuilt as a cargo passenger ship between 1926-27, with an increase in her GRT to 10,061, she was re-named Commissaire Ramel. The steamer was then used to transport passengers and goods to Australia and the East Indies, a role she continued in until the ship was seized by the Ministry of War Transport under the Australian authorities in Fiji following the fall of France.

Captain Sabouret and 25 others of his French crew decided to stay in the ship which was later managed by Shaw Saville & Albion. After her capture she sailed to Noumea and then on to Sydney where she loaded wool. But because a crew was extremely difficult to find, due to most of the French crew paying off, when even her French master Captain Sabouret resigned to travel back to Europe as a passenger on the ship, a crew was eventually found and increased by Australians to 59; the ship sailed for the UK via Fremantle leaving there on 3 September 1940.

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SS Commissaire Ramel crew list Supplied by Cadet G Cubbin

Master - RM McKenzie – Supernumery Master, R Sabouret – 1st Mate C Jennings, 2nd RS McKenzie, 3rd F Stewart, 4th G Clousten. – Radio Officer, G Brown, 2nd, R Chapman. – Chief Steward, R Longsdale. Assistant Stewards, E Gills, A Walkten, H Chidlow, T Hyland, G Turner, A Carter, A Kennington, F Le Page, M Susine, R Hervas, R Wolfe, H Antikadjin. - Maitre de Hotel,L Logier. Chief Cook, R Hunt, 2nd R Baker. – Scullery C Jefferys. – Carpenter H Mason – Bosun, C Ecklund. - Lamp trimmer, A Taylor. - ABs and OS, R Kennedy, A Carruthers, W Welsh, F Harris, J Creagh, C Bellingford, J Grosvenor, P Dunne,

M Keeley, E Johnson, b Logan, A La Crampe, F Fravallo, F Letyran, M Malfatti, R Rello, W Quayle. – Gunner C Brooks. – Engine Room, L Combet, G Pionel. – Fridge Engineers, J Pierre, V Trisot. Chief Engineer, J Highet, 2nd A Leslie, 3rd, M Crosier, 4th H Hewson, 5th, A Denholm, 6th A Gillies, 7th, D Sinclair. – Elec, J Warren.

89

The Hell Ship SS Durmitor

90

The photo of the SS Durmitor above, was taken shortly after she’d been sold by Lamport & Holt Lines in 1931and painted in her new livery. But since those times the ship had fallen into gross disrepair and neglect. On being captured by A tlantis she was used to ferry its prisoners to Italian Somaliland. At the time of her being commandeered, the old steamer was

in a severe state of neglect and was short of both fuel and food. Poorly equipped for such a task, the six knot Durmitor proved to be an absolute Hell Ship for the crew, guards and prisoners alike.

91

On 3rd May 1940, the Harrison vessel Scientist in which I was serving as a cadet had been on passage Durban to Freetown. She was to join a homeward bound convoy when she was intercepted by the German commerce raider A tlantis disguised as a neutral Japanese NKK ship. After a one-sided ‘action’ our next move on this occasion was limited to turning away in a futile attempt to outrun the 5.9 inch shells which were soon screaming overhead and slamming into the ship - as I say, a one-sided action in which one of our men was killed and several wounded, the Scientist’s crew were taken prisoner, the ship was sunk by gunfire and torpedo, and the raider headed for hunting grounds in the Indian Ocean.

During the next five months a further eight such ‘actions’ took place. But the raider's commander, the humane and respected Kapitan Bernhard Rogge, was hard pressed to know what to do with the multitude of prisoners he’d acquired as a result of his depredations. In August of 1940, a captured Norwegian ship named Tirranna had been loaded with prisoners - the elderly, sick, women and children - and despatched to

German-occupied Europe, a move which relieved the overcrowding somewhat.

Unfortunately, Tirranna never made it - but that is another story.

By October, 1940 however, the housing’ problem was again becoming acute, and another ‘prison-ship’ had to be found. The SS Commissaire Ramel, a 10,000 ton Vichy French passenger vessel requisitioned and operated by the Shaw Saville & Albion Company would have been ideal, but to the Germans annoyance, the initial action started a blaze which quickly got out of control and the ship had to be sunk. That was in September, and it wasn’t until late October before another ship was sighted.

There she was, in the first light of dawn, the SS Durmitor of Dubrovnik; creaming along at all of seven knots, a pillar of smoke pouring from a rusty stack, and one that would have prompted expressions of awe and reverence from an ancient tribe of Hebrews in the Wilderness of Sin. Her buff funnel was surmounted with a black top, while the red, white and pale blue emblem of Yugoslavia was painted conspicuously on her rusty black sides for all the world to see. But such badges of neutrality did not deter Kapitan Rogge in his hour of need, and a shot across her bows soon brought the ancient vessel to an indignant halt. (You could almost hear the wheezy old engines heaving a sigh of relief!).

The ship was duly captured (or ‘commandeered’, since she was a neutral!) nevertheless, 92

for the next four days Rogge cruised about hoping to come across ‘something better.’

Nothing materialised, however, and with a commiserative shake of the head he told us ‘she would have to do.’ We were not unduly perturbed – because getting off the raider was undeniably a step in the right direction. However, had we known what was in store for us we might not have been so keen. With his mind made up, Rogge put his men to work on the 26th October ferrying about 260 prisoners, with their few belongings and some meager stores across to the SS Durmitor.

We watched her resignedly as we waited our turn in the boats, while at the same time wondering where we could all be accommodated in this dowdy old tramp. The Germans had a short answer for that one: ‘In numbers 1 and 2 ‘tween-decks!’ The fact that these’ tween-decks were full of rock salt, trimmed and levelled in a lumpy, hummocky sort of way, with scarcely any head-room, did not lend any lustre to the prospect of a prolonged existence in such troglodytic conditions. But we had to make the best of it. Tarpaulins were procured and spread over the salt; plenty of blankets were available thanks to the

thoughtful looting by the Germans of their previous victims. A piece of sage advice lingered in my mind from my fairly recent Boy Scouting days: ‘Make a hollow for your hip, and you'll sleep like a top. ‘This is what I’d been told and this is what I did - and it worked!

We were intrigued to discover that the SS Durmitor was formerly the Lamport & Holt ship Plutarch of Liverpool built by Russell’s of Glasgow in 1913. Here was a link with the Mersey and home. We gazed nostalgically at the name engraved on her unpolished greenish looking brass bell. She had been sold to the Yugoslavs nine years previously and was presently on a voyage from Spain to Japan with 8,200 tons of salt. Or at least she had been - because she was now on a voyage to goodness-knows-where with a motley crew of Germans, with Yugoslavs and British as prisoners. It was Rogge's intention to send the ship to Mogadiscio in Italian Somaliland and gave his orders accordingly to Leutenant Zur See Emil Dehnel who was the officer in charge of the prize-crew; a stockily built blonde Imperial man who was a former merchant service officer, and a man who was well qualified to navigate the ancient Durmitor to Somaliland. Nevertheless, this was his first command; the firm step, crisp manner, and the glint of steel in his eyes, gave a fair indication that he was determined not to make a botch of his first chance at being a ship master. We, of course, were quite unaware of 93

the ship's destination when we joined the Durmitor on the Eastern side of the Indian Ocean, some 400 miles South of the Sunda Straits.

So excluding the Dutch East Indies, there were only two likely possibilities: Italian Somaliland, Vichy Madagascar - or of course, an unscheduled rendezvous with an Allied cruiser. That wistful option was always at the forefront of our minds. However, as the days passed by it became clear that Somaliland was indeed our destination.

Indeed, and quite unknown to our captors, we were able to plot our position with reasonable accuracy by using the considerable amount of navigational expertise within our ranks. An assortment of navigational tables, an almanac, an atlas, some ‘practice’ charts, one or two good time-pieces, and a simple home-made instrument, whimsically christened the ‘Shadow-angle;’ an innovation which had been ‘invented’ on the raider many weeks ago.

This device consisted of a two-foot rod mounted vertically on a four-foot baseboard, marked along its length in degrees of altitude. Thus, to find the sun's altitude at noon, we set our Shadow-angle in the right direction, and watched the German officers ‘shooting’ the sun. When they all stood in solemn conclave reading the micrometers on their modern sextants, we noted the angle cast by the shadow of the rod on the baseboard of our more primitive instrument. But it took a bit of practice. The rod had to be vertical in relation to the horizon, so it was fortunate that the ship was steady in those calm latitudes After a few inconclusive attempts we were able to read the Shadow-angle to within a quarter of a degree. From the almanac which had been released to us by the

Germans in response to a request to ‘further the Cadets and Apprentices' training and education. It was a simple matter to extract the sun's declination; the outcome was a latitude at noon accurate to w thin 15 miles - an acceptable error in our situation in such a large ocean.

Longitude gave us a problem at first, but we quickly realized that the sun, being close to the zenith in those Latitudes, was moving rapidly across the meridian at noon.

Navigators (if they still use sextants in these days of electronic wizardry) will understand what I mean when I say we watched the German officers swing rapidly as they ‘chased’ the sun across the meridian. That instant was to us, as near as dammit, 1200 hrs apparent time. Our almanac gave us the Equation of Time for that date, hence, Mean Time at ship. All we needed then was a good time-piece with a second hand (and 94

there were several available) to give us Greenwich Mean Time.

The difference between SMT and GMT is, when converted to degrees of arc of the Longitude of the observer. We were able to check the accuracy of our ‘chronometers’ almost daily, for it was Leutenant Dehnel' s custom (as it had been Kapitan Rogge's custom on the raider) to invite senior prisoners to their quarters to listen to the ship's broadcast receiver tuned into Treasure Island Radio at San Francisco - usually to hear accounts of new German victories. The BBC was taboo, of course, and the Germans were sensitive enough to realise that we would place no credence on English-Language broadcasts from Berlin. But the important thing was the time-signal which invariably preceded the news-broadcast -and what more natural reaction can there be than to glance at one's watch at the sound of a time-signal? The Germans, however, never realised the true significance of our interest in the time.

Meanwhile, we kept a dead-reckoning, estimating the ship's speed by surreptitiously dropping a piece of dunnage over the bow, and then counting the seconds until it passed

a measured point, somewhere down the foredeck. The course was estimated at least twice a day, by gauging the angle between the ship's head and the rising or setting sun using an ordinary protractor. Knowing our Latitude and the sun's declination, it was a simple matter to calculate the true bearing, or amplitude, and hence our course.

So we plotted our course daily, and it was due to skill, not chance, which told us on the final day, that the ship had veered away from the obvious landfall at Mogadiscio, and was heading for the reefs off Warshieik! We heard later that Dehnel's hurried change of plan was prompted by the fact that British cruisers were shelling targets in the capital.

Dehnel had plenty of problems of course.

Nearly 300 prisoners to guard and feed; a ship of doubtful reliability, a Yugoslav crew of dubious loyalty, a wide ocean to cross, and only his twelve Germans to maintain order and discipline. We were allowed the freedom of the foredeck -just so long as we stayed put. Guards were mounted at the top of the ladders leading to the bridge deck, and also in the wing cabs on the bridge. They were armed to the teeth with pistols, grenades and mounted machine guns which were fired from time to time, just to let us know they were loaded. Furthermore, we were warned in the strongest terms that explosive charges had been laid below the water line, and these would be activated (In the name of the Reich) should there be any serious insurrection. But, if we behaved 95

ourselves we would be treated fairly, and any privations would be suffered equally by captors and captives alike.

We were suitably convinced that any attempt at Hollywood-style heroics would be bloodily suppressed, so we kept to our own end of the foredeck and waited for that British cruiser which never came. It wasn’t long before Leutenant Dehnel was confronted unexpectedly by the spectre of failure. A survey of the bunkers when the Yugoslav Chief Engineer revealed a huge deficiency in the amount of coal that was supposed to be there. Someone had made a packet! The Chief Engineer just shrugged uncomprehendingly.

Dehnel made a hasty calculation and came up with the stark truth that Durmitor could not possibly reach her destination with the coal stocks available. He therefore reduced speed to five knots. But food and water were also in short supply, and the reduction in speed, though it might save fuel, would extend the passage by another week or more.

Our meagre rations were reduced by half. The prisoners grumbled, but somehow or

other we all survived.

Conditions were grim in the ‘tween-decks, where we had plenty of equally hungry rats for company, so it was quite natural for us to spend as much time as possible up on deck. The Germans raised no objection to our camping out at night - keeping the prisoners happy seemed to be their motto. Washing, of course, was done in saltwater. A three-inch pipe drilled full of holes and connected to the deck-service line was our ‘shower’ and a marvellous German product called ‘Seewasser’ soap lathered beautifully in the salt water, but it was inclined to be rather rough in ‘sensitive areas’ of the body, and quite ruined one's complexion. From time to time heavy rain squalls were encountered and these were occasions of great rejoicing.

The ‘Seewasser’ soap was cast aside and out came the rare ‘Lifebuoy’ ‘Camay’, and ‘Lux’ toilet soaps, all of which had been looted from the ANZAC store ship Tirranna.

We all showered in the rain like a lot of kids, while at the same time we collected as much rain water as possible to supplement our water ration. Two latrines under the foc'sle head (which would not be likely to win the King’s award for design), were of the squatting variety and these provided the ‘usual offices.’

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According to Cadet Cubbin, the Yugoslav ship SS Durmitor was full of rats when he boarded her from the Atlantis. Those rodents had actually burrowed their way through the salt cargo leaving vast honey combings. It so happened that on another occasion when Durmitor was trading as Lamport & Holt’s SS Plutarch of Liverpool, she was the subject of parliamentary debate on 18 July 1927. Indeed, after arriving at Liverpool with a cargo of wheat from the River Plate, the ship was so heavily infested with rats, that after being discharged she had to anchor in the River Mersey for a week long fumigation programme.

With the lack of accommodation space being a major problem, vast quantities of salt were dumped overboard from the ’tween decks of numbers one and two holds.

Tarpaulins stretched across the derricks provided welcome shade from the tropical sun, but how we managed to pass the 28 days of our journey without anyone losing his marbles is hard to explain. The sense of comradeship was strong, and so far as I can

recall there were no serious or acrimonious disputes among those companions of adversity. On the contrary there was a great deal of laughter, and anyone seeming about to give way to despair was invariably rallied by the attentions sometimes clumsy, of a sympathetic comrade. Card games were popular, played for fantastic stakes, chess found its devotees as well. But through all the anxious waiting, the boredom, the hunger, and alternating emotions of hope and despair, ran the thought like a scarlet thread through a sombre blackcloth, that - “We should be doing something!” But what? Open insurrection or a direct frontal assault were ruled out, so only the stealthy surreptitious option remained.

There was some excitement, and some satisfaction, when one brave soul clambered over the bow, and, clinging to the anchor flukes, scrawled the letters, SOS on the bow in a mixture of grease and lime, a broad enough hint to any passing craft, if we ever saw one - which we never did. Then there were the artistic souls amongst us, those that put together several portfolios of drawings and sketches of the German raider in her many disguises; with other intelligence details such as her armament, her tactics, the fact that she carried a sea-plane, the characteristics of her officers and crew, and many, many more. These gems of intelligence were carefully wrapped in oilskin, and stowed in empty paint drums, jauntily decorated with bunting attached to a makeshift flag pole, 97

and hopefully cast adrift one dark night. Whether they ever landed on a friendly shore or not we never did find out, but at least we had tried to do something.

Meanwhile, Leutenant Dehnel was still pouring over his logistic problems. There was not much he could do about the food situation but he could do something about the fuel.

First of all, he ordered a tarpaulin to be rigged as a sail on the mainmast to take advantage of the following trade winds. Then he ordered all unwanted timber on the ship - furniture, dunnage, even deck planks and hatch boards, to be systematically collected and cut up for the stokehold fires. He devised a sort of brickette known as a ‘Dehnel's Fireball,’ concocted from coal dust, ashes and sawdust, and all bound together with grease and paint. Every other day he reported the ship's ‘good progress’, and sought to amuse us with such diversions as lining up his sailors like a firing-squad, and then firing shots into the air while we watched apprehensively. These demonstrations were organised to mark such milestones as passing the half way point to our destination, or crossing the Line. On Monday, 11th November 1940 at 1100 hours, a similar

ceremony marked the beginning and end of a two-minute silence, in which German and British nationals remembered the dead of the First World War. And so the days wore on, until the afternoon of 22nd November when we were aroused from our ‘siesta’ - an honoured institution revered by all on board - to see a "G" flag fluttering at the triatic stay: ‘I Require a Pilot.’ We must be approaching somewhere at last! Knowing it could not be Mogadiscio it turned out to be the little village of Warshiek, some 50 miles North-East of the capital. Hour succeeded hour as Dehnel stood off waiting for a pilot. He had no large scale chart of the coast, and at five o'clock with his patience exhausted he headed in - only to be brought up all standing on the reef which barred the approaches.

The prisoners did not know whether to laugh or cry while the Germans looked angry and flustered. After some discussion in which we took no part, a boat was lowered and a recce party of Germans was rowed ashore by the Yugoslavs. Meanwhile, the ship was grinding ominously on the coral; a number of black dorsal fins then appeared in the close vicinity of the ship - porpoise - or sharks? No one was prepared to hazard a guess, but the unspoken fear was there. Obviously, if the ship broke up, there would be no room in the lifeboats for everyone, so the need for rafts was suddenly pressing. Some empty paint drums were found, and the carpenters set to work constructing several rafts 98

from hatch-boards and empty drums, using improvised nails and scraps of cordage.

Dusk was closing in and the boat returned, minus the recce party, which, the Yugoslavs reported had made contact with an Italian patrol. The order was given to abandon ship; all four boats were launched, and these were used to ferry parties of prisoners ashore in steady succession. The ship was lying quietly now, and the immediate danger had receded giving no cause to take to our improvised rafts. I went ashore in the ‘third wave’ it was not surprising to learn that certain Italian elements believed an allied invasion was in progress, and by which time it was pitch dark. As we approached the beach through a rough surf, we suddenly became aware that armed Askari soldiers were deployed facing our boat, all of whom appeared to be extremely nervous. Indeed, one false move could have brought a fusillade of shots. We quickly made it clear in sign language of our being unarmed, after that we were marched off to the village under guard, while volunteers stayed with the boat and pulled it back to the ship which was stranded over a mile away.

The small party of Italians had not an inkling of what was going on, but to the credit of

the young Leutenant in command they did not panic, but simply contented themselves by arresting everyone who stepped ashore, including, to our unqualified delight, Leutenant Dehnel and his German crew!

99

Top - One of the four lifeboats which was apparently from the SS Scientist, pulls alongside the Atlantis and captivity. Most of the crew were unidentified Lascars.

Bottom - Survivors from a different ship row towards Atlantis after their ship had been sunk.

100

Top: The 1926 built 5,840 GRT steamer Benarty, she was owned by William Thompson of Leith.

Her triple expansion engines fired by coal gave her a service speed of ten knots.

Bottom: The 10,600 GRT steamer Commisaire Ramel was under the French flag.

101

SS Scientist

SS City of Exeter 102

SS City of Baghdad

SS Kemmendine 103

Tirranna

SS King City 104

Top: The Athel Line’s 9,550 GRT molasses tanker A thel King of Liverpool.

But because distress signals were inadvertently transmitted from another ship the A thel King was shelled and set ablaze.

105

Top : Despite the vast difference in their appearances, Kapitan Rogge purported that his ship Atlantis was the Blue Funnel Liner Antenor. - Albeit in the darkness.

Below : HMS Tuna sank the Tirranna in the Gironde Estuary.

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The motor ship Talleyrand had enough speed to outrun Atlantis. But with no chance of escaping she was caught close to the raider by accident in the poor visibility After being plundered of her stores she too was shelled and set ablaze.

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Italian Interlude

It is only now when I look back that I realise what a close call it must have been, because just a few days earlier, a British cruiser had shelled the capital Mogadiscio, and

the whole coast was on the alert with speculation about an invasion being at the forefront of Italian minds. Yet, when the anticipated ‘landing’ occurred towards dusk, on a beach only 50 miles from the capital, not a shot was fired.

It must be said, however, that a less likely looking force of assault troops would be difficult to imagine - we were such an unkempt and half-starved bunch of castaways, that our wretched appearance could only reassure the Italian Command that this could not be a real invasion. In charge of the local garrison of native troops was an Italian Lieutenant. His wife could speak and understand a little English - but evidently no German. It was only after our senior captains had explained the situation, that Leutenant Dehnel and his party somewhat huffily accepted the return of their weapons from their Italian allies. Meanwhile, the Lieutenant's wife was moved with compassion and contemplated with concern the state of the motley throng which had so suddenly landed on her doorstep. Her store of provisions must have been meagre, indeed, food rationing was tight in the province, but she nevertheless ordered her staff to set up cooking fires in the village square. She then commandeered a sack of rice, and signed the death warrants of several kid-goats. These animals, all bleating in protest, were herded into the village square where the local butcher deftly slaughtered them by cutting their throats in accordance with the Moslem practice.

However, it was not a pretty sight, and almost ruined the appetites of many prisoners.

But only momentarily, because that night we dined, like never before on goats meat, rice and vegetable stew, and all washed down with generous measures of a rather harsh Chianti and fragrant coffee. Perhaps we over-indulged; our contracted stomachs were

not capable of digesting this sudden influx of rich fare, and protested painfully. Next day many were acutely ill, and we remained quietly .in our mud-hut prisons, pondering on our recent gluttony and somewhat uncertain future.

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The next delicacy was treated with cautious respect, if at all, but we awoke at dawn on the third day to the whine and clatter of Army .trucks entering the village. There were about eight of them, and they had been assigned by the local Army Command to transport us to more suitable quarters near the capital, fifty miles away. We, and our erstwhile German captors, were crammed into the open trucks which promptly headed South West, following a desert track which was barely discernible from the surrounding sand and scrub. After nearly four hours, with the sun beating down rather forcibly upon our unprotected heads, the convoy entered the leafy suburbs of Mogadiscio. Soon we were in the town itself, our transport vehicles lumbering along broad tree-lined avenues; the Italian populace, in white suits and flowery print dresses, turned to stare. It was strongly rumored that an attempted invasion had been heroically repelled, and these scarecrows were captured enemy troops! Some of our sailors waved cheerfully, and whistled at the girls, but received only puzzled glances in return. Nobody cheered; nobody jeered; and, fortunately for us, nobody threw anything. The convoy wound its

way through the streets and cleared the other side of town, eventually drawing up to a large barracks square. Buildings built mainly of coral overlooked the square on three sides whence from one of them, tumbled a squad of soldiers. They rounded us up as we jumped down from the trucks and chivvied us into some semblance of order before leading us in groups into the barracks buildings. The cool interior housed several dormitories to which we were assigned in groups of twenty or so. Each man was allocated a small cot, mattress, pillow, blanket and a so-called ‘cholera belt’ of some felt -like material. Apparently, this latter item was standard Army issue designed to be worn around the middle like an apron to keep the chill night airs at bay. Thus we settled down into what we came to call ‘home’ for the next two months. Life in a prison camp is the essence of boredom- boring to write about, even more boring to read of. So, just for the record, I'll kindle a few highlights. Books in English were, after the basics of food and water, our most pressing need. Aboard the raider there was no shortage; in fact, when they looted a prize, the Germans made a point of rifling as much of the ship's library as they could carry for their prisoners' benefit. Some of these books found their way on board Durmitor, but our hurried departure from that vessel resulted in most of them being abandoned.

However, the book famine was greatly alleviated by an unknown English lady, the wife 109

of a local Italian businessman, who intuitively came to realise our need in that respect.

She canvassed her friends, and between them they filled several boxes with novels and even text-books to suit every taste. I remember well ‘Mrs Beeton's Cookery and Housekeeping for the Family’, which was a warm favourite! We were touched and extremely grateful for the gesture and wished to express our appreciation, but the benevolent lady, for obvious reasons, preferred to remain anonymous. I hope the priest who acted as her agent in this matter, was able to convey to her some inkling of our delight in this, her own humanitarian contribution to the war effort.

Food and medical supplies were in very short supply. We subsisted for the most part on rice, interspersed with varieties of pasta, served with meagre amounts of meat or chicken and locally grown vegetables such as tired lettuce, pallid tomatoes, tasteless onions and woody turnips. Those who had to suffer a period in hospital may have been very well cared for by the nuns, but the ration scale was even less than in the camp.

Drugs and medicines were almost non-existent, the universal panacea being fresh goat's

milk and Epsom Salts administered alternately. Since most of our ailments were related to the alimentary system, the rudimentary treatment seemed to work! Not always, however. At least three of our comrades died and were buried here.

At the camp coffee was our most popular fare. Jet-black Mocha taken without milk or sugar, it had a dream-like aromatic flavour which could only have been fully appreciated after months of imbibing that "ersatz" apology for coffee served on the raider! On Sundays and Saints days (which occurred quite frequently), the coffee was laced with brandy. Some would say that in the war-torn world of rationing and shortages, the Italians of Somaliland had their priorities just about right!

There was no contact with the International Red Cross, although the Camp Commandant Captain Bracco mendaciously assured us that Geneva had been informed of our arrival.

However, no such luxury as a Red Cross parcel ever entered our camp, and the many letters that we were encouraged to write home, care of the Red Cross, were all found in sacks in Bracco's office on the day we were liberated.

It couldn’t have been a better time to give up smoking, simply because there were no cigarettes available. However, in being a non smoker such a pastime didn’t affect me.

But many of the captives did give up; while others, impressed by the depression and other withdrawal symptoms manifested by the addicts, vowed never to start the smoking 110

habit. Of course, they could always turn to the vile ‘Twists’ manufactured by an Aussie gunner AB named Solomon. Strangely s it may seem we were in a tobacco growing area, but the nearest processing plants were in faraway South Africa.

However, for a few cents from our meager funds, the Native guards were only too pleased to bring raw tobacco leaves to our enterprising ‘Digger.’ But not even he could smoke the stuff in its raw state. So he resolved to ‘cure’ it, and devised what he was pleased to call his ‘maturing process.’

One of the frequent supplements to our daily diet was dried banana soaked in molasses.

Boiling them produced a sweet and sticky liquor, which Digger found ideal for marinating his raw tobacco leaves in. The marinating process lasted a week, after which the leaves were drained and then twisted together into a short ‘rope’ bound with twine and hung up to dry in the sun for another week. The maturing process was then complete, and as Digger claimed, ‘Guaranteed his customers a cooler, smoother smoke.’

Or, as he called it, ‘Fair Dinkum.’

The innovative Aussie was not without customers, because for a small consideration like a tot of vino, he would chop off and deliver a couple of ounces from the end of the twist.

Those who still had pipes were then in business. But cigarette smokers had to find a suitable paper, something that was similar to Rizla cigarette paper to roll their cigarette in, and I regret to say that one or two Bibles that matched those requirements perished in this way, the ‘Minor Prophets’ being among the first to make the sacrifice.

Tobacco manufacture was not the only enterprise entered into by the prisoners. Indeed, ‘Wully’ Grainger from Glasgow, and an erstwhile 4th Engineer from our ship Scientist, was the acknowledged expert in the manufacture of the more potent and exotic beverages ever to be found in odd corners of the world. In fact, had there been a chair at Glasgow University in Crapulous Zymology, Wully Grainger would have been a Professor. He was not greatly enamoured with the rough but un-stimulating Chianti which was issued from time to time, so he devised a means of ‘pepping it up.’ Once again the ubiquitous bananas-in-molasses was the essential ingredient with the following recipe. Stuff them into a Chianti bottle, on a one to one ratio of banana and vino, cork the bottle well, and then leave it to stand for some time (preferably till Hogmanay).

