大象传媒

MEMORIES OF WORLD WAR 11 鈥� BEING TORPEDOED IN THE SOUTH ATLANTIC 鈥� JULY 1944 (by Rosemary Mack (nee Derwent)

In 1938 , when I was 3 years old, my father, who was serving in the Royal Navy, was appointed to the staff of the C in C South Africa and South Atlantic based in Simonstown. My brother Peter was born there in October 1939 and Patrick in August 1943. Also in 1943, I had my appendix out in Capetown General Hospital and because of complications, I spent a month in hospital. The other children used to cry a lot, specially when visiting ended (it was only half an hour a day.) I used to sit on their beds and cuddle them 鈥� the nurses were pretty unsympathetic. One of these children had very bad whooping cough and often haemorrhaged, which terrified her. I used to cuddle her too 鈥� with serious consequences!
By the time I eventually left hospital, I too had contracted whooping cough and was haemorrhaging myself. One recently qualified doctor decided 鈥� without benfit of a chest x-ray, that I had TB and said I must spend three months in bed. Our passages to England were already booked, as my father was due to return for a briefing before being appointed as secretary to Admiral Egerton, who was going to Moscow as Head of the Naval Mission. Because of the diagnosis of TB, I was not allowed to travel and our passages were cancelled. Our Nanny left us and my father took my mother andmy brothers and myself to friends of his called Mr and Mrs Shakespeare, who owned a fruit farm at Somerset West. They were very kind to us and lent me lots of books to read. My father rigged up a hammock for me on the banks of the river which ran through the garden and then he left and I did not see him again for three years. When I was pronounced fit to travel, (an eventual x-ray revealing no trace of TB scar tissue) we still could not leave south Africa as we had to wait for a convoy 鈥� ships were not allowed to cross the Atlantic unescorted during the War. My mother became very fed-up and constantly blamed me for catching 鈥淭B鈥�. It was apparently all my own fault, as I would 鈥渘ever have caught it if I hadn鈥檛 cuddled that wretched child in hospital鈥�! It is very easy to make children feel guilty and I did feel so. But worse was to come.
We eventually obtained passages on board a small Dutch cargo-passenger ship called SS Bodegraven and duly sailed in a convoy of about 30 ships in late June 1944. We loved the Bodegraven 鈥� her Captain, Captain Molenaar, was a plump, jolly Dutchman, who was always joking and laughing and all his ship鈥檚 company were very kind. We were particularly fond of the Second Officer, whom we called Uncle Dirk. My brother Peter, ths baby Patrick and I shared our mother鈥檚 cabin and our replacement
鈥淣anny 鈥� had the cabin next to us. She was not a trained Nanny 鈥� she had replied to my parents鈥� advertisement for someone to help my mother look after us on the passage home, in return for a salary and the payment of her passage home. She was a member of what the Navy called the 鈥淔ishing Fleet鈥� 鈥� unattached girls who established themselves around Naval ports hoping to find a husband, and she had run out of money. I explain this because it makes her subsequent behaviour even more unbelievable.
Several days after we had left Capetown, Peter and I were playing on deck with some other children, one of whom was fair-haired and four years old like Peter- he was also called Peter. We suddenly noticed that the convoy, which had been all around us, was drawing away, with the escorts. When I asked one of the rather serious looking grown-ups why the convoy was leaving us, he explained that the Bodegraven could not keep up with the rest of the convoy and that therefore she had to be left behind because the convoy could not slow down for one ship. Nanny was crying and so were several of the other women passengers. The convoy soon disappeared and we were left alone on a very empty looking sea. The ship began steering a zig-zag course, which it was hoped would make it harder for a torpedo to hit us.
That night, Peter and I went to bed as usual and my mother went off to have dinner, taking Patrick in his carrycot with her. Every night she left him on deck whilst she had dinner and then she would return to our cabin, change into her silk pyjamas and dressing-gown, and go back on deck to fetch the carrycot. She said it was because Patrick had prickly heat. When she switched on the light in the cabin, I always woke up and I was lying watching her remove her make-up when there was a tremendous crash . My mother rushed across to Peter, shouting to me to put on my dressing-gown and Life-jacket, whilst she put Peter into his. Before I had time to put on my bedroom slippers or grab my dolls, she hustled us both next door to Nanny鈥檚 cabin, intending that she should take Peter and I to the lifeboat. However, the cabin was empty- Nanny had already gone! So, my mother told me to look after Peter and on no account to go back into our cabin. 鈥淯ncle Dirk will come for you鈥�, she said, 鈥淚 have to go and fetch the baby鈥� and off she raced. I held Peter鈥檚 hand and told him everything would be alright 鈥� but I was by no means sure myself. There was a lot of noise 鈥� people shouting orders, a woman screaming, crashes and bangs and people running.
I very much wanted to go back into our cabin to rescue my dolls but I was a very strictly disciplined child , so I knew that I mustn鈥檛. (Just as well. My mother told me later that one poor woman had reached her lifeboat and then said 鈥淢y fur coat鈥� and had run back to her cabin to fetch it. The cabin door swung to and jammed and she was lost.)
Uncle Dirk then ran up and asked me which lifeboat we were in. I said 鈥漀umber 1 boat鈥� Because we had had several boat drills and I knew which was ours and where to find it. In fact, I could have taken Peter there myself, but having been told to wait for Uncle Dirk, I did so. As the ship sank in ten minutes this could have been unfortunate, but luckily he did come, although he must have left his action station to do so. I remember him running across the saloon with Peter and I on either hand. There was broken glass all over the carpet, and I remember thinking that I must be careful not to cut my feet, which were bare. A record - or the wireless - was still playing, it was Vera Lynn singing 鈥淵ou鈥檒l never know鈥�, and even now I feel cold all over whenever I hear it. We reached our lifeboat, which was already swung out on the davits, and Uncle Kirk lifted us into it and ran off. Nanny was sitting in the boat (surprise, surprise!!) and having hysterics (no surprise). She didn鈥檛 seem to register that we were there, so I put my arm around Peter and said that everything would be alright and that mummy would be here soon. Then they began to lower the boat. I jumped up and shouted 鈥淵ou can鈥檛 go yet, our mummy isn鈥檛 hear鈥� but no-one took any notice. That was one of the worst things about my subsequent nightmares - shouting and shouting and no-one taking any notice at all. WE were quite a long way down and I was still looking up at the deck of the ship, when our mother came running up with the carrycot shouting 鈥淩osemary, are you there?鈥� and I shouted 鈥淵es, and Peter鈥檚 here too and we鈥檙e alright鈥� and then she shouted 鈥淐atch the baby鈥� and threw him down to me - he was a long thin baby so it wasn鈥檛 too difficult. Then she threw down the carrycot and panic bag and jumped down herself. Nanny made an immediate recovery when she saw her, and said 鈥淩osemary, give the baby to me鈥� but my mother turned on her furiously and said 鈥淪he鈥檚 more capable than you are of looking after him, leave her alone.鈥� This made a great impression on me because my mother seldom praised me, then or later.
Then lots of sailors jumped into the lifeboat, and landed on top of us which was very frightening, but then we reached the surface of the sea and they sorted themselves out, grabbed the oars, and started rowing away from the ship. The sea was very black, and the waves were quite large. There was a moon, nearly full, but there was a lot of wind, and clouds kept covering it, so that everything was dark. We were all looking back and watching the ship. Her lights were all on and we saw them tilt and then the ship disappeared. It was very dark and there was no sign of the other lifeboats. My mother told me to go on holding the baby and keep an eye on Peter, because she had just discovered that the other Peter, the little boy who looked like my brother, had been put into our lifeboat by mistake. It subsequently turned out that he had been separated from his mother and sister, and in the confusion someone picked him up and said 鈥淲hat鈥檚 your name?鈥� He said 鈥淧eter鈥� without giving his surname, and this person said 鈥淭hat鈥檚 the Derwents, they鈥檙e in number 1 boat鈥�, and put him into it. Unfortunately, his family were in number 2 boat and his poor mother thought for over a week that he had been lost. The three surviving lifeboats had scattered to avoid the vortex as the ship sank, and we didn鈥檛 sight them again, although we survivors were all reunited in Freetown nine days later.

