So you think you know all about the “LACONIA Incident” do you? Well, here is the way one survivor remembered the attack, with photos taken by one of the crewmembers of a U-Boat that came to help! The story is by Oris M. Hawkins, passenger on the LACONIA, and the photos by WILHELM GRAP (213-+-1986), crewmember of U-506. His widow, our dear friend MARIANNE furnished the text and the photo of WILLIE. All other photos were shot by WILLIE himself during the ‘LACONIA Incident’.

During the morning I saw a vessel on the horizon. I told the men, who could see nothing and thought it a product of my imagination. After a time, I could see that it was light in color and hoped it was a hospital ship. Soon we could all see quite clearly that something was coming toward us. We made out that it was the U-Boat traveling on the surface and it passed within two hundred yards of us. Our hearts pounded. We had heard so many ‘atrocity stories’ that we feared a shower or machine gun bullets. The U-Boat passed on and stopped about half a mile away. We drifted very slowly in the same direction and after some time, we came up to a raft upon which were two R.A.F. officers and one Italian. We joined their raft to ours with a rope.

We were now nine people on two rafts. One or two of our original number had already become too exhausted to hold on any longer, and had dropped off into the sea. Around us, in every direction, were corpses and wreckage and from time to time, we saw quite a number of other survivors on rafts and pieces of wood.

All day we saw the submarine moving around from place to place, and once we saw people being pulled on board by means of a lifeline. This made Squadron Leader Wells decide to try to make for the submarine. Normally, he was a magnificent swimmer. Summoning all his strength, he tied a towrope round his body and struck out towing two rafts and nine people. When we were within a few hundred yards of the submarine, it set off in another direction. Squadron Leader Wells was exhausted and very disappointed, and for the rest of the day we just drifted around.

Drifting in the open ocean with one’s arm dangling in the water is not a good idea!

At one time I felt a sudden sharp pain in my right hand, which was hanging in the water. A purple jellyfish, said to be deadly poisonous had stung me. Its sting – a long violet colored tentacle, was wound round my hand, completely detached from the jellyfish itself. I shook my hand and the sting fell off, but unfortunately it hit one of the men and wound round his hand, stinging him in turn. Our hands and arms swelled rapidly. Another man took a stick and beat the jellyfish against the side of the raft and killed it. Sometime later, a third man grasped the end of the stick which had killed the jellyfish and on which some of the poison must have remained. Immediately he felt a stinging pain in the palm of his hand, and his hand and arm swelled too. The pain was intense, but we each held our affected limbs in the sea for hours and nothing else than the pain and swelling occurred. They took several days to subside.

It was Sunday, and the day wore on. I pictured my family in church. I knew they and my friends, both in Palestine and at home, would be praying that day that I might reach home safely. In that moment I felt a conviction that somehow I should be saved.

The sun was low when a second submarine appeared, cruised around us then submerged. The sun set and we began to dread a second night. Suddenly the first submarine turned and came straight towards us. German sailors threw us a lifeline and we were all taken aboard.

This second U-Boat was probably U-506, the boat on which our friend WILHELM GRAP (213-+-1986) served as crew. Some years ago, he sent us a huge stack of photos of this, including the women in blankets.

Here we see some of the women and children taken aboard U-506 during this rescue operation. Willie Grap photo.

We could scarcely stand – our legs were swollen and stiff from the sun and salt water, and we were helped along the deck and down the conning tower by the U-Boat Commander and his men. I was taken to the officer’s wardroom where, to my joy, I found Mary, who had been picked up five minutes before. Altogether, about 200 survivors had been picked up during the day from rafts, floating wood and so on, and put into our own lifeboats. When these were full, the remainder of the survivors, another 200 in all, had been taken on board the submarines before nightfall. They included about 150 Italians. It was interesting to note that more consideration was shown to the British than to the Italians.

The German officers took charge of our four women – our clothes were taken from us and dried, and we were given hot tea and coffee, black bread with butter and jam. We couldn’t eat, but we drank everything we were offered. Four of our officers who were in the worst condition and we four women remained in this cabin, which served both as sleeping quarters for the German officers and dining salon for the whole crew. The officers gave up their bunks to us and many of the crew gave up their to our men and to the Italians. The German crewmen sat up all that night and Monday night and snatching only a rest for themselves during the day, as we had their bunks.