By barter and bribery Wully managed to lay down quite a respectable cellar. No one was allowed to touch a drop of his hooch at Christmas, a time that was marked by the 111

Italians giving an extra ration of brandy, and a rare slice of bread-and-jam. Boxing Day came and went with Wully's ‘plonk’ continuing to ferment nicely.

However, two nights later on 27 December 1940, we were aroused from our slumbers by a series of shots. Rifle fire! We tumbled out in alarm. Had someone tried to escape?

Another fusillade! Had British forces landed? To which some joker even exclaimed, ‘The Navy's here!’

We were then conscious of an evil-smelling odour - Gas! ... with not a single respirator between us! Slowly it dawned on us, that the Chianti bottles containing Wully Grainger's plonk had succumbed to the strain and burst with the most devastating of effects in spraying walls, floor, ceiling, and bedding with the moisome fluid. The coming Hogmanay was a very dull affair after that! Early in the New Year we were told we would be moving to a new camp. Army reinforcements were being sent from Ethiopia, and they would be moving into ‘our’ barracks. Somewhat grudgingly and because we’d grown accustomed to the place; we vacated our quarters and assembled in

the square to await the trucks that would take us to our new abode. I suppose we were lucky. If we had been left alive, the Japanese's in similar circumstances would have made us walk.

Our new camp was situated near the town of Merca which is about 40 miles South West along the coast from Mogadiscio. It consisted of half a dozen large wooden huts surrounded by a barbed wire fence. Those huts had once been used to store sterns of bananas awaiting shipment, but that lucrative trade had long since been halted. We suspected we might be sharing our quarters with a colony of tarantulas which, in the minds of seamen, are always associated with bananas. But if there were any they never showed up. They were probably afraid of being eaten!

If the Mogadiscio barracks was our ‘town house’ then Merca was our ‘place in the country.’ Here our stultifying leisure was enlivened by a weekly swim at the nearby beach. The inmates of each hut were marched down to the beach each day under the watchful gaze of a couple of armed Askaris, who were plainly amused by the childish antics of so many naked white men disporting themselves in the gentle surf. They shook their heads in complete lack of comprehension, seeming to dislike the water and disdaining to even to wet their sandalled feet. Perhaps they hailed from the remote Ogaden Desert, where water of any kind is scarce and precious and used only for 112

drinking. And they couldn't even drink this ocean stuff! The food too was a little better; those with the means could even buy or barter fresh fruit and vegetables to supplement the monotonous pasta diet. News from the outside world filtered through to our anxious ears. It seemed that the Italians in North Africa had suffered a severe defeat; the Navy had once again shelled targets in Mogadiscio and Kismayu; and there was apparently increased activity on the Kenyan border, some 300 miles to the Southwest which was causing the local Italians some disquiet. The feeling grew that, one way or another, the status quo was about to be disrupted.

No prison camp history would be complete without a stirring escape story. Alas, I am in no position to lend lustre to my narrative by any such diversion. There were no tunnelling episodes, or vaulting-horse dramas, which uplifted the spirits of the inmates of Colditz and the Stalags, to catch the imagination of the press. It was in fact absurdly easy to get clear of the wire at Merca, but the hostile desert environment which surrounded the camp and the town was sufficient deterrent to the majority.

A select few to their eternal credit made the attempt: two got as far as the town and had a wonderful binge, but were returned to the camp on the next day rather the worse for wear. Another pair skirted the town but they were picked up a week later by a group of Somali Nomads who handed them over to the authorities. They too were returned to the camp, blistered by the sun, and even more worse for wear than their fun-loving comrades. A third pair was not so lucky because they were never heard of again.

Meanwhile, whatever had happened to the Germans? We left them, you remember, somewhat dishevelled and disillusioned as fellow-prisoners of the Italian forces in Mogadiscio. Frantic communication with the German Embassy in Addis Ababa eventually established their bona fides, and they were put at liberty.

But apparently their presence was not popular, as most citizens believed that a squad of German Naval personnel on their territory would inevitably bring down on their heads another naval bombardment. So they were ushered down to Kismayu where the old Durmitor which having been re-floated by her Yugoslav crew was presently lying. But the ship was no longer viable as a sea-going proposition. Damaged when she struck the reef off Warshiek, she was leaking badly. Her boilers which were leaking badly were suffering from the inevitable consequences of the infusions of sea water which had been resorted to on her voyage across the Indian Ocean. She was clearly in no position to put 113

to sea and rendezvous with A tlantis. Besides, in spite of their protests of neutrality, the Yugoslav crew had been interned by the Italians, and were now residing with us in our prison-camp at Merca.

There were a dozen or so Italian ships in Kismayu as well as one or two Germans, quite content apparently, to sit out the war in comparative seclusion. Leutenant Dehnel, however, had different ideas. Through the German Embassy at Addis Ababa he contacted the German Naval High Command in Hamburg; he then obtained authority to commandeer one of the German ships and her crew, and then load her with as much stores and fuel as he could squeeze out of the Italians before meeting up with Atlantis at a pre-arranged position. Dehnel selected the cargo vessel Tannenfels which was part loaded with jute, and at once set about preparing the ship for sea. The former prize-crew of Durmitor gave the German merchant seamen every moral, and no doubt physical encouragement to overcome their inertia. Fortune favoured Dehnel's enterprise, and he successfully evaded the British blockade to accomplish the rendezvous with A tlantis

safely on 8th February, 1941.

Eventually, after meeting up with Atlantis again, as well as the A dmiral Scheer, the Tannenfels was despatched to German-occupied Europe with 100 prisoners on board, and, according to German sources she arrived at Bordeaux without incident on 19th April 1941. Meanwhile, back at the camp, a new feeling of optimism was growing in substance as more and more signs indicated, that a profound change of our circumstances was imminent. Commandant Bracco, wearing a worried frown was taking pains to be more affable, and one day he was seen burning papers in the cookhouse.

Rumour had it that Kismayu had fallen, and South African troops were across the Juba River. Then one day a flight of Hurricanes flew over our camp, and we were sure help was at hand. Prudently, just in case the Hurricane pilots did not realise that the cheering mob in the old banana complex was composed of British and Allied prisoners-of-war, and might return with a load of bombs next time, we hurriedly took steps to make our presence known by collecting white stones, and placing them in the compound, spelling the message, POW’s - HELP. Bracco raised no objection; in fact our initiative was silently applauded.

As February drew to a close the persistent rumours clamoured for recognition as fact.

There came a day when we found ourselves completely deserted by our guards - Bracco, 114

the soldiers, and the Askaris had all fled. About four hours later a South African patrol appeared at the compound gates. They looked bewildered as well they might, because instead of finding the enemy they found themselves surrounded by a wildly cheering mob of happy ‘Rooineks,’ For a while chaos reigned, until some semblance of order was restored by the senior POW' s. Our presence was duly explained to the astonished patrol Commander who at once contacted his base by radio. He begged us to remain in our compound ‘until someone from Company H.Q. arrived.’ He then unloaded several cartons of cigarettes from his vehicle and sped away in a cloud of dust to resume his patrol. Obediently, we stayed in our compound, as it was vaguely assumed there would be a good chance of us being shot if we strayed outside. In due course, a South African Major arrived with an escort armed to the teeth. He engaged our elders in serious discussion and was given a list of names of personnel and ships which had fallen victim to the raider, a list which had been lovingly prepared against such an event as this. The Major promised to get in touch with his Brigade where he had reason to believe there

was a Naval Liaison Officer. Meanwhile, supplies would be sent to the camp as quickly as possible. Italian forces were retreating Northwards, and he saw no reason why we should not exercise our new found freedom in whatever way we pleased - within reason.

He warned us all that the Military Police were patrolling the town, and if there were any unwarranted disturbances, the perpetrators would find them a much tougher proposition than our erstwhile captors - or words to that effect. We believed him.

The Major was true to his word; an hour or two later an Army truck arrived, driven by the most fearsome squad of KAR 's you ever saw. The truck was laden with rice, newly baked bread, cheese - and the inevitable cigarettes. It was a pleasure to unload it! Our next visitors comprised a Rhodesian Signals Unit, who began setting up a communications centre in Bracco's office. We looked on and marvelled, chatting amiably to our multinational liberators, and watching an Army advance. That evening most of us advanced on the town - and the good Major need not have worried. Whether it was out of respect or for the reputation of the South African Military Police, or sheer ‘joie de vivre,’ no one had any intention of being a nuisance to anyone. In a way we were all disciplined too. I remember having a game of billiards in one tavern, while a burly quartermaster was detailed off by Captain Windsor to make sure those “boys” drank only fizzy lemonade! I don't think anyone paid for much - we didn't have the 115

resources in any case – but the Italian proprietors in defeat were only too pleased, apparently to lavish simple hospitality on their potentially volatile customers and encourage good relations. In a way they too were celebrating, because for them the war was over as far as they were concerned.

As I recall it the following day was spent in camp, leisurely swimming at the beach, or concocting exotic dishes using our newly-acquired stores. Idly we pondered the next move, which, as we had grown to realise was completely out of our hands. We did not

have long to wait. That South African Major was as good as his word, because on the next morning we awoke to see a lean grey shape standing off shore. A cruiser no less!

HMS Ceres had been detached from her squadron apparently for the sole purpose of shipping some 260 POW 's down the coast to Mombasa. Towards noon a platoon of soldiers and M P 's arrived at the camp to organise the march down to the harbour. We gathered our pathetic belongings, and in feeling no regrets we shook the dust of Merca Camp from our feet. The march, you may surmise was a triumphant one, far different

from the defiant parade through Mogadiscio three months ago. The lads were in high spirits, and did not even complain about the rusty, filthy banana barges which were to convey us to the waiting cruiser. We embarked and set off on what must have been the most hair-raising sea passage of my life. Our barge and two others were being towed by an ancient motor-launch which was doing no more than two knots. The men, consistent with the practice of all deep-water seamen embarked in small boats, were perched nonchalantly along the gun-whales. No sooner had our little armada cleared the point than the 10 foot swell took over! The launch buried its prow in green water; the barges wallowing in its wake lurched alarmingly; water poured inboard while the startled seamen hung on for dear life. Captain Marshall (ex King City) firmly grasping the tiller and with having belated thoughts about metacentric stability, ordered everyone into the hold of the barge. We needed no prompting, and having sustained nothing worse than a thorough soaking and a few bruises, huddled together amongst the rotting banana debris in the hold for the best part of an hour until we reached the lee of the cruiser. We bumped alongside and leapt or fell on board assisted by grinning matelots. At last! The

Navy really was here.

I found myself with a group of other lads in the PO’s Mess. It was lunchtime, and a genial Chief Buffer was inviting us to sit down, and, with his own gnarled hands began 116

serving us with a dream-like meal of roast lamb, mint sauce, green peas, and roast potatoes. Nothing could have been more redolent of home and Sunday lunch. Even today, whenever we have roast lamb, I still think of that meal on board HMS Ceres and the friendly hospitality of the PO’s Mess. We arrived back in the free world on 1st March,1941, no longer POW 's but DBS 's – ‘Distressed British Seamen’, and perhaps my narrative should end here. The many months of captivity were behind us; we’d been liberated in rather dramatic circumstances and were now on friendly soil, and welcomed by our own kind. But we were not out of the woods and heading for home just yet. Our next taste of freedom seemed depressingly familiar in an Army transit camp just outside Mombasa. Here again was the communal living style, the patient queuing at the cookhouse, the aimless wandering about with little or nothing to do.

It was certainly a life of luxury compared with our previous existence, but it was not freedom as we remembered it. Many were fortunate, however, for our shipmasters quickly descended on the various Shipping Agencies, where, of course, they were well

known. The agents in turn contacted their principals in the United Kingdom, and those companies promptly assumed responsibility for their own staff, informing next-of-kin, arranging cash withdrawals and clothing allowances.

They also authorised our accommodation in several excellent local hotels. The rest of the ex-prisoners – ‘Pool-men’ to a man - became the joint responsibility of the Mercantile Marine Office and the Royal Navy. Most remained in the transit camp, but the sick and elderly were cared for by the Missions to Seamen of all denominations, whose priestly incumbents strove manfully for their welfare by organising local support which was generously forthcoming. An early disappointment was the news that no suitable transport bound for the United Kingdom would be calling at Mombasa for several weeks, or even months.

But, the Royal Navy had an alternative solution, (and here one suspected that the alacrity with which we had been lifted out of Merca, may not have been altogether without motive!). Indeed, up the creek at Port Reitz lay half a dozen merchant ships captured from the Italians and Vichy French. Their crews had been interned, and now allied crews were needed to transport the ships to India, South Africa, and perhaps even the United Kingdom. How about some volunteers?

This merry suggestion was greeted at first with hilarity, and then with alarm. The 117

thought of Kapitan Rogge still prowling about the Indian Ocean in his formidable Atlantis was all too real, and too recent to be recalled with composure; indeed, the idea of risking a second encounter with him and his ship so soon was daunting to say the least.

The RN Captain who chaired the stormy meeting at the MM Office was patient, perceptive and reasonable. He was also persuasive. To give him his due he insisted on enrolling volunteers only for this service, when undoubtedly he could have used his emergency powers to press-gang the lot of us, had he so wished. He got his volunteers but only to take ships to South Africa or Britain. - India was out! Launches were organised and teams of engineers and deck officers went ‘Up the Creek’ on a tour of inspection. All ships were in a sad state of neglect sporting long, feathery tresses of weed at the waterline, their main engines and auxiliaries in disrepair.

There was also evidence of sabotage committed by the departed crews. One ship boarded by Harrison line men looked familiar, indeed, she was the old SS Patrician,

built in 1917 for Rankin Gilmour as the Saint Jerome, and acquired by Harrisons in 1918. After serving the company for 20 years she was sold to an Italian firm and renamed Ermina Mazzilla; and here she was in Mombasa Harbour awaiting adoption like a forlorn puppy in the dog’s home. Most of the ships were declared unseaworthy, but one or two were adequately patched up for the passage to Durban and duly manned.

However, I don’t think there was any prospect of a Lloyd’s certificate being issued to any of them under the circumstances.

Meanwhile, those of us who found we were not required resumed the waiting game, waiting impatiently for the ship which would eventually take us home. But it could hardly be described as a time of trial and tribulation. There were the bars and clubs (Yacht, Golf and Country etc) which made us welcome, cinemas, restaurants and beautiful beaches for ‘al fresco’ picnics. However, through the medium of the Daily Mirror, copies of which were available at the Seamen’s Club, we became anxiously aware of the air raids on London, Coventry, Liverpool and other cities, and feared for the safety of our families.

Our sybaritic existence soon became unbearable. One day in April 1941 however, our ship at last came in. She was a troop ship named Nea Hellas which was formerly the Anchor Line’s, Tuscania, and presently commanded by Captain David W Bone the well 118

known author. At the age of 70 he had come out of retirement “To do something about the war!” Joyfully we packed up, bade hasty farewells to our newly found friends, and hastened down to Kilini to lay claim to a bunk in one of the six berth cabins on Nea Hellas. By this time the ‘sea time’ I needed for my BOT certificate was sadly in arrears, so I volunteered my service as a watch keeper for the passage home in the hope of earning a watch keeping certificate from Captain Bone. The ship called at Durban for bunkers, where we found the RN seeking crews for captured enemy ships. There was better stock on offer here and the response was more enthusiastic. Most of the Scientist’s officers volunteered and left the trooper to man a former Vichy French ship which was reported to be in good nick!! She was to be commanded by our own Alec Watson, formerly the chief officer of the Scientist for the passage to the UK. Of the crowd which had left Merca Camp, there now remained only elderly masters and engineers, cadets and apprentices left aboard the troop ship. The Nea Hellas made a further call at Cape Town to embark a contingent of convalescent troops, and eventually

sailed for Gibraltar with the aircraft carriers HMS Furious and Argus.

The passage passed without incident, but we were perturbed to hear of the German landings in Crete that were taking place at the time. Our stay in Gibraltar was brief, but twenty-four hours after leaving for home, and whilst we were counting the few remaining hundreds of ocean miles which separated us from the shores of England, we were astonished, and not a little disturbed, to observe our ship suddenly making a 180 degree turn under full helm, while our Royal Navy consorts veered off to the Northwest at full speed. We were not kept in ignorance of the reasons for this manoeuvre for long however. Indeed, the word on everyone's lips was ‘The ‘BISMARK’ is out! This is not the place to describe the action which ended with the demise of one of the finest battleships ever built, but we kept an extremely good lookout to avoid any involvement. And so we returned to Gibraltar to anxiously wait for news.

Ten days or so later, Force H consisting of HM ships Renown, A rk Royal, Sheffield, and six destroyers entered harbour, whereupon our captain was told it was now safe to proceed. And so it was. We reached the Clyde on 14 June 1941, vaguely wondering what to do with all the surplus docking bottles of Van der Hum and cakes of ‘Main Line’ plug tobacco and cigarettes which we had somehow accumulated. We need not have worried, because the Glasgow Customs Officers were on strike! So we packed our 119

spoils and headed for Glasgow Central and the trains which would take us to the four corners of the United Kingdom. The night train to Liverpool was crowded with service men and women, and we were lucky to find a corner of the passageway in which to squat uncomfortably and while away the hours in desultory conversation and fitful sleep. The journey seemed endless, with numerous inscrutable time-laden halts in the wild countryside, but eventually the train coasted into Lime. Street Station. It was 6 am on a Sunday morning and the streets were deserted. Opposite the station the old familiar buildings had been reduced to rubble during the May blitz. The classic bulk of St. George's Hall still stood but was blackened and pockmarked with shrapnel. Its Lion Guard of Honour, defiant as ever, gazed out over the cratered Lime Street.

We stared at the scene in awe for several minutes, then said a last goodbye, and went our several ways. My route led South but it was no use waiting for a tram, so I trudged along the torn-up streets, sick at heart to see further evidence of those vicious and indiscriminate air attacks. A passing motorist drew up and offered me a lift. I accepted

gratefully while my benefactor proceeded to give me details on the latest air raids. At Princes Avenue I asked him to drop me off at the Church - then realised that the Church was not there any more. With some trepidation I walked up ‘our street,’ past the broken houses, the sightless windows until there, on the corner and still standing, was the home I had left one year and four months ago. The steps were gleaming white, the door freshly painted, and a Union Jack hung proudly from a bedroom window. I rang the bell; I had come home.

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Above: Liverpool city centre looking South.

Middle: Liverpool’s South End

Below; Liverpool city centre looking North

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Epilogue to the Diary of Graeme Cubbin The last piece of information concerning my first ship Scientist didn’t come to light until ten months after her sinking; that was when messages started humming across the world from Mombasa care of Cable & Wireless. The ship had quite simply failed to arrive at Freetown in May 1940, and, in due course she was officially presumed lost. There was no great mystery about it because after all a war was on; ships were disappearing every day of the week with or without trace. Moreover, reports had come in about mines being laid on the Agulhas Bank, and it appeared that our ship Scientist had struck one of those mines and was lost with all hands.

Such was the theory in Naval Circles. Consequently, throughout the shipping offices of Liverpool, London, Glasgow and Cardiff, the wage accounts of the missing seamen were made up and their money passed on to their next-of-kin. Women who’d been ‘widowed’ nursed their grief, and they quite rightly applied for their statutory pension. Some might have married again I know of no specific case, but it was an obvious possibility. My parents had received a gentlyworded letter of condolence from Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth. But my mother never gave up hope, fervently believing that one day I would turn up like the proverbial bad penny.

Those at home suffered the greater ordeal in not knowing what had happened - or when to abandon hope. Therefore, when the ‘all is well’ messages began arriving from Mombasa, to be delivered to families all over Britain, there was unconfined joy, relief and not a little consternation throughout the land! Locally on Merseyside it was as though Everton or Liverpool had won the Big Double!

If I may quote from my family's traditional version of events, Dad was out delivering provisions in Liverpool's suburbia when the momentous cable arrived. My deliriously happy mother at once discarded her apron, donned her best coat, pinned on her hat, and set off by foot and tram in search of Dad, even though she knew that he would be home in a couple of hours. She just couldn't wait to break the news to him!

She ran him to earth in distant Childwall, (I think) just as he was completing his round. She then triumphantly waved the fabled cable in front of his nose to the amusement of a curious and interested customer! Then she boarded a tram to return home while Dad trundled his tricycle van to the same place. According to him, the going seemed downhill all the way. When the euphoria had subsided a few unpalatable situations had to be faced. The ‘widows’ who’d been awarded a 122

widow’s pension were obliged to refund all the pension money they‘d received back to the State.

Company accountants and balances of wages had to be re-calculated (and in my case it was found that I was £4.11.3d in the red! Moreover my father was obliged to repay my premium ie, the sum payable to the employer on becoming a cadet or apprentice – which was £50 in those days, and money which had been refunded on my ‘decease.’ But, in the eyes of our kith and kin it was but a small price to pay for the miracle of deliverance.

What remains to be said of the main protagonists of this story? Kapitan Bernhard Rogge survived the war, and after the German Navy had been disarmed he opened a nautical instrument business in Hamburg. A number of his ex-prisoners called on him during the fifties and sixties. Our own Captain Windsor died soon after his return home; Chief Officer Alex Watson relinquished his new command to the Ministry of War Transport on arrival in the United Kingdom; he left Harrisons for the remainder of the war to work as a Sea Transport Officer for the Royal Navy.

After the war he returned to Harrisons and worked as a relief officer, notably on the Manchester Ship Canal and in Manchester Dock. He died in 1976. Joe Connolly the Scientists Third Officer left Harrisons to join the RAF Sea Rescue Service on the Yorkshire coast.

Thanks to information received from The SATS General Botha in Cape Town, Intake No 843 Samuel Ellman 1935-36, my fellow cadet, was commissioned into the Royal Navy on our arrival back at the UK. On being sent to Sicily he was appointed as the Beach Master for the Salerno landings; he later ended up commanding HMS V irginia in Burma. After the war he went to the Northern Rhodesia copper mines before retiring to Port Alfred, after that he had an enjoyable life painting and playing golf. Sam Ellman died in 1990 at the age of 70. Victor Cubbon the Second Engineer left T&J Harrisons to work for the Mersey Docks and Harbour Board; and Wully Grainger, of Merca Camp 'plonk' fame,’ was killed in a tragic accident some years ago. Bob Skarrow the Chief Engineer was lost when the prize-ship Tirranna was sunk off the Gironde by the British submarine HMS Tuna. Dave Foulis the Third Engineer survived that disaster only to spend the rest of the War in a German Prison Camp. On his release he returned to Harrisons, serving the Company until his early death in 1965. Old Mr Barrow the Quartermaster was last seen in the late forties manning an Isle of Man Ferry out of Heysham. He must have been 70 by then! I have lost trace of the others, but you will gather from this little roll call that there are not many of us left to tell the tale.

Graeme Cubbin.

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Further to the diary of Cadet Graeme Cubbin, it should be borne in mind that as a 16 year old, and despite his best efforts, he was after all a first tripper. Therefore, he could hardly be expected to give a full account of everything that occurred during his ten week stay aboard the Scientist, and his five and a half month incarceration on A tlantis.

Indeed, when his ship Scientist had been attacked on 3 May 1940, that period in time was referred to as being the ‘Phony War.’ It wasn’t thought of by most people that the war was going to last any further than a few months. However, there was nothing at all phony about the war at sea. The battle of the Atlantic began on Day 1 when the A thenia was sunk without warning on 3 September 1939. During the next eight months of the so called ‘phony war’ 428 British and Allied ships totaling 1.4million gross tons were sunk

by U-Boat, mines, aircraft and surface raiders.

Nevertheless, most ships sailed in their company colours, they didn’t have their boats swung out; and many thought the so called war was going to die with a whimper and would be over quickly. Therefore, when the SS Scientist was heading towards Freetown

she was at a virtual state of ease. Second Mate Anderson paid little attention when the lookout reported a ship ahead; it was not unusual, passing ships of all types and nations were a regular occurrence on the SS Scientist. Steaming at her service speed of 14 knots, the Scientist soon came up on the ship, that an hour or so earlier had been reported fine on the port bow; a ship which quite unknown to the navigation officer Mr Anderson, had altered course 180 degrees and slowed down to six knots in order to be caught up.

The ship being overtaken was of course the German raider A tlantis; her crew had been at action stations for over an hour. She had in fact seen the Scientist before being seen herself. Indeed, her lookouts were higher up the mast with the added advantage of having mast head periscopes and extremely powerful binoculars. Therefore, as well as the giveaway smoke from the British ship, they would have been able to see three or four miles further than Scientist’s lookout. A tlantis had been on a southerly course heading towards Cape Aghulas to lay her mines, but on seeing the Scientist, she obviously turned 180 degrees to head North and slowed down.

When Kapitan Rogge observed the Scientist as she came within range of his guns, he was under the impression that with her tall smoke-belching funnel, his prey was a coal burner of ancient vintage. But that coal-burning Scientist was in fact less than two years old, and as well as being faster, was in effect a year ‘younger’ than Atlantis was.

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After A tlantis had fired her warning shot across the bows of her victim Captain Windsor came running up to the bridge, his first thoughts being that his own four inch gun on the poop had been fired without his knowledge or instruction. But by that time it was all too late. The second mate had been duped into thinking his much faster ship was quite simply overtaking a slower one. But Captain Windsor had a suspicious mind with regard to disguised Q Ships. He’d been through the previous war of 1914-18, and during those years the Germans had proved to be past masters in the art of operating Q ships.

At 14.5 knots the SS Scientist was indeed a fast ship and overtook most ships going the same way as herself. When the livid Captain Windsor was in conversation with Kapitan Rogge aboard Atlantis later on, he claimed that if he’d been informed of A tlantis when she’d first been sighted, the raider would have been given a wide berth and the raider would never have caught his ship.

The A tlantis may well have been capable of 17 knots when flat out, but so too was the Scientist with her three cylinder triple expansion engines coupled to a booster turbine. Indeed, she was a new ship and her boilers were capable of maximum pressure. Moreover, had the raider turned around and given chase to the fleeing out of range Scientist on first sighting, Radio Officer

Compton would have had time to send distress calls, and Rogge would have soon called off the chase.

In the months preceding the breaking of the British blockade by A tlantis, Kapitan Rogge and his aides in Germany had examined the profiles of just about every ship afloat in order to find a match similar to Atlantis, so that she could assume that ship’s identity when needed. There were just 26 ships that fitted the required profile. The features a ship needed for A tlantis for impersonation, were a cruiser stern, two masts, a tall funnel and five cargo hatches. And there she was right in front of him, the SS Scientist. Similar in size and appearance she had the all important cruiser stern. But more than likely this fact was not picked up by Kapitan Rogge, because as A tlantis went across her victim’s bows, and because of the usual palls of smoke from her funnel, Rogge must have thought that as a coal-burner she had an old fashioned counter stern.

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Teddy; Leutenant Mohr then reached inside his coat and took out his German Navy officer’s cap, throwing aside the RN cap he donned his uniform headgear and declared that Teddy was now a prize of Germany. He then took charge of the bridge. Captain Thor Lutken and his crew had been taken completely by surprise! Not a shot had been fired nor had a drop of blood been spilt in the ship’s capture. The Teddy’s top secret routing plans were seized, but while all that was going on in the chartroom, the mate on watch went to the offside wing of the bridge and managed to dump the rest of the codes overboard. During the rest of the middle watch of 8 November, Teddy’s 32 crew members - of whom four were Australian , named as HH Burgoyne, CM Lacey, AD Juniper and DP Dwyer, were taken aboard A tlantis with the Norwegians; those four Aussies had signed on at Brisbane in Australia. As well as her cargo Teddy had 500 tons of diesel in her bunker tanks, and that was exactly what Kapitan Rogge wanted.

