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Project Glaucus

Well over fifty years ago I learned how to dive. It was the time that Hans Hass was making his inspirational TV films, closely followed by Cousteau who truly showed everybody the wonders of the undersea world. Cousteau became for a while obsessed with living underwater, convinced that ‘Inner Space’ was the way forward for mankind. His underwater houses, Conshelf 1 and Conshelf 2 inspired projects all over the world with probably the largest, Sealab being American. Britain was not left out and made its own modest contribution with Project Glaucus, an entirely amateur effort (in the best sense of the word).

The steel cylinder.

The steel cylinder.

Whilst the Sealab and Conshelf projects had huge budgets, Glaucus cost was around £2000, but what it achieved was truly remarkable. The project was the brainchild of Colin Iwin, who in 1965 was 19 years old and the Science Officer of the Bournemouth and Poole S.A.C. Inspired by Cousteau, he decided to set up a project to put an undersea habitat in place near the Plymouth’s Breakwater Fort and occupy it for a week, along with fellow club member, John Heath, aged 21.

The Sealab habitat.

The Sealab habitat.

The steel cylinder was built from scratch in a friends boatyard. It weighed two tons, was 3.7 meters long, and 2.1 meters in diameter. The whole structure stood on legs and was ballasted by weight in a tray beneath it. The Cylinder had two compartments, a main living area and separate toilet facilities. Entry was made via a tube fitted to the underneath of the habitat, which was open to the water, thus ensuring that the pressure inside would be the same as the surrounding water resulting in the divers being kept at pressure for the duration of the exercise. Once inside the two men used an old ex army wind up field telephone to keep in touch with their surface team, and there was also an early small CCTV camera to allow the occupants to be constantly monitored.

Colin Iwin

Colin Iwin
John Heath

John Heath

The big difference between Glaucus and the likes of Conshelf and Sealab, was that the cylinder was completely self sufficient for air. It had no airline but relied on its own artificially maintained environment, with a chemical scrubber to remove the carbon dioxide. It was for this reason that the length of time that the two men spent underwater, still has its place in the Guinness Book of Records.

The Glaucus being towed into place by Plymouth's Breakwater.

The Glaucus being towed into place by Plymouth’s Breakwater.

Living conditions in the habitat must have been very rough. The temperature was around 16 degrees with almost 100% humidity. The huge amount of condensation meant that keeping anything dry was nigh on impossible. Food and drink were brought down in army pressure cookers, so even the meals must have been a bit of a disappointment. Even so with all that discomfort, Colin and John determined to continue with the exercise, even venturing outside the cylinder to do a number of surveys to show that divers could not only live at depth, but that they could do some work as well.

After the seven days were up, efforts to bring the habitat slowly to the surface were abandoned due to buoyancy problems. The two aquanauts made their own way safely to the surface wearing scuba gear. As far as I know nobody else ever did anything comparable, and in a few years everybody abandoned the idea of underwater living as a life changing concept. Today the remains of the Glaucus habitat lie on the seabed close by the Breakwater Fort, not far from where the original experiment was conducted. It is quite easy to find, along with other objects placed on the seabed, to train divers at the now defunct, Fort Bovisand. (see map) because the bottom is silty, the vis is often impaired, but even so it is an interesting dive just to see the Habitat and all the other structures lying around. There is even a cannon to play with. Photographers like the area because it has lots of Jewel Annemones, usually only found much further out.

Map of the seabed around front of Fort.

Map of the seabed around front of Fort.

Years ago I used to do a fair bit of night diving around the Fort (can’t get lost) and found it fascinating with all sorts of small creatures making their homes in the cracks of the huge stone blocks that make up the construction of the Breakwater Fort.

The Breakwater Fort.

The Breakwater Fort.

The Glaucus Habitat shows what can be done with a bit of imagination and determination. I am surprised that we all did not make more of it.

Flight Sargent W.Granger

I am gratefull to Vivian Granger (daughter) for the details and photos of her father below. Wilfred Bert Granger was born 26/4/1917 in Melbourne Australia and moved too Western Australia in 1929 where his father was Chief Engineer at Lake View & Star Group Boulder WA. He later served an apprenticeship in Kalgoorlie WA as Fitter and Turner at Kalgoorlie Foundry in 1932 to 1936. In 1936, he moved back to Melbourne, and enlisted in RAAF at Point Cook Air Bases on 15/6/1938 as Aero Fitter Engineer after completing Aero Engineer School at Laverton .

Flight Sgt. W. Granger.

Flight Sgt. W. Granger.

On 17Oct 1938, Wilf was posted to Technical Squadron, Point Cook where he was emloyed on complete overhauls of Genet Major, Gipsy, Major, and Napier Line Aero Engines, and also top overhaul of Bristol Jupitor Engines. He then volunteered and was Posted to 10 Squadron (England) on 11/11/39 where he was employed on maintenance and installation of Pegusus 22 and18 Aero Engines The Sunderland Flying boats in 10 Squadron were used for Coastal Command, searching for enemy submarines and shipping, along with making rescue missions.

Putting up the Barrage ballons.

Putting up the Barrage ballons.
Putting up the Barrage ballons.

Putting up the Barrage ballons.

Following his marriage to Joyce Mary Withecombe on 23/7/1941 he lived in Pembroke Dock on the extreme western point coast of South Wales. He was posted back to Mount Batten, Plymouth at the end of 1941 and joined 461 Squadron on 14/4/1943 where he did courses on various engines including Merlin Aero Engines at Rolls Royce, Darby, England. His main job was to service these and maintain the Sunderland Flying boats.In January, 1943, he was awarded the British Empire Medal and mentioned in Despatches for rescue work in a hurricane. Wilf returned to Australia in November 1945 with his wife and young son in 1946 on board the Stirling Castle. He made his home on Lake Macquarie at Kilaben Bay and then built their home at Toronto NSW. He was discharged from the RAAF on 20th Jan 1947

10 Squadron, R.A,A,F

10 Squadron, R.A,A,F
Launching down the slip.

Launching down the slip.
Launching down the slip.

Launching down the slip.
The old and new.

The old and new.
A bit of a mess, but is it in Plymouth?

A bit of a mess, but is it in Plymouth?
A bit of a mess, but is it in Plymouth?

A bit of a mess, but is it in Plymouth?
The hanger before the bombing.

The hanger before the bombing.
The aftermath of the bombing.

The aftermath of the bombing.
The aftermath of the bombing.

The aftermath of the bombing.
More devastation.

More devastation.
Retaliation and one they left behind.

Retaliation and one they left behind.
Retaliation and one they left behind.

Retaliation and one they left behind.
A joke with his crew.

A joke with his crew.
Work.

Work.
Play.

Play.

Capt.Frederick Thornton Peters. VC

I am grateful to Sam Mc bride for the following information and photo. The man who tragically lost his life in the Sunderland, just prior to receiving his VC was his uncle, Captain Frederick Thornton Peters, VC, DSO, DSC and bar, DSC (US) RN. He became Canada’s most decorated Naval Officer. His career in two world wars reads like something out of a Boys Own Adventure. You can read his full story at the link below.

www.navalandmilitarymuseum.org

His VC however, was awarded for taking charge of the most dangerous mission in the Allied invasion of North Africa – an audacious attack by a mostly American force in two former U.S. Coast Guard cutters to secure Oran harbour in the French colony of Algeria for the invasion. Landings at 1 am on Nov. 8, 1942 on beaches west and east of Oran by American troops had met little resistance from French defenders, but two hours later they reacted with full force from Oran shore batteries and warships moored in the harbour when Peters’ ship HMS Walney along with HMS Hartland broke through a boom of logs, chains and barges and proceeded towards their goal of taking over French warships and port facilities with commandos.

Capt.Frederic Thorton Peters. Photo courtesy of Sam McBride.

Capt.Frederic Thorton Peters. Photo courtesy of Sam McBride.

Despite suffering 90% casualties and facing point blank fire from all directions, Peters was able to direct his ship for a mile and a half through the narrow harbour and land Walney beside its target berth. At great personal risk, he assisted with the landing lines in the front and back of the 250 ft.-long ship. Wounded in the shoulder and blinded in one eye, he was taken prisoner along with fellow survivors. Two days later he was freed by American troops, who had captured the city, and carried through the streets of Oran in triumph.

H.M.S. Walney

H.M.S. Walney

Tragically, three days later, on Friday, November 13, 1942 he died when the Sunderland flying boat transporting him from Gibraltar back to England encountered fierce headwinds and then heavy fog and instrument failure that resulted in the plane crashing into Plymouth Sound, flipping over and splitting apart. The 11 Royal Australian Air Force (RAAF) crew members miraculously all survived the crash, but Peters and the four other VIP passengers died, either from the impact of the crash or from exposure in the water. Unhurt in the crash, the pilot, Flight Lieutenant Wynton Thorpe, found Peters still alive in the water and valiantly tried to drag him to safety as he swam to a breakwater, giving up in exhaustion after about an hour when it was obvious that Peters was dead.A rescue boat from shore arrived about half an hour later to pick up survivors. For his part in the action at Oran, Algeria Frederic Peters posthumously received both the Victoria Cross and the U.S. Distinguished Service Cross,the highest honour the Americans bestowed on foreigners. Sam McBride writes,You might be interested in these scans of the notifications my great-grandmother Bertha Peters received of death of her son F.T. Peters. These link the story of Fritz Peters with the story of the flying boat crash pretty well.

Scans

Scans
Scans

Scans

Simon the cat

Simon was the ships cat on H.M.S. Amethyst.For his outstanding behaviour in keeping morale up, and the rats down, during Amethysts troubles, even though he was wounded by shellfire, he was awarded the Dickinson medal. This is the equivilent of the animal V.C. and was the first time it had been awarded to a cat.

News Stories

News Stories

When the ship returned to England Simon became world famous with bags of fan mail delivered daily. Unfortunately Simon had to be placed into quarentine far away from all his sailor friends.He didn’t last long there and soon died. Whether it was the loss of his friends, or more probably his age which caused him to die, we will never know. He was buried with his own gravestone in a pet cemetary in Essex.

News Stories

News Stories
There is a memorial plaque to Simon, at the P.D.S.A surgery in Durnford Street, Plymouth.

There is a memorial plaque to Simon, at the P.D.S.A surgery in Durnford Street, Plymouth.
There is a memorial plaque to Simon, at the P.D.S.A surgery in Durnford Street, Plymouth.

There is a memorial plaque to Simon, at the P.D.S.A surgery in Durnford Street, Plymouth.

Amethyst News Paper articles

'Amethyst'before all the troubles started

‘Amethyst’before all the troubles started

The whole Amethyst affair became a huge news story all over the world. Here are a few of those stories.

News Stories

News Stories
News Stories

News Stories
News Stories

News Stories
News Stories

News Stories
News Stories

News Stories
News Stories

News Stories
News Stories

News Stories

Boy Seaman, Sidney Horton’s Story

I am extremely grateful to Mrs Marlene Horton for allowing me to post her son’s letter, and for lending me the photos and video footage below Sydney Horton joined the Royal Navy on 15th July 1947 as a Boy Seaman. He did his basic training at H.M.S.Ganges (alas no more) and joined H.M.S.Norfolk. Sydney stayed in the Royal Navy for twelve years, bought himself out for a while and and then re-entered the Service for a few more years. When Sydney finally left he went to work for the Paper Converting Company, based in Plymouth for 28 years. Sadly, Sydney Horton died of Asbestosis on 28 January 1995.

Sid Horton with his family, on his return home.

Sid Horton with his family, on his return home.

Here is Sydney’s own description of what happened on H.M.S.Amethyst. Dear Sir, In answer to your request for any information regarding H.M.S. Amethyst, I will give you a build up of how I started my Naval service and ended up on the Amethyst. I Joined H.M.S. Ganges as a boy seaman on 15th July 1947, did my basic training and left there on 1st July 1948 to join H.M.S. Norfolk which was a 6 inch cruiser stationed on the East indies ( Tricomalee ) for a two and a half year commission. When Norfolk sailed for home waters on completion of her commission, 90 of her boy seamen were drafted to other ships, mainly in the Far East to complete their two and a half years.

H.M.S. Norfolk

H.M.S. Norfolk

Myself and fifteen other boy seamen ended up on our way to join H.M.S. Amethyst in the far East. We joined Amethyst in Hong Kong in March and sailed for Shanghi. We left for Nanking on the 19th April and anchored overnight with some Nationalist warships. Early next morning we got underway and proceeded up the river. Around nine o’clock we were closed up at action stations. My station was on ‘B’ 4 inch gun just below the bridge when I heard rifle fire and shortly after gunfire, and shell whooshed over the bows which had canvas Union Jacks draped over the sides, but luckily there had been no hits to the ship. About twenty minutes later there was more gunfire and this time shells hit the wheelhouse, the bridge and other parts of the ship, and within minutes the ship started to turn to port very quickly and ran aground on a small island known later as Rose Island. With the ship stuck on the mud of the Island ‘B’ guns crew were of no further use because the guns could not bear on the target. We dispersed as a crew and tried to be of help in other parts of the ship.

Effects of gunfire on 'Amethyst'.

Effects of gunfire on ‘Amethyst’.
Effects of gunfire on 'Amethyst'.

Effects of gunfire on ‘Amethyst’.

I found myself going up the wheelhouse steps and found the place in chaos. The Coxswain and telegraph men had all been hit leaving the second Coxswain the only man on his feet. There was an awful smell of smoke, and I helped to get the wounded down into the seamans mess deck, went back up to the bridge and helped to bring the injured men down below, noticing Lt. Berger had most of his clothes blown off by the blast. The ship by now could only defend herself with ‘X’ gun back aft, which she did until ‘X’ gun also had a direct hit. I found myself taking small arms up to the upper deck, and within minutes down below again because any movement on the upper deck was met with small arms fire from the shore. The upper deck was a shambles, there was bits of boat, bodies and wounded, who we took below to the messdeck. By now the ship reeked of smoke, cordite, sweat and blood.

Next came the order to abandon ship and take the wounded to the whaler to get them ashore out of the way, but even with men in the water following the whaler to the shore the small arms fire never ceased. My next job was down below tidying up the living quarters and tending to the wounded that was left onboard. I was given the job of lookout on ‘B’ gun deck, looking out for the destroyer Consort coming down from Nanking. What a thrill Consort gave me when i first sighted her, the gunner asked the signalman to flash her. On the way down towards us she opened fire to Port and I could see her hits on the gun positions on the banks, there was bits of everything flying in the air that was once gun emplacements. She came down to a position almost abreast of us and slowed down to make signals, then went down river to us and turned around and came back up never firing her guns to starboard, the sight of how calm and collected her crew were made me feel very proud to be British.