“The Germans treated us with great kindness and respect….”

The Germans treated us with kindness and respect the whole time and they were really sorry for our plight. One brought us eau de Cologne, another brought cold cream for our really bad sunburn, others gave us lemons from their own lockers, articles of clothing and tinned fruit. The Commander was particularly charming and helpful. He could scarcely have done more than had he been entertaining us in peacetime. He spoke perfect English and I did not hear “Heil Hitler” once, I saw no swastikas and I saw only one photograph of Hitler in a small recess.

EDITOR NOTE – One must wonder where were all the raving Nazis we were told about in the propaganda.

Cigarettes were given to our men who were allowed to smoke on deck at any time, as the submarine had to stay on the surface because of the large number of people on board. We were given food and drinks three times daily, but some of us could only manage the fluids. It was interesting to see the kinds of food which the Germans ate. For breakfast, they had large plates of porridge, black bread from tins, plenty of Norwegian butter, strong coffee with tinned milk made in the south of France, and plenty of French or German preserves.

Taking more survivors aboard from the lifeboats. Willie Grap photo.

For lunch, the Germans had tinned macaroni with tomato or meat and vegetables in a thick gravy, also from a tin. They had fresh potatoes, more black bread, tinned fruit and tea or coffee or even a fruit drink, made from a tinned syrup.

Their next meal was dinner, and consisted of a variety of things. On the table were savories such as sardines, cheese and bacon, which was eaten uncooked on sliced of bread and butter, and they ate small sausages in their red skins. There were preserves and jams, plenty of butter and lots of bread.

They didn’t waste any time with their meals. Seven or eight men would sit down and eat their food quickly and with little conversation. As they finished, their wooden platters and cutlery were exchanged for clean ones by a boy and their places were immediately taken by others until the whole company had been fed, officers and crew having the same food.

The water was distilled from the sea at the rate of several gallons per hour and tasted very good. They told us that they used to catch and cook fish for a change, to give them some fresh food, and they always carried lemons and tomato juice. Frequently they chewed ‘energy tablets’ during the day, which they assured us helped to make them fit and muscular. They gave us a number for ourselves. They were very good and seemed to consist of compresses glucose and fruit juice. They did not make us thirsty nor were they too sweet. We saw no spirits or intoxicants at all, and the officers and crew all appeared to be remarkably fit.

One of the survivors was an Italian doctor, who had been among the prisoners of war. He was allowed to treat the sick and wounded prisoners, and he did so to the best of his ability – the Germans providing bandages, ointment and other necessities, and tablets of opium. Our senior officer was Squadron Leader Wells, who was consulted on all points. Though he had severe abdominal pains and was badly sunburned, he organized everything and never complained. His uniform had disappeared when he handed it over to be dried, and so with only my thin silk dress around him, he moved from bridge to wardroom and around the crowded decks, giving and receiving orders.

There was little room to move about, even if one wishes to do so, and much of the time I was in my bunk as I was very stiff and every muscle ached from sitting upright on the raft for twenty-two hours. My legs became more swollen each day from having hung down in the salt water for so long, and my face and arms were raw. Added to this I was badly bruised, and had strained my left knee. It was fearfully hot in the submarine, and we longed for a vessel to come and take us off, even if it did mean our being interned. Mary and many others were in the same shape as I was.

U-159 (Hartenstein), photo shot from U-506. Willie Grap photo.

The captain radioed for help – he could not remain on the surface indefinitely and he was running a great risk on our behalf. An Italian submarine came and took off the Italian survivors, which made for more room. A reply to the signal was received from Vichy, France which promised to send a cruiser and two corvettes to a rendezvous named by them to take us, we thought, to Dakar.

With this end in view, the submarine began to collect our lifeboats together by towing them to the rendezvous. Altogether there was a pack of Axis submarines, of which ours seemed to be the leader and the one which actually torpedoed the ship. These submarines collected together fourteen lifeboats and kept watch over them, giving water and hot drinks to many.