A prize crew under the command of Leutenant Breuers was then sent to the Teddy and ordered to proceed to a point 500 miles South, just off Christmas Island, and await

further orders. Once there in that more remote place, Atlantis would be able to off load Teddy’s 500 tons of diesel bunkers for her own use; thus adding an extra two months to her cruise requirements.

Crew List of the Norwegian ship Teddy.

Supplied by The Norwegian Archives.

Captain Thor Lutken - First Mate Josef Monsen, 2nd Trygve Nilsen, 3rd Hans Svenhlt - Carpenter, Bror Lindstrom - Bosun, Thoralf Larson - Able Seamen, Olav Bernsten, John Gislefoss - Ordinary Seamen, Edvard Hansen, Thoraf Gjesdal, Erik Gustafsson, Erik Eriksen - Deck Boys, Hubert Burgoyne, Sixten Persson Chief Engineer, Herman Jansen, 2nd Finn Lindhjem, 3rd Alf Somoe, Assistant Engineer, Harry Hansen - Electrician, Clas Collberg - ER Mechanics, Torsten Dalen, Albert Akelsen, Nils Moller, Johny Hollquist - Pump-man Magnus Fossum -

Stokers, Daniel Dwyer, Albert Juniper. Engine Boy, Charles Lacey - Steward Thoralf Ekenes - Cook Christian Talleksen - Galley Boy Olaf Eithum - Mess Boy, Thorlf Elholm. Total crew survived.

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The Tanker Ole Jacob Searches by the two man seaplane of A tlantis were regular occurrences; those flights served two purposes, the first being to see if there were any British warships around, while the second was to search for any merchant ship victims. But those Arado and

Heinkel seaplanes were rather flimsy, they could only be operated in good weather and on a flat sea. Indeed, as well as getting tossed around in a choppy sea, which could damage their floats and wings, their engines were placed too low and in line with the pilot. On alighting back in the water of a choppy sea, the cold spray was quite liable to hit the low slung engine. That in turn could crack the cylinder head of the engine and render it useless. Such a turn of events occurred on the German heavy cruiser (pocket battleship) A dmiral Graf Spee during her cruise of 1939.

After having run out of spare Arado engines, due to their cylinder heads cracking on hitting the cold sea water, she eventually had no ‘eyes.’ As a consequence of having no seaplane, A dmiral Graf Spee was engaged on 13 December 1939 with three British warships, and although those British cruisers could only inflict slight damage, the fact that the German ship had no seaplane led to her eventual demise. In contrast the Royal Navy used Albatross seaplanes on their battleships and cruisers to do similar reconnaissance. The engines on the British ships were placed much higher and well above the pilots eye line and did not get swamped or drenched.

However, on the following afternoon of 9 November 1940, Leutenant. Bulla and his observer took their sea plane up and sighted another tanker. Proposing to catch her in the same manner as he had the Teddy, Kapitan Rogge decided to shadow the new sighting from a distance, and wait until the darkness before making his attack. But in the darkness of the night watch later on, and on sighting A tlantis coming up fast from astern, the tanker which was the Norwegian Ole Jacob under the command of Captain Leif Christian Krogh altered course, increased her speed to maximum while sending

RRR signals to signify she was being attacked by a raider. Once again Kapitan Rogge identified himself as the armed merchant cruiser HMS A ntenor, and once again his ploy brought him fruition as the 8,306 GRT Ole Jacob ceased transmitting and hove to for a 127

From Johnathon Parkinson of HMS Dorsetshire - rank not given.

Further back in the diary of Cadet Cubbin, when the SS Durmitor had arrived at Warshiek, Italian Somaliland, it was stated that a British cruiser had shelled Dante and the surrounding areas. Shortly before that bombardment, HMS Dorsetshire (Captain ‘Pincher’ Martin) had been part of WS3, a fast convoy escort for ten troopships, a hospital ship and others from Singapore to the Red Sea. On arrival back at Aden on Friday 15 November 1940, and due to intelligence reports, HMS Dorsetshire was despatched from Aden to Durban on Sunday 17th. But during her passage the cruiser was ordered by Vice Admiral Leatham C in C East Indies, to bombard an installation at Dante. The principal target was a salt works complete with a jetty and loading facilities. At 1402 hrs on 18 November Dorsetshire went to

action stations and at 1429 hrs flew off her Walrus seaplane to spot. The aircraft also carried bombs to drop on oil tanks which were known to be in the vicinity. At 1441 hrs it was observed that the bombs had been dropped; the cruiser then opened fire with her main eight inch armament.

Various targets were hit which resulted in clouds of smoke and flames being observed. At 1526 hrs a torpedo was fired at the salt loading jetty and one of the pylons was destroyed. The Walrus was recovered at 1555 hrs and re-loaded; at 1650 hrs the seaplane was catapulted once more to continue bombing the oil tanks.

At 1737 hrs the Walrus was hoisted on board again, and, in case of any Italian counter attack from the air, the ship withdrew to defence stations and departed at 25 knots. When all was clear at 2056 hrs speed was reduced to 17 knots. The exercise proved to be little more than target practice and was considered as being not very satisfactory. Altogether we had fired 64 x 8 inch high explosive, 130 x 8 inch semi armour piercing, 36 x 4 inch high explosive, one torpedo, and 1,160 pounds of bombs. Military objectives of oil installations and a wireless station were

left untouched. Lack of both spectacular result and oppositions made the whole affair rather disappointing. Bad drill and material defects caused several mis-haps.

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Capture of the SS Teddy At 2300 hrs on 7 November 1940, the silhouette of a darkened ship was sighted by the A tlantis lookouts in 05.30 N - 86.30 E. That ship without lights was a tanker which later proved to be the 6,047 GRT motor ship Teddy, she was owned by A/S Golden West and managed by Klaveness & Co of Oslo. The ship was loaded with 10,300 tons of fuel oil (FFO) and at the time she was on

charter for the British Tanker Company of London; she had left Abadan on 26 October under the command of Captain Thor Kristian Lutken and was bound for Singapore.

In order to make an identification in the darkness, the raider passed Teddy on a parallel course on her starboard side at full speed. Because WW2 was not yet in full swing, America, Russia and Japan amongst many others were neutrals, and the area around 5 N - 86 E, where A tlantis was operating was a busy shipping lane for many nationalities. Captain Lutken of the Teddy took the darkened ship passing him to be a ship of the P&O Line, while Kapitan Rogge had to be very sure that any ships he attacked were from the Allies and sinking a neutral would spark the fury of the victim’s government, which in turn would exacerbate Germany’s present unpopular stance even further. Moreover, even if Rogge did confront a neutral ship, and then had to let it go, that neutral would no doubt alert the allies of a raider at large, so he had to make sure that any ships he did approach were from the Allies.

However, once Atlantis was well ahead of her prey and after having ascertained that the darkened ship was a Norwegian, she turned 360 degrees in a circle, and so as not to be seen in silhouette against the moonlight she came up 500 yards away on the tanker’s port side. Searchlights from

Atlantis then swept the Teddy’s decks, blinding those on the bridge and the poop where a gun was mounted. A Morse signal from A tlantis stated that she was the armed merchant cruiser HMS Antenor, and asked the tanker for her identification, that she should heave to for an examination of her papers, and must not use her radio. But if Captain Lutken of the Teddy had been aware of his ship silhouettes, he would have known immediately, that the so called HMS A ntenor asking all the questions, did not resemble the real A ntenor in the slightest.

With both ships stopped the raider’s launch was soon on its way; Leutenant Ulrich Mohr dressed

in a Royal Navy uniform was in charge of the apparent 3 man boarding party. On the launch ’s deck a hatch tarpaulin was spread over the forepart, but instead of covering a hatch it was hiding ten armed sailors from A tlantis. With her low freeboard the invaders quickly climbed aboard the 129

boarding party. The same procedure of men under a tarp was carried out by Leutenant Mohr and his boarding party were soon on the deck of their prey. After having taken charge of the radio shack, his own telegraphist in the boarding party reversed the distress calls stating that the raider alert was a false alarm. When this new German ruse of cancelling RRR warnings came to light, the admiralty issued warnings regarding the ploy to all ships.)

Ole Jacob was a tanker of 8,306 GRT, built in 1939 and registered in Oslo and on her maiden voyage. After arriving at Wellington in the evening of 31 July 1940, she discharged part of her cargo before going to Lyttelton to complete discharging. A few hours later off Cape Campbell, she collided with the 4,066 GRT motor-ship A rmadale on passage Lyttelton to Sydney. Both ships were badly damaged, and whereas the Armadale put into Wellington for repairs, the Ole Jacob went to Auckland for hers; Ole Jacob later proceeded to Palembang, Sumatra where she loaded 11,000 tons of high octane spirit. On being captured by A tlantis it was determined that Ole Jacob’s cargo of

11,000 tons of high octane spirit was of no use whatsoever to the raider. The tanker was at the time bound for Alexandria via the Suez Canal. None of Ole Jacob’s diesel oil was taken from her bunker tanks at that point, as plans were already being made with regard to the Ole Jacob’s cargo. After the tanker was stripped of as much fresh water and dry stores as possible, Kapitan Leutenant Paul Kamenz was given command of Ole Jacob, and told to make for the same point to which Teddy had been sent, and where A tlantis would make a rendezvous with both ships on 15 November. Before the war Kapitan Leutenant zur See Kamenz had been the commanding officer of a training ship at Porsgrund. Kamenz took all the Norwegian prisoners already on board A tlantis with him; those men would eventually be handed over to the Norwegian Consulate in Kobe, Japan. By this time, the Atlantis had been in the water for a year since coming out of dry -dock. The fronds of seaweed were beginning to show on and below the waterline, and such growth could only slow the ship down. That point was made by Captain Lutken of Ole Jacob when he’d been in conversation with Kapitan Rogge; the German captain replied saying he was fully aware of his barnacle bottom, and a knot or so was missing from his speed. Captain Lutken also commented on the circle of eyebolts around the fidley, so positioned to support a dummy funnel. (All these small but significant points were later passed on to the Norwegian Consul in Kobe by Captain Lutken, who in turn 130

passed the same information on to the British Admiralty.) It was also a fact that with the crew of A tlantis having been on board for a year; eight months of which had been at sea, tempers were becoming frayed with indiscipline being noticed. The quality of the food on board A tlantis had deteriorated greatly, water was severely rationed and black bread was the order of the day. The younger and junior members of the crew were not used to it and showed their dissent. Kapitan Rogge said he knew all about the crew being unsettled, but also claimed that his senior ratings were managing any subversive tendencies amongst the youngsters quite well, and never once had a man had to stand on the carpet before him to be disciplined. To counteract the threat of indiscipline as best he could, Rogge gave his crew ‘leave at sea,’ inasmuch, that a week’s unrecorded leave could be taken by the restless sailors in order to relax from their grueling, mundane and monotonous work; such leave at sea would only be brought to a halt when action stations were sounded.

Crew list of the Norwegian Ole Jacob.

Supplied by The Norwegian Archives.

Captain, Lief Christian Krogh - First Mate, Julius Falch, 2nd and radio operator, Johan Henry Jacobsen, Third Mate Sverre Rovig - Carpenter, Frithjof Monsen . Bosun Johannes Andreassen. - Able Seamen, Leif Svenungsen, Karlow Johansen, Sigurd Mork. - Ordinary Seamen, Karl Overdal, Malmin Gundersen, John Holm, Holgar Andersen. - Deck Boy, Marthon Hulback. - Chief |Engineer, Nils Thomasgaard, 2nd Olaf Vaerstad, 3rd, Asbjorn Flakstad, Asst Engineer, Ellef Torjesen Rod—Electrician, Thoralf Kjell Fromyhr - Mechanics, Emrik Hammarlund, Kare Hesthagen, Magne Forre – Pump-man, Harald Johannesen Greasers, Ola Remme, John Loberg, William Toftesund, Alfred Gundersen -

Steward, Henry Mosberg - Cook Sigurd Magnussen - Mess Boys, Oskar Mathisen, Odgar Hoganhaug, Arne Hellerod.

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Loss of the Automedon Monday 11 November 1940 was Armistice Day; a day of remembrance when the warring sides of WW1 ceased hostilities and came to peace. On board A tlantis a service was held at 0800 in honour of all those men and women who’d lost their lives in the conflict. However, while that service was in progress, the lookout in the crow’s nest at the after end the mainmast saw smoke on the horizon astern and action stations were sounded. Observing the approaching ship’s speed and direction, Kapitan Rogge altered course to fall in with the ship, and then used his favourite tactic of reducing speed so as to be ‘caught up.’ After an hour or so, the overtaking ship which came up on the starboard quarter of Atlantis turned out to be a Blue Funnel Line cargo ship . She was the SS A utomedon of Liverpool, most prominent with her tall blue funnel and black top she was steering a course towards Singapore. The SS A utomedon (Captain WB McEwan) after having left Liverpool on August 24, and on rounding the Cape of Good Hope, had been at sea for 79 days.

At the appropriate time when he was a mile or so ahead of the SS A utomedon, Rogge increased his speed to maximum; fired a warning shot then went across the bows of Automedon in the same manner he had adopted with the Scientist six months earlier.

The German battle ensign was hoisted while a signal hoist went up ordering Automedon to heave to and not use her radio. But that did not happen!

Indeed, the only response by A utomedon was to transmit a distress signal, but her radio officer only managed to get - RRR- A utomedon 04.16 - away before the Germans picked up the wave length and jammed the signal. The result being that just the ship’s name and it’s latitude had been sent. As a result of not following the raider’s orders, it was from 2,000 yards that four 5.9 inch salvos smashed into the bridge and radio shack of the Liverpool ship with heavy loss of life. Badly damaged, out of control and not under command, A utomedon continued at her speed of 14 knots as 11 more shells reduced the whole of the midship section to a mass of twisted steel. At the same time her lifeboats were smashed to smithereens. The shelling lasted for just three minutes. The burning and shattered ship then came to a halt. Captain WB McEwan, the second and third mates, the radio officer and the helmsman were all killed in the bombardment. The 132

1st mate who was not on the bridge at the time was the only deck officer to survive. One of A utomedon’s crew had been seen running towards the gun on the poop deck, but before he could do anything the gun was destroyed by a 5.9 inch shell and the gunner lost his life. As well as those six fatalities, there were twelve others on board who suffered varying degrees of injuries.

When Leutenant Ulrich Mohr climbed aboard the shattered A utomedon later on, he said he was horrified to see all the death, bloodshed and mangled remains of the ship’s superstructure, all of which had been caused by just a few minutes of shelling at almost point blank range. Amongst the flames and smoke a search of A utomedon began, she had a handsome general cargo consisting of crated aircraft with spare parts, motor vehicles, bicycles, copper sheeting, 550 cases of whisky, a large quantity of beer, 2½ million cigarettes and 120 bags of mail for the serving armed forces at Singapore. But the only things taken off the ship for use on A tlantis, were the 550 cases of whisky, a large quantity of cigarettes, the contents of the freezers and the victual store rooms.

At that particular time, an unidentified ship that was stopped some miles away was observing the burning A utomedon; and also the crew of A tlantis removing a variety of items from her with their own boats. That caused Kapitan Rogge some consternation as he was bang in the middle of a busy shipping lane. Indeed, a signal from the distant ship may alert a British warship to the scene. He therefore told Leutenant Fehler and his demolition party to make haste, plant charges in the engine room, set them for 1500 hrs and return to Atlantis. In the meantime the strong rooms of A utomedon were located and blown open. Inside were found 15 bags of top secret government mail. Then they found a single eyeleted green bag in what had once been the chart-room. It later turned out that those mail bags contained some of the most significant items to be captured during the whole of WW2. Indeed, what was discovered were the Allied military strengths in the Far East of the Army, Navy and Air Force, port layouts, charts, decoding tables, ciphers and much, much more. The RRR signal from A utomedon had in fact been picked up by the SS Helenus, (Captain PW Savery) which was ironically enough, a ship from the same Blue Funnel Line. That message was immediately sent on to Colombo in Ceylon, but due to the ineptitude of the radio operators there, the message was not read or attended to until 90 minutes later.

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It has been asked by many people over the years, as to why a ship like the SS Automedon had been entrusted to carry such top secret mails. But the fact remains she had, and no blame can be placed upon her captain or any other member of his crew. Indeed, even though Captain McEwan must have known the mail bags in his strong room were top secret, he would never have known what secrets they held.

They were all weighted bags, weighted so that they could be thrown overboard in an emergency, but he hardly had a chance to jettison them.

Had he been properly briefed before the passage from Liverpool began, and told that the mail bag’s were of ultra importance, he would have dumped the weighted mail bags over the side, and then sent an RRR message, and not the other way around; but it would appear that no such briefing had taken place, and Captain McEwan was simply following the normal procedure laid down by the Admiralty of sending the RRR message. Under those circumstances no blame should be placed on Captain McEwan.

Neither can any blame for loss of life be apportioned to Kapitan Rogge. The conventions of war made at the Versailles Treaty, stated that a warning shot and the appropriate signals to surrender are to be made when one ship attacks another.

Such a procedure would give the victim ship’s crew time to abandon ship and take to the boats. If however, those warnings are not carried out, and the ship being attacked steams away and uses her radio, the attacking ship can then use the necessary force to stop or sink that ship. In the case of the SS Automedon, Kapitan Rogge had been obeying the Rules of War. At that particular time Winston Churchill was trying to get the USA on the side of Britain into the war, and whereas Roosevelt wanted to enter and support Britain and its Allies, public opinion in America was strongly against him doing so.

However, the loss of the top secret mails from Automedon to the Atlantis did have a twist in the tail. Indeed, when Japan got a copy of those documents, which gave the USA naval strengths in the Pacific, as well as the weaknesses of the British forces at Singapore, they took great heart and made plans to attack both Singapore

and Pearl Harbour. So when Japan attacked Pearl Harbour and Singapore, America joined in the war, Churchill got his wish, and in the long run both Germany and Japan were defeated.

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The blame for using the SS A utomedon as the bearer of such important mails, instead of employing a fast warship, was later laid at the feet of a certain person in the War Office.

But it was all too late, those misappropriated top secret documents assisted in the fall of Singapore. The inadvertent loss of the capital ships HMS Repulse and Prince of W ales, costing Britain and its allies many, many thousands of lives and valuable territories.

The remaining crew and passengers from A utomedon which consisted of 31 British and 56 Chinese, were allowed to pack their gear before being taken to the A tlantis. They were so surprised and grateful at this unexpected gesture, they even helped the German sailors transfer the meat and other vittles from the freezer and store rooms from their old home A utomedon to their new one A tlantis. In total eighty seven survivors from the Automedon were taken aboard the German raider, apparently, some of them. Were survivors from the SS Anglo Saxon that had been sunk by the Raider Widder four months earlier. At 1507 hrs on 11 November 1940, the charges that were laid in the Automedon’s engine room took effect and sank the ship. To escape from the area

Kapitan Rogge then made a dash to the South to rendezvous with Teddy and Ole Jacob.

It should be stated that although Germany had invaded Norway on 9 April 1940, ships of that defeated nation were in effect under the invader’s rule. Therefore, if any Norwegian ships carried cargoes for Germany’s enemies, they were deemed to be aiding and abetting an enemy of Germany, and could in effect have their ship and its cargo confiscated. The crews of those ships would then be repatriated via their nearest Consul.

On the other hand, British and Allied seamen would be made prisoners of war.

It was while he was on the way to his rendezvous point off Christmas Island, that Rogge who was most fluent in the English language went through the top secret documents from A utomedon. He was quite surprised at the importance of his catch, and decided therefore, that such priceless information must be sent to Berlin as quickly as possible.

At a later date Japan was given all the information on those captured top secret files; the Japanese then realised that Singapore, their dearest and most cherished goal, could be captured from the British with relative ease.

After the Teddy had been sent South, and Ole Jacob loaded with the Norwegian survivors had followed her to a position just off Christmas island, the raider made her rendezvous with those two ships on 15 November 1940. A tlantis removed the diesel oil and everything else they could from Teddy, and then placed bombs in both her pump 135

and engine rooms. But they failed to detonate at the appointed time.

After an agonising wait for his bombs to explode, Leutenant Fehler the demolition officer whose nick-name was ‘dynamite’ had to go back with his team, and in a nerve wracking hurry up job, in case the original bombs belatedly did explode, he and his team had to do it all over again; this time they placed charges on the ship’s sides. On returning safely to A tlantis and moving well clear, a terrific explosion sent a huge fireball into the sky with an equally huge cloud of smoke that must have been visible from well over the horizon. Due to the huge smoke cloud, Rogge once again departed at speed. At a later date Kapitan Rogge was strongly censured by his superiors in Berlin for the waste of Teddy’s 10,000 tons of oil; indeed, that tanker could have been sent to the far South, and then used to supply the German oil burning ships in the area for quite some months, or even sent it to their ‘friends’ in Japan. Rogge’s reply was that to contact SKL under such circumstances, he ran a big risk of being detected on RDF and therefore chose the safety first rule. There was also the problem Rogge had of

continually supplying prize crews, and was presently at a bare working minimum.

After the whole contingent of Norwegian survivors had been embarked on the Ole Jacob, that ship was also stripped of her diesel, water and food leaving just enough to make the passage to Kobe, Japan. With her went all the top secret documents from Automedon under the charge of Kapitan Leutenant Paul Kamenz and six armed German sailors After having delivered Automedon’s top secret documents to his masters in Berlin, Kamenz then travelled to Lorient and joined the U 106 (Kapitan Leutenant Jurgen Oesten) he then transferred to the supply ship Nordmark, before eventually getting back on Atlantis in April 1941.

The Ole Jacob departed the area on 16 November 1940 and arrived at Kobe on 6 December. At first Captain Krogh and his crew were sent to the German passenger ship Scharnhorst at Kobe. They were released after three days, whereupon the captain went straight to the Norwegian Consul to make his report. Ole Jacob was then sailed to he Mariana Islands, where the high octane fuel was exchanged with the Japanese for a similar amount of diesel oil. Ole Jacob then had a name change to Benno, that name being a diminutive of Bernhard, a name which Rogge was referred to by his close friends. The Benno was then used as a supply ship for the German raider Orion. The 136

The French possession of the Kerguelen Islands was more a base for whaling ships.

When the Atlantis went there to replenish her water supplies, she anchored in the unin-

habited Gazelle Bay of Port Couveraux which is in Whaler’s Bay. The islands are on the same latitude as the Falkland Isles and have the same climate.

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The Ole Jacob under Esso colours

On arrival at Couvereux Bay in the Kerguelen Islands, Atlantis suffered damage to her underwater hull by hitting a submerged rock. So severe was the damage it almost spelt the end for the German raider. The dummy Samson posts have been removed.

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Benno arrived at Bordeaux in July 1941, but six months later on 23 December 1941, she was sunk by the RAF off the Spanish coast .

Kapitan Rogge had a problem with his reserves of fresh water, and despite the fact that some of his men had been sent away as prize crews, he usually had over 300 of his own complement, and also the burden of prisoners if and when they were on board. The Atlantis had a seawater distilling plant; but because it was ancient and coal fired, its output was little or no better than the sailing passenger ships of the 1890s. Moreover, the coal used to fire the distillery was presently being used as ballast.

Because water was strictly rationed on board Atlantis, and with it being summertime in the Southern hemisphere, Rogge decided that at the earliest opportunity, A tlantis would make a landfall at the Kerguelans Islands in 50 S -70 E. There was plenty of water on those islands, but with them being ice bound for part of the year, it made December to May the best time to go there. (The Kerguelans Islands are almost on the same latitude as the Falkland Islands, and have a climate similar to the North of Scotland.) It is not its

latitude that makes the Kerguelens icy cold, but the prevailing South Westerly winds that come up from the South Pole. However, once A tlantis was in that remote part of the world, which was lavishly endowed with mountains, waterfalls, rivers and streams, the ship’s fresh water tanks could be filled to capacity; while at the same time a major overhaul of the ship’s two diesel engines could take place. Furthermore, the crew could step ashore for the first time in almost a year, and experience once more the strange feeling of having dry land beneath their feet.

However, shortly before Rogge’s planned departure for the Kerguelens, the raider Pinguin, (Kapitan zur See Ernst Felix Kruder) which was one of Atlantis’s six sister ships, had captured the Norwegian tanker Storstad, of 8,900 GRT. That motor tanker commanded by Captain Egil Wilhemsen had loaded 11,800 ton of diesel cargo, and 500 tons of bunkers at Borneo before sailing on 30 September 1940.

She was captured by Pinguin a week later on 7 October in 24 S - 51 E which is about 200 miles to the South East of Madagascar. Five from her engine room staff and the carpenter from her 31 crew were forced to stay on board to work ship; the remainder were sent to Pinguin as prisoners. A prize crew under the command of Kapitanlieutenant Erich Warning was sent to the Norwegian tanker, and in the darkness of 7 October, 1,200 tons of Storstad’s cargo was transferred to Pinguin’s large bunker tanks. The 139

captured ship was re-named Passat and shortly afterwards she was sent to the Bass Strait where she laid 70 mines between 29-31 October 1940. Returning to the Indian Ocean she topped up the bunker tanks of A tlantis, Pinguin and Orion, and then between 8-10 December she took the 405 prisoners from Pinguin and headed for Bordeaux.

Those 405 prisoners included the crews from the Nowshera, Maoma, Port Brisbane and Port Wellington. When Storstad sailed she had 524 people on board. After rounding the Cape of Good Hope it was on 6 January 1941, in position 27ยบ South - 12ยบ West that she met up with the heavy cruiser A dmiral Scheer, the raider Thor, and the supply ship Nordmark. With them they had the captured British ship Duquesa Those four were all motor ships and between them they took 6,500 tons of diesel from Storstads cargo tanks.

Duquesa was a refrigerated ship which from Australia had 3,500 tons of meat in her freezers as well as 15 million eggs. Needless to say the German ships took their fill from the reefer. Storstad sailed for the Gironde in what was to be the most trying of passages.

Water was strictly rationed, food was extremely scarce, and conditions with all those

people on board were appalling. However, she reached her destination on 4 February 1941. With A tlantis steaming South towards the ice the temperature dropped rapidly, and whereas her sailors had been working in shorts and sandals on 10 December, it was on their arrival at 50ยบ S on 14 December, that they had to dig deep and find their cold weather gear. (At the same time Pinguin went further South to the whaling areas and captured the whole of the Norwegian whaling fleet which consisted of two factory ships a supply tanker and 11 whale catchers.)

Rogge was armed with the knowledge that Port Couvreux in the Kerguelen Islands had once been a whaling and sealing station, and he hoped it was uninhabited. He harboured fears that the British may already be there ,and they were using Port Couvreux as an observation post with a radio transmitter installed; for that reason A tlantis went to action stations as she made her approach to Port Couvreux. When she dropped her anchor in the bay, it was the first time in nine months that A tlantis had become moored to the land. The scintillating air was fresh and chilly while the snow capped mountains could only add to the picturesque beauty of the islands. Kapitan Leutenant Mohr and a small heavily armed party went ashore in the launch on a reconnaissance mission. An hour or so later he returned to report that all there was on the island were a few deserted shacks.

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The A tlantis lays at anchor in Gazelle Bay while her crew set up hose lines for replenishing the ship’s water tanks. It took two days to set the hose lines up, and a further two days to get the required amount of water on board the ship. It was estimated that 1,200 feet of connected hose line was needed to complete the operation.