Having settled both Peters, my mother took the baby back from me, and a kind passenger took me onto his knee, where I fell asleep. I don鈥檛 think that I slept for long, but when I awoke there was a tense feeling in the boat, which I sensed immediately. I looked round and saw what I thought was a whale, wallowing up out of the sea a few yards from us. When it was lying on the surface, I realised it was a submarine. (My father often used to take me down to the Dockyard at Simonstown, so I knew about submarines.) The water was streaming down its sides, and it looked terrifying. The conning tower opened, and several men climbed out onto the coaming. I can鈥檛 remember clearly whether they brought the machinegun with them, or whether it was already mounted on the coaming, but there it was, pointing straight at us. A German officer shouted in English that they wanted our Captain aboard the submarine. I heard Uncle Dirk, who was near me, say something like 鈥淜eep down, Sir鈥�, and then he stood up and said that the Captain was not in the lifeboat, and that he had gone down with his ship. The German officer then became very angry - he said that he had stopped one of the other lifeboats and had been told that the Captain was in Number 1 boat. 鈥淵our boat鈥�, he said, and then they fired a burst of machine gun fire above our heads, but not very far above. Uncle Dirk shouted 鈥淭here are women and children in this boat鈥�. The Germans laughed, and the officer said 鈥淪o, the next time we fire we shall make holes below your waterline. You will sink slowly and the sharks will get you鈥�. Then the Captain stood up and shouted 鈥淚 am here. Give me a line鈥濃�� and the Germans threw a line which was made fast to the mast of the lifeboat. We watched the Captain going across to the submarine hand-over-hand on the line. He looked very small hanging above the sea like that, and the sailors were very upset. When he reached the submarine, the Germans grabbed him and hustled him along the coaming and down the conning tower. Then they followed him and the submarine dived - a few minutes later there was nothing left except a churning in the sea.