H.M.S. Black Swan H.M.S. Consort.

H.M.S. Black Swan H.M.S. Consort.
H.M.S. Black Swan H.M.S. Consort.

H.M.S. Black Swan H.M.S. Consort.

The Consort then turned around again and with a whacking great bow wave which was sweeping the banks away disappeared out of sight down river. Not long after a couple of nationalist fighter planes shot overhead and straffed the banks with what sounded like machine guns. My next job was helping to lighten the ship so as we could have a go at getting the ship off the mud. We looked at anything of weight, and if it moved, threw it over the side, and by this means, plus pumping oil over the side we managed to free the ship from the mud and moved a couple of miles up river and anchored. My next task was helping tidy up the ship and the awful task of collecting the dead from around the ship from around the ship and placing them on ‘X’ gun deck, this was made easier by a couple of tots of spirits.

Sydney's medals,with the famous telegram, and the return home.

Sydney’s medals,with the famous telegram, and the return home.
Sydney's medals,with the famous telegram, and the return home.

Sydney’s medals,with the famous telegram, and the return home.

My next thrill was being told that the cruiser London, and the frigate Black Swan were on their way up river to help us out. I had heard the sound of distant gunfire, but this came to nothing because both ships had come into heavy gunfire. When the London and Black Swan failed to reach us just about everyone left on board felt utterly dejected. There were rumours about submarines and aircraft trying to help us, and to our surprise a Sunderland flying boat circled us then landed and left us a doctor and medical supplies, but left us minus our ships gunner.

H.M.S. London

H.M.S. London

We next moved further up river and re- anchored where the new Captain of our ship came aboard from a Nationalist landing craft. He walked around and assessed the damage to the ship and almost right away arranged the burial of our dead into the Yangste river . A couple of times after this we were told to be ready to abandon ship, the Captain had charges placed and had plans to scuttle the ship seeing we never had enough boats to row ashore.

We watched the Communist Army make its crossing of the river in every boat imaginable, then for week upon week we fell into a ships routine again, tidying up, making different parts of the ship better to live in, and better protected against shrapnel and small arms fire if that arose. Over this period the Captain had been in touch with the Army ashore, and our ‘Jack Dusty’ had been able to procure eggs and fresh vegetables with bartering against a trader from ashore. One afternoon I was working on the cable deck, forward, making an adjustment to a steel cable holding a bolt of timber between the ships bows and the anchor chain, when the cable suddenly came under load and broke my right arm at the elbow.

Sid with broken right arm.

Sid with broken right arm.
Sid with broken right arm.

Sid with broken right arm.

A couple of weeks after breaking my arm, I was sent ashore with the R.A.F. Doctor and given an X ray, and returned back on board. When the captain decided to make a break for it, I and one other was stationed back aft in the tiller flat to steer the ship if the wheelhouse was hit on the way down. The ship reached Woosung, and was met by the destroyer Concord, and on coming up from below what a beautiful sight she made and what a lovely feeling it was to feel free at last. After much cheering, laughing and shouting, we headed for Hong Kong.

H.M.S. Amethyst and the Yangste Incident

H.M.S. Amethyst

H.M.S. Amethyst

photo courtesy navy-photos and M.Pocock

Ask most people over Fifty years of age about the Yangtze incident, and they will tell you about the film staring Richard Todd, in which he Captain’s H.M.S. Amethyst through shot and shell from the Communist Chinese, and eventually wins home to freedom down the River Yangtze. It’s a typical story of its time about plucky Brits defying great odds and the film was a great success. The real story is even more startling for the hardships and bravery suffered by the crew, who had no realistic hope of escape, but kept the faith even though many had died, and eventually they arrived home to a tumultuous welcome.

Film Poster

Film Poster

It is hard to believe that after all the Amethyst had done that she should end up being scrapped alongside one of Plymouths most popular pubs, the China House. But all ships eventually have to die, only their story lives on and what a story it is. There are four articles about the ‘Amethyst’ including a first hand account from the youngest crew member, Boy seaman Sidney Horton.

  • H.M.S. Amethyst
  • Boy Seaman Sidney Hortons Story
  • Simon the Cat
  • Amethyst News Paper stories

Viking Princess

About midway between Yealm head and Hillsea Point rocks lies a stretch of water known locally as Fairyland, or the Fairy Grotto’s. It is a great area for photography and its attraction is heightened by the presence of a small trawler wreck. The wreck has been stripped of its engines and fittings and really just acts as a background for your shots. Because it was so derelict, I had never really given much thought to how it got there, and a very cursory trawl through the local newspapers suggested it had sunk by accident and there was no great story attached.

Viking Princess as Renilde

Viking Princess as Renilde
photo from

trawler photos

Even so a wreck is a wreck, and it niggled at me, as I just don’t like NOT knowing. After all, I am supposed to be wreck historian (amateur). I had just made up my mind to devote some time to finding out what trawler it was, when I came across a letter in ‘Diver’ from Karen Williams who basically had done some serious digging and solved the whole problem together with ‘Dive Skipper’ Peter Hambly who owns the dive boat Furious. I am very grateful for their efforts.

Karen Williams

Karen Williams
photo Keith Hiscock

It turns out that the wreck is that of a sixty foot shrimp trawler called the Viking Princess (PH407) built around 1960. At some stage she had also been used as a scalloper and was originally named as the Renilde Maartje (RX282) when she was based at Rye and Newhaven.

Exposed frames and the Kort nozzel. Potos P. Rowlands.

Exposed frames and the Kort nozzel. Potos P. Rowlands.
Exposed frames and the Kort nozzel. Potos P. Rowlands.

Exposed frames and the Kort nozzel. Potos P. Rowlands.

In the early 1990’s with fishing in serious decline the government decided to reduce the size of the fleet by offering inducements to fishermen to decommission their boats. This meant that they would have to be destroyed. Ten Plymouth trawlers between forty and sixty five feet were designated for decommission and their skippers suggested that they should be sunk in Whitsand Bay to form an artificial reef. This great idea was naturally turned down, so the trawlers were cut up and scrapped. The Viking Princess was partially scrapped in Hooe Lake in 1993 and in 1996, her engines were removed and the top of her bow cut off. She was now approved for decommissioning so in the Autumn of that year she was taken in tow by the Tug Kinsman for her last journey to Galmpton Creek on the River Dart. It wasn’t the best of weather and as the sea became rougher the Viking Princess became overwhelmed and sank where she now lies. So what is she like to dive

Swimming over the wreck.Photos P.Rowlands.

Swimming over the wreck.Photos P.Rowlands.

The Viking Princess lies more or less upright in about 25 meters . The bottom is predominately rocky with small reefs and some sand patches. The wreck is completely open, so presents no obstacles to a good ferret about. At the stern is what looks like a large propeller guard, but is actually a Kort nozzle which improved the efficiency of the engine when under extreme load during fishing. The wreck is usually swarming with small Pouting and some female cuckoo wrasse, who happily pose for the camera, and under the port side, near the stern, is a nice conger eel. There is not a lot to see, but it is quite photogenic , with the exposed ribs and fish giving you plenty of photo opportunities. Most people use this as a second dive coming back from the Persier, but I prefer it as a first dive, so I can spend plenty of time in the fairy grottoes.

Photo John Williams

Photo John Williams
Photo Keith Hiscock.

Photo Keith Hiscock.

When Karen found the wreck she did these drawings to help identify it.

Karens Drawings.

Karens Drawings.
Karens Drawings.

Karens Drawings.
Karens Drawings.

Karens Drawings.
Karens Drawings.

Karens Drawings.

In March 2012 Dave Page found this anchor about 30 meters from the bow.It is obviously much older, but nothing else is known. Photos are Dave Pages.

Anchor

Anchor
Anchor

Anchor

April 2012

Photos Peter Rowlands

Photos Peter Rowlands
Photos Peter Rowlands

Photos Peter Rowlands
Photos Peter Rowlands

Photos Peter Rowlands
Photos Peter Rowlands

Photos Peter Rowlands

In the storms of 2014 the Viking Princess was smashed to pieces.

Empire Harry

As we have seen throughout this website the rocky coast of Devon has been the cause of hundreds of shipwrecks. So much so that many people cannot tell the wrecks from the rocks. If you take a stroll along almost any beach you will be able to turn up some piece, however small of a long forgotten wreck. But at Beacon point near Hope Cove you will come across the whole thing, the wreckage of the Empire Harry. Mind you , you will have to get there on a very low tide, and even then you will only get to see the boiler and other bits and pieces scattered scattered on the rocks and in the deep gullies. Still it is located on a beautiful sandy beach, near a nice pub, and on a sunny day the diving is a pure delight.

Spot the boiler.

Spot the boiler.
Spot the boiler.

Spot the boiler.

The Empire Harry was a deep sea tug of some 479 gross tonnage. Built in 1943 by the Goole Shipbuilding and Repair company, the Empire Harry was 136 feet long and about 30 feet in the beam. Although owned by the Ministry of War Transport, she was operated by the United Towing Company, and on the 6 of June 1945 she was towing two heavily laden lighters across Bigbury bay when she became caught up in a severe south westerly gale. With the two heavy lighters acting as a sort of reverse drogue, the tug could hardly make any seaway. So slowly at first, but then with increasing speed the Empire harry began to lose ground as the fierce winds started to blow her towards the shore.

Empire Harry, mounting at the stern.

Empire Harry, mounting at the stern.

The nineteen men on board could see no way to escape. All they could do was hang on, and hope that the Lifeboat got to them before the coast did. In the event the coast won, and the Empire Harry struck the ridge of rocks that jut out from Beacon Point. Fortunately the Salcombe lifeboat got to the tug shortly after and successfully rescued all nineteen crew just in the nick of time as the two lighters were smashed to pieces and their contents were scattered underneath the cliffs from Warren Point to Hope Cove. Soon after the Empire Harry was declared a total loss and started to break up, and her wreckage joined that of the lighters underneath the cliffs.

All those years ago.

All those years ago.

I first stumbled upon this wreck with my young son Christopher nearly thirty years ago. We had taken a walk along the beach towards beacon point so he could try his luck at scrambling over the steep high rocks that surround the wreck. It is only a few hundred yards from the beach but it’s quite hard going and the first thing he found was the gun mounting turned upside down on the rocks. This caused me a bit of a stir as usually tugs are not armed, but this one was, with what seems to be a four inch or 4.5 inch gun. The gun was situated towards the rear of the tug, and I suppose that with the Second World War just ending they had not got around to dismantling it.

This is where the gun was buried for years.

This is where the gun was buried for years.

All around were bits of metal, and inside a nearby cave, we could just make out the barrel of the gun almost buried in shingle and rocks. Over the next few years it became completely buried and lost from view and that the way I thought it would stay, until in 2010 mark —- sent me this great photo . He had been out walking during the early summer and stumbled upon the barrel which had been moved right out of the cave by the storms. When my son had found the mounting we both climbed up on top of it and I saw the remains of the boiler far out on the edge of the rocks. The gullies leading out from the beach to the boiler were full of bits of metal all smashed up and jammed in the rocks but bollards, pieces of scupper and parts of a winch are all quite recognisable.

The storms have moved the gun out of the cave. Photo courtesy of Mark

The storms have moved the gun out of the cave. Photo courtesy of Mark

I was going to describe this wreck as a shore dive, but after trying it once or twice, I must say it’s a bit too much like hard work. Anyway lugging a tank is really not necessary as a snorkel at low tide will suffice just as well. Entry from the beach is very easy and all you have to do is follow the rocks that lead out to the tip of Beacon Point. It is not a very long swim to the boiler, about 200 yards and if you get tired you can easily rest on the rocks. Wreckage is strewn in most of the gullies leading out to the boiler, largely consisting of the stern and pieces of the superstructure, these are smashed to small pieces now, but bollards, pieces of scupper and parts of a which are quite recognisable, as is the gun mounting which was situated at the aft end of the tug and is now wedged and stove in at the bottom of the cliffs. It seems surprising to think of a gun mounted on a tug, but then the Second World War had only just ended and I suppose that they had not got around to dismantling it.

winch

winch
wreckage

wreckage

Out at the point the boiler sticks out of the water quite clearly at low tide and sits on the rest of the wreckage which lies in about 15 to 20 feet of clear water. At low tide you can get a bit of surge so it is often best to wait for mid tide. However, whichever way you decide, it is well worth while as the visibility is usually terrific. This part of the wreckage comprising mainly of ribs and bits of plate and pipe is extremely picturesque, and if you are keen to take underwater photo’s this is a very good wreck to begin on. If you are lazy and don’t fancy the walk and scramble over the rocks, then the boiler is only a five minute ride away by inflatable. You can easily launch a boat from any of the three beaches in Hope, but probably the old lifeboat slip is the best.

Boiler on the left.

Boiler on the left.

So there it is, the wreck of the Empire Harry. Not one of the greatest dives, but certainly a pretty one. It’s easy to access at low tide so it makes it a wreck that all the family can enjoy, weather they are divers or not. With the acres of sandy beach surrounded by a genuine Devon fishing village,Ithink that your family will actually encourage you to go diving instead of moaning about it.

Fun for all.

Fun for all.

I am grateful to Peter Baldwin for the information and photos about his dad,John Baldwin, below. I have attached a group photo it is date stamped on the back June 1945. I have spoken with my Dad’s brother last week and he confirmed that this was other crew members of the Empire Harry My father is on the front row on the left. the chap with is hand on my Dad’s shoulder we believed is the man who threw a wooden ladder for him as he could not swim. Although he was in the water for short time he was treated in hospital for Hypothermia and frostbit to feet and fingers. The irony is that He lied about his age and towed Mulberry Harbours on D-Day and while his boat came under number of attacks it was not hit, then a month after the War ended his boat sinks!! I have also attached his discharge certificate as requested.

John Baldwin is front row left.

John Baldwin is front row left.
The Discharge Papers.

The Discharge Papers.

John Crossland’s memories

I am grateful to John Crossland for supplying the following reminiscences, and photo’s of him as a young cadet. Most of the photo’s of the Glen Strathallan come from a fantastic site called Ships Nostalgia where you can find more photo’s of Wendorian and the Glen Strathallan

King Edward V11 Nautical College

King Edward V11 Nautical College

I was a cadet at the King Edward VII Nautical College where young men were trained for entry into the Merchant Navy, as Deck Officers.