On Tuesday, the Captain told Squadron Leader Wells that he wished to bring on board the women out of the boats he had contacted that day, as well as any men who were found to be in bad condition but that, as he could not take on any larger numbers, volunteers from the strongest of those already on the submarine must go into the boats in their place. Squadron Leader Wells called for volunteers, saying he would himself go among the first.

A dozen men soon responded and they went up on deck. The Captain would not allow Squadron Leader Wells to go, as he was obviously a sick man and did not have adequate clothing, so he remained aboard.

Several women came aboard and a number of men, among them an Army chaplain who had lost an eye since I had last seen him aboard the ship, and whose other eye was practically sightless. He never complained, but was quite grateful for everything that was done for him. During the night, when one of our number died, he unflinchingly conducted a short burial service for him and committed us all into God’s hands, whether in life or in death.

Another message came from Vichy – the cruiser was on her way at high speed and would reach us on Thursday at the latest, and the corvettes would be a little behind her.

Unfortunately on Wednesday afternoon, the submarine was sighted on the surface by an Allied plane. Six bombs were dropped and each was a very near miss. The submarine shivered and shook, and one end compartment was damaged. It was a dreadful sensation and we knew that one direct hit could send us to the bottom. The explosions through the water were tremendous.

EDITOR NOTE – This attack was not an error on the part of the American pilot. He reported to his HQ that there were hundreds of survivors on the U-Boat and that this was a rescue operation underway. No matter – the destruction of a U-Boat was so important that he was ordered to attack. While the lady telling this story noted that the bombs were near misses, she did not know that one exploded directly in a lifeboat, killing all aboard.

In this crisis, the German Captain decided naturally, that he must submerge at once. He could not dive with all of us on board, so he was forced to put us off into the shark-infested water. He and his command were genuinely distressed. He took us until we were fairly close to two of our lifeboats, and then we found ourselves once again, swimming for our lives.

We could scarcely see the boats when we were in the water, owing to the heavy sea. One English officer helped Mary and Squadron Leader Wells again helped me. I am a poor swimmer, and he -– a magnificent swimmer but now a sick man, gave of his best to get me into a boat. We swam for nearly fifty minutes and part of that time he towed me and swam for both of us. He would not abandon me and finally, telling me to keep going slowly, he swam off with speed and gained a boat, telling them to come back for us. That boat had only one oar, so they signaled to the second boat, whose occupants slowly made towards us. Utterly exhausted but thankful, Mary and I and two men were helped into the already crowded boat. I learned afterwards that Squadron Leader Well died ten days later…..’a very gallant gentleman’.

We found ourselves the only two women with 66 men, all British except for two Polish cadets officers, in a thirty foot boat. Most of the others who were in the submarine failed to reach a boat and perished there in the Atlantic when rescue was almost at hand

I was wearing very little clothing when I left the U-Boat, but a naval rating immediately removed his vest and gave it to me, and an airman stripped off his shirt and put that on me. In those garments only, I remained for many days. The others were also given a few dry things. An Italian submarine arrived before nightfall and picked up all the Italians from two other lifeboats, and remained to watch over us all night.

The sixty-eight of us were to be companions for many long and bitter days. Most were destined not to survive the dreadful journey in that boat. There were among our number at the beginning, a Lt. Colonel, a Squadron Leader, an assistant purser, an assistant ship’s engineer, a lieutenant of the Fleet Air Arm, an electrician, a pilot officer, two Polish officers and other ranks from all services plus the young ship’s surgeon, Dr. Geoffrey Purslow. When the ship was torpedoed, Dr. Purslow placed his three hospital patients, together with his first-aid equipment, in a lifeboat and returned on deck to help other passengers get away. Finally, he had to swim away from the ship and he climbed into a lifeboat. This was not his original boat, and so he was separated from his equipment.

EDITOR NOTE – for those not with Sharkhunters for a long period of time, we ran a story about that B-24 LIBERATOR that attacked this rescue effort. He realized that there was a rescue in progress and he flew away without making any attack. When he landed at his island base and made his report, his C.O. ordered him to go back and despite the obvious rescue operation, ordered him to attack and sink the U-Boat. There was no error, no confusion – the pilot saw it was a rescue effort but his C.O. ordered him to return and attack. The U-Boats were not damaged, but a great many Allied military and other personnel paid the ultimate price for this order.