When I woke up again it was getting light. We were given Horlicks tablets and ship鈥檚 biscuit which was very hard. Our mother chewed some up and put it into the baby鈥檚 mouth - he didn鈥檛 seem to like it much. She only had a little dried milk in the panic bag, and some nappies - but not enough. She had to wash the dirty nappies out over the side of the lifeboat, and someone told her to be careful because of the sharks, but she laughed and said that she had heard that sharks were afraid of white. (I learned later that the reverse is true, however, she managed to retain her fingers!) The worse thing for me was having to use a bucket for a lavatory, and I insisted on having a blanket over my head (as our Mother and Nanny did) which I was told was very silly. However, being a shy child, I really couldn鈥檛 have borne to sit on a bucket in front of everyone. We had dried vegetables made into a sort of stew for lunch, and funny tasting water, made from sea water with de-salination tablets. We weren鈥檛 allowed much because it was rationed. It was quite hot when the sun came up, and the sailors rigged a sail and we went tearing along, which helped to cool things down. I sat on someone鈥檚 knee that night, and slept quite a bit.

When I woke up it was getting light and everyone in the lifeboat was cheering. The sky was grey and a bit misty and out of the mist came a grey ship. She was HMS Fal, a frigate on patrol who had been sent to search for us. The lifeboat came alongside her, and scrambling nets were hung over the ship鈥檚 side. We had to climb up them, which was frightening as the lifeboat was pitching up and down - it put me off gym for life! I remember reaching the deck and collapsing in a heap and a great big bearded sailor picked me up and said 鈥淭here you are, my sweetheart, you鈥檙e alright now, aren鈥檛 you?鈥� and I wound my arms round his neck and wouldn鈥檛 let go for ages. Our mother, Nanny, the baby, the Peters and myself were taken to the Sick Bay and given the most delicious meal of ship鈥檚 kye (a very strong, sweet Naval version of cocoa), and Welsh rarebit, which is still one of my favourite things.