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But one of those shacks had a 1936 French calendar on the wall, thus giving a clue as to the last time anybody had lived there. The boats were launched, the lead was swung and soundings were taken to mark out a channel for Atlantis to follow; the ship then weighed and crept slowly and carefully along the recently buoyed path towards a preplanned anchorage in Gazelle Bay. As A tlantis went slow ahead, with barely enough speed for steerage way, she had two boats under oars spread out ahead of her taking soundings. Those soundings were being hailed back to the ship intermittently by each boat which were moving at two to three knots. But because of her slow speed the helm on A tlantis suddenly wouldn’t answer and she began to drift to port. The boats ahead were sent clear, and half ahead was rung down to regain steerage. But after all those preliminaries of setting buoys and taking soundings, A tlantis hit an under water rock which brought the ship to a grinding and shuddering halt. It was later established that the rock she’d hit was tall and needle shaped, and the two boats that were spread apart when taking their soundings had passed on each side of it.

Moments passed before the realisation of what had happened registered in the minds of those on the bridge, and full astern was rung down in an attempt to release the ship from the undetected menace. As the engines went full astern the churning boiling water turned green as it surged far past the foc’sle, but there was no movement of the ship, just a heavy vibration that rattled the masts. Rogge then asked those in the engine room if there was any water coming in, to which the answer was in the negative. It later transpired, however, that the double bottoms in the forepart of the ship had taken the brunt. An 18 x 6 foot hole had been ripped out of the hull breeching the double bottoms and the forepeak area, thus flooding the fresh water tanks situated there.

Everything that could be done was being done, and all in an attempt to release the ship from the clutches of the rock that held her in its grip. Half ahead to full ahead was followed by half astern and full astern; but there was no response, except to widen the hole and extend the damage.

A diver was sent down. He came back up saying the situation was hopeless, that the ship was skewered inescapably on a jagged dagger of a rock. Soundings were taken with the lead being hove from both sides of the foc’sle head; the depth was ten fathoms, but right in the middle of the marked out channel was that undetected 40 foot pinnacle of rock pointing skywards, and just 20 feet or so from the surface..

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But whether the diver’s report to his captain may - or may not - have been true, Rogge didn’t want to believe it - and refused to believe it. He therefore decided to go down and see the damage for himself. Never in his life had he dived, but after getting some instructions and tips from the diver, he donned the heavy and cumbersome diver’s suit and went over the side to assess the damage for himself. Half an hour later he came back up to be greeted by a respectful and anxious audience. His findings being that although the rupture in the ship’s bottom really was bad, it wasn’t something that would beat him.

It was going be rectified, one way or another! After a meeting with his officers and senior ratings, it was decided that the anchoring arrangements were to be switched from forrard to aft, the bower anchors would be led to the mid-ship section, and the kedge anchor which was smaller, would be laid 50 fathoms astern attached to the ship’s towing wire. The object being to go full astern, while at the same time hauling in the bower anchors on the foc’sle head windlass and the kedge on the after capstan.

However, the operation which took the rest of the daylight hours was a failure!

The next thing was to note the rise and fall of the tide and use the high water mark when going full astern. Therefore, a man was sent ashore to record the times and heights of the tides. But that didn’t bear any fruit either. Another plan was implemented, in that every available piece of gear in the forepart of the ship would be moved aft to bring her stern down and her head up, a turn of events which only served to increase the misery of the Atlantis sailors. Indeed, it was hard, cold and unrelenting graft Sailors on any ship seldom if ever wear gloves, or indeed, any other encumbrances such rings, bracelets or amulets on their wrists, hands or fingers. Nevertheless, despite their frozen purpled hands and fingers, every spare man formed a chain gang to carry and pass anything and everything they could from forrard to the poop and the after well deck. A seemingly never ending pile of 5.9 inch shells, each weighing 100 lbs, tins of paint from the paint locker, coils of wire rope, and even the permanent sand ballast from around the fore peak went aft.

The transfer of gear went on by day and by night, while morale on board A tlantis went lower and lower in the bitterly cold and windy conditions. Eventually, both the poop and the after well deck were packed, the result being that the ship’s head rose a few feet. But it all counted for nought; because when she went full astern and then full ahead at high water, the impaled ship still refused to move.

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Dynamite Fehler suggested blowing the rock out with explosives, but his notion was quickly rejected as the explosion may well break the ship’s back, which in turn would damage the ship beyond repair. On the third day however, after every conceivable idea had been tried and tested, it was when a stiff icy cold wind was blowing that a new tactic was employed. Every available man was positioned on the starboard side of the foredeck, the after well deck, the poop and even the foc’sle head.

At the pip of the bosun’s whistle, those men would all rush over to the port side, and with the aid of the wind it was hoped that such a jogging might release the ship off the pinnacle of rock. The men went back and forth to cause a slight roll, while the cold and chilly springtime wind increased in strength. But yet again nothing! Quite possibly one or more of those frozen wretches running over from port to starboard must have said a prayer. Because all of a sudden something began to happen! The strong icy wind increased, and that, combined with the movement of the men rushing over from side to side began to turn the ship on its rocky needle like pivot.

It was quite noticeable to the crew that something was beginning to happen. Slowly the wind blew the ship around until it had turned by some 90 degrees. Then something else happened as the running across the deck continued. Quite suddenly there was a loud grating rending noise; the ship slid off the accursed rock and floated free. Everybody on board rejoiced in loud cheers but danger still lurked. It was by that time dark, the watch on deck couldn’t use cluster light to work with in case the enemy were around. The wire rope on the kedge anchor then had to be shortened, just in case the ship slewed back onto the same rock that had caused all the trouble.

Under normal circumstances the captain of A tlantis liked to operate in the dark; daylight was not always so welcome as the ship could be seen, but on this occasion when daylight did arrive, during the morning watch of 17 December it was gratefully accepted. The ship could at last weigh anchor and motor in towards her anchorage; while everything on the poop and after well deck could be stowed back to their original places up forrard. But after all that work had been completed there was more gruelling work to be done, let alone the task of repairing the keel and double bottoms. After considering anchoring in one of the inlets, and taking the risk of hitting another rock, Kapitan Rogge decided to stay in the clear but ice cold waters of Couvreux Bay. Christmas Day was getting closer, but in view of the tremendous workload for all on 144

board, that day of celebration was going to be little or no different from any other.

Nevertheless, some allowance for religious observance for the day was made, and after a religious service, 900 pints of Punch were downed by the ratings as a reward for their recent efforts. The damage to the outer skin of the double bottom had taken three days to assess, but repairs may well take a lot longer. The riveted plates had sprung and were partly bent back at right angles to the keel, and that had left a huge cavernous hole which was almost big enough to drive a motor car through.

Nevertheless, the task of repairing that gaping hole at the fore peak had to be completed, and who best to do it than the two divers with their under water acetylene torches and welding gear. When they’d done what they could in cutting away the bent and twisted plates, and after patching up the damage to make it watertight, four brave men volunteered to go into the double bottom to work two at a time and were sealed in. With enough food and water to last them in their enclosed cramped space, they blew out the seawater with compressed air, and then after sealing the repaired starboard garboard

plate with shored up cement boxes and concrete, they had to wait for two days and nights for those cement boxes to set hard before tapping on the tank top above for them to be released. Temporarily it worked!

The real test at full speed would come later on. Atlantis then motored slow ahead into Gazelle Bay and anchored between the mountains in a spot where she could not be seen from outside; her crew then made preparations for the water tanks to be filled. While all that was going on, plans were being made by ‘Rogge the Rogue’ and his hierarchy, as to the ship’s future raiding plans and the next disguise to be used. Whereupon, it was decided, that if the repairs to the underwater hull were found to be successful, and on leaving the Kerguelen Islands, A tlantis would become the Norwegian Tamesis registered at Tonsberg. Therefore, the funnel markings would have to be changed.

But during the forenoon watch of Tuesday 24 December 1940 when this new disguise was being implemented, Leading Seaman Bernhard Herrmann who was working in a bosun’s chair with the funnel painting party, fell to the deck and was fatally injured. It can quite easily happen! One report by a journalist who helped in writing a book on Atlantis, stated that Herrmann’s gantline was severed by a funnel exhaust; but such a mis-hap cannot be the case. Because when a crew is painting a ship’s funnel, the bosun’s chair gantline of each seaman, would not, or could not, be anywhere near any of 145

the funnel exhausts. Indeed, those of us who have worked on painting a funnel, will know, that the gantlines hang down from outer rim of the funnel to the deck.

Moreover, to make an awkward and cumbersome bosun’s chair hitch can be quite dangerous. After being hauled up to the funnel top by another sailor, the seaman painter has to grasp the two gantline parts in one hand and momentarily hold his own weight, whilst at the same time he passes a bight of rope over his head and beneath his two feet with the other hand; quite simple when working in good weather in shorts and shirt, but this funnel painting occurred in very cold conditions. Indeed, it would appear to the author, that when L/S Herrmann was attempting to make himself fast, with his obviously chilled and gloveless hands, and in being well wrapped up with a heavy coat, it must have been, that when he held both gantline parts in one hand he lost his grip with his numbed fingers. In training ships the pupils are always taught to secure the two gantline parts with a temporary seizing whilst making the bosun’s chair hitch. But trusting in their own strength and the belief that they can hold their own weight for a

short time - seamen always by-pass that simple rule! It must also be added, as previously stated, that purely for safety reasons, seamen of all nations never wear gloves, watches, rings or any other amulets whilst on deck working with their hands.

Bernhard Herrmann who broke both legs in his fall died five days later. He was buried ashore with full military honours in a service conducted by Kapitan Rogge with the whole ship’s company in attendance. His grave was marked with a wooden cross on a cairn of stones. Bernhard Herrmann was the one and only accidental death on board Atlantis; his final resting place became the most Southern of all German Force’s graves during WW2.

But work on board A tlantis had to continue. Indeed, the main reason for the ship’s visit to the Kerguelens had primarily been to replenish her fresh water tanks. There was indeed an abundance of waterfalls and streams in the vicinity, but transporting the water from the mountain sides to the ship was another problem. The ship came in as close as she could. The distance from the selected waterfall to the ship was estimated to be about 1,200 yards. The fresh water had to be either carried in buckets and drums, or else by connecting all the ship’s fire hoses together as far as the waterfall. But when all those fire hoses were connected there was still some way to go; therefore the fuel lines were used to make the distance up. The required distance was eventually made up with the 146

last length of hose being made up from a bolt of canvas. The next problem was getting the water from the waterfall and into the hose line. Various ideas were put forward before the problem was solved. The eventual idea was to put a hole in the bottom of a top-less 40 gallon oil-drum, that hole had to be just big enough for a canvas hose line to pass through it. The barrel was suspended to catch the water from the waterfall with the use of a barrel hitch on the oil-drum, then stretched over the waterfall from one side to the other on a jack stay.

When this contraption was guyed off into the waterfall, the simple force of gravity was used and the water flowed into the oil-drum and then through the hose lines at great speed. Nevertheless, with all the adjustments required, it took a further two days to get the water on the move. But on the third day every tank on the ship was full of sparkling and clear fresh mountain water. Although the patched up work on the hull was holding, there was still quite a bit more work to be done on those repairs to make her fully seaworthy. Christmas week was when the crew were allowed ashore. There was plenty

of wildlife on the island, with seals, penguins, sea lions, rabbits and many other species for the crew to admire.

However, on 11 January 1941, after 26 days of so called rest and recuperation for the men of A tlantis, the time finally arrived for them to continue their raiding activities.

Besides, the glass was falling alarmingly, and the icy hurricane force winds that came from the South Pole had prevailed for a week. Leaving the Kerguelen Islands was the first step to test the repairs to the underwater hull; as anxious eyes were kept focused on the repaired area of the forepart, a speed of seven knots was increased to ten and eventually fourteen. No faults were found, but just to be as sure as he could be, Kapitan Rogge ordered a broadside to be fired as the ship went at her maximum speed which was then down to 14 knots. Success! Kapitan Rogge then set a course towards the Cape to India sea lane.

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The End of the SS Mandasor Kapitan Rogge wanted to continue his raiding in and around the Sumatra area, but during his absence at the Kerguelans, one of his fellow raiders began operating on his patch, so SKL ordered Rogge to patrol the Arabian Sea area instead. However, in the scorching hot cloudless weather, it was not until 12 days after departing the Kerguelans on 23 January that a victim was sighted.

Indeed, after having taken off at first light in his Heinkel seaplane, Leutenant Bulla and his observer saw heavy palls of smoke some 60 miles to the North of Atlantis.

Full ahead was ordered, Atlantis went at her top speed, and before the end of the forenoon watch the reported smoke was sighted fine on the starboard bow. The distant ship’s course was noted while her speed was estimated to be about ten knots and she was assumed to be British a coalburner. It was when she saw A tlantis from 10 miles away, however, that the prospective victim turned away to starboard, while at the same time the raider turned to port. The reason for both ships turning away from each other was because quite recently, a communiqué from the British Admiralty had ordered all merchant ships to turn away on sighting any other ship. If that ship followed in a belligerent or aggressive manner, then the British ship should send out a QQQ signal and give her position. Then again if the same ship attacked, the RRR signal should be sent.

But thanks to the SKL, Rogge knew all about that latest Admiralty instruction, and by turning away to port, Rogge left his victim thinking he was another British ship following the same Admiralty instructions. Soon afterwards both ships were out of each other’s sight, but Rogge the Rogue plotted her course and speed so that he could make an approach in the darkness. But when

darkness fell the intended victim could not be found! On the next morning as the sun rose, Leutenant Bulla’s seaplane also rose, and within just a few minutes he found what was to be a British ship some 30 miles away.

On returning to A tlantis for further instructions, Bulla was told to rip out the radio aerial, strafe her with machine gun fire, bomb the ship with his two 110 pound bombs, and then replenish his fuel, bombs and ammunition from the launch. Bulla attacked from out of the sun in his HE 114 Heinkel, this was the third instance in which Bulla had found a ship for A tlantis to capture, while

soon afterwards when he trailed his grapnel, it became the first time he successfully managed to rip out an aerial with it.

The fuel capacity of the Heinkel gave it a range of about 100 miles or about one hour’s flying time while keeping A tlantis in sight. For rearming and refuelling in fine weather, the seaplane 148

could alight near the launch and prepare for her next flight.

The British ship turned out to be the 5,144 GRT SS Mandasor of Liverpool. Built by Wm Hamilton of Port Glasgow in 1919 as the SS W ar Genista, she was transferred to T&J Brocklebank as a war replacement just as hostilities ended. From then on, and for the next 20 years, Mandasor was a regular visitor to India. On this her final and fatal passage she was bound from Calcutta towards the UK and commanded by Captain Alfred Hill OBE; her cargo consisted of pig iron, tea and jute. Mandasor’s crew numbered 88, of which 19 were Europeans while the remainder were Lascars. Captain Hill had purposefully kept well away from the normal shipping lane; he thought that by adopting such a tactic, he’d have a better chance of keeping clear of any raiders which he knew were loitering with intent in the Indian Ocean.

In the meantime, A tlantis which had given chase to the Mandasor had stopped, loaded its launch with aviation spirit, bullets and bombs, and then lowered it into the water to await Bulla’s return for re-arming. But by that time another aerial had been rigged on Mandasor, and her radio officer had continued sending out RRR signals, giving the ship’s name and position, as well as stating that she was being bombed by a seaplane. Moreover, while Bulla had been re-fuelling and re-

arming alongside A tlantis, two 0.5 Machine guns had been set up on the Mandasor’s bridge wings, and when Bulla returned to strafe the merchant ship again, her gunners had managed to reply to his next attack. Apparently, one or more of those 0.5 bullets hit the port float on the Heinkel, and when it tried to alight on the water later on, where the armed launch was stopped waiting for it, the float collapsed and the Heinkel capsised in the choppy water. Bulla and his observer were compelled to abandon their craft and were picked up by the launch. But when that launch re-started its engine, and tried to heave to in the choppy sea to lessen its rolling, its engine cut out. Caught beam on to the sea the launch rolled violently, and as a result, the occupants of both the launch and the Heinkel suffered horrendously from the effects of sea-sickness.

Meanwhile, A tlantis came within range of the zig-sagging Mandasor and opened fire with a broadside from 8,500 yards. The first salvo straddled the target, while a shell from the second hit the midship section, the radio shack was destroyed and the ship was set on fire. Of over 60 rounds of 5.9 shells, eight hits were recorded. Three Europeans and three Indians were killed while the other 82 took to the boats. Ulrich Mohr who was in charge of the boarding party, picked up a large number of survivors and put them on board A tlantis which by that time had stopped. Mohr

and his party then went aboard the blazing Mandasor and took away as much fresh and canned food as they could, as well as what was left on the bridge including charts, documents and weapons. The codes and other secret documents had been jettisoned in a weighted bag.

Meanwhile the 82 survivors were embarked on board A tlantis.

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Dynamite Fehler then arrived on the burning ship with his demolition squad. Fuses were set and timed for 30 minutes. When the charges blew it took just five minutes for the 22 year old ship to go down stern first. Her grave was marked with tea chests and large patches of loose tea. By that time it was beginning to go dark, while for some hours nothing had been seen or heard of either the Heinkel or the launch which was without a radio. By the time they were located and picked up they had been getting thrown around in their nauseous state for six hours. The broken down launch was hoisted aboard A tlantis, while the broken down Heinkel which lay upside down in the water was deemed as being beyond repair and used as target practice. The great loss of his Heinkel left Kapitan Rogge without an eye in the sky. Indeed, not only was he unable to search for merchant ships to sink; but more importantly, neither was he able to see whether his feared nemesis of a British cruiser was around.

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MV Speybank, One of Eighteen Sister Ships Both the ‘holiday’ and the change of routine at the Kerguelens had come and gone. The boredom combined with frustration was once more creeping in, and especially amongst the younger and less experienced sailors of A tlantis. At times the capture of an enemy

ship broke the monotony, but it soon passed by and drudgery prevailed once again. For almost a year the men of Atlantis had been cooped up on a ship that was ill fitted to carry so many; the food was generally poor, the weather for the most part was extremely hot, and the stuffy accommodation was cramped with some mess decks housing as many as 20 ratings. No doubt many of them must have thought their prisoners were better off than they were.

Those who were lucky enough to have portholes in their mess could only open them during the hours of daylight for fresh air; after sunset it was always ‘darken ship’ when both portholes and deadlights were battened down. There was of course no air conditioning, and except for the meat freezer and a fridge in the officers pantry, where a small quantity of water could be kept cool for the officers, there were no other fridges on the ship. Other than the officers, the rest of the crew had to drink their meagre allowance of water ‘hot.’ On top of those facts mentioned, and although the temperature in the Indian Ocean is always high where A tlantis was operating, the month of January around Mozambique is amongst the hottest of the year.

At one point one of the officers saw a rating pouring his daily bottle of beer over the side. Empty bottles or other waste had to be placed into a special bag for organised sinking, and could not be allowed to float on the water; therefore, the rating was following standing orders. On being questioned as to the wastage of his beer, the rating told the officer that the daily beer issue was pointless. It was hot, unpalatable, and couldn’t even be drunk let alone be enjoyed. The sympathetic officer informed Kapitan Rogge of the incident; a new rule regarding cold drinks from the refrigerator for officers

and himself came to an end. What is good for one must be good for all, he said.

However, a week after Mandasor had been sent to the bottom, a time when all hands felt as though their presence on board really was appreciated, action stations were sounded 151

four days later on 27 January 1941. The ship’s broadcast stated that the three funnelled 81,000 ton Queen Mary had been sighted. But whereas it might have sent the adrenalin racing through the veins of those bored youngsters, it didn’t have the same effect on Kapitan Rogge, or those in the A tlantis hierarchy. Indeed, that huge ship would be more heavily armed than his own and would probably have a number of six inchers. She could steam at 32 knots, twice the speed of Atlantis, and more than likely she’d have a cruiser or two around as an escort.

Therefore, in knowing that even if he could make an attack on the huge troop ship, it would be both pointless and suicidal, so Rogge, much to the disappointment of his crew, copied the British Admiralty instruction of turning away. Much later on however, Kapitan Rogge was to learn that the three funnelled ship was in fact the unescorted troop ship Strathaird; she had left Bombay on 24 January 1941 bound for Cape Town.

Four days later on 31 January 1941, which is summertime if the Southern Hemisphere, action stations sounded once again. At that time A tlantis was prowling in and around the

Seychelles area, hoping to apprehend a tanker on the Persian Gulf to the Cape of Good Hope sea route. In the second dog watch shortly after 1800 hrs, Matrose Freiwald the lookout in the foremast crow’s nest reported an object two points on the port bow. Those of the crew who had been sitting around playing cards or doing something else to pass the time away suddenly sprang into life when action stations were sounded.

The lookout further reported that because there was no smoke, he deemed the distant ship to be a motor vessel. However, because he wanted to remain unobserved, Rogge decided to track the sighting until the arrival of darkness before he announced himself.

The target was not a tanker but a cargo ship, and dawdling along at about nine knots she had all the attributes of being British. Rogge knew it was not an Axis ship, SKL would have told him that such a ship was in the area, so he kept A tlantis barely within sighting distance of 17 miles. On the approach of darkness however, Rogge slowly crept up and positioned himself a few miles directly astern of his proposed victim. Indeed, Kapitan Rogge knew that on such a merchant ship, the last place her lookout would be concentrating his eyesight on would be abaft the beam. By that time and due to the ever increasing barnacles, and the Kerguelen repair damage to her underwater hull, the speed of A tlantis was down by two or three knots to a flat out maximum of fourteen. So following in her victim’s wake it took until 2130 hrs before the raider came up on the 152

unsuspecting merchant ship’s port quarter. As the warning shots were fired across the merchantman’s bow, the brilliance of a searchlight lit her up from stem to stern. - “Do not use your radio - What ship? - Stop your engines - Prepare to receive a boarding party.” came the Aldis Lamp message from the raider.

After having been taken completely by surprise, no radio transmissions were sent, the ship stopped, gave her name as Speybank, and in an act of surrender she hove to for a boarding party; her captain did not have the slightest inclination as to what nation the warship belonged. But as Kapitan Rogge stood waiting on his bridge for further developments, he saw a lone man on Speybank working at the four inch gun on the poop deck. Rogge thought he was attempting to load and open fire on A tlantis - after his ship had already surrendered! - it was Rogge himself who ordered the 75mm gun on his own foc’sle head to bring the would be gunner down.

It later transpired however, that the Australian gunner, Able Seaman Bailey, was not

attempting to open fire on the raider at all, he knew his ship had been captured and was trying to remove the breech block from the four inch gun and dump it overboard. By doing that, the gun which could easily have been un-shipped and taken back to the raider would be useless without its breechblock. The first 75 mm shell from A tlantis missed, but the second hit the stern near the gun and knocked Bailey unconscious. At a later date the gunner finished up in a POW camp, but continued to suffer from his injuries.

When the first shell hit the stern of Speybank, the mixed race panic stricken crew of Lascars and Chinese made for the boats with their own personal belongings and threw them in. Swinging out the boats and manning the falls in an attempt to lower the boats, they were brought to a halt when a burst of machine gun fire from A tlantis was accompanied with an order by megaphone which ordered them to remain on board.

When the boarders arrived at the Speybank in their white launch, Captain Morrow was to learn that his ship had been captured by an armed raider. On examining the manifest it was soon learned by the boarding party officer Adjutant Mohr, that the MV Speybank of Glasgow’s Bank Line had been bound from Cochin towards New York, with a valuable and worthwhile mixed cargo which included a large amount of tin and rubber.

With Captain Morrow looking on Mohr ransacked his safe looking for codes, ciphers or any other valuable communication papers. Except for the gunner trying to man the 153

Speybank’s anti submarine gun, the capture of the Glasgow ship was just the way Kapitan Rogge liked to impose himself and his ship. Obey the Rules of War and avoid any bloodshed! Indeed, except for the SS King City which he had thought was an armed merchant cruiser, and a ship he’d attacked without warning, every other ship he’d approached had immediately operated its radio and sent out distress calls; an action which compelled him to open fire - but even if his previous actions did result in fatalities, they were all within the Rules of War. Kapitan Rogge was well aware that Speybank was one of 18 sister ships owned by Andrew Weir’s Bank Line of Glasgow.

With that in mind he had already decided not to sink her, he would keep her as a prize, despite the fact that he was desperately short of a prize crew to man her.

Built in 1926 at Glasgow, Speybank had a GRT of 5,150 while her diesel engines and twin screws gave her a service speed of 11 knots. Kapitan Rogge also realised that not only did Speybank have a valuable mixed cargo, but the ship itself would be ideally suited for use as an auxiliary. Indeed, because she had so many sister ships which

looked exactly the same, she would suit the role of a supply ship or a minelayer perfectly. The time taken to complete the whole operation of capturing the MV Speybank had taken just over one hour.

On leaving Cochin, China, the captured ship had been well stocked with provisions of water and diesel for her 60 to70 day passage to New York; but Rogge thought a passage to the Gironde and Bordeaux would suit Germany much better. Therefore, Leutenant Breuers accompanied by ten armed men, formed a prize crew for the Speybank and told to proceed to the Saya de Malha Bank in 10ºS - 63ºE and await further instructions.

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The picture above of the MV Speybank was taken before the start of WW2. After her capture by Atlantis she was converted to a mine layer at La Pallice. Renamed as Doggerbank by the Germans, her first task was to lay mines in Table Bay. In 1943 she was mistakenly sunk by a U-Boat with heavy loss of life of her German crew and large number of POW’s.

Taken from Atlantis - furthest away Charlotte Schlieman, nearest on the right is the Doggerbank after she had laid mines in Table Bay, she was formerly the Speybank.

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Above - From 18 miles away, the SS Strathaird was mistaken for the 81,000 ton Queen Mary.

Below - The real Queen Mary with degaussing gear on her ship’s side.

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The pictures on this and the following page give an insight as to what Graeme Cubbin came home to after the ‘May Blitz’ of Liverpool in 1941.

During the month of May of 1941 Liverpool was heavily bombed by the Luftwaffe, and such a month has gone down in history as the infamous ‘May Blitz.

But in the previous month of April, the SS Malakand of T&J Brocklebank Lines pictured above, blew up in the most devastating of circumstances. The steamer was alongside in the Huskisson Dock with 1,000 tons of munitions in her holds; it was said afterwards, that an anti aircraft barrage balloon had caught fire in an air raid, crashed onto the ship, and as the picture below shows she blew the SS Malakand and the surrounding dock installations to smithereens.

The Huskisson Dock is pictured below after the devastating explosion.

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The troopship Nea Hellas. In order for him to make up for some of his lost apprenticeship time, Captain Bone employed Graeme Cubbin as a watch keeper when the ship was homeward bound.

A pre-war photo of the Norwegian Teddy at anchor in the River Mersey.

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Above: HMS Argus was one of the many light aircraft carriers of WW2 that was converted from fast merchant ships such as banana boats.

They were given the appellation of ‘Woolworth Carriers.’ but filled a most important role.

HMS Argus was part Nea Hellas’s escort.

Above: HMS Furious which accompanied HMS Argus, had originally been a battle cruiser.

Laid down During WW1, she was the only British warship ever, to mount 18 inch guns. They were found to be unsuitable and were removed after trials.

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Top: The light cruiser HMS Ceres. She took the British prisoners from Merca to Mombasa.

Bottom: The Norwegian Tamesis was a ship A tlantis impersonated on more than one occasion.

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The SS A utomedon above and Troilus below both had a service speed of over 14 knots; but when challenged by Atlantis, the Troilus increased speed to her absolute maximum and soon left the ‘forced draught’ diesel engined Atlantis in her wake. Indeed, the tall funnels of the Blue Funnel ships were not built for style or appearance; but their extra height created a tremendous ‘natural draught,’ which in turn helped her coal fired triple expansion engines to a few extra knots.

