大象传媒

My name is Sheila Maytham and I am a young 80 years, living in a delightful retirement village in Umhlanga Rocks, Kwazulu Natal, South Africa. My brother, David, now retired and living in Gouda, Holland told me of Rosemary Mack鈥檚 article TORPEDOED IN THE SOUTH ATLANTIC on the S.S. 鈥淏odegraven鈥� on the night of 2nd July 1944, (Reference A2726994 by BurfordACL U728315), and as we were on the same ship, here are my very different experiences of the same event. Fortunately I had made a record of them as soon as we got home, so the details are taken directly from my diary.

I shall call them 鈥淭ales from the Lower Deck鈥� !

My brother, David Leslie, and I were sent to South Africa in 1940 after Dunkirk, to stay with our Aunt in Cape Town. I was just 16 so went to a commercial college while my brother went as a boarder to Wynberg Boys High School. My Aunt died just before I was 18 so I went to work and lived in a boarding house until David finished school at the end of 1943.
It was not easy to get a sea passage to U.K. during wartime, but after waiting 6 months, we were informed, with a few hours' notice, to report to the Docks. My current boyfriend in the Royal Naval Medical Corp. 鈥渂orrowed鈥� a Naval ambulance to take David and me and all our possessions into the Docks, where we found we were on a small Dutch cargo-passenger ship, the S.S. Bodegraven, carrying 57 passengers. I shared a cabin with 3 other girls, one, Olive, was a Rhodesian going to England to be married to an RAF bomber pilot, and the other two girls, Muriel and Sybil, were South Africans, who had both trained as pilots and they were hoping to join the A.T.A. in England.
The ship was not in convoy. The first few days were uneventful except for daily lifeboat drill. The eight gunners on the ship were English and so were the two wireless operators and the cadet officer, and all saw to it that we were kept amused. One of our stewards was English too, a little cockney with a stutter. He showed very plainly one of the differences between the first and second class passengers, for we were allowed to use the same decks, lounge etc., but we had different dining saloons. The first class passengers were served by white-coated waiters, we by 鈥淣obby鈥� and his mate in their shirt sleeves.. The first class were summoned to their meals by a sweet-sounding gong, we by 鈥淣obby鈥� coming round the deck and saying 鈥淓y鈥-t-tea鈥檚 ready鈥�..
Then came Sunday night, 2nd July. We had just crossed the Equator and at 11 p.m. I was where I should really not have been - in the wireless cabin drinking cocoa with one of the radio operators, when there was a terrific explosion. The lights went out and the whole ship rocked and shuddered. Everything came crashing down round us in the darkness. The next thing I remember was a horrible smell of ammonia gas and Ian pushing me out of the cabin and telling me to go to my boat station while he went back to try to get out an S.O.S. message The combined effort of all three radio officers failed, however, as the aerials had been destroyed and the emergency set had also been damaged. .I stumbled straight to my boat station as the wireless cabin was situated on the boat deck, just opposite No.4 boat. There was silence on deck except for the sound of water rushing from a burst water tank above me and in the bright moonlight all I could see was a mass of wreckage in front of me where No.4 lifeboat should have been, as we were almost directly above where the torpedo had struck 鈥� between the after-hold and the engine room. Then the silence was broken by the sound of 7 short blasts and one long on the ship's klaxton - the signal for abandon ship! Soon people began to appear and the deck was a scene of frantic activity . Someone brushed past me muttering 鈥渢he children, the children鈥�. I could see people getting into the other three lifeboats. Although our boat had been wrecked, we had strict instructions not to crowd into the other boats, but to go down to the after-deck where wooden rafts were being launched. On the way I caught a glimpse of No.3 boat, in which I knew David should be, being safely lowered into the water. The rafts allocated to our boat were on the port side of the after deck, but these too had been completely smashed.
I still could not realise we were sinking until I reached the after-deck and found we were knee- deep in water with the sea breaking over the stern and port side in great waves. There I found Muriel, and we were just in time to see someone cut loose the last raft, so we made our way through the swirling wreckage, held hands and jumped overboard. Fortunately we were swept in the same direction as the raft, so did not have too hard a swim, though I was told afterwards it was about 100 yards, and when we reached the raft, it took all our energy to pull ourselves on board. I just lay there and gasped, consequently I missed seeing the ship's bows rise suddenly upright as she slipped quickly and quietly beneath the water -just 10 minutes after the torpedo had struck.