We spent a week on board HMS Fal, because she couldn鈥檛 leave her patrol until relieved - there were, as we had good reason to know, German submarines in the area, because it was crossed by the convoy routes, the sailors were so kind to us. They were all taking clothes and sweets home to their own children, but they kept leaving them outside the Sick Bay for us. The Peters and I were allowed the run of the ship, even the bridge, but the engine room was out of bounds. The only proviso was that if Action Stations sounded, we had to go straight back to the Sick Bay by the quickest route, and I was trusted to see that we did so. I had to be really, as Nanny was quite useless. She purloined some of the lint given to my mother to make nappies for the baby, and made herself a two-piece bathing costume out of it (it was, of course, before the advent of the bikini.) She spent all day lying on deck sun-bathing, to the delight of the sailors and the frequently-expressed rage of my mother!!
I had arrived onboard HMS Fal barefoot, because I hadn鈥檛 had time to put on my slippers, but this was swiftly remedied by the Navy鈥檚 usual inventiveness. One of the ship鈥檚 officers, Lieutenant John Stroud, had bought a cobra skin and some kid skin to have made into a bag and shoes for his wife. He most generously cut into this and made me a most beautifully stitched pair of moccasins lined with kid, and on the underside of the underside of the snakeskin he wrote in indelible pencil the following:- 鈥淢ade for Miss
Rosemary Derwent by John F H Stroud, Lieu. R. N. R., on the occasion of her voyage in HMS Fal, having been picked up from a lifeboat 鈥� July 1944.鈥�
I have taken them everywhere with me since and still have them today. The only thing that spoilt this happy time, was when the boat went into Action Stations and we listened to the depth charges exploding beneath the surface. I thought of our Captain on board the German submarine, and was so afraid he would be killed. (Actually, he was not 鈥� but I only learnt that this year.)
Eventually, HMS Fal arrived in Freetown, and we sadly said Goodbye to all our friends on board. I remember walking dejectedly along a jetty in the pouring rain, and arriving at a dreadful Transit Camp, consisting of Nissen huts set amongst towering elephant grass. We had to walk along paths cut through this forest of grass, whose tops were above my head, to reach the cafeteria hut, or the lavatories, and things rustled and squeaked in it. I was terrified, imaging 鈥� probably correctly 鈥� snakes, spiders and other unpleasant things. Fortunately, my parents knew the Resident Medical Officer, and when my mother telephoned him, he immediately arrived and swept us away to his lovely airy house, perched on the cliffs outside Freetown, where we were put to bed in real beds with mosquito nets, and lovely baths in a proper bath.
After two or three weeks in Freetown, a troopship with some spare berths arrived, and we went home in her. Our cabin was very stuffy and had no porthole - it had six berths
crammed into it. However, we had a nice time, being spoilt by soldiers instead of sailors, and eventually arrived safely in Liverpool. It was raining, and I thought that I had never seen such a black town, but we were very glad to reach it.
When I look back over my 69 years, I find that I regret most bitterly the things that I have not done, rather than those that I have !! I do very much regret not having tried to contact any members of H.M.S. Fal鈥檚 ship鈥檚 company when I grew up, to tell them how much my family and I appreciated their kindness. I suppose that it is too late now, there are probably none of them left. If any of their families read this, I should love to hear from them.

EPILOGUE

As our kind 鈥淯ncle Leslie鈥� whom we met on the troopship, frequently quoted (from Kipling鈥檚 Jungle Book), 鈥淎ll the passengers were saved and went home鈥�
And so we did.

Postscript 1

I joined the W.R.N.S. when I grew up (in 1954), and in about 1970, I was a Signal Officer serving on the staff of the Director of Naval Signals at the Ministry of Defence (Navy). Because I was the only Wren on the staff, any files on odd subjects for which none of the Naval officers had any particular responsibility tended to land in my in-tray 鈥� and one day I opened one which nearly knocked me off my uncomfortable office chair.
It was about HMS Fal!! She had been 鈥渕othballed鈥� and put into reserve after the war ended, and this file was circulating for comments by the different Directorates on whether she should be sold to the then Royal Ceylonese Navy, who wanted her to be their flagship. Everyone had made various dismissive comments on this, but I couldn鈥檛 bear that she should go without a farewell, and I wrote an impassioned minute (seldom seen on MOD files), saying what a valuable service she had performed in 1944. I hope that the Royal Ceylonese Navy took great care of her. She was a lovely ship.

Postscript 2

My brother, Patrick, (the baby) managed to trace SS Bodegraven earlier this year, using the Internet. He discovered that she was torpedoed and sunk at 04.14 North, 11.00 West, on 2nd July 1944, by u-boat U547, commanded by Oberleutnant Heinrich Niemeyer, then aged 29. Captain B A Molenaar, Captain of the SS Bodegraven, was not killed as we feared, but taken back to Bordeaux on board U547, and incarcerated in a Prisoner of War camp in Germany. I do hope that he survived the War. Patrick even printed out a photograph of SS Bodegraven 鈥� she was much smaller than I remembered, so I suppose that it was unsurprising that she was left behind as a 鈥渟traggler鈥� by the convoy.

Postscript 3

By the time we reached Liverpool, our useless and feckless Nanny had become engaged to our dear Uncle Dirk!! I wonder whether they ever did marry, or whether he saw through her before it was too late? Truth is often stranger than fiction, isn鈥檛 it?

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