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Top - The Sunderland built SS Montana of 1917

Centre - But 24 years later when she was the Norwegian Ketty Brovig, she was scuttled rather than be captured by HMNZS Leander.

With a charge in her engine room the 24 year old ship goes down by the stern.

Bottom - In the belief that the Coburg was a heavily armed AMC, HMAS Canberra shelled and sunk her from nine miles away

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HMNZS Leander HMAS Canberra

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Ketty Brovig In the afternoon watch of 2 February with Atlantis disguised as the Norwegian Tamesis, a distant ship heading South was spotted in the haze in 04º.30 S and 50º.30 E. Kapitan Rogge decided to track her from a distance in order to make an identification after dark,

and then follow up with a possible attack. Coming up from astern at her best speed of 14 knots during the night watch, Atlantis approached and overhauled her much slower victim. When she came abeam of what was a tanker, a salvo was fired across her bows; while at the same time she was illuminated by searchlight. Of the three warning shots fired, one 5.9 shell hit the funnel casing and went through bursting a steam pipe. The noise from the escaping steam was a deafening roar. Simultaneously a banner that was lit up and hung over the side of A tlantis read - Stop - Do not use your wireless. The unarmed tanker was a Norwegian named Ketty Brovig, registered at Farsund and under the command of Captain Erling Moller. No radio signals had been transmitted and the tanker surrendered without any trouble. The ship’s company consisted of 11 Norwegians and 32 Chinese. That was the first un-armed ship A tlantis had encountered.

The 7,031 GRT Ketty Brovig had loaded at Bahrain, and sailed on 21 January towards Lourenco Marques with 6,300 tons of fuel oil and 4,100 tons of diesel. It was an absolutely first class catch for Kapitan Rogge, indeed, he now had much needed supplies for the German ships in the area whether they were steam or diesel.

The Ketty Brovig’s deck lights were turned on, and to say that her crew were in a state of panic would be an understatement. The Chinese contingent who thought they were about to be machine gunned rushed to the life-boats; the radial davits were swung out and an attempt was made to lower the boats. By that time the ship had stopped, but in the panic of the situation the forrard falls of number four boat were let go and allowed to run right through the three fold blocks before the after falls had even been manned.

The result being that the boat was left upended head down in the water and held up by

the after radial davit. As the boat had nosedived into the water its occupants fell out and were swimming around screaming for help. Almost the same thing happened to number three boat on the other side. In the pandemonium the terrified and panic stricken 165

Chinese were throwing their bags and other possessions into the lob-sided boat. But as it came down all askew it overturned. A number of them jumped into the water, climbed onto the upturned boat, and later decided to get back aboard their low free-boarded ship.

When she’d been built at Sunderland as the Montana in 1917, the Ketty Brovig’s top speed then - in good weather - was just ten knots; and now 24 years later when she was at the end of her tether, the triple expansion steam engine which drove her was seemingly failing fast.

Crew List of Ketty Brovig - Supplied by the Norwegian Archives Captain, Erling Moller, First Mate, Martin Ramsland, Second Mate Jens Egulund Arnes, Third Mate Olaf Knudsen Chief Engineer, Abraham Abrahamsen Second Engineer Alfred Larsen, Third Engineer Daniel Nedrebo Fourth Engineer Gudmund Listeid Pump man, Gudmund Harlof Sakiarssen Chief Steward, Jon Tonnesen.

Well away from land in the Indian Ocean on 4 March 1941, the tanker Ketty Brovig was alongside the supply ship Coburg while being supplied with stores. But in the broad daylight both ships were spotted by the Walrus seaplane from the Australian heavy cruiser Canberra - Captain Francombe. The two ships separated with one going North and the other South. The Walrus bombed the Ketty Brovig, while the HMAS Canberra in thinking her prey was a heavily armed raider, shelled the Coburg from the safe distance of ten miles. Severely damaged the Coburg scuttled. Meanwhile, the bombs from the Walrus damaged the Ketty Brovig and she too scuttled, but while she was going down by the stern, and with the crew having abandoned ship, the Walrus put down in the water close to the sinking ship. The seaplanes observer dived in and boarded the sinking ship, went up to the bridge and managed to retrieve all the latest signal codes. On the information received from the Walrus, Captain Francombe of HMAS Canberra had thought that the Coburg was a raider with six 5.9 guns, so he had kept well clear of his adversary. He was, however, later censured for using up over 200 expensive 8 inch shells on a virtually unarmed ship.

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Admiral Scheer

Kapitan Rogge advised SKL that he presently held two captured ships. He then suggested that he send Speybank from Saya de Mahala Bank to Bordeaux with her

valuable cargo; also, because Speybank had so many look alike sister ships, the motor ship should be fitted out as an auxiliary minelayer. He further advised that Ketty Brovig with her abundance of both fuel oil and diesel should be used as a floating oil depot ship. The tanker could then be used to replenish the bunkers of the heavy cruiser Admiral Scheer, and any others that wanted to take their fill. However, he was ordered to make a rendezvous with Ketty Brovig, the supply ship Tannenfels and the Italian submarine Perla, the latter two which were running low on diesel. He was further ordered to meet up with the A dmiral Scheer and supply her with diesel from his own bunkers, and not from Ketty Brovig, whose cargo had not been tested to the required standards and may be inferior.

On 10 February 1941 the Tannenfels met up with A tlantis, she looked much the worse for wear after having been bottled up in Somaliland for so many months. After having taken passage on the Tannenfels, Leutenant Dehnel and his prize crew who’d taken the SS Durmitor to Somaliland were returned to Atlantis. Rogge then took the opportunity to transfer his new arrival prisoners to Tannenfels, and ordered Fehler and his demolition party to return to A tlantis, while Leutenant Emil Dehnel took his place aboard Ketty Brovig with his own prize crew; plus the Norwegians and Chinese who had been retained on board. However, during Kapitan Rogge’s conversation with Lt. Dehnel, he learned with no surprise, that conditions in Kismayu, Somaliland, under the Italians were absolutely atrocious. There was no order, discipline or composure of any kind anywhere, while every obstacle possible had been placed in front of the Germans by the Italians; as a result Dehnel and his prize crew ended up taking refuge on the

moored Tannenfels. Moreover, he went on, there were about 15 ships at Kismayu, they’d been interned at the outbreak of war, but because Italy had gone onto the side of Germany, those ships could all be pressed into service and used as auxiliary ships, and 167

especially a fast banana boat which was laid up without a crew. He also told of a British - South African expeditionary force which had arrived, and the shelling of the area by British cruisers.

On 12 February 1941, Atlantis proceeded to a predetermined point to refuel A dmiral Scheer, with her went the Ketty Brovig, Speybank and Tannenfels. Those four ships had recently undertaken a major redistribution of their stores and all four were equally balanced. The rendezvous with the Scheer was of course a top secret manoevoeur, and that meeting was carried out on a strict ‘need to know’ basis. Therefore, except for a small number of men on A tlantis who ‘needed to know,’ the rest of her crew and her consorts were quite unaware that a meeting was to take place with the heavy cruiser.

Two days later on 14 February, amidst heavy seas, high winds and fleeting ragged nimbus clouds, the excited and obviously fearful lookouts of A tlantis reported a large warship in sight. Their relief can only be imagined when they discovered it was one of their own, and not one of those much dreaded Allied cruisers. Indeed, it was the

incumbent A dmiral Scheer, resplendent with her imposing pocket battleship upper works, a gunnery control tower, wide range finders and massive eleven inch gun turrets.

The weather was quite heavy however, and with the big seas breaking over the Scheer’s foredeck, a proposed refuelling from abeam was out of the question.

Ketty Brovig had experienced great difficulty in managing the heavy seas on her way to the point of rendezvous, and because of her breakdowns and slow speed, she was left behind like a lame dog, but she was given a position for joining up with the other three ships as soon as possible. Indeed when she’d been built at Sunderland as the Montana in 1917, that tanker’s top speed then - in good weather - was just ten knots; and now 24 years later when she was at the end of her tether, the triple expansion steam engine which drove her was seemingly failing fast.

Meanwhile on board A dmiral Scheer, where the same protocol of a ‘need to know’ basis was also being implemented, those in the crow’s nest who saw the approaching three ships Atlantis, Speybank and Tannenfels in the grey and heavy weather, must have thought they’d stumbled on a British convoy and they were in for a field day. But they soon found out the reality of the situation, and such rich pickings were not to be.

In the meantime, Chief Engineer Kielhorn of A tlantis had run a series of tests on the diesel oil from Ketty Brovig and found it to be of excellent quality. As a result of his 168

Above - HMS Glasgow. No match for the Admiral Scheer. But in thinking that a much larger RN force was near at hand, Glasgows presence caused the heavy cruiser to leave the area.

Sister ship to Atlantis and Pinguin - the motor ship Tannenfels pictured below would most certainly have been a surface raider as well. But she’d been trapped in Mogadishu from the beginning of hostilities in September 1939. Left almost crewless at her moorings for over a year, the ship was neglected to such an extent that barnacles and seaweed were abundant on her hull. .

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Above: Admiral Scheer, a heavy cruiser with six 11 inch guns. Except for HM ships Hood, Renown and Repulse, she had the ability to outrun any RN ship with heavier armament, and outgun anything fast enough to catch her. Due to heavy armouring her maximum speed was 26 knots.

Below: Admiral Graf Spee was a sister ship to Admiral Scheer and Deutschland , the latter which was later renamed Lutzow. Graf Spee scuttled at the Battle of the River Plate in December 1939.

On the day of her engagement with three British cruisers, her ‘eye in the sky’ Arado seaplanes were broken down due to cracked cylinder heads with no spares.

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KMS Deutschland was the first of three heavy cruisers (better known to as Pocket Battleships) that was completed in April 1933, her sister ships being Admiral Graf Spee and Admiral Scheer.

Those three ships were the first ever to be constructed all welded. For fear of being sunk under her proud name of Deutschland, after Graf Spee’s demise, she was renamed as Lutzow in 1940.

Her career was most unspectacular by only accounting for three allied merchant ships. Sunk in the Kaiserfahrt in April 1945 by the RAF, she was raised by the Russians and used for target practice.

Below - the tanker Ketty Brovig on the right, supplies Atlantis with diesel in a stern RAS. (Refuelling At Sea) In the far distance is the Tannenfels. Note - the wind sail ventilator over the tanker’s fidley, photo taken from Doggerbank (ex Speybank. )

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After the heavy cruiser Admiral Scheer had captured the Houlder Brothers ship Duquesa in December 1940, the British reefer was found to have vast quantities of food in her freezers. She was then used as a store ship for the German ships in the South Atlantic. After having been stripped bare by numerous German ships, she was sunk by Pinguin in Feb. 1941.

Formerly the Kandenfels of the DDG Hansa Line, Pinguin was a sister to Atlantis.

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Above -After Duquesa had been stripped of her cargo and other equipment, She was sunk by Pinguin in the South Atlantic in February 1941. Pinguin is disguised here as the Greek ship Kassos.

Photo taken from a U-Boat approaching for supplies Below - HMS Cornwall sank the Pinguin

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Above - Kapitan zur see Theodore Kranke of the heavy cruiser A dmiral Scheer.

Below - Kapitan zur see Bernhard Rogge furthest away, with his senior officers.

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findings, the orders from SKL regarding A tlantis refuelling A dmiral Scheer were ignored. Ketty Brovig then arrived at the scene after a struggle 18 hours later.

When ‘Refuelling At Sea’ takes place, in good weather, it is known as doing a RAS; it is ideal for both the supply tanker and the warship to steam alongside each other 150 feet apart at a speed of between 10 and 15 knots. In heavy weather this is hardly possible because of yawing, ie, when both ships may either collide with each other, or else drift apart too far and carry away the fuel line. In such cases of heavy weather a ‘stern RAS’ has to be carried out, where the receiving ship follows at a speed of seven to ten knots. Therefore, because of the heavy seas and Ketty Brovig’s slow speed, a stern RAS to A dmiral Scheer became both appropriate and necessary.

When the fuel hose line was connected in the RAS, 1,200 tons of diesel were pumped into the bunker tanks of A dmiral Scheer to top her up. Amidst the heavy weather when the RAS was taking place, Scheer and Atlantis were at all times at action stations, while much needed stores were transferred from the four ships to the heavy cruiser; first with

jack stays, which didn’t materialise because of both ships yawing, and finally by boats.

While all that was going on, Kapitan zur See Theodore Krancke of A dmiral Scheer invited Kapitan zur See Bernhard Rogge of A tlantis - to come aboard his ‘pocket battleship’ for a meeting. If and when the sea went down! Rogge accepted the invitation, and when the sea did go down to more acceptable levels, he brought his adjutant Ulrich Mohr along with him. The crossing by launch was uncomfortable to say the least, but the meeting was held in great celebration. Stories of both captain’s exploits were exchanged and plans for the future were made. One of them being that on their breaking off, Atlantis should cover the area South of the Seychelles for a week and meet up again with Scheer on 25 February.

The crew of Atlantis hadn’t tasted an egg for over three months; indeed, they’d ate nothing but the basics which in the main consisted of black bread and ersatz coffee; that famished crew had probably forgotten what an egg tasted like. But from the spoils of the Houlder Brothers refrigerated ship SS Duquesa, captured by A dmiral Scheer on 18 December 1940, there was presently an abundance of eggs on board the heavy cruiser.

As a consequence 150,000 eggs were sent over to Atlantis. On breaking off Tannenfels sailed to the Saya de Mahala Bank with A tlantis’s prisoners; (that Bank is roughly between Mauritius and the Seychelles.) Command of the Tannenfels then went to 175

Leutenant Paul Scheidewind who had previously been the first mate on the ship before the war, while Leutenant Breuers returned to A tlantis. One of Kapitan Rogge’s growing problems was his crew was diminishing due to him supplying prize crews. So with the emergence of First Mate Paul Scheidewind, who with his Tannenfels crew could make up a crew for their own ship, he would still be one officer down. That was because Paul Schneidewind was a merchant seaman and not one of the Kriegsmarine breed -and there was a difference!

Indeed, whereas First Mate Scheidewind was undoubtedly well suited to his work as 1st mate on the Tannenfels, things were very different on her sister ship Goldenfels, (which was of course A tlantis.) There were now many anomalies between the ships and their crews with one being their manning. In peace time Goldenfels would have had a crew of about 40, but as a Kriegsmarine ship it had been increased nine fold to 361.That was due to the type of seamen required. Many specialists such as Communications or radio operators, gunners, torpedo men, mine specialists, medics as well as their many spares,

just in case some were killed.

It may be pointed out that the general duties of the merchant seamen of Tannenfels, consisted of deck work; cargo hatch work, raising and lowering derricks, working winches, maintenance of deck gear, painting, cleaning, steering the ship, and much, much more.

Tannenfels was later despatched to Bordeaux where she arrived on 12 May 1941 with the prisoners from Atlantis. Leutenant Dehnel who was then appointed as captain of Ketty Brovig and was sent to Saya de Malha with a prize crew of 12, and the captured Norwegian crew members. His orders were to join up with the 8,000 GRT Nord Deutche Lloyd Line supply ship Cobourg. But by that time the Allies had broken the German signal codes, and on Ketty Brovig’s arrival at the given point on 4 March 1941, HMAS Canberra and HMNZS Leander were awaiting their arrival. Needless to say both German ships were sunk, Coburg by shell fire from nine miles away, while Ketty Brovig opened the sea cocks in the engine room and scuttled. Those two ships crews were rescued by the cruisers.

Kapitan Rogge kept his appointment with the Italian submarine Perla when both ships met. The oil reserves, food and other supplies on the submarine were extremely low, while the morale of her crew was even lower. Most reluctantly Kapitan Rogge supplied 176

the much needed commodities to the Italian, but later remarked that it was nothing more than a waste of time and valuable war commodities. Indeed the condition of the Perla and her crew could only be described as parlous. Nevertheless he was under orders, so the required food, water and fuel from A tlantis was transferred before another rendezvous with her was made. Indeed, the submarine’s captain was most brazen in his demands, but Rogge was under orders to supply him with his needs.

But the rendezvous with Admiral Scheer had to be called off; The cruiser HMS Glasgow which was in the area had been transmitting, and her signals were so strong that she couldn’t be far away. Indeed, Scheer’s radio operator had to temporarily remove his head set because the transmissions were so loud. Suspecting that other units of the Royal Navy were nearby, the battle cruiser departed at speed.

It was by that time 12 months since Atlantis had left Germany, and 18 months since she’d been out of the water in dry-dock - the barnacles, fronds of seaweed and other under hull growth were in the thoughts of Kapitan Rogge, because as well as the damage to the underwater hull that he’d suffered at Kerguelen, the ever growing undergrowth did nothing to enhance his ship’s speed. For

the following month while patrolling the area between the Seychelles and Mauritius A tlantis drew a blank; just three ships that were neutral, and all in the scorching hot Indian Ocean weather. His crew were well and truly suffering through it all, and he knew morale was not what it should be.

But as well as good and bad people in this world; there are also good and bad captains. Kapitan Rogge was a good captain, so good in fact, that he’d personally handpicked his crew. He had rejected more than half of the 214 men assigned to him when the ship was commissioned; he wanted men who could stand the utmost of strain, and to a large extent he got those men, but after 16 months at sea he knew they were drained and he no doubt felt for them. SKL ordered Rogge to the South Atlantic where she was to meet up with the supply ship Alsterufer for some much needed fresh fruit, vegetables and other victuals. He was also to rendezvous with the U boat supply tanker Nordmark, in order to pick up Navigating Officer Paul Kamenz, who by that time had fulfilled his duty of delivering A utomedon’s top secret papers to Berlin.

But thirdly and most importantly for Kapitan Rogge, there would be no fresh food for his ship. It so happened that a gigantic bureaucratic blunder had been made by the German Naval Attaché in

Santos, Brazil. The result of it all being, that instead of Dresden delivering the fresh food to Atlantis, the Attaché had changed things around. In the first instance the food had been loaded on board Dresden, but then on the orders of the Attaché it was taken off again and loaded on to the Babitonga. Most unfortunately that ship had no freezers or refrigerators, and when the much 177

needed victuals arrived at A tlantis most of it had been spoilt by the excessive temperatures.

Kapitan Rogge was absolutely livid. His crew had suffered long and hard in the past with poor food, and now their sufferings were to be prolonged indefinitely. He demanded from his SKL superiors in Germany, that those officials in Santos who were responsible for such a catastrophic error, should be heavily punished and relieved of their duties. Kapitan Walter Jager of the Dresden explained to his counterpart and close friend Bernhard Rogge, that he had indeed followed his instructions of loading the fresh food. That food included sides of beef and other perishables for A tlantis, but he was then told by the Attaché in Santos to unload it all and place it on the Babitonga which would deliver the stores to A tlantis instead. Jager tried his best to explain to the Attaché that Babitonga had no freezers or refrigerators to store the food, that the temperature in the hold would be 105 degrees Fahrenheit, and by the time it got to A tlantis it would all be ruined. But the Attaché told Kapitan Jager, in no uncertain terms, that he had to obey his orders. But that error of administration and all the apologies in the world had done nothing for the already famished and worn out crew of A tlantis. Because as they were all expecting some decent food for a change, and then on discovering the shabby delivery, their

misery and frustration was exacerbated in no small manner. However, Kapitan Jager did the best he could for his long time friend by giving him as much of Dresden’s victuals as he could. But his gift was no more than a few sacks of potatoes, lubricating oil and timber.

In the meantime two experienced petty officers who had served on board the A dmiral Graf Spee during her demise at the River Plate, were transferred from Dresden to A tlantis. Those two men had been away from Germany without a break since Graf Spee had sailed from Wilhelmshaven in August 1939, and it was at their own request that they be drafted to A tlantis, rather than stay aboard the homeward bound Dresden.

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Captain Graeme Cubbin of T & J Harrison Lines.

In recognition for his 46 years service at sea, and his contribution towards maritime history in keeping an Atlantis diary, the following pages show the 17 ships that Captain Graeme Cubbin served on between 1940 and 1986. Photo taken on MV Statesman.

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After being sunk on the SS Scientist, and then after his five and a half months ordeal of incarceration on Atlantis, the next ship of Cadet Cubbin was the SS Barrister pictured above, a ship on which he continued his apprentice studies from 07- 08 - 41, until 4 -1-43. But when she was steaming light ship on passage Algiers to the Clyde, the SS Barrister was wrecked in the fog on 04-01-43 off Inishshark Island, County Galway. All hands survived.

Next came the SS Governor on which he stayed for five months. SS Governor was built by Henderson’s of Glasgow in 1918 and served the company until 1950.

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1938

- SS Scientist - 1940 Liverpool

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The steamer Director was built by DW Henderson of Glasgow in 1926. Graeme Cubbin was first acting - and then 3rd mate on this ship between 12-07-43 until 31-03-44. But on the following voyage after he had left the ship, she was torpedoed and sunk on 15 July 1944.

3rd Mate Graeme Cubbin signed on Strategist on 3-08-1944 but left as 2nd mate on 28-09-1947.

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The 1947 built SS Craftsman. Graeme Cubbin was 2nd Mate on this ship which stayed in the company until 1967.

The Liberty Ships Successor and Speaker were the next two ships Graeme Cubin served on as 2nd mate between May 1950 and April 1952. On 3 Nov.55 he was 1st mate on the Liberty Ship SS Scholar until 16-09-56 and again as 1st mate on the same ship from 22-10-63 to 07-04-64.

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From 26-04-52 until 11-10-54, Graeme Cubbin was the chief officer of the SS Inventor.

His next ship for one voyage to the Spanish Main and the USA, was the SS Novelist, a ship on which he served as chief officer from 12-12-54 until 08-01-55.

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Above - From 10-01-55 until 25-10-55, Graeme Cubbin served as the chief officer on the MV Interpreter. But ten years later he returned as her master from 09-04-65 until 18-07-66.

Below - SS Forester was another ship on which Graeme Cubbin served. Firstly as her chief officer from 24-11-58 until 26-04-60, and later as her master from 29-907-66 until 26-06-67.

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As her chief officer, Graeme Cubbin served on the MV Author from 27– 04– 60 until 5-10-63

The SS Linguist became Graeme Cubbins’ first command on 21 August 1964

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Another command for Captain Cubbin was a run up the Manchester Ship Canal on the MV Governor; although the author of this book served on the same ship, it was at a different time to Captain Cubbin.

Captain Cubbin was master of MV Barrister for a single voyage from 15-07-67 until 31-01-69.

The 1964 Swedish built MV Statesman became the command of Captain Cubbin between 15-8-69 and 04-02-71. Statesman was sold to the Chinese in 1977.

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The 1964 Swedish built MV Statesman became the command of Captain Cubbin between 15-8-69 and 04-02-71. Statesman was sold to the Chinese in 1977.

The heavy lift ship MV Tactician was the last of Captain Cubbin’s ships. He joined her on 19-05-1972 and left on 15-09-72.

He then became the Assistant Marine Superintendent for the company before taking his retirement on 1 April 1986 after over 46 years service for T&J Harrison Lines.

During his retirement he wrote a 1,700 page manuscript on the Harrison Line from its earliest beginnings right up to the day the company ceased to exist.

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SS Zamzam

Atlantis and Dresden parted company at the start of the middle watch on 17 April 1941.

Dresden’s captain who was homeward bound was told by Kapitan Rogge to hang around and await the arrival of Kormoran; if that ship had any prisoners he could take them to Germany or France with him. A tlantis headed East, but just an hour after leaving Dresden, and whilst still in the same middle watch, a four masted ship was sighted. She was on a South Easterly course and silhouetted against the moonlight.

Kapitan Rogge needed no list of ship profiles to identify the ship steaming without lights. She was British, and one that was owned by the Bibby Line of Liverpool. - Or so he thought!

Indeed, when Kapitan Rogge had represented Germany in 1937 at the Coronation of King George V1, he‘d taken part in some yacht races at Dartmouth. Due to the continuing recession there were a number of laid up ships in the River Dart, and one of them in particular caught his eye. Elegantly built she was one of the older type, and one that really stood out from the rest. On questioning his guide, he was informed that the four masted ship he so admired, was one of the Leicestershire Class of passenger ships owned by the Bibby Line of Liverpool; she was easily identifiable by her straight steamer stem, old fashioned sailing ship counter stern, four beautifully raked masts and

a single raked funnel to match. His guide told him that during the Great War those Bibby Line passenger ships had been used as troopers, and due to the huge movements of army personnel abroad at present, they were still being used as troop ships and carriers of military equipment.

Kapitan Rogge needed no second telling, that the ship steaming without lights was the same 9,350 GRT ship he’d seen in 1937. She was five miles away and steaming at about 12 knots. By now she would be a British trooper he thought, and one that would be heavily armed. But what he didn’t know, was that the ship he was examining through his binoculars was one of five identical sister ships; those steamers were, Leicestershire, Gloucestershire, Oxfordshire, Lancashire and Yorkshire. Coming off the stocks in that order, they’d all been built by Harland & Wolff at Belfast between 1909 and 1920.

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What Rogge was also unaware of, was the fact that the ship he’d seen at Dartmouth four years previously, could not possibly be the one he was presently looking at.

Indeed, the ship on his port side had once been the Leicestershire, the first of the class of five, and one that had been renamed British Exhibitor in 1930. On 28 September 1933 during the depression, she was sold to an Egyptian company, which in turn sold her to the Transport and Navigation Company of Cairo. Therefore, the ship that Kapitan Rogge was about to sink - without warning - was a neutral which at the time went by her new name of Zamzam - the name of a holy well in Mecca. Her new role in life was not as a trooper - but that of an Egyptian pilgrim ship.

After having put into Baltimore in March 1941to load cargo and embark 150 missionaries including clerics and preachers of 20 different religious sects, there were also 24 ambulance drivers. Before boarding the Zamzam, the huge contingent of religious persuasions, plus passengers, gathered on the jetty and recited prayers and hymns, while the mirthful ambulance drivers did their best to drown out their singing

with their own type of bar-room songs. While at he same time they made reference to those religious people as being ‘bible punchers and sky pilots.’ Moving to New York for more cargo the 32 year old Zamzam sailed on 21 March for Recife (Pernambuco) Brazil where more cargo, as well as two passengers were embarked. On 9 April the SS Zamzam under the command of Scotsman Captain Charles Gray-Smith, sailed towards Cape Town en route to Alexandria via the Suez Canal. With Kapitan Rogge looking through his binoculars from the wing of the bridge, A tlantis followed in the ex Bibby Liner’s wake; Rogge was under the impression that she was zig-zagging, and that only increased his suspicions that the ship ahead was a troopship. It was just turning daylight and by that time he’d been tracking the old passenger ship for two hours. Rogge increased speed and came up on his intended victim’s port side.

When it came to 0545 hours, A tlantis opened fire without warning at a range of five miles. The weather was fine with hardly a breeze, and with no wind deflection the target was hard to miss from such a close range. However, the first salvo did miss by going over, but the range had been found and the second salvo found its target. Within minutes the ship was ablaze, the radio shack had been reduced to a mass of twisted steel, and panic reigned upon the decks, while a number of life boats on the port side had been reduced to matchwood. The deck lights of Zamzam were turned on, and scores of 190

day with all their embroideries and exaggerations. Indeed, those past masters of the media in the US made the most of the incident like only they can.

In those writings, Kapitan Rogge was termed as being a modern day pirate, stealing food, cargo and mail from unarmed neutral ships, and then murdering ship’s crews like a butcher. There were a number of photographs, but to the Allies, the most important one that Scherman had taken, was the one of the A tlantis disguised as the Temesis, an extremely important piece of graphical information for the Allies indeed. The RN and the RAF were quickly furnished with the ship’s different profile as well as her new operating area. It has been said and written, that the photographs taken by David Scherman helped leading to the final demise of Atlantis.