John Crossland

John Crossland
John Crossland

John Crossland

The college had several training ships, Wendorian was the one prior to the Glen. The Glen Strathallan was the final one before the college closed. I think I’m right in saying that the college closed, although I don’t know when it did (1969). It might pay to check. I think Warsash at Southampton is the only one left these days.

GSA at Douglas I.O.M. Photo BMW Simon. Photo S.Carter

GSA at Douglas I.O.M. Photo BMW Simon. Photo S.Carter
GSA at Douglas I.O.M. Photo BMW Simon. Photo S.Carter

GSA at Douglas I.O.M. Photo BMW Simon. Photo S.Carter

As cadets at King Teds we would go away periodically, for a weekend on the Glen, where the cadets would act as the crew, under the supervision of the Captain, Engineer, Mate, Bosun etc. She used to be berthed at Millwall Dock, I think it was from memory, and we used to steam down the Thames to Southend, anchor there for a while, then steam back up the river. That meant that we all got a turn at all the different jobs on a ship, such as steering, Bridge & Engine Room watch keeping, peeling spuds, lookout duties, rowing the lifeboats while at anchor, splicing ropes etc.

GSA ----- Steaming past Tilbury. Photo's Marine News-----Cris Isaac.

GSA —– Steaming past Tilbury. Photo’s Marine News—–Cris Isaac.
GSA ----- Steaming past Tilbury. Photo's Marine News-----Cris Isaac.

GSA —– Steaming past Tilbury. Photo’s Marine News—–Cris Isaac.

The Last Voyage of the Glen Strathallan

I am extremely grateful to Brian Briggs who sent in this story. He was a mate on the Tug Sun 27, of London Tugs, which towed the Glen Strathallan to her final resting place. He has been in the business for 42 years, on the Thames, all over Europe and the Baltic, and is still involved in training the new generation of Tug boat men. What was ironic,was that the Channel guard ship tasked with overseeing the scuttling was H.M.S.Scylla. She would be scuttled in her turn in Whitsand Bay thirty four years later, in 2004

Brian Biggs. Photo B.Biggs

Brian Biggs. Photo B.Biggs

The Last Voyage of the “Glen Strathallan 0600 hours 20th April 1970 Orders received to tow the Glen Strathallan from Gravesend to Plymouth for scuttling at a Latitude & Longitude which was given to us from the Admiralty 0600 to 1000 inspect and make ready the tow. The Engine was removed and taken to the Science Museum previously. The casing was only tack welded in places, so any water going onboard would flood into the engine space or accommodation so a Force 4 restriction was placed on the towing contract. Forcast at 0600 was NW 3 / 4. 2 Chain Bridles x 10 meters each were made fast into a large towing shackle. then 80metre wire, 100m nylon spring. 120 m wire, so we could tow at different length’s. All this preparation, food, stores, fresh water and fuel were taken onboard. 1300 sailed 1400 streamed tow of Southend. 1740 NE Spit by abeam 1800 N Foreland abeam. 2100 South Foreland abeam Forecast SW 8 imminent. Shorten tow & enter Dover Harbour for shelter. wind increased to SW 8 anchor at 2200 watches kept for the night. 0600 21st April. SW 6 – 8 all day & night. Spent at anchor with either the vessel alongside or astern of the Sun 27 at high water times because of the swell & the seas breaking over the sea wall. One of the Chain Bridles parted during the day & had to be replaced. Anchor watches kept & radio messages received.

Brian in earlier times. Photo B.Bbiggs

Brian in earlier times. Photo B.Bbiggs

0600 22nd April, SW 6 -8 all day & night same routine as day before 1 head line parted in the swell when we tried to keep the vessel alongside but swell causing problems. 0600 23rd April SW 6 – 8 Decreasing later. all day the same routine as before but this time the Tugs anchor cable caused us some problems as at one time it look as if it would part under the strain but we managed to replace the joining shackle. 0200 24th April W 5 decreasing 2 – 3 0230 aweigh anchor & proceed on passage Streamed tow when clear of entrance. 0600 Beachy Head abeam 1400 Owers Light vessel abeam. 1500 Nab Tower abeam Forecast NW 8 imminent 1600 shorten tow, proceed to anchor Cowes Roads Inspect tow and no ingress of water found. We then received permission to moor to a buoy of Cowes Roads, so tow was moored and it made it easier for us. Watches kept during night and many phone calls taken or send as you can well imagine (no mobiles in those days). 0600 25th NW 8 Normal watches kept all day because of stress of weather many phone calls. 0600 26th NW 5- 6 decreasing later 1400 forecast NW 3-4 Proceed on passage, short tow until clear of Needles Channel. 1530 streamed tow to full length of 300m. Weather fine but a long swell running. 2345 Start Point abeam.

Tug Sun 27

Tug Sun 27

Photo from Rays collection courtesy of Thames Tugs.This is a great site with lots of photos and stories.

www.thamestugs.co.uk

0400 27th April Off Bigbury Bay slow down and anchor await orders from Admiralty. 1100 received orders to proceed to Co ordinates Lat & Long from Admiralty. 1300 in position & dropped Glen Strathallan’s anchor. I then commented to our Master that we were in the fairway. The guard ship HMS Scylla sent a fast boat to us to confirm that we were in the wrong position. After about 2 hours we received a message from The Long Room Plymouth that we were to proceed to position 180 degrees from Shagstone Rock. We then had to get the anchor up using man power which actually went very easy. 1600 the anchor was dropped in the correct position Ian Clucas & I went on board the Glen Strathallan, Ian opened the sea valve in the Engine Room and I was asked if I would open the Sea Valve in the Forward accomodation which I felt quite privileged to do.

A sad site. Photo B.Biggs.

A sad site. Photo B.Biggs.

1715 The Glen Strathallan sank. We then proceeded to Mill Dock for a well earned night in. 0700 28th Sun 27 proceed to Southampton to tow a barge to Gravesend. Again after some bad weather we eventually arrived at Gravesend on the 30th April. End of a very eventful and enjoyable voyage. The Sun 27 also had the following persons on board. Crew Master G Pridmore. Mate B A Biggs. Deckhands J Shelton & R Dyer. Cook C Tuffield plus 1 extra Mate. Ch Engineer D MacCarthy 2nd Engineer P Mahoney plus 1 extra 2nd Enginner. Also on board were Ian Clucas who was Master of Glen Strathallen and R Fuller who was Mate. There also 2 extra men from the London Polytecnic as observers, All this personnel was a huge problem for our young Cook who was excellent during this very difficult trip.

The Glen Strathallan

Most ships get wrecked in tragic or unfortunate circumstances. Often they sink in mountainous seas, or get pounded to pieces on some treacherous shore during a howling gale. The sinking of the Glen Strathallan however, couldn’t be more different, as she was deliberately sunk during a flat calm, to honour the wishes of her dead owner.

In 1928 the shipbuilding firm of Cochrance and Sons of Selby, Yorkshire, won a contract to build a steam trawler of 690 tons displacement. She was to be 150 feet long by 24 feet beam, have a speed of ten knots, and generally be one of the most modern and efficient vessels of her day. Unfortunately before she was finished, the firm that had ordered her went bankrupt and for a while things looked pretty bleak. However the millionaire Colby Cubbin, who knew a bargain when he saw it, snapped up the unfinished vessel, had her converted to a pleasure yacht, and gave her the name Glen Strathallan.

Glen Strathallan....going

Glen Strathallan….going

At the outbreak of the Second World War, the Glen Strathallan was lent to the Royal Navy and refitted as an escort vessel, a duty she carried out for nearly four years. When the War was over, Colby Cubbin got his yacht returned to him, and he used it extensively for cruising between the Isle of Man and Scotland. He must have become very fond of her, because when he unexpectedly died his Will revealed that he wished the Glen Strathallan to be used as a floating school room. But he also stipulated that if no useful employment could be found for his ship, she was to be taken out to sea and sunk.

For years the Glen Strathallan was used as a training ship for future officers of the Merchant Navy, but finally her age and escalating costs made her an uneconomic proposition. Faithful to the wishes of the late owner, the trustees decided to sink the Strathallan in the Hurd Deep, way out in the English Channel. Plymouth Ocean Projects of Fort Bovisand got wind of the project, and appealed to the trustees to sink the ship near the entrance to Plymouth Sound instead. Here they said the ship could be used as an underwater classroom and so still be of some educational value. This scheme was agreed to, and after taking out the Strathallan’s steam engine, (which is now on view at the Science Museum, London) her seacocks were removed, and on 27 April 1970 the Glen Strathallan gently slipped beneath the waves about 200 yards from the Shagstone.

Glen Strathallan....going....going.

Glen Strathallan….going….going.

A lot of good ideas often go wrong through lack of foresight and this was to be the case with the Glen Strathallan. In the end Trinity House placed a buoy on the wrecksite. However a wrangle blew up about who was responsible for paying for the maintenance of the buoy, and in the end Fort Bovisand was ordered to render the wreck safe to navigation. In due course the Glen Strathallan was dispersed and its value as an underwater classroom destroyed. A great pity, and something I am sure that Colby Cubbin would not have approved of.

The wreck now lies under fifty feet of water on a sandy bottom strewn with large rocky outcrops. Although well dispersed the main parts still make for a fairly compact drive. The bow section is still recognisable, and you can just about follow the outline of the hull by tracing the ribs back towards the rear cabins. Near the cabin lies the main boiler. This is quite massive, standing some twenty feet above the sand, and you can swim partway into it via some large inlet holes. You can also swim into the cabin but it is rather confined, and there is a lot of jagged metal about. Strewn all around this area are parts of the companionways, the rudder, and a section of decking still with its planking and large deck pulleys. Amongst the tumbled iron plating roam some friendly wrasse, the most impressive being a rather large red one with big white spots. He wouldn’t accept our offerings of chopped mackerel, but the rest seemed quite used to it. On the outskirts of the wreck, in amongst the sand and rocks, can still be found the odd fork, a piece of tableware, or some of the tiles used in the toilets and galley. On the way back to the bows, there are still lots of debris for you to sift through including some ladders, a large deck winch, and many other bits and pieces of broken machinery. Around the bows are masses of steel plates, under which lurk lobsters. They are not very big so they are not really worth taking. However, with a bit of patience and bribery they will come out and allow you to take their photograph.

Glen Strathallan ....gone

Glen Strathallan ….gone

All in all the Glen Strathallan provides some very good diving. The visibility is usually very good, and currents present no problems. The wreck is prominently marked on the latest charts, and because of its close proximity to the Shagstone, it is quite easy to find. The marks shown here should put you directly on the bows. However if any difficulty is experienced I am sure that Fort Bovisand will be pleased to help. They put hundreds of divers on her each year, and with any luck you will be able to team up with a group about to dive on her.

Photo Peter Rowlands.

The engines are still in the Science Museum in London.

Don’t wait too long to dive on this one. I am sure that Colby Cubbin, wherever he is, would much rather you visit his ship while there is still something of her to see, rather than wait until she breaks up and is scattered all over the seabed.

Extract from DEVON SHIPWRECKS dvd
watch the Glen Strathallan sink

I dive on this wreck all the time, and although it is now getting a bit scattered, the main features are still there. it is still a nice little wreck with plenty of photo opportunities. These were taken by Peter Rowlands around Feb 2009.

Photo Peter Rowlands.

Photo Peter Rowlands.
Photo Peter Rowlands.

Photo Peter Rowlands.
Photo Peter Rowlands.

Photo Peter Rowlands.

The Vectis

During the winter months when the south west gales are blowing and the rain is coming down in sheets, boat diving is often more trouble than it’s worth. Often I go shore diving around Bovisand or Heybrook Bay. It is usually quite sheltered in the little coves, and if the weather is really that bad, then you can be in and out in less than half an hour. It is quite often more fun than it sounds, and anyway it helps maintain your diving trim. One of the bonuses that the winter storms bring is that they shift all the sand about and cut down the kelp. You never know what will turn up, and it was on one such dive that I came upon the remains of the Vectis.

The Vectis

The Vectis

The Vectis was a two masted steamer of 907 tons, owned by John Hill of Sunderland. During February of 1912 she had unloaded her cargo of coal in the Cattewater, Plymouth, and on the fifth day of that month she once again put to sea. It was a misty afternoon with quite a strong breeze blowing. Once the Vectis got outside the Breakwater, her steering equipment broke down and before anything could be done to rectify the situation, the Vectis steamed full tilt onto the rocks near Adurn Point. When she hit, she went right up onto the rocks and lodged in a completely upright position. There was quite a large swell running at the time, and large waves were beginning to break over the stern. The captain and the crew decided to abandon the vessel, and having safely clambered aboard the ship’s lifeboats, they made their way back to the Barbican at Plymouth.

The Vectis stuck fast.

The Vectis stuck fast.

Since the Vectis had struck at almost low tide, everybody thought that she would be comparatively easy to float off. However she was stuck hard and fast, and over the next few weeks no amount of effort seamed to make the slightest difference. As the weeks turned into months interest waned and soon she was declared a constructive loss. Later that year in the famous Christmas Hurricane of 1912, she was smashed to pieces and erased from most people’s memories.

The Vectis after the Christmas Hurricane.

The Vectis after the Christmas Hurricane.

Today the remains of the Vectis lie scattered from the edge of Bovisand Bay, all along the coast to Renney Rocks. The place where she struck is quite easy to find as it lies right underneath a large navigation beacon which has since been built on the shore. At low tide you can see large pieces of iron fused to the rock, and in the shallow rock pools you can find pieces of broken dinner plates, bottles, door knobs and rusting pieces of hawser. Further out on the sand, but still only in fifteen feet of water, lie much larger pieces of the wreckage, but they are sunk deep into the sand. Sometimes they stand four or five feet above the seabed, other times it’s more like six inches.

The Whitby Light at Adurn Point.

The Whitby Light at Adurn Point.

Although the site is slightly protected by the Renneys, large rollers can build up making entry and exit very difficult. The rocks are very sharp and quite often the only access back to the shore is through narrow gullies which can be very difficult to relocate. However, on a calm day the spot provides near ideal conditions for a shore dive. Once in the water pieces of wreckage are immediately quite visible, mostly consisting of broken spars, small jagged pieces of metal, and lots and lots of broken pottery.

Pieces of iron and pottery.

Pieces of iron and pottery.
Pieces of iron and pottery.

Pieces of iron and pottery.