He stayed in this boat until morning then, when several men decided to swim away because it was overcrowded, he went too and swam to another one less full. The occupants of the boat which he had left were rescued five days later.

Dr. Purslow and other officers checked over the equipment and food in the boat. Much of what should have been provided was missing, including the medicine chest. There were only five oars, one of which was later used as a mast – some tools and white lead; a length of rope; a bucket; a compass and a battery lamp with no spare battery. There were no rockets or flares, no sail and only two blankets, which were used to make a jib. The rudder was missing.

Dr. Purslow and others made and erected a sail from the tarpaulin cover, lashed to an oar. They called him the navigating doctor, as he had considerable experience of sailing during his student days.

The boat in which we rode had kept with the main body of boats for two or three days, but one night it had drifted off into the darkness and in the morning, only three other boats were in sight. Later the U-Boat had come upon them and asked if they wanted anything. Dr. Purslow asked for some bandages, and a few were provided. They were also given some water and hot coffee.

The boat was a thirty-foot wooden lifeboat, and by the time we were taken into it, it had a leak in one side which necessitated pumping by day and night. The U-Boat commander, before submerging, told us that the nearest land was 600 miles away and had advised us to try to keep NNE. He added that we should ‘never make it’. Although we had a compass, we had no skilled navigator or charts.

We were packed so tightly together that it was almost impossible even to ease our position during that first long, cold night as we sat shoulder to shoulder. The next morning, Thursday, we started to sail for the coast, as we had no idea where the ‘rendezvous’ was nor whether the Vichy ships would keep their appointment. Since we had only fifteen gallons of water for 68 people and a minimum of 600 miles to go, the officers in charge of the boat decided that it was unwise to wait about and so, waste valuable time.

During the morning, an American plane sighted us, circled low over us twice, flashed us a message which unfortunately no one could read, and flew off. We were jubilant and hope ran high. In a few hours, a flying boat would come and pick us all up. In a day or two a destroyer would be there seeking us, or a convoy would be diverted to rescue us. So the hopeful suggestions ran, and we believed them all in turn. Finally however, as nothing came, we settled down and determined to make land.

At first the men rowed in shifts by day and night, others taking turns at the tiller but after some days, the rowing was discontinued as they became too weak. A jib was made from our two blankets and we relied on the wind to carry us along. Our daily ration of food, dispensed by Dr. Purslow and the colonel, was as follows:

Morning – four or five Horlick’s tablets, three pieces of chocolate (1 ½” x ¾” x 1/8”). No water
Evening – two ship’s biscuits, small by very dry and hard; one teaspoonful of pemmican. 2 ounces of water

After a few nights, a place was made where Mary and I could lie side by side and we tried to keep each other warm by lying very close together but the wind seemed to blow through us and sometimes we were soaked as a wave broke over the boat. It was dark in that latitude from about 6:30pm to 6am.

The days passed in a dreadful monotony. Nobody had anything to do. Mary & I used to sit during those first days ‘up forward’ behind the sail, where there was a little shade in the mornings, for we were in equatorial waters and the sun was almost unbearable by 10am.

We all talked of our homes, or families and friends – of what we would do when we were rescued and when we reached home. We discussed the things we were going to eat and drink, and spoke of most of the things we had ever eaten in the past. We were unanimous in declaring that water would always be treated with great respect in the future and that we should never again refuse a drink or complain about our food! Mary and I were always confident, and our sense of humor persisted.

Strange as it may seem, I never failed to appreciate the beauty of the ever-changing sea and sky, and I often thought that, given better conditions, one could enjoy a similar voyage. It would, we decided, be necessary to be suitably clad, to have adequate food and drink, suitable protection from the elements when necessary and a means of navigation and locomotion. It would, of course, be pleasant to be among one’s friends. We should need books, handwork, fishing tackle and a few games. For those who live busy lives in noisy places, whose lives are spent under the tyranny of the telephone and doorbell but who love the sea – nothing could be a more complete rest and cure.