The Zamzam was slowly sinking, and that gave the A tlantis sailors time to rescue as many people as they could from both the decks and from the water; But then in their usual piratical fashion, with so many mouths to feed, they stripped bare the ship’s freezers, fridges, store-rooms, pantries, paint locker and even the bar. Indeed, they

loaded everything they could from the sinking steamer into their boats. All of which was carefully recorded on camera and the memories of the two American journalists.

To hasten her demise Leutenant Fehler and his demolition party placed three charges on the slowly sinking ship’s waterline. From the time the first shell struck Zamzam at 0545 hours, it took five hours for the 32 year old ship to finally founder. But during that time, and to appease the survivors, as much baggage and personal belongings as possible was salvaged. It wasn’t the first time that Kapitan Rogge had fired on a ship without warning, and he knew he’d made a huge mistake by doing so on the latter occasion. The first was the SS King City, he thought she was an AMC but it wasn’t - and now this, the Zamzam, a ship he thought was a trooper, - but also wasn’t. His errors on those two occasions had cost 30 lives.

The only thing Rogge could do, would be to gather as much evidence as he could to justify his actions, the first of which had been prompted by the ship’s British captain having flouted the Rules of War in steaming without lights. Kapitan Rogge invited a number of leading representatives from the sunken ship into his cabin. They included Murphy and Scherman. In his address Kapitan Rogge apologised for the sinking but claimed that he was following the Rules of War; that Zamzam was steaming without

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Built at Belfast in 1909, The Bibby Liner SS Leicestershire pictured in 1931 as a cruise liner.

She later became the Egyptian pilgrim ship Zamzam.

Identical to Leicestershire was the Oxfordshire, she served as a hospital ship during WW2.

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people could be seen making for what was left of the boats on the starboard side.

In all 55 shells of 5.9 calibre had been fired at the mistakenly identified troopship, there were only nine direct hits but 24 people had been killed in the bombardment. Zamzam stopped while what was left of her boats were swung out and lowered. But instead of attending to the passengers, which included 73 women and 35 children, the 127 sailors, firemen and stewards, consisting mainly of Egyptians, with a few Sudanese, Turks and Greeks panicked, and to save their own skins they saw to themselves first.

The passenger list included 138 Americans, 26 Canadians, 25 Britons 5 South Africans 4 Belgians, 2 Greeks, and 1 Italian. The Scottish captain and his chief engineer were the only two in the ship’s company who were British.

Kapitan Rogge had made an enormous mistake in attacking the Zamzam - and he must have known it when he found out that the ship he’d attacked was sailing under the Egyptian flag. The repercussions and ramifications would be intense, and his wilful attack against an unarmed neutral ship, with so many passengers on board, without

warning, would attract world wide condemnation. - And especially with so many Americans on board! The crew of the stricken ship did nothing to enhance their reputation in abiding by that well renowned phrase from HMS Birkenhead of ‘Women and Children First.’ Indeed, they adopted another for a sinking ship ‘Every Man for Himself.’ Kapitan Bernhard Rogge who was by that time close up, was astounded and horrified as he watched the cowardly crew leaving the ship’s passengers to their own devices. They manned the boats and pulled away, seemingly uncaring and quite oblivious as to whether there were any passengers in the boats or not. In fact, most of them were still on the burning decks; they didn’t know how to lower the last of the boats or throw the rafts over!

Some of the crew swam over towards A tlantis which by that time was close by. Guest Warps for Zam Zam's life-boats had been laid along the raider’s side from the foc’sle to the midship section;. But one member of the crew in particular, whose thoughts must have been ‘Stuff you Jack, I’m inboard’ (or words to that effect - as it were) - dived from a lifeboat, swam over to A tlantis, hauled himself up the guest warp, over the rail and up onto the deck. With a huge smile of victory on his face he held his arms aloft in a show of victory; he had escaped the burning ship and was probably looking for accolades and glorification. But Kapitan Rogge was so infuriated and enraged at his 193

selfish and cowardly actions, that he called out for someone to bring him his pistol in order to deal with the grinning recalcitrant Zamzam survivor; but whether anybody handed him his pistol or whether he did anything thereafter is unknown. However, the irate Kapitan Rogge ordered his sailors to shake the cowardly crew who had left the passengers to their fate, and shake them off the guest warps and back into the water, and then await their turn to board A tlantis.

Amongst the Zamzam passengers were Charles Murphy, editor of the magazine ‘Fortune.’ Mr Murphy was also a major contributor to both the ‘Time’ magazine as well as the ‘Life’ magazine, and his colleague David Scherman who was a prominent photographer. To join Zamzam those two men had flown down from New York to Recife in order to save time at sea. Scherman was apprehended by one of the A tlantis guards as he took photographs on the deck of the raider. The guard took the camera from the American and handed it to an officer, but Kapitan Rogge who was present gave the camera back to its owner. He could hardly halt the pictures being taken by Mr

Scherman, he was a neutral, an American, and if there was one country in the world that Kapitan Rogge did not want to antagonise - it was the United States of America!

It so happened that when Mr Scherman was later taken to France on the Dresden, as a survivor, most of the pictures he’d taken were confiscated - but not all! Indeed, while he was being transferred by boat from the sinking Zamzam to A tlantis, he had taken a roll of photographs of his host ship and secreted it away; those photographs were to have a devastating and most significant effect on both Atlantis and Germany at a later date.

The pictures of A tlantis portrayed her when she was still disguised as the Norwegian Tamesis. But when Kapitan Rogge like a gentleman gave Scherman his camera back, as they stood together on the raider’s deck, both the ungrateful photographer and his associate Murphy repaid his honesty and kindness by besmirching him as best they could in their June 1941 magazine article.

Shortly afterwards the newspapers were full of the Zamzam sinking incident, while Murphy and Scherman made huge editorial and photographic scoops. The incident quickly prompted the re-surfacing of the RMS Lusitania story from the last war, when so many neutral Americans had lost their lives to a German torpedo. This story on Zamzam was on similar lines, except for the fact that there were even more Americans on the neutral Egyptian ship than there had been on Lusitania. The media had a field 194

Above - Survivors from the stricken Zam Zam take to the boats.

Below - Atlantis as seen from the Zam Zam. Photos on this page by David Scherman

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The photo above shows an overladen lifeboat in the foreground making its way towards Atlantis as the SS Zamzam goes down on her portside; the photo below is of Zam Zam taking the final plunge.

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lights, she was zig sagging while claiming to be neutral and was in fact carrying a cargo for an enemy of Germany - and was under orders from the British Admiralty! That cargo consisted of 10,000 barrels of oil, radios, steel and 150 army trucks. At the end of Kapitan Rogge’s explanation as to why the Zamzam had been sunk, Captain Gray-Smith approached Kapitan Rogge and said his ship was not zig zagging. Rogge said it was! He had seen it with his own eyes. Gray Smith replied with a frown saying it was quite normal for his inexperienced helmsmen who couldn’t even box the compass, didn’t know their quarter points to steer in such a way; moreover, he went on, there were four or five slack spokes on the huge 48 inch wheel, and such steering cost him upwards of 50 miles a day. There was no answer from Rogge with regard to the seamanship qualities of his crew; just a nod of agreement and a forlorn shake of his head.

On the following day Dresden arrived and took off Zam Zam's survivors. Those ships were joined by the raider Kormoran, and the supply ship A lsterufer, the latter supplying Atlantis with an abundance of food for her hungry crew; as well as a crated Arado

AR196 seaplane for Leutenant Bulla. Meanwhile SKL ordered Dresden to proceed to St Jean de Luz to land the Zamzam survivors where she arrived on 20 May 1941.

On leaving the Dresden, Murphy and Scherman first went to Spain and then on to Portugal; there they boarded a plane and in due course arrived back in the USA where the LIFE magazine was first to get the full story.

Atlantis and Alsterufer remained in position until the supply tanker Nordmark 10,800 GRT arrived to top up their bunkers. Those three ships stopped and remained together until 27 April. It was then that Rogge decided to venture into the West African area to see what was on offer regarding Allied ships. Indeed, SKL had informed him that the tanker route between Cape Town and Freetown was poorly defended by the Allies. Two days later, Rogge who thought his luck in posing as the Tamesis might be running out, thought of adopting a new name for his ship. Atlantis had been sailing as Tamesis for four months; Rogge’s ship needed a change of appearance, so both he and Leutenant Erich Kuhn, decided on an overnight change to the Dutch 9,246 GRT motor ship Brastagi of the Ruys & Zonen Rotterdamsche Lloyd NV Line. Work began immediately and as a result of working through the night, with pirated paint and brushes from many different ships, Tamesis was no more, and on the following morning she became the MS Brastagi of Rotterdam.

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On 1 May 1941, the crated Arado seaplane delivered by A lsterufa to A tlantis, was assembled in the ’tween deck of number two hold and made ready for its ‘eye in the sky’ service; it then took off with the previously out of work Leutenant Bulla at the controls. During the first flight in his new toy, Bulla and his observer Bouchert saw a steamer heading South and identified it as an Allied ship. Returning to A tlantis, and just like a Pointer Dog wagging its tail, after sniffing out some game for its master, Bulla wagged his wings to signify the fact that an Allied ship had been sighted. Atlantis stopped - the seaplane was quickly loaded, and the raider was soon up to her best speed to close the sighted ship. But she was unable to catch up with her Rogge was forced to abandon the chase. However, Flight Leutenant Bulla was extremely pleased with his new aircraft; he said it was both smaller, lighter and had more manoeuvrability than the clumsy Heinkel; furthermore, it took up less space in the hold and was easier to load and unload. On 4 May A tlantis once again met up for supplies; this was the same ship that had no cold storage - the very ship which had caused Kapitan Rogge and his crew so

much despair and annoyance; Babitonga was at the time disguised as the Dutch Jaspara.

After the stores transfer the supply ship was despatched by Rogge to a code named area where she was to await further instructions. On 7 May while still on the Freetown to Cape sea lane, Atlantis apprehended the Vichy French steamer Lieutenant de la Tour, but let her go after an inspection of her papers.

News then came of the sinking of A tlantis’s sister ship Pinguin by HMS Cornwall on 8 May. There was heavy loss of life on Pinguin where over 400 of her crew and over 200 prisoners had been killed; Pinguin had tried to put up a fight but was no match for the heavy cruiser. However, one shell from the raider did find its mark on the British warship at a range of 8,000 yards, thus causing some damage that necessitated repairs and a dry docking at Durban. One British sailor lost his life during the action which took place in the area around the Seychelles - the very area where A tlantis had recently been operating.

On 13 May A tlantis was in exactly the same Atlantic position where the Scientist had been sunk a year and ten days previously. Maybe Rogge the Rogue was wondering what had happened to the surviving members of her crew. From Leutenant Dehnel however, he learned that they’d all been rescued by a joint British and South African force, and were once again free to join other British ships. But what he didn’t know, was the 198

German codes were being read by the British at Bletchley Park. Indeed, they had captured the German trawler Krebs acting as a weather ship in December 1940, removing the December signal codes, Bletchley Park were for a while able to read the German signals. But shortly afterwards the Germans added another wheel to their enigma transmitter which left the British once again unable to read their signals.

However, on 7 May 1941 another German weather ship named Munchen and then Lohenburg were captured near Iceland, this valuable catch had all the latest codes of the latest enigma machine settings, and those at Bletchley Park could once again read the German signals. Then on 9 May, the U-110 was captured by HMS Bulldog in the North Atlantic, complete with her Enigma machine, codes, ciphers, and the whole of the submarine’s crew. It so happened that U-110 had been depth charged by HM ships Aubretia, Broadway and Bulldog before being forced to the surface. Thinking his damaged submarine was going to founder, Kapitanleutenant Fritz-Julius Lemp ordered ‘Abandon Ship.’ With 15 men having already been killed, the remaining 32 of her crew

were all picked up from the water. But because she was still afloat, a boarding party led

by Lieutenant David Balme from HMS Bulldog boarded the damaged U Boat. It later emerged that although the submarine may have been damaged she was not in any immediate danger of sinking. In the meantime, and not even knowing what is was, Lieutenant Balme and his party removed her Enigma machine, ciphers and all the relative codes. At first it was decided to tow the U-110 to the UK and a tow line was set up; but later in the day, the Admiralty made a signal stating that to conserve secrecy, the U-Boat should be allowed to sink, or be sunk on, 10 May 1941.

Each and everyone of those captured submariners were incarcerated in the strictest confinement; not to stop them going back to sea again, but to let the Germans think their U-110 had been lost with all hands - together with her Enigma machine! The British code breakers at Bletchley Park were able to read all Axis signals, and from that point on were able to deduce U-Boats deployment to such an extent that merchant ship convoys could keep clear of the German Wolf Packs.

Then in December 1942 the U-559 was attacked by HMS Petard near Alexandria. As the U-Boat was foundering she was boarded by a party from the destroyer and her enigma codes removed. But two men from the boarding party lost their lives when the badly damaged, U-559 broke up and went under.

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The Sinking of SS Trafalgar

On 24 May 1941, the 1924 built SS Trafalgar of 4,530 GRT belonging to the Glen Line (Scottish Navigation Company of Glasgow) was steaming at 10 knots from the UK towards Alexandria via Cape Town. Her cargo consisted of 4,500 tons of coal, some general in the ’tween decks, and two crated aircraft as deck cargo. She was spotted by the seaplane of Atlantis in the afternoon and stalked until darkness fell. At the appropriate time in the night watch, the raider came up from astern and ordered Trafalgar to stop and not to use her wireless.

The request was not carried out and A tlantis opened fire. The funnel was shot away completely and went over the side, the mainmast came down, the lifeboats were splintered and the deck cargo of crated planes caught fire. It all happened so quickly that the ship began to sink. With the lifeboats having been reduced to matchwood, the crew had to take to the water.

Thanks to the red lights attached to their life jackets, 33 men were picked up by the raider’s launch in the darkness. But the ship was still burning and provided a beacon to attract Allied warships, so two torpedoes were fired from the raider’s starboard tubes at Trafalgar to hasten her departure to the bottom, but they malfunctioned and missed

their target. The raider then went around the burning ship and fired a further two torpedoes from her port tubes. That resulted in one hit being registered while the other went wide; the latter coming around Trafalgar’s stern could have hit Atlantis as it veered off course and came back toward the raider, but she was making good way and was able to steer clear of it. There were 12 members of Trafalgar’s crew that were un-accounted for who were either killed in the action, drowned, or went down with the ship.

Earlier in the same day of 24 May 1941, news came through that HMS Hood had been sunk by the battleship Bismarck. Just three survivors from a crew of 1,418 were picked up by the destroyer HMS Electra. But whereas Goebels in Berlin made the most of it with his propaganda, the news was not greeted with the same enthusiasm on A tlantis, because those men knew, that the British would stop at nothing to avenge the loss of the 200

pride of their fleet, even if she was old and obsolete. Indeed, just three days later on 27 May, the honours were reversed when the British Home Fleet led by the battleships HMS King George V and HMS Rodney battered the Bismarck to a standstill; it was the cruiser HMS Dorsetshire which finished the German battleship off with torpedoes. In all there were 28 British ships which played some part or other in the German battleship’s demise; from a crew of 2,200 there were just 115 survivors from Bismarck.

Atlantis then made a rendezvous with her supply ship Babitonga on 30 May 1941 and took stores and armaments before transferring her prisoners. Babitonga in turn transferred the prisoners to the supply tanker Esso Hamburg which was homeward bound. The raider was then instructed by SKL to patrol the area between Freetown, Rio and Cape Town. It was during that time that the raider broke the record set by W olf during the 1914 -18 war, by serving 445 days at sea. The month of June saw an increasing number of German supply ships being apprehended or sunk.

One of those ships was the 4,422 GRT Babitonga, which on 21 June 1941 was challenged by HMS London near St Paul’s Rock in 02º N - 27º W. Rather than being captured, and as was the standard procedure for German ships that were going to be sunk, Babitonga’s captain decided to

scuttle his ship, so as not to give the Allies the honour of claiming a kill.

From June 1941 onwards, more and more merchant ships were sailing in escorted convoys, and that led to fewer and fewer ships being sunk. Indeed, those code breakers at Bletchley Park were intercepting a tremendous amount of the German’s radio traffic, and thanks to the captured Enigma machine, they were deciphering their messages with great effect.

The unsuspecting Axis were under the impression that their codes could never be broken, and put they their recent high casualties down to their ship’s radio signals being intercepted and pinpointed with great accuracy by an improved High Frequency Direction Finder (Huff Duff) system. Those systems were fitted to escort vessels in 1942.)

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Rabaul Dresden

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Balzac Tottenham

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Top: The Norwegian MV Storstad was captured by the raider Pinguin with a cargo of 11,800 tons of diesel. Atlantis and the pocket battleship Admiral Scheer were amongst the ships which helped themselves by filling their bunker tanks from her. Re-named Passat she loaded mines and laid them off the Australian coast and Bass Strait. Sunk by the RAF in 1942 she was refloated after the war.

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Top: SS Mandasor of T&J Brocklebank Lines was sunk by Atlantis.

Below: Also of T&J Brocklebank Lines is the SS Maharonda in the River Mersey. She picked up the 11 survivors from the SS Tottenham.

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HMS Eagle : Almost chanced having an encounter with Atlantis.

HMS Nelson firing a nine gun 16 inch broadside. She was in company with HMS Eagle when they were both on the wrong side of the moon light and missed Atlantis.

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Rabaul In the middle watch of 14 May 1941 a ship steaming without lights was sighted by the Atlantis lookouts. A warning shot from the raider’s 75 mm foc’sle head gun was sent over her bows but the ship continued on her way. A Morse signal ordering her to stop had no effect, so the searchlight from the raider illuminated the steamer and that made her turn to starboard in an attempt to escape. A tlantis opened fire, two shells hit the darkened ship with such a devastating effect, that within minutes she had split open and began to sink. Fires raged on the decks and the crew were soon lowering the boats. Nine of the 54 man crew were killed and a dozen more injured. As well as her crew she carried four passengers. The ship went under in less than 30 minutes.

That steamer was later identified as the 5,618 GRT Rabaul of the WR Carpenter Overseas Shipping Company of Sydney, Australia. Registered at Suva, Fiji, she was carrying coal from South Wales to Cape Town on an Admiralty charter. On being questioned by Kapitan Rogge, the 64 year old second mate who was on watch at the time of her being challenged, said he saw the signal to stop but didn’t bother answering.

He went on to say that he thought if he ignored the Morse signal, its sender would soon get fed up and go away. Kapitan Rogge informed the second mate, that his ‘couldn’t care less’ attitude had resulted in the loss of nine lives.

The Closest of Shaves ?

On Saturday 17 May 1941 Kapitan Rogge had some good luck, and undoubtedly the best of his present 14 month cruise, and probably the best he’d ever had in the whole of his life. Steaming slowly Southwards on the Freetown - Cape sea lane, he was in his cabin when through the voice pipe the officer of the watch informed him of two distant ships in silhouette on the port side. Hurriedly making his way to the bridge, and peering

through his binoculars, Kapitan Rogge’s first thoughts were they might be merchant ships, but wondered why they were together. Nevertheless he must have rubbed his hands as action stations were sounded. But as those ships quickly came closer, between 207

the moon and himself, with their silhouettes sharp and clear, he soon realised they were not merchant ships at all, indeed, their pyramid shaping indicated that they were warships. Those of the British variety! One an aircraft carrier while the other was a battleship of the Nelson class; both were steaming in line ahead at twenty knots.

Kapitan Rogge’s good luck could not have been bettered, inasmuch that he was in the right position relative to the moon. Indeed, if he’d been on the other side, it would have been A tlantis that was silhouetted against the moon instead of the British warships. Just one shell from that battleship’s 16 inch guns, each weighing 2,048 lbs, or just short of one ton, would have been more than enough to herald the end of A tlantis forever - even the battleship’s secondary armament would have been enough to finish her off.

Nevertheless both engines on A tlantis were stopped so as not to stir up a phosphorescent wake. As the British ships drew nearer, Kapitan Rogge must have been more apprehensive than he’d ever been in his life as he awaited the battleship’s searchlights to illuminate him. But when they were just 7,500 yards away, both ships suddenly turned

to starboard in one of their predetermined zigs or zags, and in doing so they went around the raider’s stern. With hearts in mouths that move must have brought a huge sigh of relief from those on the raider’s bridge.

From time to time rust sparks had been blowing from out of the raider’s funnel, and especially when she was starting up or going full ahead. Therefore, in order not to make any sparks at all, Kapitan Rogge ordered slow ahead and carefully steered a course to port to keep even further away from the enemy ships. In what seemed an age the two warships drew away to be almost out of sight. But just as they were diminishing on the horizon, a brilliant myriad of sparks burst forth from the raider’s funnel. The immediate order from bridge to engine room was to stop both engines. But even then the sparks continued to erupt. Indeed, if those sparks had been seen by the lookouts of the British ships, they would have turned back towards them. But Rogge’s luck, and that of the rest of his crew held out. On the following morning which happened to be a Sunday, a divine service was held on the after deck. No doubt the sermon and prayers centred on what had happened - or what didn’t happen - during the anxious watches of the night before.

Except for watch keepers and essential duty-men, ‘Make and Mend’ was ordered. A day off as it were for the crew to relax a little, darn their socks, wash and iron their clothes and perform any other menial little tasks that were outstanding.

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There was however, another aspect as to A tlantis not being spotted by the two British warships. Indeed, it so happened that the two allied ships were on their way to join Force H. The Bismarck had left Germany and was making for the North Atlantic. She had to be engaged. Had the British ships known for certain that it was the raider Atlantis things may well have been different; but to lose such priceless time in stopping to identify a darkened merchant ship, whilst on a mission of such paramount proportions, would have been out of the question because of valuable time being lost. So it was quite possible that the raider had been seen the darkened merchant ship, and on given it the benefit of doubt was given it a blind eye.

It later came to light that the two British warships that had given the Atlantis crew the fright of their lives, were the battleship HMS Nelson and the aircraft carrier HMS Eagle; those two ships had left Walvis Bay and were steaming at their best speed towards Gibraltar. But those same two ships never had the speed they needed. HMS Nelson had with her sister ship HMS Rodney, originally been designed as 50,000 ton battleships

with fifteen 16 inch guns and a speed of 30 knots. But during their building, the Versailles Treaty ruled that 36,000 tons was the limit. As a result the ships tonnage, engines, length and armament was drastically reduced; eventually all the HMS Nelson could make was 22 knots.

On 22 May a ship that looked British was sighted by Bulla in his new Arado AR 196.

Rogge the Rogue waited until darkness descended before he showed his hand. The usual warning shot and an order for her not to use her wireless was obeyed, and shortly afterwards the raider’s launch was on its way. But the ship was not British at all, she was a Greek named Master Elias Kulukundis of 5,548 GRT. She was travelling in ballast from Lisbon towards Madras under a Swiss government charter. She had some English passengers on board; because of her being neutral Kapitan Rogge decided to let her go, but only after her captain had promised not to alert the Allies of the incident.

Another neutral ship was sighted on 23 May, she was an American named Charles H Crump.

Activity was much higher in the South Atlantic than it had been in the Indian Ocean, much cooler as well. But with the Atlantic area being much narrower, there was also a higher concentration of Allied warships.

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The Loss of SS Tottenham After being launched in March 1940, and completed three months later, by the Caledon Ship Building Company of Dundee for the Ministry of War Transport; the 4,760 GRT SS Tottenham went under the management of Watts, Watts & Company of London. Tottenham had a 3 cylinder triple expansion steam engine which gave her a service speed of 10 knots. She was one of three

sister ships, the other two being Twickenham and Teddington.

However, on 17 June 1941 when she was just one year old, the SS Tottenham was travelling unescorted from the UK towards Alexandria via the Cape; she had a mixed cargo of war materials for the British Forces in Palestine. But when she was in 7º South and 19º West, she was spotted by the seaplane of A tlantis during the afternoon watch. After loading her seaplane back on board, the raider tracked her prospected victim until dusk; she then came up from astern and fired a warning shot across the bows of the outward bound Tottenham.

The response from the steamer was to turn away and send a series of quadrupled RRRR signals, but they were quickly picked up by the A tlantis W/T office and promptly jammed at full power.

From a distance of 8,000 yards the raider opened fire with a salvo from her starboard battery. Due to the damage of her underwater hull sustained at the Kerguelans, plus engines desperately in need of an overhaul, as well as all the undergrowth and barnacles below the waterline, the speed of Atlantis was little more than 12 knots. The speed of the SS Tottenham when opened up was probably the same 12 knots, but the British captain was not to know this Salvo after salvo was directed at the fleeing Red Ensign ship, but after a number of shells had

been fired from the two forward guns, they overheated and their recoil systems failed. They had to be hosed down to keep them cool as the inaccurate firing went on. Then the after 5.9 gun developed the same problem, and that had to be similarly attended to with the fire hoses. Atlantis then went around to bring her port battery to bear. However, after 150 rounds of 5.9 shells had been fired, Rogge had witnessed just one hit. There had in fact been four, and that prompted Tottenham’s captain to give the dreaded order of ‘Abandon Ship,’ little knowing that because of his greatly reduced speed Kapitan Rogge was himself about to give up the chase. But as the men

of the Tottenham took to the boats the stricken ship still had way on her, and with her two boats being lowered too quickly, they became swamped as soon as they hit the water and had to be baled out.

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In the gathering darkness 29 men from one boat were picked up and taken aboard A tlantis.

Kapitan Rogge wanted to sink the ship as quickly as possible and escape the area. Indeed, he knew that those RRRR signals sent by Tottenham would most certainly have been picked up, by both Ascension Island and Walvis Bay W/T stations. Once again torpedoes from the raider failed to explode on impact, and once again gunfire was used to finish the Tottenham off. But Rogge the Rogue didn’t want to hang around to see if the ship actually went down and departed the scene at his greatest speed.

Tottenham’s captain complained to Rogge that 11 of his crew were unaccounted for and asked him to return and make a search for them. But the raider’s captain replied saying that he himself had followed the Rules of War, and if Tottenham had stopped when ordered, and hadn’t used her radio, his crew would be safely on board Atlantis with him.

But quite unknown to anybody, the 11missing crew men had taken to the boat on the other side.

The second mate who was amongst them took charge; his thoughts being that if the launch from Atlantis found them they’d be taken on board the raider where anything could happen. Therefore, he kept his boat well clear of the raider’s launch that was searching for survivors in the dark, he

rowed away as far as possible and hid in the darkness. The second mate thought they would have a much better chance if they stayed in the boat rather than be captured and become prisoners of war on A tlantis. He knew the raider was being hunted by the Royal Navy - with the sole object of destroying her with or without any warning - and he didn’t want to be locked up as a prisoner if and when that happened!

Because there were just 11 men in the boat, there was plenty of lifeboat provisions in it, so all he wanted was good weather until a ship was sighted. With her red sail set and lookouts posted by day and by night, it was after spending 11 days in the boat, that the second mate’s analyses of the situation proved to be correct when a ship was sighted. Fortunately it was the SS Maharonda of the T&J Brocklebank Line that came into view. With the second mate using the boat’s heliograph the boat was sighted. The 11survivors were taken on board the outward bound steamer on 28 June - bound for Calcutta!!

Because Maharonda may have had a deck cargo, the empty lifeboat was not picked up but allowed to drift. Nevertheless, that boat was washed up ashore two months later at the Copa Cabana beach, Rio de Janeiro, on 22 August 1941. The empty boat was identified as that from

the SS Tottenham by her name and port of registry on its bow and stern. The sinking of Tottenham by Atlantis was by that time a well known fact, and once again Kapitan Rogge was castigated for the murder of the eleven crew-men - who had by that time been safely landed, probably in India.