The underwater terrain is extremely rugged with long gullies running out from the shore into deeper water. The maximum depth here is only about twenty feet, and the scenery can be quite breathtaking on a sunny day, with the sunlight reflecting off the purple and green seaweeds which coat many of the rocks. Here amongst the rocks it is still possible to find many everyday artefacts like inkpots, door knobs, and a fair amount of spoons and forks. About three hundred yards from the shore the gullies give way to rocky clusters set on sand, with a large amount of kelp. Here on the sand you will find lots of boiler coke scattered around, and also quite a few cannonballs as well. Unfortunately these come, not from any wrecked ship, but from past target practise at Fort Bovisand.

A cannon ball.

A cannon ball.
A doorknob,inkpots and a pipe.

A doorknob,inkpots and a pipe.

As you swim back to the shore, you should swim over some of the larger pieces of wreckage that I mentioned earlier, and as you approach the shoreline keep a sharp look out for the keel frames. If the sand has been washed away they are plain to see. But if not you should be able to trace them from the marks made by the Vectis when she was swept off the rocks, and which are still visible at low tide. Although this area has most of the wreckage, it is also possible to find bits and pieces all along this stretch of coast, the most common being old electrical fittings like light switches and porcelain insulating collars. There is a small boiler half buried near Bovisand Beach, and near Heybrook Bay are masses of broken pottery and pieces of metal which might be from the Vectis, or from the Nepaul which was wrecked on the Shagstone in 1890. Even if there was no wreckage, the area would still be a good shore dive. But with the added attraction of a little known wreck site, the place becomes quite absorbing, and should give anyone hours of very pleasant diving.

Totnes Castle

The Totnes Castle was a Paddle steamer built by Philip and Sons of Dartmouth in 1923 for the Datmouth and Toquay steampacket Co, and the River Dart Steamboat Co Ltd . She was 108 ft long, weighed 91 Tons, and served for many years on the River Dart as a popular tripper boat. In 1963 a survey indicated that she needed over £6000 spent on her to keep her in service.

Totnes Castle

Totnes Castle

The owners were reluctant to do this as it would have been uneconomic, so she was laid up. A new ship, the Cardiff Castle was commissioned and the wheelhouse and one of the Totnes castle’s life boats were used in the building of this replacement. The Totnes castle was then sold to a firm that wanted to use her as a floating Hotel and restaurant. ( I am fairly sure she was moored up in Kingsbridge ) This venture soon failed and the ship was disposed of for breaking up.

The conrods that powered the wheel. Photo Peter Rowlands.

The conrods that powered the wheel. Photo Peter Rowlands.
Bow? Photo Peter Rowlands

Bow? Photo Peter Rowlands

The Totnes castle lay undisturbed until the 1990’s when it was discovered in a survey. It is quite a deep wreck at so you need a nice calm day, and you also need to get the tides right. The wreck lies upright on a sandy shale bottom and is very compact. When it was found it was quite complete, especially the paddle wheels, but storms have done their damage and now the paddlewheels are just fragile skeletons. However you can still see the conrods and how they fitted onto the paddlewheel so as to drive it.

Part of the paddle wheel. Photo Peter Rowlands

Part of the paddle wheel. Photo Peter Rowlands

The boiler is still there with a very large conger in residence, and I was very surprised to see portholes still on the wreck. (they still are) The bows are intact and all around are bits and pieces of broken steel. It is not a big wreck, but I thought it was very atmospheric. The first time I dived this wreck it was absolutely flat calm. The vis on the bottom was 35ft, and a basking shark lazily swam around the boat all the while the divers were down. Magic. Try to get on this wreck before it completely collapses.

Sunderland Flying Boats

If you look across the Cattewater from the Barbican you can see the huge hangars that used to be part of R.A.F. Mountbatten.The whole site was handed back to the Council some years ago, and now thriving marine businesses occupy the hangars and yuppie housing occupies the land where the air base used to be. R.A.F. Mountbatten has virtually disappeared, its task completed and the past bravery and sacrifice of its various aircrews are now just fading memories.

Mountbatten during the War.

Mountbatten during the War.

There are several articles . The first one is about the salvage of a wrecked Sunderland and the re-uniting of it, and the crew. The second is the extraordinary tale of Capt. Frederick Thornton Peters who died in the above aircrash. The third is a gallery of photos from a relative, Flight Sgt W. Granger, who served at Mountbatten in aircraft maintenance. The fourth is about Lawrence of Arabia’s time at Mountbatten and his involvement in the development of the RAF rescue boats.

  • Sunderland Flying Boats of Plymouth
  • Capt. Frederick Thornton Peters. VC
  • Flight Sgt. W. Granger RAAF
  • Lawrence of Arabia

Skaala

During the Great War the opposing armies soon became locked in the bloody stalemate of trench warfare. Each few precious yards won from the enemy exacted a terrible toll in human lives, and soon it became obvious that any victory on land would be nigh on impossible without some major destruction of the enemies supply lines. The Allies had the iron shield of the British Navy, unbeaten since Trafalgar. But the Germans, unwilling to run the risk of a full blown war at sea perfected another weapon, the undersea boat, and this nearly cost the Allies the war. Dismissed by the British as a weapon of no account, the German Navy used these boats to great advantage and all but secured the downfall of the Royal Navy by rendering her much vaunted Dreadnoughts so impotent that they were mostly reduced to hiding in the remote fastness of Scapa Flow.

 

Cramped,frail, and dangerous to operate, the Captains of these U.boats often became national heroes, and even our own respected their courage and skill. However for a U-boat Captain to gain honors he had to sink ships and one of the favorite killing grounds was the area between Start Point and the Eddystone. Nearly all the convoys had to pass this way and all the U. Boat had to do was wait for a dark night and choose the slowest target. Christmas Day 1917 had passed quietly for the crew of UB.35. Carols had been sung and Captain Stoter had issued a round of schnapps from his own private stock to his crew. So far their trip had been quite successful and morale was high because they had just received orders to patrol the lucrative area between the Eddystone and Start Point. There were high hopes of more sinkings to come. On the evening of the following day, December 26, UB.35 was lying quietly on the surface, her silhouette hidden by the gloom of the land, when her Captain spotted a vessel approaching. That ship was the Norwegian steamer the Skaala.

Its dark down here.

Its dark down here.

Built in 1906 by the Bergens Mek, Vaterksted of Norway, the Skaala was 229 feet long with a beam of 35 feet and displaced somel129 tons. En-route from Port Talbot to Rouen she was carrying a cargo of coal briquettes. As she steamed slowly past Bolt Head, Captain Stoter made his preparations carefully and maneuvered his vessel into a position where he could use his bow tubes. All he then had to do was wait and count. As the Skaala unknowingly sailed straight into his sights, the U-Boat Captain ordered one torpedo loosed and the other made ready. His caution was not needed. U.B.35’s first torpedo sped silently towards the Skaala and burst fair and square on her starboard side. Mortally hit the Skaala started to settle and all her crew, save one killed in the explosion, abandoned ship and took to the lifeboats.

U.B.35, satisfied that its work was done, crept away in the dark and made ready to stalk yet another victim. Today the Skaala lies more or less upright on a bed of sand and shingle facing roughly north west at a depth of about 47 meters to the sea bed. The damage to her starboard side caused by the fateful I torpedo is plainly visible, and although the rest of the vessel is in quite good condition, parts of her superstructure have now started to collapse especially around the engine room area. One of the things I always like to see on a wreck is a propeller, and the Skaala’s is still there, which of course means that it is unfortunately made of iron. Even so it is well worth a look.As you swim along the deck you will come across quite a lot of fishing tackle and it is easy to get caught up so a sharp knife is a real necessity.

The holds are very dark.

The holds are very dark.

The holds are open, very large and very dark. Across the top of the second one back from the bows is a small boat about twenty feet long. At first I thought that it was one of the ships lifeboats, but later I was told that it was the wreck of a fishing boat that had foundered some years later and had just happened to sink right on top of the Skaala. Scattered around the wreck on the seabed are the remains of the cargo of coal briquettes. For their size they are quite heavy and are stamped with a crown and the word Cardiff. You could still use them on your fire, but you would probably be better off varnishing one and using it as a door stop With the Skaala being so deep you really only get a snapshot of this wreck, and even after two or three dives it is still difficult to orientate your self. Still first impressions are of a large wreck, virtually intact and upright, easy to get around and inside if you have a mind to. The fish life on this wreck is not as good as say the Maine, but judging by the amount of fishing tackle, and its popularity as a fishing mark they must be there somewhere. All in all a very good dive, but one for the more committed deep wrecker.

Prawle Point: Ship Trap

I have sometimes heard it said that if you could pull the plug out from the bottom of the sea, you could almost walk from Plymouth to Start Point over the remains of all the ships that have been wrecked along this part of the South Devon coast. To some this might seem an exaggeration until you realise that in 1804 for instance, on one day alone in Deadmans Bay, just yards from Plymouth’s famous Barbican, ten ships were driven ashore during fierce southerly gales. That kind of tally was by no means exceptional, and before Plymouth built its great breakwater, the port was fast becoming known as the graveyard of the British Navy.

The old Coastguard lookout at Prawle.

The old Coastguard lookout at Prawle.

But bad as it was, probably the most notorious stretch of water along this treacherous coastline was, and still is, the ten miles between Bolt Tail and Start Point, and only God knows just how many men have died, and how many ships have been smashed to pieces on its unforgiving shore. In one horrific incident near Bolt Tail in 1760, the Ramillies, a 90 gun ship of the line was swept into the cave that now bears her name, and in a few short minutes was pounded to tiny fragments. Over seven hundred people died trying to scramble out of the raging seas and up the sheer cliffs to safety. What is extraordinary however, is not so much the disaster aspect of the wrecks, ( if you have ever been off this part of the coast in a storm you will quickly appreciate that any mistakes are almost bound to lead to catastrophe) but the way certain areas seem to act as magnets for stricken vessels.

The Louis Yvonne.

The Louis Yvonne.

The Hamstone, mid way between Bolt Tail and Bolt Head for example collected three clipper ships and at least two steamers in just fifty years, and we will never know how many hit the surrounding area in vain efforts to take avoiding action. But there is one area along this coast that seems to have outstanding ability to act as a ship trap, and that is Prawle Point. On a sunny day this is the perfect spot for a picnic. The smooth sea gently laps around a rocky point, almost forming an island, and the steep cliffs gentle out to small slopes allowing easy access to the rock strewn beach. But come the storms all this calm is swept away with high waves breaking over the point and rushing savagely between the island and the shore creating a maelstrom of turbulent water and driving spray. Whilst many ships have struck the outside of Prawle Point, a significant number have managed to end up caught in between the jaws of the island and the mainland shore, and that’s where the real ship trap lies.

The Betsy Anna hard aground.

The Betsy Anna hard aground.

Most never escape, but in 1926 the Dutch steamer Betsy Anna had a stroke of good luck and proved to be a rare exception. She had stranded in thick fog on the morning of I7 August and ended wedged straight up between the island and the mainland. The weather however was very calm, and by the 3 October the Betsy Anna was towed off by the tug Trustee and beached near Salcombe for repairs. Nine days later she was towed towards Cowes, but as she was rounding Portland Bill her luck ran out, her tow parted and down she went.

Louis Yvonne bows in front, Heye-P stern at back.

Louis Yvonne bows in front, Heye-P stern at back.

In more recent times Prawle Point has enticed two more ships into its island trap, and they unfortunately did not escape. Today their remains lie inextricably linked together, because although their wrecking occurred over forty years apart, they both managed to end up in exactly the same place, one on top of the other. On the morning of 29 September I935 the French vessel Louis Yvonne was outward bound from Penzance to Torquay with a cargo of onions, when she ran aground in dense fog in precisely the same place as the Betsy Anne nine years earlier. The crew of four and two women managed to jump off the boat onto the rocks, and safely made their way in the fog up to the nearby village. Come the dawn it was obvious that the boat was too well jammed to get her off and it was found that the bottom had been badly stove in when she grounded. The Louis Yvonne broke up over the next few months, and until fairly recently her bows could still be seen at low tide.

The Heye-P up on the 'Island'.

The Heye-P up on the ‘Island’.

This state of affairs changed in 1979 when the 420 ton coaster Heye – P was overwhelmed by hurricane force winds on her way from Par in Cornwall to Velsen, West Germany, loaded with china clay. Drifting helplessly out of control, the Heye – P was pushed relentlessly towards Prawle Point. As huge waves broke over the ship, the crew began to realise that if the vessel struck the shore they would probably all perish. Suddenly out of the darkness came two bright beams of light from searchlights set up on the shore by the Coastguards. With their aid a rescue helicopter, its pilot nearly blinded by the huge sheets of spray whipped up by the gale force winds, managed to hover over the ship’s deck long enough to winch all three crew to safety. Minutes after the last man was plucked from the deck the ship struck the rocks with such force that she immediately broke her back, and very quickly became a total loss.

The Heye-P bows are now ontop of the Louis Yvonne. Photo taken 1981.

The Heye-P bows are now ontop of the Louis Yvonne. Photo taken 1981.

Today the remains of the Heye – P and the Louis Yvonne are easy to find, as both went aground almost directly underneath the coastguard station. Parts of the bows can be seen even at high tide, and some of the stern becomes visible at low tide. Almost completely hemmed in by rocks, the Heye – P and the remains of the Louis Yvonne lies in about thirty feet of water on a very rocky bottom. The bows of the Heye – P which are now on top of the Louis Yvonne point towards her stern, and lie on their side against one wall of a narrow gorge. The tide rip through this gorge can be extremely strong aid makes safe diving on the bows only possible at low tide. The wrecks are of course well broken up, and the debris of railings, old fire extinguishers, cable drums, winches, and broken iron plate litter the whole area. The stern section of the Heye – P lies with its rear end imprisoned between huge rocks, with its deck canted over at an angle of some forty-five degrees. The area abounds with rock overhangs and you have to be extremely careful, as it is very easy to swim in underneath these without noticing. Any tendency towards the surface can result in a very sore head.

I am extremely grateful to Peter Barc for the following information. He is now Captain of the Pat-M working in Cassablanca, but remembers the Heye-P at the start of his career.

Capt Peter Barc

Capt Peter Barc

The Heye-P is the most favourite ship I ever sailed on. I joined her in late 1969 at the age of 15 and she was partly owned by her Captain, Herman Kampen and his father in law Harald Diekhoff. They both lived in the small town in Ostrhauderfehn in Friesland Germany, and the mate onboard was Herman Kampens brother, who to this day lives in Norwich. We had a crew of four and the other sailor was a German called Stefan, who whilst on the Heye-P married a local girl in Ipswich, and is still there to this day, I am still in contact with him these days also.

Peter Barc and friend.

Peter Barc and friend.

