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 176]

Many other heroic acts are not recorded in detail in this story. We who survived, will remember some whose patience, tact and courage were an inspiration. Amongst others, we think of the man with the broken arm – his hand and arm swollen and painful throughout that long journey to the African coast, whose only complaint was that he was unable to row and to help with the navigating. He was a most energetic member of the “pumping squad”, and always cheerful and uncomplaining.

We remember with gratitude the Irishman, no longer young, who was ever optimistic and comforting – and full of ingenuity over the sail and jib. He would sit considering then, if he thought of an improvement, he would energetically undo work which he had done perhaps only an hour before, and refix the sail and ropes so that we might take fuller advantage of the wind prevailing at the time. He was always giving as many as possible jobs to do.

We think too, of the assistant Purser, who inspired the forward end of the boat and was always among the first to move if there was a job to be done. We were impressed by the quiet, unassuming way in which the R.A.F. corporal helped us in those last trying days in the boat – it was he who lent his overcoat to cover Mary at night when the blanket was taken to make the jib. Only those who have lived through such an experience can know how big the little things seem and how one word or action, or one person’s optimism, can change the atmosphere for everyone.

…..Out of 51 – only four made it…..

I feel that this narrative would not be complete without some mention of those who were in other lifeboats – the boat into which Squadron Leader Wells was taken started off towards the coast, as we did. There were fifty-one men but no women or children in that boat, which had even less equipment than we had, and only three gallons of water. Their numbers decreased rapidly. They managed to catch plenty of fish and after three weeks, when they had been three days without water, they had plenty of water then but they were at sea for thirty-five days before being sighted by a convoy. There were only four alive then – naval ratings – and these were picked up and actually reached Freetown before we did, since their rescue ship took them direct.

One young Army officer, who had been wounded at Tobruk and who’d had ten operations in the Middle East as a result, had a particularly interesting experience and a miraculous escape. I have his permission to quote from his letter which tells how the Vichy French kept their appointment…..

'As you remember, I was in hospital when the torpedoes struck (he’d had a toenail removed two days before) but luckily I always carried a haversack with a water bottle plus a bottle of whiskey and my medical records, plus my old greatcoat. So I put on the greatcoat, loaded my revolver, shouldered the haversack and set off for my prisoner of war emergency guard station, but it took me some time to get there owing to the panic. I was down on the promenade deck when Mary, you and Sally arrived. Your boat was about the last to leave and after we saw the last boat go, we clambered over the side to a raft. I was on the raft all night. As dawn broke on the Sunday, we found ourselves near a submerged lifeboat which was gunwales under but didn’t sink because of the buoyancy tanks.

We had three days and nights on it – or in it, and except for my tow, which was very painful, we fared better than on a raft but we were up to our waists in water day and night. We had seven British companions, of whom one died, and five Italians who all died.

After the third night, we saw another lifeboat in sight – the first thing we’d seen since the sinking and as luck would have it, it was coming our way and we joyfully clambered on board. It was good to be dry once more but like you, we were packed like sardines – fifty-one instead of the regulation twenty-four, as it was one of the wee wireless motorboats. They had decided to hang around near the sinking, but that morning they set off on a N.E. course and after two days and nights, we saw a cruiser on the skyline which turned out to be the French cruiser LeGLOIRE, sent out from Dakar to pick us up. Fourteen lifeboats were picked up with 500 British and 400 Italian survivors. Different stories were being circulated about all those not present. You were definitely drowned, I heard.

The cruiser sailed around the spot where our ship was sunk, then set off for Dakar where she refueled before taking us to Casablanca where we were all popped into an internment camp – the women and children in one, service personnel in the other. When on the third day they held a sick parade, they saw my wound and rushed me to the local military hospital. Life there was much more pleasant, the only trouble being that, with my size, they couldn’t get clothes for me – especially for my big feet! And I only had pyjamas and a greatcoat. However, they managed to procure a sackcloth suit and with some boots on an ersatz material, a shirt and a tie (blue with yellow spots) and string socks, I was indeed well off.

The writer continues the letter she received from the Army officer:

The colonel in charge of the hospital arranged for me to go to France and be interviewed by their plastic surgeons with a view to repatriation. I was to go on 20th October (we arrived in Casablanca on 20th September) but God was with me, and the ship was full. I eventually left on 5th November and the ship crawled along the North African coast and was to put in to Oran Bay, then cross to Marseilles.

On November 8th the Allies put in their attack on North Africa and on the night of November 7th I saw a greyhound looking shape loom alongside, and order us to halt. A British destroyer! I was taken off next day and they put me on the senior naval officer’s ship, and I saw the whole show at Oran.

From there I was taken to Algiers, which was packed with British shipping – a magnificent sight. The first ship I saw was the (he could not state the ship’s name at the time of the letter) safe and sound, having been home and out again. This was the ship on which we had started our voyage. We were trans shipped at Durban onto the vessel which was torpedoed.

I got a colossal welcome and we were home in eight days. The rest, interned in Casablanca, were released when the Allies landed and were repatriated, coming back via America.”

The writer resumes her story…………….

As I look back over these experiences, although I am no expert in matters connected with the sea, I cannot but feel that a few simple readjustments in the lifeboat equipment might have made our story very different.

Obviously, the most vital need is for water. With an adequate supply, the regulation food is no doubt fairly easy to manage. The small apparatus for purifying seawater, which has recently been devised, should be made a compulsory part of the equipment. In my opinion, concentrated fruit juice and tinned milk would, in any case, be useful additions.

Fishing nets & lines would take up only a small space but they’d have brought us an adequate supply of fresh fish, which is full of nourishment and very good, even eaten raw in such circumstances.

Had the essential equipment, such as the rockets and flares, medical supplies and water been SECURED in such a way that loss would be impossible in the event of the lifeboat capsizing, I feel that many more of our number would have reached safety. There may be good explanations for all this but I don’t know them.

It is impossible to imagine why I should have been chosen to survive when so many did not. I have been reluctant to write the story of our experiences but in answer to many requests, I have done so and if it strengthens someone’s faith, if it is an inspiration to any, if it brings home to others hitherto untouched, all that ‘those who go down to the sea in ships’ face for our sake, hour by hour, day by day, year in and year out – it will not have been written in vain.

This ends an outstanding first-person memory by Oris Hawkins, the only woman survivor, of a time on the open ocean in the autumn of 1942. We appreciate first-person memories such as this, and encourage others to send us theirs.

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]
SS Laconia U-Boat Attack From Both Sides [Part 6 KTB 176]