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Varying reports as to the fate of the Tottenham then began to circulate. Adjutant Officer Mohr of Atlantis said that after the raider had departed at speed, the sinking ship’s ammunition cargo must have caught fire; he said he saw the British ship erupting in a ball of flame. Others say she was scuttled as her crew took to the boats.

It might be noted that of all the British ships that fell into the hands of Atlantis, most of them were tramps that could make little or no more than 10 knots. Even the SS Tottenham and her two sister ships which were barely a year old, could make little more than ten knots.

Such snail like ships must have made life so much easier for U-Boats and pursuing raider captains.

Whereas, the six ships under the Norwegian flag that were captured or sunk by the raider, were all 15-17 knot motor ships. Maybe such slow ships had something to do with the UK being overtaken in the maritime trade. Indeed, even as late as 1960, there were still many UK ships that were still 10 or 11 knotters.

At the same time it may be asked why was it, that all German captains scuttled their ships so as not to let them fall into their enemies hands; neither as a prize or to deny the Allies the

honour of a sinking. As can be seen in this book, the Allied ships never had any plans to scuttle, and many ships with their cargoes were gratefully accepted by the Axis.

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The Last of the SS Balzac

Five days after the sinking of the SS Tottenham, the German raider went on to claim her 20th and penultimate victim. That ship was the SS Balzac of 5,372 GRT, owned by the Lamport & Holt Line of Liverpool. With a triple expansion steam engine her speed was 10 knots - but that was when she’d been a new ship 22 years previously! The ship had been completed in 1919 as the W arhew, but before making a voyage she was purchased from the Shipping Controller in 1920 and renamed Balzac by her new owners. On 22 June 1941 when she was in 15º S - 27º W, Balzac was homeward bound towards her home port from Rangoon. She had a cargo of 4,200 tons of rice, and a mixed cargo of beeswax, rubber and other commodities from the East.

Once again it was Leutenant Bulla flying his Arado who sighted the palls of smoke coming from the coal burning ship. Identifying her as being a typically built British ship, he was having much better luck in his Arado than he’d had in the Heinkel. However, it wasn’t long before he was

back on board the raider making his report to Kapitan Rogge. The British ship was pursued and the usual warnings were given for it to heave to and refrain from using her radio; but Balzac’s captain was yet another who failed to agree to the raider’s demands. Balzac had a crew of 51 but three of them were killed in the ensuing bombardment, while another died later in the raider’s hospital As usual, the ship was looted of all her water, food and other commodities, with mail being amongst items that were removed from special lockers, store rooms, freezer and the paint locker -

which were all stripped bare - the 22 year old ship was then sent to the bottom. At first torpedoes were used but once again they failed and proved to be from a faulty batch Rogge was quite annoyed about that, and could only blame a consignment of torpedoes he’d taken from his supply ship Babitonga two months previously. The accuracy of his guns had always been a problem; they had in fact been manufactured long before the 1914-18 war, and although they were probably effective when new, they had at the present time been in use for almost two years. Moreover, they may well have been used extensively before being fitted to ’Schiff 16’ in December 1939, and more than likely their barrels needed re-rifling.

After the Balzac action SKL ordered Atlantis to rendezvous with her fellow raider Orion (Schiff 36)on 27 June and supply her with 700 tons of fuel oil for her triple expansion steam engine. At the appointed time and place both ships met. The last time the two ships had been together was 213

during their gunnery trials off the Jade Inlet before their cruises started. Korvettankapitan Kurt Weyher was Orion’s Commanding Officer, and just like Rogge, he’d been the captain of a sail training ship before the war had started.

There was however, a vast difference between Rogge and Weyher, and between A tlantis and Orion, as well as the number of ships each of them had captured or sunk.

Up until that time A tlantis had accounted for 20 ships totalling 139,591 gross tons, while Weyher in his Orion had accounted for just nine ships and some 60,000 tons. His last ‘kill’ had taken place eight months previously in October 1940, and he was quite frustrated by the extensive time and success gap.

Moreover, because Orion was an oil burner, and quite unlike the more economical motor ship that Rogge had, she consumed vast amounts of fuel oil and used more fuel in one week than Atlantis used in eight, furthermore she could barely make 12 knots. It was due to Orion’s heavy fuel consumption, therefore, as well as the fact that his supply ships ‘disappeared’ and failed to rendezvous with him, that Weyher asked Rogge to supply him with an extra 500 tons of oil and bring the total up to 1,200 tons. Such an increase would allow him to remain at large until

September. But Kapitan Rogge refused his former sailing companion on the grounds that due to his poor success rate, his ship was hardly worth the expense, and instead of giving him the proposed 700 tons of fuel oil gave him 580 tons instead. Nevertheless both ships parted company on 6 July with their captains still the best of friends.

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Captured Intact, the MS Silvaplana

Atlantis then set a course for the Pacific via the Cape of Good Hope, and by passing Gough Island on 9 July, it became the third time in her cruise that she’d passed around the Cape, even though she was 900 miles to the South of it. In the Roaring Forties where the howling South Westerly's lived up to their reputation, the sailors caught an albatross with a wing span of over six feet. Like all those seabirds do, it waddled clumsily around the deck in a most ungainly fashion before being seasick. But it quickly recovered when it was put back into the water, before taking off on the crest of a wave to resume its gliding flight - whilst never once flapping its wings. The Prince Edward, and St Paul Islands came into view in the ice cold weather, before New Amsterdam Island stood before the raider. But not a ship was sighted in the Roaring Forties.

Something strange was happening with the coded signals from Germany! It was as though the

Allies were able to read them.

Therefore, SKL instructed the raiders and supply ships, that when they sent their coded signals, they should keep them to a maximum of 12 digits. However, after Atlantis had sent a large number of these short signals to SKL there was never any reply, and Rogge wondered if SKL was receiving them. But the British at Bletchley Park were picking them up, with the result that within a short space of time the Admiralty was reporting to its ships that a German ship, probably a raider, was present in the Kerguelans Island’s area. Atlantis celebrated her 500th day at sea when

she was off the Crozet’s.

Day after day went by but A tlantis sighted no ships. Therefore, as well as the increasing boredom and frustration amongst the crew, as well as the longer than expected cruise, even Rogge’s officers were showing signs of strain. But Kapitan Rogge was well aware of it all and addressed his complement. Consequently, a week’s unrecorded interspersed leave at sea was given to all on board; that meant a weeks complete relaxation with no duties, rounds or inspections whatsoever except for action stations!

Rogge took his ship well to the South of Australia, Tasmania and new Zealand before heading North. The International Date Line was crossed on 6 September 1941.

It was when he was North of New Zealand in 26º S - 164º W on 10 September, that in the evening watch a ship was sighted without navigation lights; but because of a single white light showing, it might be assumed that somebody had failed to215 batten down his deadlight. Rogge approached

the ship while ordering her to heave to and not to use her wireless, but that order which was not obeyed resulted in a string of quadruple RRRRs being transmitted from the ship which also gave her position. But a fault in the W/T office equipment of A tlantis failed to jam those signals.

Because Rogge wanted to keep the attractive looking ship intact as a prize, he fired a three gun salvo as a warning. The ship which turned out to be the Silvaplana of Norway stopped transmitting immediately and hove to for a boarding party. She was the sixth Norwegian ship Atlantis had apprehended. Her manifest revealed her cargo was of immense value, consisting of 400 tons of rubber, fifty tons of coffee beans, hides, tin, a full deck cargo of teak and many other valuable mixed cargo items.

The 4,793 GRT Silvaplana was under the command of Captain Neils Stange Nielsen. She was a new 17 knot motors ship owned by Tschudi & Eitzen of Norway and bound from Singapore towards New York via the Panama Canal. However, due to a diesel fuel shortage, Rogge could not send her to France as was the custom, because that would have necessitated a passage around Cape Horn. With a prize crew on board he had to hide her away further South until he could procure more diesel from a supply ship - or some unfortunate captured vessel on which he could

once more demonstrate his skills as a pirate! Due to Captain Neilsen surrendering his ship there were no deaths or injuries amongst Silvaplana’s crew.

But before the Norwegian ship could be sent South, a message was received by A tlantis from SKL, stating that Silvaplana’s RRRR signal had been received by an Allied shore station in Australia. Almar Nilsen the radio officer who had sent those RRRR signal, was ordered to cancel it, stating that his signals had been a false alarm and all was well. But the Allies had been caught out by that ruse before, and suspected that Silvaplana’s captain and his radio officer had been coerced into sending the message -and they were right! In their reply 12 hours later, the highly suspicious Australian W/T station asked for the same RRRR signal to be repeated - in code! But as expected that request could not be met, the code books of Silvaplana had been dumped overboard, which quite simply meant that Rogge the Rogue would have to depart the area before he was paid a visit by an Australian cruiser. Both ships then departed at speed to the next rendezvous point. During an unforeseen wait for the supply ship Munsterland, which had been loaded with oil and stores by their ‘friends’ in Japan, Rogge decided to transfer some of the rubber cargo from Silvaplana onto his own ship between 20-21 September. Indeed, since her last

meeting with Babitonga the raider had been left in good trim, but since then she had supplied Orion with 580 tons of oil and others, plus her own usage of diesel, water and other stores.

Therefore, the rubber from the Norwegian ship was for use as ballast in order to regain the ship's trim. Due to the yawing between the two ships, however, a derrick transfer of the rubber between 216

the two ships could not be used and it had to be transported by the raider’s boats, in what turned out to be a most strenuous and arduous task in the choppy seas.

But their efforts were brought to a close when after having transferred 120 tons in two days, the 6,315 GRT supply ship Munsterland under Kapitan Uebel hove into view. She was accompanied by the raider Komet - which had as a prize the 7,325 Dutch motor ship Kota Nopan. It so happened that on her passage from Japan, the supply ship had been held up by heavy weather, and due to a directive imposing silence, there was no way Kapitan Uebel could inform Rogge of his unintentional late arrival. After the required fuel and stores had been transferred, Silvaplana with Leutenant Dittmann and his prize crew was sent to Bordeaux via Cape Horn. But due to heavy weather for much of the passage Dittmann didn’t arrive at his destination until 17 November1941.

Komet’s commander was flag officer Konteradmiral Robert Eyssen who had recently been promoted a few days earlier. In order for him to meet Rogge and discuss tactics, he was piped aboard A tlantis in true naval fashion. On the admiral’s departure the four ships Komet, A tlantis, Munsterland and Kota Nopan, stayed together for four days before going their different ways.

After discharging at Bordeaux Silvaplana's name was changed to Irene in 1942; under that name she became a supply ship and made another voyage to the Far East. But whilst homeward bound to Germany with a valuable cargo of rubber and tin, Irene made an attempt to run the British blockade. Intercepted by the mine laying cruiser HMS Adventure on 4 October 1943, her German crew scuttled rather than let the ship and its valuable cargo fall into enemy hands.

Thanks to his meeting with Munsterland, Kapitan Rogge was well endowed with stores, water and fuel at the end of September, indeed, he had enough to continue his cruise for another year.

But he also knew that both his crew and his ship had been through an arduous 18 months and neither could last indefinitely. A tlantis badly needed a major refit, her guns were worn out and required replacing, her engines demanded a complete overhaul, she was badly in want of a drydocking to repair the damage caused at the Kerguelens, as well as having a good bottom scrape to name just a few of the things the ship needed - but even more important was his complement’s state of mind -after having been cooped up like tinned sardines for the past 18 months the strain on them was telling by the day. Therefore, Kapitan Rogge instructed Adjutant Mohr to inform the

ship’s company that A tlantis was from that day homeward bound, with a provisional date being set for 23 December 1941. Quite naturally the crew were ecstatic when they received the news.

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Crew List of the MS Silvaplana Supplied by the Norwegian Archives

Captain Niels Stange Nielsen - 1st Mate Aage Magnus Olsen, 2nd Hjalmar Skjervik, 3rd Magne Bakkevik - Radio Officer, Almar Nilsen - Carpenter, Abraham Abrahamsen - Bosun Nils Totland -ABs Sverre Bruknapp, Erling Engennes, Halvor Halvesen, Aage Bakkevik, Olaf Hernes, Sverre Jakobsen, Helge Sorensen, Ludvik Wallasik - Chief Engineer, Reider Tharaldsen, 2nd, Einar Naess, 3rd Ragnar Hoff, Assistant, Rolf Magnussen. Electrician, Trygve Halberg.

Mechanics, Sigurd Jacobsen, Erik Carlsen, Nils Strand, Greasers - Folke

,

Markstrom, Erik Salander Sven Skreros, Johan Hansen.- Steward Fritjof Nostdal -Cook T Jakobsen. Boys, Magnus Espeland, Halvor Ellingsen, Rolf Kristensen.

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When Atlantis was sunk by HMS Devonshire, she was posing as the Dutch Polyphemus.

Disguised as the Dutch Polyphemus, this photograph which was taken from the conning tower of the U–126 was one of the last photos taken of Atlantis. Note the10 foot extension to her funnel, the dummy Samson posts and the enlarged crow’s nest on the foremast table.

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Atlantis Homeward Bound

The first step on the passage home to Germany was to ensure the ship could safely get there without mishap or break downs. Therefore, in one of their morning discussions, Kapitan Rogge and Adjutant Mohr decided to drop anchor in some remote place that was similar to the

Kerguelens; but much warmer and with a bit more scenery so that the crew could stretch their legs ashore; and also to give the engines and any other equipment on the ship an overhaul. The place chosen for the sojourn was a small bay on Vana-Vana, a Polynesian atoll in the Tuamotu Archipelago situated in 17º S, 144ºW. While proceeding to the atoll the seaplane was sent up two or three times a day in search of prey, but due to the area being a seldom used shipping lane no ships were sighted. On arrival at the raider’s destination a few days later anchor was dropped in October 1941. The ship was moored to two anchors just 50 yards away from the beach which was very steep. In the initial stages an armed party was sent ashore to make a survey of the situation, but it was soon learned that the inhabitants were a group of shy and timid people with no thoughts of repelling the visitors. After that the islanders gave the raider’s crew a warm welcome with lots of fruit being offered as gifts.

In return a fair sized quantity of flour was sent ashore. It was indeed a welcome and much needed exchange; the island’s supply vessel which was a sailing schooner only came twice a year at most.

It was the first time in 10 months the sailors of A tlantis had stepped ashore; the last time being at

the Kerguelens. In a show of gratitude for being made so welcome, Doctor Riel and his medical staff treated the islander’s minor illnesses as best they could, which were in the main eye infections. At the same time the crew enjoyed two days of absolute bliss, swimming and fishing in the crystal clear lagoon, as well as trying their hand at climbing the tall palm trees set in the beautiful sun whitened sands.

Even while the raider was moored in the lagoon bay, the Arado seaplane was sent up on regular excursions but nothing was ever sighted. After two days of heaven on earth for the worn out and

mind wearied sailors of A tlantis, both anchors were weighed and the raider sailed towards the Pitcairn Islands - whilst still on the search for Allied ships. But nothing was ever sighted on the way to that lonely patch of the Pacific Ocean.

Dropping anchor at the uninhabited Henderson Island, a hundred miles or so to the North East of 220

the Pitcairn’s on 23 October, the crew were once again allowed to enjoy themselves by swimming ashore and exploring. But it was a much different scenario than that of Vana-Vana.

The volcanic island was completely uninhabited by either human or animal life; all that was there were rocks and dense inedible foliage. Amongst their discoveries, however, a wooden plaque was found on which there was a barely readable yet faint inscription which read. ‘This Island belongs to King George V.’ Which quite simply meant, that some colonial minded captain of a British warship had been there some 25 years previously. Whilst at Henderson Island the ship’s disguise was altered, assuming the identity of the Dutch 6,269 GRT motor vessel Polyphemus being adopted. That ship in reality belonged to the Nedernandsche Stoomboot Maatschappij Ocean of Rotterdam; a company that was affiliated to the Blue Funnel Line of Liverpool; the ship itself had been built by Scott’s of Greenock in 1930.

Two days later with her new Dutch, Blue Funnel Line markings, A tlantis weighed at first light and headed towards Cape Horn. It was there that news came through of the sinking of the supply ship which tended the U-Boats in the South Atlantic. While off Cape Horn on 1 November 1941, the moment marked the 600th day of operational duty for Atlantis. Thanks to the supply ship

Munsterland, Kapitan Rogge who had plenty of fuel and stores, with much to spare, offered his services to Naval Command in order to make up for the loss of the supply ship.

With Bernhard Rogge having been born into a family of privilege, there was no reason whatsoever as to why he had to pursue a life at sea - where life for all was often hard and dangerous. But he’d always been a great lover of the sea, of sailing ships, and a sailor’s ways of life. As he stood on the bridge of his ship during a snowstorm in the cold grey seas off the bitterly cold Cape Horn on 29 October 1941, many thoughts must have crossed his mind as he reflected on those sailing ships of the past. Because even as little as two years ago, in 1939, those big windjammers were still taking part in the famous Australian ‘Grain Races.’

As a result of his offer to be used as a supply ship, it was on 8 November, when after having rounded the famous landmark of Cape Horn, that Naval Command took up Rogge’s offer. As a result Atlantis was ordered to rendezvous with U-68 and supply her with fuel, water and other necessary stores. The crew of A tlantis went about their tasks grudgingly - all of them under the impression that they were homeward bound, and not to be there hanging around as a supply ship with all its dangers. When A tlantis arrived at the rendezvous she met up with U-68 under the

command of Leutenantkapitan Merten, an old friend of Bernhard Rogge, and a man who’d once been one of his great competitors during their pre-war sailing regattas.

On the U-Boat’s departure Rogge’s intention was to carry on hunting Allied ships while his own ship was on the way home to Germany. Bulla in his Arado spotted a ship on 18 November but it 221

turned out to be neutral. On the following day he reported another, but after giving chase the raider had to concede defeat when the ship outpaced him. At that time the top speed of A tlantis was down to a maximum of little more than 10 knots. There was a problem with a piston on the port engine, as well as the ever increasing barnacles and undergrowth which also helped to slow the ship down. .

Then came a problem with Bulla’s Arado. Because on trying to alight onto the water which appeared to be a flat sea, his port float hit a larger than normal precipitous wave as he turned and the seaplane finished upside down - with Bulla and his observer Bouchert sitting on the wings.

The Arado was hoisted aboard for the necessary repairs, but despite the ship-wright's best efforts to repair the wrecked Arado, the plane was deemed as being beyond hope. That left Rogge the Rogue without his highly valued eye in the sky, a tremendous blow, and one that he was soon to deeply regret.

In their discussions with regard to the engines, and the run home to Germany, Chief Engineer Kielhorn told Kapitan Rogge that the rings of one particular piston were giving him trouble and that piston needed replacing. The chase of the ship which had recently escaped from the raider

only highlighted the situation; the chief engineer said the ship might not make it back home if the problem was not resolved.

Then came orders from SKL to carry out another refuelling job. The rendezvous was 350 miles Northwest of Ascension Island, where during the morning watch of 22 November 1941, A tlantis stopped to await the U-Boat’s arrival. After that last run on his engines, however, it was a worried looking Kielhorn who approached Rogge while he ruefully shook his head, The chief engineer went onto say that the sooner the piston in the port engine was replaced the better. It was now overheating and beginning to smoke. Therefore, due to the fact that Atlantis and U-126 would be idle for a few hours, Rogge gave his permission for the port engine to be shut down and the faulty piston replaced.

Soon afterwards at 0600 hrs, at the break of dawn on 22 November, the lean grey shape of U-126 broke surface. Coming alongside the raider, the bearded Leutenantkapitan Ernst Bauer and seven of his equally bearded crew were invited aboard Atlantis for a long overdue hot shower, and an equally long slap up breakfast. Whereupon those men went aboard the raider and soon got stuck into the promised meal; while with them the U-Boat men brought a change of clothing. One at a

time they went for a shower - a shower being an absolute luxury for any submariner. Meanwhile, on board the submarine, the young and inexperienced 1st Leutenant Neubert had been left to ‘guard the fort’ as it were. It may have been the normal and accepted thing for a submariner to board a supply ship and take a shower - but there was nothing within ship’s rules to say he could.

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The fuel hose line was paid out over the raider’s side, connected to the U-Boat’s deck manifold and pumping began. The raider’s launch then chugged back and forth with dry stores and other equipment and loaded them onto the submarine’s casing. After having showered and dressed and feeling like spring lambs the U-126 guests went for their breakfast. Bauer and Rogge had a good talk before the U-Boat commander himself went for his much wanted shower, while Rogge in his anxiety to get the supply job finished went up to the bridge. On making enquiries to the engine room at 0800, he was told that the faulty piston had been disconnected while its replacement was about to take place.

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A Taste of Devonshire Cream

Rogge was a worried man, his ship was in a most dangerous position in being right in the middle of a busy shipping lane, disabled and stopped in broad daylight. Why hadn’t SKL arranged the rendezvous for twelve hours earlier - or twelve hours later? The refuelling could just as easily

have been carried out in the dark using dimmed lights! But by that time, and quite unknown to the German raider’s captain, his ship was already under surveillance, and had been for half an hour!

Whenever Atlantis was at sea there were always at the very least, five lookouts on duty at any one time; foc’sle head, foremast crow’s nest, mainmast crow’s nest and both bridge wings. At 0820 hrs on 22 November 1941, on a clear day with good visibility, one of the foremast crow’s nest lookouts sighted and reported a ship. Indeed, it was a report that was to become the most significant and disastrous in the career of the German raider, and also the last time such a report would ever be made aboard A tlantis. The initial report was a ship bearing two points on the port bow - a mere speck on the horizon. But as that distant ship came quickly closer, she turned broadside on to reveal her profile. The next report from the excited lookout stated that his sighting was a three funnelled cruiser, and one that was zig-zagging at high speed.

With not a moment to spare, the re-fuelling hose line was disconnected simultaneously on both the U-126 and her supply ship - but instead of being hauled back aboard the raider, that hose line in desperation was dropped into the sea, and that left a huge oil slick. The U-Boat dived, just as

her freshly showered commander and his men came running out on deck Too late! All that could be seen of Bauer’s charge was a patch of swirling jade green water accompanied by a white boiling foam, all of which marked the spot where Ernst Bauer’s submarine had recently been loading her stores and bunkers.

Leutenant Neubert was of course, the subject of a verbal roasting by Kapitan Bauer for leaving him, and the other seven men marooned and embarrassed on the deck of a common merchant ship. The unrepeatable oath spat out by Kapitan Bauer, referred pointedly to his Number One’s

facial appearance and the doubts he had about his parenthood; but the most severe of re-dresses for the unfortunate officer would come at a later date. The truth of the matter was, however, that Kapitan Bauer had left his post, he should have been supervising the refuelling operation, and not engaged in taking a shower. Indeed, if and when there was a Court Martial regarding the incident, 224

he himself would have been charged with either Desertion of Post or Dereliction of Duty, while his 1st Leutenant would have been commended and told that he had adopted the correct procedure under the circumstances.

Note - Under the command of Ernst Baur U-126 was commissioned in February 1941; prior to her meeting with Atlantis, she had already sank eight allied ships, and heavily damaged the Canadian Star. U-126 eventually sank or damaged 31 allied ships before she herself was bombed by the RAF. She was picked up on radar at 0230 hrs on 3 June 1943 whilst returning to her base at Lorient under the command of Siegfried Keitz. There were no survivors.

Kapitan Rogge raised his binoculars to examine the reported ship. It was indeed a three funnelled cruiser, and one which was the Dorsetshire or one of her class. And he should know! Because when Rogge had been the 1st Leutenant of the cruiser Karlsruhe, in 1936, five years previously, his ship had been at Hong Kong. At that time the KMS Karlsruhe of Germany, had been moored alongside HMS Dorsetshire of Britain.

The lookout then reported a seaplane. Rogge identified that too, it was a Walrus, the type used extensively on British cruisers and capital ships, and capable of being launched by means of a steam catapult. The raider’s captain wondered how the British ship had detected him. Was it through their advanced radio signal detection, or their new technique known as radar, or was it just bad luck on his part? At a much later date, however, he was to find out that the Enigma code was no longer unbreakable.

It so happened, however, that on 22 November at first light, the Walrus from HMS Devonshire (for such was her name) had been catapulted off to make her routine early morning search. It was known to the British that U-Boats and a German commerce raider were in the area, and because such U-Boats cannot operate alone, her supply ship could not be far away. At that time the cruiser was zig-zagging at 18 knots, an appropriate and tactical speed to lessen the chance of a submarine’s torpedo striking her. After flying 10 miles to the South, the observer of the seaplane sighted a ship that was stopped 40 miles further to the South. The observer of the Walrus then sent a lamp signal to Devonshire, reporting a suspicious ship stopped 50 miles to her South.

Whereupon the cruiser headed towards the reported sighting and increased speed to 25 knots. At the same time the Walrus was ordered to make further identifications of the ship and report back. An hour later HMS Devonshire under the command of 46 year old 225

Captain Robert Don Oliver RN, was in clear sight of the German raider; it was then, that a look-out aboard Atlantis saw and reported the British cruiser. It was only then that the Walrus was sighted by the raider’s lookouts. It was also the time when the hose line between the U-Boat and Atlantis was hurriedly disconnected, and also the time when U -126 took her emergency dive. Flying over and around the supposedly innocent looking merchant ship, whose crew were all waving up at the pilot in a false show of greeting, the Walrus observer saw the hose line floating adrift as well as the oil slick which accompanied it. On examining his ship profiles he also noticed that the ship below him matched that of the so called Tamesis, otherwise known to the RN as ‘Ship C - the notorious Schiff 16 - or A tlantis! Those photographs of the ship that the Walrus observer had in his possession, had been taken by David Scherman, a survivor of the SS Zamzam, and photos that had five months previously, been published in the LIFE Magazine’s June 1941 issue.

Taking into account the fact that the ship below him was stopped, and a hose line was

floating adrift in an oil slick, it didn’t need much imagination for the Walrus observer to conclude that a submarine had been in the process of re-fuelling, and the operation had to be abandoned due to the approach of the cruiser and its seaplane.

Flying back towards the Devonshire which at the time was zig zagging intermittently at between 25 - 30 knots, 12 miles away, the Walrus observer sent a lamp signal with a series of S-S-S—S-S-S—S-S-S , a message which signified that a submarine was in the area. Devonshire then sent an 8 inch warning shot over the raider. A simple but polite warning which meant. - If you are a raider take to the boats and save lives - The Walrus then approached the so called Polyphemus and asked for identification, despite the fact that on the ships side in bold lettering, was the ship’s name and nationality, POLYPHEMUS - HOLLAND. For Kapitan Rogge the game was up, his ship was no match for the heavy cruiser zig zagging on the distant horizon - and he knew it. His only chance, albeit a slim one, was to delay for as long as possible an answer to the demands of the Walrus, and then hope and pray, that U-126 might get into a position where she could use her torpedoes. But the U-126’s captain who was standing alongside the raider’s captain appeared to have little faith in his junior - and he was right! It so happened that when the eight inch shells from Devonshire hit the water and exploded, the temporary captain of U-126 thought he 226

was being depth charged; so he took his new command down to 300 feet - and stayed there until it was all over.

Meanwhile, on board HMS Devonshire which was weaving around at speed, Captain Oliver made sure he kept his cruiser out of the distant ship’s eight mile maximum gun range. He was well aware, and quite convinced by then, that the ship on his horizon was a surface raider, and one that had six 5.9 inch guns as well as four water line torpedo tubes. He was also aware of the fact that just six months previously, Devonshire’s sister ship Cornwall, had ventured too close to a surface raider named Pinguin. Indeed, from 8,000 yards the German raider scored a direct hit on the heavy cruiser which knocked out her communication systems, fire control, and killed one seaman; there were also a few near misses which caused quite some damage to the County Class Cruiser.