Capt Herman Kampen is now retired. In those days with Heye -P we ran a ten day libner service, I still remember clearly having to lash down the tractors on deck from Ipswich to Paris, I left her after about being on her for 4 years and joined the sister ship “Warfleth” who also sank in the Thames estuary. A few years after I left her (Heye-P) she got sold to a British company but I can’t remember the name, but I do remember the lady that purchased her, Heather Chaplain from Kent if I remember right and I don’t think she owned Heye-P long before that fateful night off Prawle Point. Luckily nobody got hurt, and I must admit when I drove from Exmouth to Bolt Head and saw my first ship on the rocks, and the debris floating around, it did feel surreal, a very sad and emotional time as I stood and stared at her lifting and banging on the swell. I am very grateful to Andy Cory for this first hand account, and also for the great photos.

Andy Cory.

Andy Cory.

I became officer in charge of H.M. Coastguard Prawle, South Devon in November 1978 and witnessed the ‘worst winter in living memory’ being snowed in for over a week. One winters night in January 1979 the auxiliary Coastguard ( Bob Page a local dive boat skipper ) on watch at Prawle Point Coastguard station sighted a vessel approaching from the west and heading straight for the rocks at the point. After alerting me to scramble the Landrover mobile rescue unit, staff on watch continued attempts to warn the vessel off ( radio, signal lights and rockets ). At the same time from the deployed Landrover nearer to the vessel’s actual position, I fired several rockets directly over the vessel. None of these combined actions served to alert any of the crew and it ran ashore on the rocks directly below the Prawle Point Coastguard Station around 2230.

Training excercise.

Training excercise.

All attempts to rescue the three crew by lifeboat, and breeches buoy by the Prawle Coastguard rescue team were unsuccessful due to the storm force SW winds and mountainous seas. Positioned on top of the cliffs with my Coastguard rescue teams, sheltering behind rocks, I co-ordinated a Naval Rescue Helicopter from RNAS Culdrose, who eventually effected a heroic rescue of all three crew members despite being engulfed in dense sea spray during one attempt. In all my twenty plus years as a Coastguard Officer, this remains the most skilful and impressive helicopter operation I have ever witnessed.

Rather Andy than me.

Rather Andy than me.
Rather Andy than me.

Rather Andy than me.

Note:- the MV Heye-P was carrying a cargo of china clay from Par in Cornwall to Holland. It appeared that the crewman on watch may have fallen asleep at the wheel and the Skipper and other crewmen were only awakened as the vessel hit the rocks. The bell was recovered from the wreck by local Coastguard Officers some days later. The bell was brand new for this trip and the owner Heather Mitchell had not had time to get it engraved but donated it to the Coastguard Station Officer at the time as a memento of the rescue.

Meeting H.R.H. Princess Anne at the station.

Meeting H.R.H. Princess Anne at the station.

Other wrecks to be found around Prawle Point include the Dutch East Indiaman De Boot wrecked in 1738, homeward bound from Batavia. Her cargo consisted of Ming porcelain packed into tea chests full of loose tea (good idea that) and boxes of uncut diamonds. The whole cargo back then was worth ?250 000, an absolute fortune, and extensive salvage was carried out. The ship eventually was smashed to pieces, but even today you can turn up fragments of blue and white porcelain, and apparently a six-foot iron cannon is to be found lurking in the gullies around Gull Rock although I have not seen it so far. What I have seen however are concreted cannon balls in amongst the wreckage of the Heye- P and Louis Yvonne, and they probably come from the wreck of H.M.S. Crocodile a 24-gun frigate on her way home from India. She hit Prawle Point in thick fog on the morning of May 9, 1784, and although she became a total loss all her 170 officers and men managed to escape without loss.

The Ida wrecked in 1930.

The Ida wrecked in 1930.

In September 1930 the steamer Ida on passage from Cardiff to Portsmouth with a cargo of coal, ran ashore just inside Prawle Point in thick fog. The Coast guards saved the crew of twelve and the ship lay broadside to the rocks until the October gales broke her into and she slipped into deeper water. However bits of her boiler and prop shaft can be seen in less that thirty feet if you can sort out what belongs to which wreck.

The Maria wrecked on Langler Rocks.

The Maria wrecked on Langler Rocks.

My favourite shipwreck is that of the Greek steamer Maria. She ran onto the Langler Rocks just to the west side of Prawle in thick fog on June 27 1892. The Salcombe lifeboat went out to help, but the crew, fed up with waiting rowed themselves ashore in the ships boat. The Maria had a very short life. She was launched in Sunderland in May 1891 and declared a total loss on July 19 1892. She is my favourite because I can’t find the main body of the wreck just the bits that are smashed into the rocks in less than ten metres. On a sunny day masses of tiny bits of brass that are crudded into the rock sparkle like diamonds, and objects like half a porthole seem to grow out of the rock. Small fish dart in and out and the whole area is an absolute joy. Almost on top of the Maria is the wreckage of the Dimitrios (see side bar) and it is almost impossible to sort out the tangle of wreckage. But I will do it one day, and am quite content to take my time

Poulmic

The Poulmic is a very popular wreck and is dived by hundreds of divers each year. Most of them only see what they expect to see, so these three stories might encourage you to look harder at what at first sight is just another wreck.

  • The Poulmic Wreck
  • The Wreck with No Name
  • Mines on the Poulmic

Louis Shied

The wrecking of the Belgian steamer the Louis Shied could almost be a Victorian tale of virtue going un-rewarded. The Louis Shied, on her way home to Antwerp in the early morning of 7 December 1939, came across the remains of the stricken- ed freighter the Tajandoen, sinking off the south coast of Devon. The Tajandoen had either been torpedoed or struck a mine. In any event there had been a terrific explosion in the engine room, and she had gone down very rapidly. Even so, most of the crew and passengers managed to get off the ship and into the lifeboats.

Louis Shied hard aground.

Louis Shied hard aground.

Unfortunately eight hundred tons of fuel oil had been released in the explosion, and lay in a vast spreading pool about the ship. As the lifeboats left the foundering vessel, flames from the fiercely burning engine room shot up out of the Tajandoen’s funnels and set fire to the oil. The lifeboat, crews sizing up the situation, rowed like demons with the huge flames roaring all about them. With the fire threatening to burn their very oars, and with the passengers frantically beating off the flames, it was touch and go.

The crew.

The crew.

some of the Tajanden’s crewIn the end all the boats managed to reach the safety of the open sea, in time to see their ship disappear in a seething mass of flames. The Louis Sheid, together with the Italian steamer the Georgio Ohlsen, managed to pick up about forty survivors, all of which were transferred to the Louis Shied for transport back to Antwerp. Although a neutral ship, the Louis Shied was taking a considerable risk stopping in waters so much favoured by the Uboats. However, the visibility was very poor, and once all the survivors were safely on board, the Master of the Louis Shied decided to minimise the risk from any possible submarine attack by clinging close to the Devon shore. With the good deeds just performed, Providence should have ensured a safe passage home. Alas for the Louis Shied, Providence forsook them.

At first there was hope of a successful salvage job.

At first there was hope of a successful salvage job.

As the day turned to night, heavy rain squalls and the complete absence of any shore lights made conditions extremely difficult. The Louis Shied now unknowingly too close to the land for safety, sailed on into Thurlestone Bay, struck a rock and stranded on a reef directly under what was then the Links Hotel. To make matters worse, a southerly gale had started to blow, and huge waves were forcing the ship even further onto the rocks. With great skill the Salcombe lifeboat managed to get out to the Louis Shied and effect the rescue of everyone on board, some sixty-two in all. Since the Louis Shied had struck at low tide, there was every hope of saving her, but alas, as she floated off the rocks at high tide, the huge waves smashed her broadside onto the cliffs and wedged her even more firmly. In the end she defied all attempts to save her and was abandoned. Later she broke in two and was extensively cut up and salvaged piecemeal. A sad end to a brave ship.

The begining of the end.

The begining of the end.

Because the Louis Shied foundered so close inshore, this wreck makes an ideal shore dive. You can get at it from one of the beaches either side of the point upon which the old hotel is sited, (now a block of luxury flats), but the easiest is the beach next to the golf club. You can use the club’s large car park, and from there it is a short walk to the beach. From the beach, which incidentally provides safe bathing even for young children, the wreck is only a short swim away and is impossible to miss. What’s left of the Louis Shied now lies in less than thirty feet of water, scattered on a bed of rock and fine sand. At low tide some metal posts still show above the surface to mark her position. Down below the remains of the boilers, ribs from the hull, and masses of assorted steel plates all exude a gentle charm, which makes this wreck ideal for just pottering about on. The boilers house a colourful collection of wrasse, whilst the ribs provide shelter for hordes of large spider crabs, and numerous small fish. On a sunny summer’s day the wreck is alive with colour and movement, and has been instrumental in introducing many a young diver to the thrills of wreck diving.

Always lots of fish to photograph. Courtesy Dan Bolt.

Always lots of fish to photograph. Courtesy Dan Bolt.

Every so often you come across somebody who has a great personal story to tell about a wreck. Gordon Collony is one such person. Now in his eighties,(2012) but still sharp as a tack Gordon told me about how he and a friend salvaged some of the Louis Shied in the fifties, using a hard hat to start with. Here is his story.

Gordon

Gordon

Today I met Gordon. He is in his eighties but still full of life and sharp with it. He told me the story, or at least some of the story, about scrapping the prop and the condenser from the Louis Shied wrecked in Thurlestone. Gordon found the wreck by accident in the early fifties whilst out with his family on Thurlestone beach. He snorkeler out to the stern post that still sticks out of the water and in the shallow water below he saw a large prop with four long blades. Gordon thought it would be a shame to leave it there, so decided to try and get it ashore with the help of his mate Steve. To make matters legal he went to the receiver of wrecks in Salcombe told them all about it and asked permission to have a go at salvaging the prop and anything else that was down there. In those days it was all very low key and the receiver said ‘carry on Gordon, and good luck to you’.

Top view of a winch. Courtesy Dan Bolt.

Top view of a winch. Courtesy Dan Bolt.

Gordon did not know how to dive so went off to Dartmouth to see a bloke called Captain T.E.Hampton who ran an early BSAC course. After he had done that, the next thing was to get some gear. As luck would have it the Eglington brothers were just selling off all theirs, and a small boat. They were well known for being the people who had cleared the remains of the Hoe Pier after it had been bombed in the war. Gordon and Steve got all the gear around to Thurlestone and decided to start with the prop. On examination they found that the prop consisted of four brass blades each about nine feet long bolted to a large cast iron boss They had no chance of undoing the bolts so they determined to blow it off. Although not knowing anything about explosives they did know that you had to have a licence to get some, so they went round to their local Police Station to apply for one. It was as easy as that. I know that today it sounds incredible, but I can vouch for the truth of it, because one of my friends did exactly the same in Brighton in the early sixties.

Bit of a cats cradle. Courtesy Dan Bolt.

Bit of a cats cradle. Courtesy Dan Bolt.

Armed with the explosive and detonators they set off to blow the prop. Gordon was not sure how much to put on the boss to break it and probably erred on the side of too much. However he didn’t think it was too much, because they stayed in the boat whilst they detonated the charge. Just as well, as the boss shattered like shrapnel, depositing the four blades on the sand. The next job was to too get the blades ashore. The boat was too small to float them in on the tide so Gordon managed to get an old petrol tank from a scrapyard. At low tide they strapped the blade to the tank and as the tide rose floated the blades into shore. Gordon borrowed a tractor to lift the blades onto a knackered lorry that he had also borrowed and of they went to the scrap yard in Plymouth. Unfortunately halfway up the steep hill from Modbury the lorry ran out of petrol so they had to leave it with its precious cargo until they got some more a few hours later. Pleased with their efforts and buoyed up by their success they decided to turn their attention to the condenser.

Just past the boiler. Courtesy Dan Bolt.

Just past the boiler. Courtesy Dan Bolt.

This was to proved much more of a problem. For a start Gordon didn’t have a boat big enough for the job, the boat had to be big enough to hold all their gear and act as a lifting vessel to float the condenser all 22 tons of it into shore. The condenser proved to be much more of a problem. For a start Gordon did not have a big enough boat to float the condenser. After a bit of looking he found an old LST in Stonehouse creek. It was in a pretty bad state but by patching it up with plywood they thought it would manage to do the job and they soon sailed it around to Hope Cove just around the corner from the Louis Shied. Gordon and his mate Steve soon got to work on cutting the many pipes that held the condenser to the wreck. The condenser weighed about 22 tons with iron slabs at each end. Each of the slabs were prized off by axing all the pipes. What Gordon didn’t know at the time was that all the pipes in the condenser were full of sand. You could not tell because axing the pipes free of the slabs had closed them all off, but when it came to weighing in the condenser it was going to weigh more than they thought. That was to be a bonus. Then they started cutting off all the copper pipes that held the condenser to the wreck and when they thought they had done all they could they blew of the big exhaust pipe which unfortunately had a very jagged edge and fixed wire strops underneath the great lump and took the ends up to the LST.

Part of a winch. Courtesy Dan Bolt.

Part of a winch. Courtesy Dan Bolt.

Mooring the boat right over the condenser the strops were fastened around railway sleepers which had been placed across the beam of the boat. The wires were held together by bulldog grips and the idea was that as the tide rose the boat would float the condenser free and closer into shore ready for the next high tide. However as the tide rose the LST started to sink lower in the water until only about a foot of freeboard was left. Realising that the condenser was stuck and about to pull the LST under Gordon franticly undid the bulldog clips at the bow. As the pressure on the boat was released the bow shot up and the stern very nearly went under and would have except for the quick thinking of Steve who had already started on the bulldog grips his end. In the nick of time his wire parted whistling over both their heads and the boat bobbed calmly on the water. With all the explosions going on people in the area started to complain a bit, especially the Hotel which over looked the wreck (it’s now a block of flats ) They said that some of their ceilings were being cracked. The Police came down and decided that it wasn’t serious, but asked Gordon to alert them and the Hotel when they were going to blast.

This wreck is great for photo's. Courtesy Dan Bolt.

This wreck is great for photo’s. Courtesy Dan Bolt.