Quite a number of us shared this opinion and it gave us a good topic of conversation. As each became interested and contributed a suggestion or a criticism, we became quite enthusiastic and thus we kept our minds from our own danger and suffering for a while. The beauties of the sea and sky are always worth noting. We saw the most lovely colored tropical fish through the transparent blue water, clouds of blue green flying fish, their fins shining silver in the sunlight as, leaving the water, they darted through the air to strike the water again with a little splash. We saw brown gulls and other birds, flying in flocks and excitedly diving, crying and fighting as they came upon a school of fish. We saw porpoises tumbling through the water.

Less pleasant was the sight of the sharks’ dorsal fins cleaving the surface, often following our boat with uncanny knowledge. One day we saw several whales quite close to us, their great bodies making a smooth green patch as they moved near the surface. Suddenly we would glimpse the dark forms half out of the water and from time to time they noisily spouted jets of water into the air.

The sun always set in a blaze of glory, reflected in the sea, and left an afterglow of colors which spread across the sky and lasted until the blue shadows of night stretched across and took their place. Then the moon came up, making a silver pathway across the waves, and the stars came out and twinkled encouragingly, looking larger and nearer than those in the English sky.

In the morning we watched the sun rise, for it was then that occasionally just a few drops of very fine rain fell, lasting less than five minutes usually, but we liked to feel it on our faces. So we were awake as dawn came and streaks of light came across the sky, and then the sun came quickly over the horizon and it was day, and hope was born anew.

One of our number was the 4th Engineer of the ship, William Henderson by name, and he never spared himself in his work for the comfort and safety of us all. He made a rudder from some pieces or wood, and two of the lads went over the site to fit it. He organized the ‘pumping squad’, himself taking the longest night watch, when it was coldest and most difficult to keep alert and if anyone fell out, he was always there, ready to carry on. One day he made one of the doors covering the buoyancy tanks into floor boards so that ‘the ladies’ might be a little more comfortable at night, and two more into notice boards on which was painted with white lead: “S.O.S. WATER!”, this to be held aloft should any aircraft pass our way again. Another day, with great care, he removed two buoyancy tanks and discovered the position of the worst leak. Then, with the help of two other men, the place was made more or less watertight by teasing out rope and impregnating it with white lead and pressing it firmly into the crack.

Several mornings found him cold and blue, and we had to chafe his limbs to bring him back to consciousness. Those of us who finally reached safety must always remember with deep gratitude and pride, Billy Henderson’s selflessness and devotion to duty on what was to prove his last voyage – for one morning, we found that he was no longer breathing.

In spite of such losses, with each new day came fresh hope. Surely today must be the day? Was there anything on the horizon? Could that be smoke? Yes! No – only a wisp of cloud. All day we longed for our minute water ration, which came at 5 o’clock. Our worst torture was thirst. After a time we could quite easily bear the lack of food, but the lack of water tried us sorely. When each water ration was passed along, everyone peered at it with longing as it went from hand to hand. When we received our precious drop, we took a sip – ran it round our teeth and gums, gargled with it and finally swallowed it. We repeated this until not a drop nor a drip was left clinging to the little biscuit tin from which we drank. After five minutes, we could not tell that we’d had any, so quickly did our parched bodies absorb the fluid. As we grew weaker and our mouths more and more dry, we only spoke when necessary. Whenever we had a few minutes of fine rain, as occasionally happened in the very early morning, it was a pathetic sight to see all those people with their dry, brown tongues out, heads thrown back, trying to catch just a few drops. It’s a sight I shall never forget.

SS Laconia U-Boat Attack From Both Sides [Part 1 KTB 170]
SS Laconia U-Boat Attack From Both Sides [Part 2 KTB 172]
SS Laconia U-Boat Attack From Both Sides [Part 3 KTB 173]
SS Laconia U-Boat Attack From Both Sides [Part 4 KTB 174]
SS Laconia U-Boat Attack From Both Sides [Part 5 KTB 175]
SS Laconia U-Boat Attack From Both Sides [Part 6 KTB 175]