Pinguin had acquired her armament from the 1906 battleship Schleisen of pre WW1 vintage; but those guns, however old, were still accurate, and their gun crews were well trained. However, after steaming away to lick her wounds and make repairs, HMS

Cornwall returned and gave chase to the fleeing raider; from a 10 mile range she sank the Pinguin later in the day. That action resulted in the deaths of 639 men from the raider, 401 who were crew while 238 were prisoners from Allied ships. There were just 82 survivors, 28 who were prisoners from British ships and 54 German crew.

Moreover, and probably unknown to Captain Oliver at that particular time, it was just three days previously, on 19 November 1941, that the Australian light cruiser HMAS Sydney had allowed the raider Kormoran to get too close to her. Using delaying tactics of Morse signalling, the German raider got within 2,000 yards and then opened fire on the cruiser. Although both ships sank each other, Captain Burnett of the Sydney was by far the big loser in suffering the loss of his ship, himself, and the whole of his 645 man Australian crew. But whether or not Captain Oliver was aware of the HMAS Sidney’s demise, the wily Scotsman had no intention of getting any closer to his adversary than 18,000 yards - or about nine miles.

Studying the British cruiser from 10 miles away through his binoculars, it was in his own words that Kapitan Rogge described the ship that he thought was HMS Dorsetshire.

An object of maritime beauty he said, tearing through the sea, bows up and stern down at over 30 knots she made huge bow waves, while from astern she left a boiling white wake from her four propellers. As time went by the crew of A tlantis must have had their 227

hearts in their mouths, as from afar they watched the cruiser steaming in continuing wide sweeps making things extremely difficult for any U-Boat to launch a torpedo attack. They must have known that their captain was trying to bluff his way out of the problem with the signals to the seaplane - but it wasn’t exactly like that at all. Indeed, the cruiser was double checking up on the so called Polyphemus, just to ensure she was genuine - but the waiting for identification continued for an hour!

In the meantime the Walrus kept on asking the raider for identification. But the raider’s signalman in his replies, a man who had been well groomed in such procedures, was operating a Merchant Navy Aldis lamp. His signals of reply were poor and unintelligible, all planned of course, but every second gained in such a delay meant that U-126 might have a chance of torpedoing the cruiser. But it was not to be! The U-126 was still 300 feet below the surface. In another effort to gain as much time as possible, Atlantis which was claiming to be Polyphemus, sent a string of raider alarm signals.

But quite unknown to Kapitan Rogge or his wireless operators, the series of three, RRR

signals had recently been changed, to a four RRRR signal; whereupon the use of the outdated three RRR signal only heightened the cruiser captain’s suspicions.

Furthermore, from HMS Devonshire a signal had been sent to the C in C South Atlantic asking for information on the Dutch ship Polyphemus. The waiting on both sides dragged on. Eventually, however, the reply came back to the cruiser. It stated that the Dutch ship Polyphemus had last been reported at Bilbao, Panama, and that gave strong support to the suspicion that the ship in question was an imposter. Indeed, the way back home to Europe from Panama was not via the Ascension Isles. To save life and limb Captain Oliver had given Kapitan Rogge every chance to take to the boats and scuttle but the opportunity was not taken.

From the bridge of Atlantis, the orange flash of gunfire from the cruiser told Rogge there was no hope whatsoever. Just 30 seconds it would take for the cruiser’s 250 pound projectiles to reach him. Despite the fact that his port engine was still out of use, he started his starboard and went full ahead - a speed which was a little more than his normal ‘half ahead.’ But he knew that even if both engines were running flat out it wouldn’t have made the slightest bit of difference. HMS Devonshire which was intent on the destruction of A tlantis could steam at over 32 knots, she had eight, eight inch guns and eight torpedoes tubes, and even in the smoke screen that Rogge had laid, 228

Devonshire’s Walrus seaplane, if need be, could see over and around it and quite easily direct the cruiser’s gunfire.

At that particular time radar was still in its infancy and smoke screens were quite effective, but when radar reached its full potential, and was fitted to ships of all nations, smoke screens lost their usefulness. In foggy conditions, however, the British County Class cruisers HMS Norfolk and Suffolk, had used radar to quite some effect when shadowing the German battleship Bismarck in May 1941.

The flash of gunfire Rogge had recently seen, resulted in two eight inch shells straddling Atlantis, - one ahead and one astern. The warning was over. Devonshire had her range, and shelling into the smoke screen then began. A tlantis turned and went back into her white smoke screen, creeping along at ‘dead slow ahead’ which gave her just enough way to manage the helm and get her boats over. Hits and near misses began registering.

The engine room crowd were still down below; they wouldn’t leave until they were told to. But quite soon there were no internal phone lines left on the ship, and even the voice

pipe to the engine room had been shot away; Kapitan Rogge had to send the bridge messenger down to the engine room to verbally give the order to stop engines - for the last time - and forever! In a last act of escape, survival or vengeful tactic - with the possible help of U-126 - Rogge continued making smoke for as long as the smoke cans lasted; while at the same time he ordered Dynamite Fehler to place his scuttling charges.

From then on, and from 10 miles away, eight inch shells rained down into the disappearing smoke screen. Some went over giving off a high pitched droning noise like an express train, while others were falling close to the ship sending up huge fountains of water. Despite the fact that Captain Oliver on Devonshire was firing blind into the mile long smoke screen, hits were taken on the raider which left the mainmast at a crazy angle, splintered some of the boats and tore up the well scrubbed wooden decks like cardboard. Derricks were strewn all over the decks and hatches, while their topping lift wires, guys and blocks were in an almighty tangle. The stage props on deck consisting of dummy ventilators, samson posts, deck cargo and other items to falsify the ship’s appearance, were blown away as though a Force 20 hurricane had hit the ship.

Indeed, what had just minutes previously been a trim and orderly ship, had been reduced to an absolute shambles.

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Despite the fact that everything on and around the decks was an absolute mess accompanied by smoke and flames, there was no panic whatsoever amongst the crew as they carried on in an orderly fashion. Indeed one of the sailors was carrying the captain’s yelping dog ‘Ferry’ to one of the boats.

Because of the communications failure, the order of ‘Abandon Ship’ had to be relayed verbally throughout the ship. A direct hit and its blast on number two hold, blew out every window on the forepart of the bridge, while another hit the after end and started more fires. In the melee ship’s boats and rafts that were crammed with men pulled away from the maritime home they’d shared for the past 622 days. Kapitan Rogge must have been grateful there were no prisoners on board. Indeed, there was hardly enough room for his own men in the boats, let alone any passengers; he must also have been grateful for the fact that he had ‘pirated’ a few of those boats in his travels.

Finally, there were just Kapitan Bernhard Rogge, Adjutant Ulrich Mohr, Leutenant Johann Fehler, his demolition party, and the CPO Coxwain Wilhelm Pigors left on

board. Rogge ordered those men who were with him to leave the ship. But with the exception of Adjutant Mohr and Chief Petty Officer Pigors the coxwain, they all obeyed. Rogge then ordered Pigors and Mohr off the ship, but Pigors his coxwain and former shipmate from their last ship, the Albert Leo Schlageter refused. He knew that Rogge would rather go down with his ship, and told his captain that he would not leave the dying A tlantis without him. He added that his complement of men in the boats needed him to guide them. Pigors then asked his captain to leave the ship and only then would he leave. Pigors got his way.

As the smoke dissipated from around the burning A tlantis, the ship was clearly visible from the British cruiser which had kept on firing. In the continuing bombardment two men were killed while attempting to swim away from the ship.

However, Kapitan Rogge gratefully appreciated the fact that his counterpart on the cruiser had used base fuse delayed action shells to sink the raider, instead of the dreaded nose cone fuses. Indeed, if cone fuses had been used, those shells would have exploded on impact and turned into shrapnel resulting in heavy loss of life for those in the boats, on deck or in the water. On the other hand - the base fuse shells are designed to penetrate the ship and explode inside the hull, or go a little way underwater before exploding.

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Kapitan Rogge took to the water followed by his adjutant and coxwain. Those three men thought they were the last to leave the ship - but not so! It so happened that one of the radio operators, Oberfunkgefreiter Heinz Muller, whose action station was at an emergency W/T station in number one hold ‘tween deck, had not been made aware of the Abandon Ship order, and although he knew the ship was doomed he stayed at his post. With the ship listing to port and down by the stern, it was only then that the valiant seaman left his post. Emerging from beneath the foc’sle head, he saw those in the crowded boats and realised that the order of Abandon Ship had been given. Taking the plunge he was the last man to leave A tlantis. The charges in the raider’s engine room and the magazine exploded in a fireball. The raider which flew no flag went deeper down by the stern to follow the same path as her victims. As the stern went under her bows lifted up in defiance to reveal the ugly scar near her keel that she’d sustained at the Kerguelens; no need to fix it now! As the four year old ship went under, the unfortunate Heinz Muller, who was the last man off the ship, was sucked down with it.

The time 1004 hrs 22 November 1941 - Position 04º 20' S - 18º 35' W. In 622 days of operational duty, Atlantis had steamed 102,000 miles.

HMS Devonshire hauled down her battle ensign. Her job done she departed the scene at speed and steered a course for Freetown. Because he knew there was a submarine in the area, Captain Oliver was unable to search for and rescue A tlantis survivors.

It must be stated at this point, that Kapitan Rogge of A tlantis, and Captain Oliver of Devonshire both shared the same honourable beliefs in performing their respective duties. Those two men each had a job to do by sinking enemy ships, whilst at the same time they’d both refrained from needlessly taking lives. That fact had been demonstrated on numerous occasions within these pages, when ‘Rogge the Rogue’ as he was affectionately known by his prisoners, always gave a ship’s captain the chance to surrender his ship before making an attack. Indeed, Kapitan Rogge had at all times followed the Rules of War. Captain Oliver of HMS Devonshire followed in the same path of moral decency. He gave ample warning for Kapitan Rogge to take to the boats and scuttle his ship; he also used base fused shells to sink the raider, which in itself saved many lives.

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Top; HMS Devonshire on being commissioned in March 1929.

Below - The camouflaged HMS Devonshire at Lagos in 1941.

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The Scuttling of Python

After the cruiser Devonshire had departed, and the raider A tlantis had gone beneath the waves, it took two hours for the survivors to sort themselves out getting aboard the rafts

and boats. In the calm water they mustered together to hear their captain give an address. A count of heads revealed that in the British cruiser’s bombardment, five men had been killed while two had died of their injuries when they were in the boats.

Meanwhile U-126 had surfaced, Kapitan Baur returned to his post, and Kapitan Rogge had an open discussion with his officers across the boats. They spoke of either going towards the much closer Freetown - Cape Town sea lane, or take a submarine tow towards Brazil. General opinion amongst them being, that if they were apprehended by the British off the West African coast, they would end up in Freetown as POWs. Eventually a decision was made to take a 950 mile tow by U-126 to Pernambuco, Brazil, (Now Recife) where during the course of the tow, a supply ship might possibly be sent to pick them up.

Needless to say there were just a few berthing ropes on the U-126; the only other things that could be used for the tow were the boat’s painters. During its raids on allied shipping A tlantis had taken the motor boat from the Norwegian Teddy, and as long as the fuel lasted, that craft as well as their own powered life-boat proved most valuable in shuttling around between the uneven assortment of boats and rafts. !

To lessen the overcrowding in the boats and rafts, U -126 embarked a number of Atlantis’s specialist men aboard. Indeed, if the boats and their survivors were captured by the Allies, those highly trained men would have been lost to Germany for the duration of the war. Those men consisted of ten officers, six chief petty officers, 16 petty officers, 23 ratings and the injured.

There were also 52 men wearing life-jackets who were sat on the deck casing of the

submarine; their orders, or advice being, that if the U-126 was compelled to dive, then they should swim away as fast as possible to evade being sucked down in the U-Boats dive. After the transfer of personnel to U-126, the make shift rafts were allowed to drift 234

away. In the meantime one of the boats which had gone down with A tlantis when she had sunk, bobbed back up to the surface and was baled out. That boat was towed astern of theU-126 as a back up for the men who were stationed on her decks; should the UBoat be forced to dive they would man that towed boat. U-126 towed the crowded boats at about six knots at first, but even though the sea was relatively calm, the bumping of the boats into the slight swell caused the tow line to carry away on numerous occasions.

There was also the problem of the continuous baling out of the boats. That was due to when A tlantis had been operational, the wooden boats had been allowed to dry out. As a result, when the boats hit the water their planks started. But after a few hours in the water when they had received good soaking the leaks stopped.

With a following sea to help, one hundred and fifty sea miles were covered in the first 36 hours, an average of over four knots; at that rate it would take another week or so to make Pernambuco - if the good weather held out! Needless to say food and especially water, had to be rationed to the absolute limit, but another growing problem was that the

sea swell had increased, and on shipping water it caused the heavily overcrowded boats to at times fill to the thwarts.

The water coming aboard the boats was cold, everybody was soaked through, and what little warmth there could be had was by huddling together. But nobody complained, they all knew that things could have been worse - an awful lot worse! Late in he afternoon of the second day came the welcome news from U-126, that SKL had ordered the supply ship Python under the command of Kapitan Lueders to come to their assistance. In peacetime the Python had been a fruit boat from the African Fruit Company that carried about 12 passengers. On the following morning Python arrived, the boats were hoisted aboard, and soon afterwards the survivors of A tlantis were eating their first meal in days. Because the peace time passenger accommodation on Python was already in use, the only accommodation for the A tlantis men was to use make shift mattresses in the number two hold; while the crew of the Python gave up as much of their clothing and bedding as they could to make their counterparts as comfortable as possible. Kapitan Rogge had sailed on the Python before; indeed, during the coronation year of 1937, he had taken passage on the ship to the UK when she was owned by the African Fruit Company. He even got his old cabin back. But worse was to come for the A tlantis men!

On 30 November 1941 Python was ordered to replenish U-68 (Commander Merten) and 235

U-A (Commander Eckerman) in position 23º-57' S and 3º-55'W. After that she was to return to Germany with her survivors. Although U-68 arrived on time the other U-Boat U-A was 24 hours late. That late arrival was something which later led to dire consequences and the loss of Python.

During the afternoon watch on 1 December 1941, U-68 was in the process of completing the belated loading of her stores, when the mast-head lookout of Python reported a three funnelled cruiser nineteen miles distant. That ship which later turned out to be HMS Dorsetshire was in fact a sister ship to Devonshire! Operations were suspended between Python and U-68, the hose lines retrieved, and because there wasn’t time to load them back on board, the boats in the water were cast off. At that particular time U-68 had her hatch open and the last torpedo to be loaded was halfway in; a scrambled effort was made to complete its loading before the U-Boat could make an emergency dive, and that left an amount of stores on its casing to be lost. The U-A which was loading fuel on the other side dived. Python steered a course to the North East at her maximum speed. But

on opening up with her engines flat out, huge palls of smoke emitted from the former fruit boat’s funnel. On seeing the smoke the moderately moving cruiser quickly became a fast moving cruiser, altered course towards the smoke and closed the scene at speed.

Python’s captain steered a deliberate course in order for the submarines to get into a position where they could fire torpedoes at the approaching cruiser - it was part of their training! But Dorsetshire’s Captain Augustus Agar had received the same training, and while he was out of any 5.9 guns he circled the suspicious ship in varying figures of eight at top speed while keeping well out of range. Having a shot in the dark the U-A did manage to fire five torpedoes at the distant cruiser in a spread. Those ‘tin fish’ travel at 44 knots,12 knots more than their intended target, but they all missed or were dodged.

From a range of eleven miles two eight inch shells fired from Dorsetshire immediately found their range, one ahead and one astern. It was more or less a call for identification, or a directive which quite simply meant, ‘If you are an Axis ship - scuttle now to save life and limb - or be sunk.’ To heighten Dorsetshire’s suspicions, a smoke screen can was inadvertently set off on Python, and the cruiser sent her Walrus up to make further investigations. But on seeing the two eight inch shells hit the water, it was one of the Python ratings who started the smoke screen without being given an order from the bridge, and that was what aroused HMS Dorsetshire’s captain suspicions even further.

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When a smoke screen is laid it is usually made by a warship, which via the bridge telegraph, orders the engine room to ‘make smoke.’ The smoke comes out through the funnel. But in the case of Python the smoke canisters were on the after deck.

Nevertheless there was no point in arguing as far as the German ship was concerned and the two shell message was heeded. It wasn’t long before the Walrus which was buzzing around Python, reported that after scuttling her crew had taken to the boats, and their ship with a port list was going down by the stern . Without any further ado, Dorsetshire departed as quickly as she had arrived and was seen no more.

The 414 man crews of both Python and A tlantis took refuge in eleven boats of varying sizes plus seven rafts. U-A which had been watching helpless was the first to surface and was quickly followed by U-68. But both had to dive when the cruiser’s Walrus returned to investigate the situation, and probably to count how many boats were in the water. After that nothing more was seen of the cruiser or its seaplane. A roll call revealed that in the sinking of Python not a single man was missing. Because he was the senior officer Kapitan Rogge assumed command of the situation and boarded U-68.

The rafts were placed on the submarine’s decks, 100 men were assigned to each U-Boat, while both subs towed five boats each. The galleys on both subs were going non stop, and one of the motor boats was continuously buzzing around with food for the men in the boats. Once again the towing lines were problematic with them carrying away in the swell as the flotilla made for land.

On the following day of 2 December U-68 sighted a merchant ship, but Kapitan Merten decided to take no action due to his enlarged compliment. But when Kapitan Eckerman of U-A saw a loaded tanker he couldn’t resist. Casting off the boats he gave chase, but later in the afternoon came back empty handed. On hearing of the catastrophe SKL ordered U-129 (Kapitan Leutenant Nico Clausen) and U-124 (Kapitan Leutenant Jochen Mohr) to the scene in order to help out in whatever way they could. As a result the men were transferred from the boats into the submarines while the life rafts and boats were scuttled. On 6 December 1941 a course was set for France.

Needless to say, all four submarines which were packed to the limit, were quite unable to carry out the duties for which they were designed. It was a most laborious passage, and conditions for all aboard the four submarines were unbearable as men who were 237

packed to the limit had to sleep standing up. Between 13 and 17 December when all four U-Boats had reached the Cape Verdes, they were met by four Italian submarines which were sent to assist. Between them they took 260 passengers from the grossly overcrowded U-Boats. The eight submarines then headed for St Nazaire where they arrived between 25 and 29 December 1941.

On New Years Day1942 the crew of A tlantis, who had by that time been completely kitted out, mustered before Grand Admiral Erich Raeder at St Nazaire. In that parade he personally decorated each and every member of the Atlantis crew. The ceremony was ended when Kapitan Rogge addressed his men for the last time. Needless to say, he thanked them all for their valiant service of almost two years in the most harrowing of circumstances. They were all awarded two months leave, and told to report to Naval HQ Wilhelmshaven when their leave had ended. His final order which did indeed end the career of A tlantis, was with his men fell in three deep before him, Kapitan Rogge

brought them to attention and gave them that final and almost forlorn order “Atlantis ship’s company - Dismiss.” - It was the end!

Such an order from their valiant captain must have left a lump in the throat of every man present. For their they stood amidst a group of equally valiant men, men with whom they’d been ship-mates through the most trying of circumstances in a two year ordeal. Indeed, each and every member of the crew had suffered the great hardships of excessive heat, cold, hunger and great privation but now they were ship-mates no more.

Two months later when their leave had ended every man of the crew was promoted up one notch; most of whom became petty officers. Kapitan Rogge was promoted to Konteradmiral Rogge (rear admiral) and two years later on 1 March 1943 he attained the rank of vise admiral. On 7 May 1945 when the war had ended, and with regard to Germany’s surrender terms, Vizeadmiral Rogge was at Copenhagen with his flag flying on board the heavy cruiser Prinz Eugen. On 8 May two British warships arrived at Copenhagen to accept the surrender and take control of the heavy cruiser. One of them was HMS Devonshire.!!! .

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Sister Ships of Atlantis

Before the start of WW2, Goldenfels was one of seven newly built sister ships, with another of those ships being the Kandenfels, a similar15 knot motor vessel which to the

Germans, became the heroic and much acclaimed surface raider Pinguin. While yet another of those fast modern motor ships under the command of Kapitan Steuer had been named Tannenfels. But that latter ship had not joined Goldenfels or Kandenfels in being converted to surface raiders, she’d been holed up at Kismayu, Somaliland since the war began.

Shortly before the outbreak of WW2 all German merchant ships had been ordered to return home with their cargoes; if that was not possible due to a shortage of fuel or being blockaded, they were to seek sanctuary in a neutral port. Therefore, Tannenfels and the cargo ship Uckermark which were two of those blockaded ships, had been lying idle and empty for 16 months at the neutral port of Kismayu in Italian Somaliland. When the war began Italian Somaliland was neutral. But Mussolini must have been contemplating on which side to give his support. Italy had been on the side of Britain in the previous war, but with the fall of France in June 1940, it looked increasingly likely that the Germans who held the upper hand would quickly win the war. Therefore, because he wanted to be on the winning side and win great acclaim from his people, Mussolini, or ‘El Duce’ as he called himself, chose to side up with the Axis - little realising that three years later in July 1943, his own people would have removed him from power, and less than two years after that, in April 1945, those same people would have executed him by hanging him upside down from a lamp post. Indeed, the cowardly Benito Mussolini had backed the wrong horse!

However, at Somaliland in 1941, the authorities looked at Germany with great disdain.

They didn’t want to be part of any war no matter who was winning, and that point was

proved when they treated Leutenant Dehnel and his prize crew from the SS Durmitor like prisoners; and neither did the Somalis offer any special preferences to the crews of the blockaded German ships. The crews of Tannenfels and Uckermark felt the same 239

for the Italians who ruled Somaliland; they would much rather have sailed away from the place and chance their luck by running the British blockade.

But because Tannenfels had been moored idle for 16 months, she’d been slowly growing an accumulation of weeds and barnacles on her underwater hull. Sixteen months in Kismayu, and a further fourteen months before that since her last drydocking, meant it had been two and a half years since she’d had a bottom scrape.

If and when she did get out to sea her speed would be greatly reduced; that large expanse of weed on her bottom would act like a huge sponge, because as well as its own weight and the friction it would cause, it would also hold many tons of water - all extra weight for the ship to drag around with it. However, because the Allied forces were closing in on Kismayu, and if the German ships did not sail soon, they would either have to scuttle or be captured. In view of any future adversity, it was on 30 January 1941 that Kapitan Steuer of Tannenfels received orders from SKL to leave Kismayu and rendezvous with A tlantis in the Indian Ocean. By that time Leutenant Dehnel and his

prize crew from the SS Durmitor had taken refuge aboard the Tannenfels.

Kapitan Steuer had no armament on his ship whatsoever, so in order to make it look like he was an AMC, and hopefully deter any British AMCs from approaching him with menace, he instructed his First Mate Paul Schneidewind, to manufacture a number of make believe guns out of timber and tarpaulins then dot them around the ship. Quite unlike A tlantis or Pinguin which had their guns concealed, the dummy guns of Tannenfels when fitted, were quite openly displayed for any Allied ships to see.

During the hours of darkness on 31 January 1941, Tannenfels slipped out of Kismayu to link up with A tlantis in a predetermined coded area of the Arabian Sea. Due to some unforeseen problem in her engine room, the cargo ship Uckermark did not leave Kismayu for another fourteen days. But on board Tannenfels, it so happened that during the following ten days while he was on his way to meet A tlantis, the only ships that Kapitan Steuer saw were a tanker and an AMC escort, so without any fuss he slid away from them. In the meantime, Leutenant Breuers accompanied by ten armed men formed a prize crew for the Speybank; Breuers was told to proceed to the Saya de Malha Bank in 10º S - 63º E and await further instructions. Arriving in the South Atlantic at the required position to pick up her fresh food supplies on 16 April 1941, it was then discovered that things had not gone to plan.

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Top; the German Kormoran, she sank HMAS Sydney with the loss of the cruiser’s 645 crew Bottom; HMAS Sydney sank the Kormoran in the same engagement.

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Some views of HMS Devonshire and her crew.

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There were fifty A tlantis survivors inside the U-126, and a further fifty that can be seen on the casing The rest were being towed in the boats and rafts. The motor boats were kept busy shuttling between them with food.

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Top - After the boats had been assembled the tow began with 100 survivors boarding U-126. The boats that had sails used them as umbrellas as protection from the sun.

The U-Boat towed eight boats on makeshift painter ropes, but the sudden jerking in the light swell caused many of those towropes to carry away.

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After Atlantis had been sunk, the survivors had to fend for themselves in boats and rafts. It took two hours for them all to assemble, whereupon Kapitan Rogge addressed them all and conducted a head count. After a consultation it was decided that they should take a tow from U-126 to Pernambuco which was an estimated 950 miles to the west.

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Top - Admiral Lindau addresses the survivors who arrived on one of the submarines Left - On arrival at St Nazaire, Ulrich Mohr on the left bids farewell to two of the Italian submariners. They’d been his ship mates in cramped conditions for three weeks.

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Kapitan Rogge addressing his crew at St Nazaire As the Atlantis sank and the crew took to the boats, there was neither the time nor the space in the boats for anyone to collect any of their belongings. As a result of that, and as the above photograph shows, they survived the ordeal in just what they were wearing at the time. Even their captain who stands before them on the deck of U-68, is still dressed in his normal bridge gear. The crew were all given two months leave, when during which time the survivors were kitted out.

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But at a later date when the survivors had been re-supplied with uniforms, Kapitan Rogge pins medals to the chests of his crew.

Kapitan Rogge addresses his crew for the last time before he gives them his final order. ‘Atlantis ship’s company dismiss.’

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Robert Don Oliver – Captain of HMS Devonshire, Born at Linton Roxburghshire 17 March 1895 he joined the RN in 1912. As a midshipman he took part in the Battle of the Falklands in 1914 and at Gallipoli in 1915.

Promoted to Captain 1939 he commanded HM Ships Iron Duke, Devonshire, Excellent and Swiftsure. Awards - CB, CBE, DSC, DL - Retired as Vice Admiral in 1948. At the age of 85, Admiral Oliver died at Kelso, Roxburghshire, on 6 October 1980.

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Bernhard Rogge the Commander of the Atlantis. Promoted to the rank of Vise Admiral in 1945 he later became a senior figure in NATO. After the war he opened a nautical instrument shop in Hamburg where he was often visited by both his former crew and prisoners.

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Kapitan Bernhard Rogge was treated with the greatest of respect by the Allies. It was because he abided by the Rules of War that he never faced any war crimes.

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Atlantis Casualties

One remarkable aspect about the raider Atlantis, was of all the men who served in her for the best part of two years, and despite the many trials and tribulations they had gone through, there were only eleven men on the ship who lost their lives.

Martin Jester - who died of heat exhaustion in the Indian Ocean.

Bernhard Herrmann—who died after an on board accident at the Kerguelans Islands.

Karl Seeger - killed on board the captured Norwegian ship Tirranna, when that ship was torpedoed by the British submarine HMS Tuna.

Tonni Dettenhofer - Horst Gerstenhauer - Willi Krooss - and Johan Schafer, all of whom were killed when A tlantis was shelled and sunk by HMS Devonshire.

Heinz Muller - Sucked down with Atlantis when she sank.

Otto Vorwergk - Lost overboard from one of the life boats.

Erst Felchner and Emil Buhrle - Died from their injuries whilst they were in the life boats.

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