I sat up and found my companions were Muriel, a Mrs. Pomeroy, the ship's carpenter, who was lying on one end of the raft with a broken leg, and 4 other seamen. To our horror, as we looked towards where the ship had been, we saw a long, low, dark outline appearing, capped by a conning tower! The enemy submarine! All around us in the water and on the three boats and rafts, red lights were twinkling as everyone started to use the light attached to their lifejackets. However, the appearance of the submarine caused us all to put out our lights, and there was silence as we watched figures appear on the conning tower. The submarine captain used a loud-hailer to ask in English the name of the ship, her cargo, and then called for the captain. There was silence.... Then a few bursts of gunfire. In the interests of us all, the Captain then gave himself up and was made to swim to the submarine and was taken prisoner. The sub. then submerged again as silently as she came.
We felt very relieved that we had been left alone and became very busy as we tried to get organized. We explored the contents of the lockers in the raft, and besides emergency food supplies, found a short mast and red sail and strips of waterproof canvas that could be erected round the raft with the aid of metal stanchions about 2 ft. long, to keep out some of the water and provide a little shelter from the wind. We were all very sick and cold and covered in oil and scantily clad as we were in the tropics. We settled down as best we could to wait and pray that daylight and a warm sun would come quickly. The moon had gone, a cold wind sprang up and made the sea very choppy. I do not think I ever knew a night more long or cold.
Slowly the dawn came, but the day was grey and the sea still choppy. The raft rode the waves well, rising to the crests and then sliding down to the troughs of the waves in a most disconcerting manner until we gradually became accustomed to the motion and began to feel less ill. The ship's lifeboats had all drifted in different directions during the night, but we could still see two red sails - a lifeboat and another raft. Very gradually we manouvered closer and after some difficulty, a long rope was passed from the boat to our raft and we were taken in tow. It was decided that as we did not know how long it would be before we were found, no S.O.S. message having been sent, and only when we did not arrive in Freetown would we be missed, that the 4 men on the second raft should come on to ours and bring their stores with them. A tight squash, but at least we had food which should last at least a week. The other raft was then cast adrift and was soon out of sight.
I found that under my lifejacket I still had my sling handbag over my shoulder, so after emptying the water out, I took stock of my few possessions. I was the only one who possessed a comb and mirror, and a card of safety pins, which were soon snapped up by various needy souls. I also had a handkerchief, which was dipped in sea water and passed round to wipe the oil from our faces. We saw that a shark was very persistently following us at a distance of about six feet behind the raft, which put paid to all hopes Muriel and I had of slipping over the side for toilet purposes; we had to resign ourselves to no privacy at all but use a small empty biscuit tin which had to be passed to the side to be emptied.
Twice during the first day our hopes were raised when an aeroplane was seen on the horizon. We hopefully let off a few smoke signals but we were not seen and the planes disappeared again, taking our hopes with them. The second night was a little easier than the first, we were all stiff and sore but no longer sick. The next morning another plane was seen in the far distance, but it flew straight on and never saw us, and we began to realise how vast and lonely the ocean could be. The tow-line broke a couple of times and we were afraid that we should lose our only comfort, the fact that the other boat was with us and they had a compass on board, so we were sailing very slowly in the direction of land. We calculated that we should have reached the coast in another 3 days.
Just after 5 p.m. someone shouted from the boat that they could see smoke on the horizon. Gradually the shape of a funnel and mast appeared, then the whole ship was silhouetted on the skyline. It was clearly a naval vessel, not a merchantman. We were so excited, and from our low position in the waves some were even sure it was a battleship! But as the ship drew nearer it seemed to grow smaller instead of larger, and we realized it was a naval trawler. We were right in her path so she could not help seeing us. Enthusiastically we took down our sail and mast, and my comb and mirror were hastily passed round again. Oh how good it was to hear a calm English voice giving us instructions across the water and to see a row of English sailors grinning at us. They drew alongside our raft first, and as the sides of the trawler were so low, the sailors just had to lean over and lift us on board and we were taken to the Captain's little cabin, where steaming cups of cocoa were awaiting us.
The crew of the H,M.S. Pict, as the trawler was aptly named, were very kind, but with 47 survivors on board, 10 of them women, space was very limited. There were only 4 officers on board and we had our meals in relays in the tiny wardroom and food was rationed, especially water. The sailors lent Muriel and me white shorts and white square-necked sailor鈥檚 shirts and these we wore for the whole 5 days we were on this ship. The sailors seemed quite thrilled at the new additions to their crew and we helped them paint the ship and swab the decks as we had done on the 鈥淏odegraven鈥�. The older women were given the Captain鈥檚 cabin the sleep in, but most of us slept on the open deck, one blanket between four of us. Knowing the submarine was still somewhere in the vicinity, we felt, in a small measure safer there, though one of the sailors had cheerfully told us that if we were hit, the ship was so small none of us would know anything about it!
On Thursday, the third night, at about 11 p.m., one of the officers dashed down from the bridge and woke us up to tell us that a corvette was signaling to us in the distance saying she had survivors on board.. We scrambled to the side and out of the blackness we could see a light winking in and out. My knowledge of morse was only sufficient to pick out the odd letters at that speed, but Ian and Bob, our two radio operators from the Bodegraven, translated for us. The corvette said they had picked up lifeboat No.3, the boat my brother should have been in, so I asked the signaler to ask if David was amongst them, also Mrs. Pomeroy鈥檚 husband and our two cabin companions, Olive and Sybil. Back came the answer -- 鈥淟eslie 鈥� yes, Pomeroy 鈥� yes. We all whooped with excitement and then sobered down when we read the rest of the message 鈥淎ssersohn. and Starfield, no. Is Peter Lanser with you?鈥� Peter was one of the six children on the Bodegraven, and the other two were our cabin companions, Olive and Sybil., who we found out later had gone down with the ship. After that exchange of messages the corvette vanished into the night, but my mind was more easy, knowing David was safe.
On Saturday morning, we sighted the coast of Sierra Leone, and by midday had reached Freetown. The trawler anchored in the Bay and after saying farewell to our rescuers, we were taken by launch to the little jetty. There waiting to meet us were the lads from boat No.3. They had arrived the previous day, their corvette being able to travel faster than our trawler, and they had already been rigged out with new clothes, khaki drill shorts, topees, stockings, black shoes and blue shirts, and very smart they all looked standing there waving to us in the sunshine. In contrast, we were still dirty, in borrowed clothes and most of us bare-footed.

Continued in Chapter 2

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