When Gordon went down to see what was holding the condenser he found just one two inch copper pipe, that incredibly, was still anchoring the condenser to the wreck. After chopping off the offending pipe they once more moored the boat over the condenser, fastened the strops to the railway sleepers and weighted for the next tide, which successfully floated the whole thing off the wreck and around to a beach near Hope Cove. As there was nothing to be done until the evening they went for a spot of lunch with a local fisherman, Jack Jarvis. As they set off back to their boat after lunch they came across some woolly bear garments like the ones they used under their diving gear floating in the water. They will come in useful thought Gordon as he scooped them out of the water and carried on towards his boat which at the moment was out of site in the next bay. As they approached the entrance to the bay, a holiday maker who was snorkelling close to the shore, started waving and shouting that their boat had sunk. As they got closer they saw that he was right, their boat was nowhere to be seen. What had happened, was that as the tide fell away, the LST had come down on the ragged end of the exhaust pipe, causing the condenser to roll enough to rip a great hole in the boat and sink. This was nearly the end of the game as all their diving gear was on board. Luckily the LST was only sunk in shallow water and so most of the gear was easily recovered and put in Jack Jarvis’s boat to be taken back to Hope Cove. This was just as well as later that night the wind got up and smashed the LST to pieces and spread it all over the beach.

One of the boilers. Courtesy Dan Bolt.

One of the boilers. Courtesy Dan Bolt.

With the condenser now nearly on the beach the job in hand was to try and get it far enough up the beach so that it could be put in a lorry and taken to the scrap yard. Gordon and Steve thought for a bit and came up with idea of using a large winch which they had seen at a surplus yard. They figured that if they dug it into the edge of the nearby golf course it would provide enough of an anchor point to enable them to turnbuckle the condenser up the beach far enough to get a lorry down to it. This worked a treat and soon the condenser was craned into the lorry and on its way to the scrapyard.

Deventia Gallery : stills from the Devon Shipwrecks video

We found this just lightly covered in sand. What you might call ‘A Good Day’

 

Is this anchor from the Deventia or the Dragon?

 

The engine block of the Deventia


Watch the full length Devon Shipwrecks documentary

The Old Lady, The Barquentine, and the Ghost

The trouble with wreck research is that most of it is carried out in libraries, and after a while, instead of seeing the facts you just start seeing lots of dots. Much more interesting is galloping around the cliff tops trying to climb down to suspected wreck sites, or gently creeping about in old churchyards, peering at the gravestones in order to get an idea of all the local tragedies that have happened on the cruel sea.

I much prefer being out in the open air to browsing in libraries, but you have to go where the information is, and if you are really lucky you will find a personal angle that will really make the wreck come alive. ‘Eyewitness’ accounts are by far the best kind of information, and if you have ever seen those programmes where survivors from the Titanic or some other famous wreck tell their stories, you cannot help but become interested in them and the fate of their ships. It really is compelling stuff, and I find it most surprising that many of them seem to remember events that happened seventy odd years ago like it happened almost yesterday.

Mrs. Pillage aged 82.

Mrs. Pillage aged 82.

Part of my job used to be helping to run an Old People’s Home, and it took me a while to realize what an untapped fund of knowledge I had right on my own doorstep. Old people, far from being disinterested spectators on life still retain for the most part an avid interest in the world that immediately surrounds them, and when they find out that you do something, that to them, is downright dangerous, then their curiosity knows no bounds, especially when it comes to identifying everyday objects that have been brought up from the sea. Glass ‘alley’ bottles hold no mysteries for them, they are familiar objects from childhood. In one case a stone ginger bottle caused one old lady to shout in glee because the make ‘Biscombes’ was a firm that her great grandfather once owned. She was so delighted I had to give her the bottle so she could have it in her room.

The Yvonne on the Breakwater.

The Yvonne on the Breakwater.

Now although useful this was all pretty low key information, until one day one of my ladies, a Mrs. Pillage by name, came up to me shyly and asked if I knew anything about the wreck of a Barquentine that had happened on the Plymouth Breakwater when she was a young girl. After a bit of questioning I realised that she meant the ‘Yvonne’ a steel barquentine of about a thousand tonnes that had hit the Breakwater and sunk in August 1920. Now I did actually know this wreck and had dived on its remains quite a few times. Mrs Pillage was fascinated by this and asked me plenty of questions about how the wreck lay, and what it now looked like. She displayed such a good grasp of the situation, that puzzled she should know so much, I asked her where she had got her information from.

Mrs. Pillage is in the middle.

Mrs. Pillage is in the middle.

It transpired that her grandfather had been a Pilot and Tug Skipper, and as a young girl the great love of her live had been a small sail boat. When the Yvonne smacked into the Breakwater she was determined to sail out there and have a look. As she retold the story of that day her eyes sparkled with the memory, and at the end of her tale she suddenly asked me if I would like to see some photographs. There in an old envelope were three small photo’s taken with an old Box Brownie. One showed her as a young girl in her little boat, and the other two showed the bows and stern of the Yvonne lying with her back broken in two on the Breakwater. You knew it was the right wreck because the little girl had taken great care to frame the stern right in the middle of the view finder. There in large letters was her name ‘Yvonne’.

The Stern.

The Stern.

Well I was amazed. To actually meet somebody who saw this wreck nearly seventy years ago ( this article was written in 1987 ) was remarkable enough, but somebody with clear memories certainly bought this wreck story to life in a way that the newspaper reports certainly did not. However, not content with the photographs, Mrs. Pillage, by now the centre of attraction, rounded of her tale of the Yvonne with a good old fashioned ghost story.

It seems that the night watchmen at the wreck site had been complaining about blood curling howls and the rattling of ghostly bones. Naturally their employers dismissed these claims as the moaning of a bunch of skyvers. However, one night things turned serious when the watchmen, although frightened out of their wits by the unearthly sounds determined to investigate. As they climbed onto the wreck a steel marlin spike hurtled down from the rigging and struck quivering in the wooden deck just in front of them.

The Bow.

The Bow.

Completely un-nerved, they fled in terror and were never seen again. Two days later Mr. Turner, a sail rigger by profession, arrived at the Breakwater to collect some tools that he had recently left behind. Apparently he had been aloft to take some gear from the topmasts, and had left two marlin spikes in a bucket attached to the mast by a length of rope. As he climbed up a gust of wind blew the bucket against the rigging making a howling sound where it twanged against the ropes, whilst the marlin spike rattled from side to side in the iron bucket. Later, on his way back to Plymouth, Mr. Turner was heard to complain loudly about the loss of one of his marlin spikes.

Isaac Pillage, 1870-1925

Isaac Pillage, 1870-1925

I don’t know about you, but I think that’s a great story. You just can’t get that kind of insight from files, and even if you could ( I later found an account of the workmen fleeing in a local newspaper of the time ) its just not the same. I have often said that wrecks are more than just undersea scrap, they are almost living history, and it is people and their memories that allows these wrecks to ‘live’ again.

Sadly Mrs. Pillage died a few years after telling me this story, and because of her age she was probably the last person that saw the Yvonne lying battered and broken on the Breakwater all those years ago. But she told me, and now I have told you. If you dive on this wreck you will become part of that link, and through you the Yvonne and her story will ‘live’ again. I don’t know about you, but it makes me look at wreck sites just a little bit differently.

The Plymouth Breakwater

One of the first things to catch the eye as you look out over Plymouth Sound is the breakwater. At first glance it might not seem a very remarkable structure, but without is Plymouth would not have a Naval base and without that, Plymouth would not be the thriving city that it is today. So although unremarkable, the breakwater has been very important in the development of Plymouth and it also has the distinction of being one of the very first free standing breakwaters ever built. But Plymouth did not always have a breakwater and although the Sound offered protection from the prevailing winds, southerly gales could often turn it into a deathtrap.

Taking the air

Taking the air

In 1690 the Admiralty decided to make Plymouth its major base in the South West and from then on the volume of shipping increased dramatically. Unfortunately so did the shipwrecks. Unprotected from southerly gales, wreck after wreck was driven across the Sound to smash onto the shore. The loss of life was appalling and hardly a winter’s month went by without the Sound becoming littered with the battered timbers of yet another shipwreck. In 1804, on one day alone, ten ships were wrecked in Deadman’s Bay and the regularity of such occurrences began to arouse public feeling. Although Plymothians were not adverse to their ‘Godsend’s they politely termed their wrecking activities, enough was plainly enough. Also since a large number of the wrecked ships belonged to the Admiralty, they were becoming increasingly embarrassed, as well as feeling financially squeezed. Obviously something would have to be done.

Arial view of the Plymouth Breakwater

Arial view of the Plymouth Breakwater

In 1806, the Admiralty commissioned a study into the building of a breakwater and after many delays the work was started in 1811. The building of the breakwater was entrusted to two engineers called Rennie and Whidbay. They decided to build the breakwater along the line of the Panther, Shovell and St.Carlos rocks, with two arms bending backwards to give better protection of the anchorage thus enclosed. Since the depths over the rocks was about 60ft, they also decided to build a solid wall that would end ten feet above the low water mark. The top would be thirty feet wide, with a base of 210ft and all in all the 3,000ft of wall was estimated to need about two million tons of stone. Most of the stone was to be in rough-hewn blocks weighing between one half and two tons, together with larger ten-ton blocks. The gaps would be filled in with rubble, and the whole lot allowed to settle and solidify.

John Rennie

John Rennie

In order to produce such large quantities of stone,a new quarry was opened at nearby Oreston in the Plym estuary. The largest blocks were hauled to the quayside in railway trucks pulled by horses and then shunted straight onto the ships which had rails specially fitted into them. The smaller boats that carried the rubble, had special windlasses fitted, as well as tilting platforms and it only took them fifty minutes to moor, discharge the stone and then set off again. Not bad even by today’s standards.

By the end of 1812, nearly fifty thousand tons of rock had been sunk and some parts of the breakwater were already showing above the water. In 1815, Rennie and Widbay decided to raise the top of the breakwater by another ten feet and soon well over eleven thousand yards were showing above the water and already giving shipping some measure of protection.

Joseph Whidby

Joseph Whidby

The slope of the breakwater had been set at 1 in 3, but the severe storms of 1817 reduced this to 1 in 5 and washed large amounts of rock away. An enormous amount of work had to be done to reinstate the original gradient and it gave the engineers plenty to think about. In the end, after successive storms had once again altered the gradient, it was decided to let the sea determine the best gradient, which, in the end, turned out to be about 1 in 5. However to prevent further shifting, the outer wass was strengthened with granite blocks dovetailed to fit against one another. These were then cemented and bolted into place, the bolts being held firm by molten lead being poured into the boltholes. More rubble was then dumped to fill in the gaps and by about 1830 the whole structure had consolidated into an immovable breakwater. The top part being the most exposed was paved over with granite so that it gave virtually no resistance to the waves and by 1841 Plymouth’s breakwater was officially completed. However, the structure still needed rocks added to it regularly to keep it firm and by 1847 over three and a half million tons of rock had been dumped, and even today huge blocks, some weighing nearly one hundred tons, are periodically dropped into place to foil the ever probing sea.

Original map showing slope calculations.

Original map showing slope calculations.

Of course as soon as the breakwater started to rise above the water, ships quite naturally started to wreck themselves on it. The merchants complained bitterly and in the end a lighthouse was erected at the western end of the breakwater, this being by far the most used of the two channels. For reasons of economy, the Bovisand end had a beacon. This consisted of a metal globe some six feet in diameter mounted on a pole so as to be some twenty feet above the high water mark. In an emergency, a shipwrecked sailor could climb up the pole and get into the globe to wait until help arrived. However even with its lighthouse and beacon, the breakwater still attracted ships like a moth to a flame. Most of the modern ships that struck the breakwater in the 19th century, like the Thetis or the Erin, went completely to pieces and have little or no trace of their passing. But in the period encompassing the two World Wars, many iron ships struck the breakwater and although some were successfully floated off, the remains of at least three ships and one aircraft still lie scattered on the seabed at the bottom of the breakwater.

The moulds for making the huge blocks.

The moulds for making the huge blocks.

The Yvonne, a steel barquentine of 1,000 tons, struck the breakwater in September 1920 and became a complete loss, as did the requisitioned trawler Abelard, which struck a mine of Christmas Eve 1914. These two wrecks have been fully described in previous Scenes, as has the Lancaster Bomber which crashed into the breakwater after a raid on the submarine bases at L’Orient in 1944.

People used to be allowed to walk on the Breakwater.

People used to be allowed to walk on the Breakwater.

The last shipwreck is situated about 200 yards from the breakwater light. Although marked as an obstruction on the chart, it is in fact the last resting place of the self propelled Hopper Barge No.42 which hit the breakwater in September 1913. All these wrecks and perhaps more, await the diver’s inspection, but don’t go away thinking that’s all the breakwater has to offer!

Breakwater lighthouse Keepers.

Breakwater lighthouse Keepers.

Most breakwaters are really elongated piers anchored to the land at one end. But Plymouth’s is a freestanding breakwater and in effect it constitutes one of the largest man made ‘reefs’ in the country. This ‘reef’ stretching down almost sixty feet in some places, provides home for a host of marine creatures and gives the diver well over a mile of varied sea bottom to explore. The west end, where the lighthouse is, has a very sandy bottom upon which a huge jumble of boulders lie. As you progress seawards, around the breakwater light, the rocks fall away very steeply to give the impression of a cliff. The currents can be quite strong, but if you pick your time carefully, you will find that lobsters and crabs abound on the seabed, as do dogfish and small ray. The middle part of the breakwater has more huge blocks, most of which were dropped about twenty years ago. These form an outer wall and are jumbled one on top of the other, so as to form large crevasses and deep holes. The fish absolutely swarm around these and if you want to find nearly all the different types of fish present in Plymouth, this is the place. Further out on the sand, at the base of the rocks, swim the pollock chasing the huge shoals of sand eels. Watching the pollock herding the sand eels into a suitable mass is an education in itself and an evening dive here to watch the pollock feeding is much better than watching even the best video.

Horses were frequently used on the Breakwater.

Horses were frequently used on the Breakwater.

Between the top of the breakwater proper and these rocks, lies a narrow channel. You cannot get a boat in, but a snorkel along this channel is a very rewarding experience, as you will be able to see masses of smaller fish and also plenty of wreckage that you most probably would not see when you are diving on the seaward side of the rocks. Further down towards the Bovisand end, the breakwater seems to flatten out. On the bottom the rocks are not as big and the seabed is more shingle than sand, with a bit more weed than elsewhere. Even so it is a very pleasant dive and with wreckage from the Yvonne scattered all over the area; it makes for a very interesting poke around. Round on the inside of the breakwater, things change considerably. Here there are no large rocks and the bottom is just muddy silt. The breakwater itself consists of fairly smooth granite and a lot of eelgrass grows there. Since the breakwater shelves quite steeply here, a swim along this part, through the eelgrass is very picturesque and if you stay at about twenty five feet you will be well away from the silt.

The Beacon.

The Beacon.

Further on the underwater terrain stays more or less the same until you reach the slipway below the lighthouse. Once again large jumbled rocks appear and the depth starts to increase to around fifty feet. There are a few large anchor chains lying around, some no doubt from the Hopper Barge and the thick weed seems to be a favourite place for small dogfish. The bottom drops quite steeply until, once again, you are on the sand, which is where we started from. So the breakwater really offers something quite unique. For once a man made object instead of interfering with nature, has actively encouraged, albeit accidentally, marine creatures to thrive in an almost perfect habitat. If you add in the wrecks, you end up with the equivalent of an underwater park and all this is right in the middle of one of Britain’s busiest ports.

Trailer for THE PLYMOUTH BREAKWATER, the great national undertaking. DVD

L.S.T.493

By far the largest vessel to hit the Plymouth Breakwater was a U.S.Navy landing craft, the L.S.T. 493. During the D.Day landings this craft had been operating with the British and amongst other duties had landed the Durham Light Infantry on Gold Beach. During this time she earned herself a U.S.Navy Battle Star. On the 12 April 1945 she was on her way from Portland to Plymouth for routine maintenance. In those days wartime restrictions decreed that none of the navigation lights were lit, and so at half past four in the morning helmsman Harold Johnson found that he could hardly see a thing, especially as the sea was getting up, and their radar was becoming temperamental.

Stuck on the Breakwater.

Stuck on the Breakwater.

The captain, Lt. F.P.Rossiter, was relieved to get a message from Penlee Point signal station directing them to wait for the ‘gate’ lights to be switched on and then proceed to Jennycliffe bay and anchor close in to the shore. When the ‘gate’ lights came on Capt. Rossiter realised that he was steering a course too far to starboard and ordered an adjustment. Unfortunately because all the other navigation lights, including the Breakwater Light, were still switched off he didn’t have a complete picture of where L.S.T.493 actually was. The radar operator tried all he knew to get the machine working but at twenty-two minutes to five a fuse blew in the set and they were effectively lost.

Harold Johnson

Harold Johnson

The Breakwater Fort signal station ordered them to steer more to the west and the Captain complied but hadn’t realized that the high spring tide had all but covered the Breakwater. With no point of reference the L.S.T. blundered on until it bumped gently onto the Breakwater and stuck fast. The Captain ordered the engines to full astern and tried desperately to twist the ship of the rocks. What he didn’t know about was the presence of large concrete triangles called Dragons Teeth placed all around the Breakwater as an anti invasion measure. As the ship twisted on the sharp rocks it became badly holed and Captain Rossiter had to admit defeat.

L.S.T. 493

L.S.T. 493

Six tugs came out to have a go at towing her off but by then she was so badly damaged that if they had succeeded the L.S.T. would have quickly sunk. The crew were taken off and taken to Shapters Field (Cattedown), which was a U.S. Amphibious base for the Court of Enquiry, and were then sent back to America. For over twenty months the L.S.T. lay on the Breakwater battered by the winter gales.

Clark Page the Gunnery Officer.

Clark Page the Gunnery Officer.

Finally the salvage vessel Swin from Southampton scrapped her, and what was left by the salvors ended up on the inside of the Breakwater. If you want to find it swim down the slipway off the Breakwater light and you will fall over it. It is a bit murky down there and it’s a bit of a jumble, but if you have nothing better to do on a winter’s day give it a go. Lt. Rossiter had a successful career in shipping after the War and became Mayor of Savannah in Georgia where he died.

Scrapping the wreck.

Scrapping the wreck.

Lancaster Bomber

Since the Plymouth Breakwater was built in 1830 a great many ships have come to grief along it’s mile-long expanse of stone and concrete. Ships and breakwaters seem to go together, but aeroplanes? Well hardly. However, at the west end of the Plymouth Breakwater lies the remains of a Lancaster bomber. How it came to be there is a grim reminder of those desperate days when Britain was engaged in a battle for her very survival, a survival that meant the destruction of the German U-boats. By 1943 the U-boat had almost brought Britain to her knees, and despite fifty-six bombing raids, Lorient, one of the most important submarine bases in Europe was still functioning.

49 Squadron with their Lancaster bomber.

49 Squadron with their Lancaster bomber.

On the night of 13th February 1943 a huge bombing raid was again due to take place on Lorient. Amongst all the bombers, which also included Halifaxes and Stirlings, was a Lancaster of 49 Squadron based at Fiskerton. The bombers attacked in two waves, and this time they caused such an enormous amount of destruction that the glow from the fires could be seen 160 miles away. Later reports confirmed the devastation and described the target area as a complete mass of flames. The price of success, however, was dearly bought, and amongst many others our particular Lancaster was severely damaged. Struggling across the dark sea, the pilot was desperately trying to make an emergency landing at R.A.F. Harrowbeer (just outside Plymouth). Unfortunately the Lancaster kept losing height and the pilot must have known that he would never make it.

The Boys at Fiskerton.

The Boys at Fiskerton.

In a last brave attempt the pilot tried to crash land in Plymouth Sound, but by now the plane must have been completely uncontrollable, and far to low. Falling from the sky, the Lancaster hit the Breakwater and completely disintegrated killing all seven crew outright; Their bodies were never recovered, and the official account of 49 Squadron recorded them as being “missing without trace”.

One of the engine blocks.

One of the engine blocks.

Today the Lancaster, or rather what’s left of it, lies at the base of the Breakwater in about forty-five feet of water. This area is made up of huge boulders and concrete blocks piled one on top of the other until they reach the surface. The division between these blocks and the sandy bottom is quite distinct, and the wreckage, situated just off the sand is quite easy to spot even if you are not right on the marks.


For the technically minded, the Lancaster was a Mark Three, powered by four Rolls Royce Merlin 28 engines, and it is one of these engines which first attracts the eye. Now a lot of this aircraft has already been salvaged, and this engine is soon to be raised by the Devon Aircraft Recovery Group. So what remains is obviously well broken up, and mostly trapped underneath the concrete blocks.

This could be part of the undercarriage.

This could be part of the undercarriage.

However, there is still a lot to see, and a search of the surrounding area will reveal other smaller pieces of wreckage, most of them stuck in the crevices between the blocks. The main pieces of wreckage, however, comprise an engine nancelle complete with battered propeller, a large amount of airframe, some undercarriage, and a complete engine. Apart from the wreckage the whole area is a joy to dive, with the contrast between the flat sand and the tumbling boulders providing the ideal environment for a host of different marine life.

Mangled prop blade.

Mangled prop blade.

Huge spotted wrasse, shoals of pollock and pouting, and even that most elusive of fish the silvery bass, all compete for your attention, making this a site that surely has something for everyone. On a personal note, I have always considered the remains of this Lancaster to be a small war grave, and try to treat it with respect. At the same time it is a wreck and I enjoy diVing on it. I am sure that “they” would understand, I hope you will too.

More wreckage in the rocks.

More wreckage in the rocks.

I am very grateful to Simon Raithby-Allin for the photo and poignant notes below.

John, Navigator.

John, Navigator.

Please find the attached image of my Grandad, Ron, navigator on the Lancaster in Plymouth sound. He is pictured with my uncle, John, who sadly died a few years ago. My father wasn’t born when Ron died, so there are no pictures of the three of them together. This picture is taken from the 49 Squadron web page, but my dad still has the original on his desk! Sadly, John used to wait at Nottingham train station daily for Ron to return, but he never did. John would then run back to Carlton, on the outskirts of Nottingham, kicking cars, very distressed, every day.

Hopper Barge No 42

On the night of 13 September 1913, the self propelled Hopper Barge No 42 arrived off the Plymouth Breakwater after a voyage from Cadiz. With a gross tonnage of just over one hundred and fifty tons, the Hopper Barge was on its way to Southampton after completing a dredging contract in Spain. Her Master, Captain Bun, was in a hurry to enter the Sound and fired off flares to signal a Pilot to come out and guide him in. After a short wait, Captain Bun, beside himself with impatience, determined to enter the Sound on his own and be hanged to the consequences. The night was uncommonly dark, and as the bridge of the Hopper Barge was right at the stern, forward visibility was very poor. Nevertheless Captain Bun ordered half ahead and posted his look outs forward. The Barge had hardly got underway when the Captain saw a large dark shape appear out of the gloom. “What is that black ahead?” he shouted to the lookout. The lookout shouted back over his shoulder “What black?” No sooner had he done this than the barge gave a mighty lurch and cannoned into the Breakwater.

High and dry on the Breakwater.

High and dry on the Breakwater.

Almost immediately the hull was pierced and water flooded in, quickly filling all the accommodation and the engine room. The Hopper Barge, much to Captain Bun’s disgust had grounded fair and square, and but for the fact of high tide would have rolled off the edge of the Breakwater immediately. Thankfully nobody was injured, and next morning all the crew assembled together with three tugs to watch the salvage attempts. With pumps installed the Barge’s engine room and accomr!10dation was quickly pumped clear of water and soon the Hopper Barge was refloated and taken in tow. Unfortunately however, the damage to the hull must have been more serious than was realized, because once again the Barge started to take in water. At first the pumps kept pace with the influx, until suddenly the tug masters realized that the Barge looked rather low in the water. Most probably the strain of towing had sprung one or two plates. There was nothing that anybody could do. One minute the Barge was afloat, the next she had sunk. This time it was for good.

Nowadays, what remains of the Hopper Barge lies in fifty feet of water on a bottom of sand and broken shale. Unfortunately she also lies right in the main shipping channel which makes it rather difficult to dive on her. The Breakwater light entrance to Plymouth Sound is used extensively throughout the day by all sorts of large craft. Nuclear submarines in particular use this entrance almost exclusively, and usually moor near to a buoy just inside the Breakwater, near the Fort. Because of this and the attendant security which envelopes Nuke’s, it is absolutely vital that the Queen’s Harbour Master is informed about your intentions. Don’t worry, he will not stop you diving (although he has the power to) but he may well get you to alter your timings.

One other little difficulty is the tide which runs very strongly around the Breakwater light entrance. Even at so called slack water there is a fair bit of movement on the bottom, and to try and dive at mid tide is hopeless as you will just hang on the anchor rope like a flag streaming in a gale. Once you have overcome all these local problems and arrive on the sea bed you will be relieved to find that the visibility is usually very good, around twenty five feet. The sand and broken shell that make up the bottom is very fine, and once kicked up hangs around like a fine mist until the current sweeps it away. The wreckage is laid out very neatly and consists largely of a boiler and what looks like part of the bows. The boiler is reasonably intact and covered in dead mert’sfingers. The bows, or whatever part it is, lies about twenty feet away and provides a very comfortable home for some very large wrasse.

Spread between the two are various worn lumps of metal sticking out from the sand, along with rope, wire hawser and pieces of other rigging. If you dig around in the sand you will find bits of broken crockery and old jars, but I should think that anything else has long since been buried. In fact you get the distinct impression that there is probably as much of the wreck buried beneath the sand and broken shell, as there is showing above it. At first sight this wreck does not look terribly impressive, but it does have a certain charm. Protruding out of the sand it reminded me of as very well kept rock garden. The spider crabs were all in their allotted places, the wrasse in theirs, and only the inquisitive cuckoo wrasse seemed to roam over the entire site tidying up around the broken dead men’s fingers. If you can manage to pick the right time, (slack water) and get permission, then the Hopper Barge makes a very pleasant second dive.

 

Abelard

The question of a wrecks identity is often very difficult to establish unless you are lucky enough to stumble across the ship’s bell or some other object that can be used to positively identify the ship. With all the sources of information available to the modem wreck researcher, wreck identification should be relatively easy, but all too often you end up with conflicting stories which just serve to further confuse the issue. A good example of this type of wreck now lies near the eastern end of the Plymouth Breakwater. Some say that it is the remains of H.M.S. Abelard, a converted steam trawler, whilst others maintain that it is the wreck of the steam tug Emilia. The wreck is prominently marked on the Admiralty charts, and each year scores of divers visit the site. So who is right?

This ship is a dead ringer for the Abelard.

This ship is a dead ringer for the Abelard.

The Abelard’s claim is based solely on the records of the wreck section of the Royal Navy’s Hydrographic Department, which states that this wreck is the remains of the Abelard. Further research into the Abelard reveals that she was a converted steam trawler built in 1909 by the Smith’s Dock Company of North Shields, for a firm in Milford. She was requisitioned by the Navy during the Great War, and used as a general duties and mine- sweeping vessel. Official War Records state that on Christmas Eve 1916 H.M.S. Abelard was wrecked off the Breakwater, and although the precise circumstances of her loss are unknown, it is presumed that she struck a mine.

Tug Emelia.

Tug Emelia.

The case for the steam tug Emilia is well documented, and at first seems fairly substantial. It is mainly based on local lifeboat records, and a photograph of the Emilia high and dry on the Breakwater. The Emilia is also listed in the B.SA.C. Wreck Register, and referred to in various shipwreck books as being wrecked on the Plymouth Breakwater whilst en route from Plymouth to Malta. Unfortunately this story does not stand up to close examination, and whilst it is true that the Emilia stranded on the Breakwater, research now proves that reports of her loss are completely unfounded. So with the Emilia’s case disposed off, H.M.S. Abelard is the only ship left with a reasonable claim to the wreck-site, and until the discovery of any evidence to the contrary, she must surely be given the benefit of the doubt.

The Emelia is finally pulled off the Breakwater by the tug Restorer.

The Emelia is finally pulled off the Breakwater by the tug Restorer.

Today the wreck of the Abelard lies in about 30 feet of water just off the huge boulders that make up part of the Breakwater. The bottom here is sand, and the wreck lies with its bows facing away from the Breakwater surrounded by fairly low rocky outcrops. Although fairly well broken up the Abelard is not widely scattered, and her component parts are still fairly easy to recognise. The most immediate feature is the boiler which stands about 15 feet high. It is still possible to swim carefully inside and meet the myriad of small fish that live in there, but because the boiler is also full of broken pieces of metal, there is not too much room. Just behind the boiler lies part of the engine room, various large pipes, and the Abelard’s huge iron propeller now almost buried in the sand.

Check out that gear.

Check out that gear.

Leaving the boiler and swimming towards the bows, you can quite easily follow the line of the hull. Most of the side plates have been smashed off, but the rest of the hull is firmly embedded in the sand. The ribs are plain to see, and scattered all about are the remains of winches, bollards, large deck cleats, and broken derricks. The best time to see the wreck is in the spring, just before the kelp starts to grow more thickly and hides some of the more interesting pieces. However, in the summer the wreck is alive with fish of all sorts, and the kelp covered bow section becomes home to some of the largest and most colourful wrasse that I have ever seen. Summer or winter, the Abelard provides a very good dive, and with its shallow depth there is plenty of time to fully explore all the nooks and crannies. But remember, when you dive on the Abelard that vital clue that will identify her once and for all, may well be only inches from your hand. So keep your eyes wide open, and if you find it, tell me.

Inside the boiler, all those years ago.

Inside the boiler, all those years ago.

Update May 2014 With all the storms we have had in the last two years, it is not surprising that the wreck of the Abelard had broken up quite condiderably from when I first wrote about it all those years ago. Even so it is still a pleasant dive, especially in the winter when the weed is at its lowest. The boiler is still almost intact and there is plenty to poke around in the rock sand surrounding the wreckage. With the wide availability of U/W digital cameras more and more people are takeing to photography and this is an ideal learning wreck.

Photos Courtesy of Peter Rowland.

Photos Courtesy of Peter Rowland.
Photos Courtesy of Peter Rowland.

Photos Courtesy of Peter Rowland.
Photos Courtesy of Peter Rowland.

Photos Courtesy of Peter Rowland.
Photos Courtesy of Peter Rowland.

Photos Courtesy of Peter Rowland.

Wally Layne

The James Egan Layne got its name from a U.S. sailor killed during the war. He was serving as a merchant seaman on the Liberty Ship Baton Rouge, and died when his boat was sunk on active service. At the time it was a tradition in the U.S. to name new ships after men who had lost their lives at sea. Wally Layne was only 20 months old when his dad was killed, and had assumed that the ship had been broken up and sold for scrap. It was a chance encounter through the internet that enabled him to visit the ship that his dad had perished on. Two university students here at Plymouth were researching the Egan Layne, but couldn’t find any info on the family of James Egan Layne.

Jon,Wally and Stephen.

Jon,Wally and Stephen.

In desperation they posted a message on an internet diving page which was seen in Chicago by a colleague of Wally Layne. He contacted the two students, Jon Owen and Stephen Keedwell, and eventually they all met up in Plymouth in 1998. The idea was for Wally to dive down on the wreck, but as always the weather had the final say. In quite big seas the group sailed to the wreck, and fighting back the tears Wally was finally able to see a sonar trace of the vessel that his dad had died in. His daughter and two stepchildren accompanied him as did his sister Beverly, who had seen the ship launched in New Orleans in 1944. Jon and Stephen later presented Wally with a video of the wreck and a plaque commemorating his visit.

Poulmic

On the 3 July 1940, during the bad old days of the Second World War, the Royal Navy seized the French personnel carrier Le Poulmic, then lying at Plymouth, after the collapse and surrender of the French forces. Le Poulmic, a vessel of 300 tons and 121 feet in length, was soon put to use by the Navy as a minesweeper and general workboat, and carried out her duties in and around the Plymouth area. However, she was not destined to remain under the White Ensign for very long.

The Poulmic.

The Poulmic.

On the 6 October 1940, whilst carrying out routine minesweeping off Penlee Point, the Poulmic struck a mine and quickly sank. Her final position was given as ‘bearing 200 degrees and eleven cables from the Breakwater light’, but she lies closer in than that. An easy way of finding her is to line up the left edge of the Breakwater fort with the largest gasholder at Cattedown, (all marked on the chart) and the edge of the ruins on the skyline of Penlee Point with the Rame Head radio mast. The explosion must have been particularly violent, for it seems to have torn the ship apart, and her remains now lie widely scattered in sixty feet of water. The marks should put you right on the main body of the wreck, which appears to be part of the engine room, together with internal ribs and some decking. This stands about fifteen feet high on a very rocky bottom, and houses some very large Whiting. Part of this wreckage is supported by some large rocky outcrops, and it is possible to see right underneath to the other side. Further over are what appear to be a deck winch and several pieces of broken mast.

Ammo shell from the Poulmic.

Ammo shell from the Poulmic.

Various pieces of battered superstructure lay strewn over a fairly large area, as do various pieces of ship equipment, such as stanchions, derricks, rope blocks and lots of anchor chain. As you explore the deep gullies around the wreck, you begin to realise that the whole area is littered with what appear to be anti aircraft shells. They are either lying around singly, or in concreted lumps of three or four. This is all still ‘live’ ammunition and in a pretty bad state of deterioration. There are also one or two larger projectiles, up to two and a half feet long, lying around, so a bit of caution is required and on no account should any shells be tampered with. Over the whole area roam shoals of Pouting, and the rocky ledges provide a good home for sea urchins and plenty of cover for small dogfish. The ever present Wrasse are very friendly, and seem to delight in trying to nip your fingers as you both try to get at a piece of pottery, or turn over a suspicious looking rock.

Part of the stern.

Part of the stern.

The key word for this wreck is ‘interesting’. It’s the sort of wreck you want to sift through, and because of the historical overlap prevalent all over the approaches to Plymouth Sound, all sorts of anomalies crop up. For instance, the last time we dived on the wreck we found two large cannonballs. Hardly standard equipment on a minesweeper. Of course because the Poulmic is such an available site, it’s largely ignored by people hurrying off to more famous wrecks. So do yourself a favour. It’s not as impressive as the Egan Layne, or as deep as the Persier, but it is ‘interesting’.

June 2007 I am always interested in any bits and pieces from the wrecks that I put on the site. Recently Charles Butcher send me this little tag from the Poulmic, with an accoun of how he found it. Anyone with any more info, bring it on.

Charles Butcher.

Charles Butcher.

Doesn’t good vis make a difference? In my brief diving career I spent many happy hours rooting about in the murk, but on a few occasions really good visibility revealed more than just a pretty picture. In the mid-1980s I was living in Coventry and diving with Warwick University Sub-Aqua Club. I had dived the site of the Poulmic several times, but in those pre-GPS days, with poor seamanship and even worse vis, we never seemed to hit the main bulk of the wreck. We just assumed there was not much left of the poor Poulmic. Then one day I dived in good vis, and everything was transformed: lots of wreckage, including great big ribs standing several metres off the sea bed.

French Tag.

French Tag.

Of course, Peter’s subsequent discoveries mean this might not have been the Poulmic after all — but we didn’t know this at the time! At any rate, that day I found an odd-shaped cartridge case that turned out to be the uniquely French Lebel 8 mm, and this little brass maker’s plate that was once attached to a “pompe auto-avance”, whatever that is. It’s not much to look at, but it came from a company in Paris, so I reckon that makes it part of the Poulmic.

 

Mines on the Poulmic

It always amazes me how many people seem to dive with their eyes closed. Well I do not mean acutally tight shut, just the fact that they do not see what is often right in front of them. The oft repeated cry, ‘there’s nothing down there’ can be heard echoing all over Plymouth’s wreck infested waters in the middle of the summer, and since the divers in question have usually been diving on a wreck, I sometimes wonder what they expect to find.

On a wreck like the Poulmic for instance, a porthole or two have been found in the past, but with roughly five hundred divers a year diving on this wreck it is unrealistic to expect to find very much in the way of souvenirs. Of course to the more committed wreck diver, every wreck is really a jigsaw puzzle waiting to be solved, and any brass, whilst always welcome, is usually considered an undeserved bonus. Most of the wrecks around Plymouth are quite straight forward. The ]. E. Layne and the Glen Strath Allen for instance, are extremely well documented, but the Penlee Cannon Site and the Coronation still exert a fascination for the wreck detectives years after they have been discovered.

Examining the Mine.

Examining the Mine.

Most people think that shipwrecks just break up and fade away, and to be truthful an awful lot do. But some like the Ramillies near Bolt Tail, are nearly three hundred years old and still they live on in people’s memories, and enough of their bones are left to intrigue the modem day wreck hunters. The fascination about wrecks is that they seem to link the past with the present, and however much you dive upon them, many are still capable of throwing up quite staggering surprises. Going back to the Poulmic for example. I wonder how many people realize that the Poulmic site actually contains three different shipwrecks lying almost side by side. Surprised? Well I certainly was, especially as I quite regularly dive the Poulmic area, and only found out by a complete accident, and I am still not entirely certain what they all are. Still it just goes to show what is down there waiting to be discovered even if you think you have seen it all before.

A bit of gentle scrapping.

A bit of gentle scrapping.

The Poulmic lies about a mile off the Breakwater light, just outside the new degaussing range. But it was about one hundred yards closer in that we discovered the object that was to lead us to the discovery of the other vessels. The object in question was a large mine, you know the type of thing that you see on sea fronts collecting money for distressed sailors. They are usually painted red and covered with great big prongs. We were drifting the boat at the time, just having a gentle scrap dive, with two of us hanging off .the anchor rope when the anchor became snagged on a rock. When I swam along to free it, I saw that the anchor chain was happily banging up and down on a large round object half buried in a sandy gulley. The shape looked familiar, but it was only when I saw the prongs that I realised what it was. Well I can tell you that my heart certainly missed a beat or two, but almost at once I saw that there was a hole in the top and realized that after all, the mine had probably already gone ‘bang’.

Attaching the lifting bags.

Attaching the lifting bags.

After a good deal of careful examination the mine revealed itself to be the top half of the outer casing, presumably blown off when the mine exploded during the war. Using the mine as a start point we did a circular search of the immediate area and came up with some iron wreckage. Further dives revealed that there was more sparse wreckage which eventually led to the Poulmic. Now this was very interesting because we know that the Poulmic had been sunk by a mine during the Second World War. Was this the very mine that sunk the Poulmic? It certainly seemed a possible conclusion, but could it just be a coincidence? At first I was fairly certain that this was the mine, but later research showed that at least three other vessels had been sunk in the same general area during the Second World War, and that their sinking’s had also been because of mines. I could see that we were going to get no easy answers to the puzzle, so we decided to lift the mine casing so that we could examine it in more detail.That’s when the accident happened.

Some empty shell cases picked up near the mine.

Some empty shell cases picked up near the mine.

We had fixed a lifting bag onto the casing by passing a rope through the top hole and out through a small hole in the side. It all looked secure, and the bag was quickly filled with air. The mine rose gracefully off the bottom and started to accelerate upwards. Suddenly the top [ ring, which must have been rusted straight through, pulled out from the casing and shot towards the surface. The main body of the casing faltered, and then plunged gleefully back towards the sea bed. I was right underneath trying to take some photographs, and rapidly tried to swim out of the way. Unfortunately the casing seemed set on following me, and the chase only ended when the mine settled in a great cloud of sand inches from my fins. When the dust settled I saw that my partner was busy having hysterics, so I swam in a dignified manner back towards the anchor.

It was then that I saw the remains of what looked like a stem section, complete with rudder off a small trawler. Further examination revealed ribs and more iron debris together with some broken pottery and old porcelain electrical fittings. Definitely a wreck site, and definitely not connected to the Poulmic. So did the mine blow this vessel up instead of the Poulmic, or did it do for both? Well at the moment we just do not know. But that is the fun I suppose, the finding out. The answer is lying somewhere down there on the bottom, and it is just a manner of interpreting correctly what we see, and drawing the proper conclusions. Other divers have found these wrecks before us, but they thought that it was all part of the Poulmic, because that is what they expected to see. I would have too, but luckily I found the mine, and that is what started me thinking. Looking is fun, but thinking about what you see, that’s what provides the answers. . . eventually.

 

The Wreck With No Name

Familiarity breeds contempt. There’s a clich?if ever there was one. In diving terms, maybe it’s not quite so true, as familiarity often breeds confidence and competence. However in the matter of wreck diving it can also give way, after a while to a certain indifference. A good case in point is the wreck of the Poulmic, just outside the Breakwater at Plymouth. Five years ago I wrote an article on this wreck for Scene, and in the following years dived on it fairly regularly. I always enjoyed my dives, but after a while I came to think that I knew all there was to know about the wreck, and as the years rolled by I started to lose interest in it. Because the marks for this wreck are extremely accurate, I always tend to use them religiously, and therefore always approach the wreck from the same side.

The bows of the wreck.

The bows of the wreck.

Last year, quite by chance we were diving at the other end of the Poulmic wreck site when we came across the stern section of what looked like a trawler. It seemed too small to be anything to do with the Poulmic, but it could possibly be one of the many small trawlers lost in this area during the two world wars. After doing some more dives we found some ribs, lots of iron plate, and some deck fittings. I began to get ‘cautiously’ excited because it was becoming clear that we had found another wreck. Now I’m quite hopeless at surveying things, it’s all too long winded for me, so I enlisted the help of Roger Webber and his boat Excaliber. Roger has Decca, a magnetometer, a good ferrograph and God knows what else, and he spent a very happy day charging up and down the whole area towing his magnetometer, and chucking in marker buoys every time he got a decent reading. At the end of the day the sea was littered with marker buoys, and at last Roger turned off his magnetometer which had sounded like a demented wasp and was in danger of driving me completely insane. When we had finished diving on all the buoys we came to the conclusion that right alongside the Poulmic lay another wreck, possibly a trawler of about 120 feet in length.

Map of wreck site.

Map of wreck site.

Over the next couple of weeks we dived the wreck several times but came no closer to finding out its true identity. The visibility was none too good and we kept wandering off the wrecksite onto the remains of the Poulmic. However on our next dive the weather improved immensely and we had over 50 feet visibility. As we hovered over the stem section, I suddenly saw the outline of the ship laid out before me. From ground level you would never “have seen it, but from about 20 feet off the bottom it was all so obvious. Right in the middle of the wreck was a huge winch, and up front was the top end of the bows complete with anchor fair leads. Just behind the bow was lots of anchor chain, an anchor, and scattered in the deep gullies either side were various stanchions and other deck fittings. Apart from the superstructure, here was a complete shipwreck. After diving on the Poulmic for all these years, how on earth had I never seen this wreck before?

The winch.

The winch.

The answer, is unfortunately very simple. Because I did not know that this wreck was there, I never looked for it. I, and presumably loads of other divers kept approaching the wrecksite from the same side, and when they swam onto the new wreck they thought it was the Poulmic. Since the two wrecks almost touch at various points it would be hard to tell the difference. Anyway, why should you? It is supposed to be the Poulmic, right?? So far I have still not discovered the identity of this wreck, but my research seems to indicate that it is possibly one of two vessels sunk during the Second World War. The first one is the Kingston Alalite. This vessel was 152 feet long with a gross tonnage of 412 tons, and hit a mine on 10 November 1940. She seems a bit larger than our wreck, but otherwise fits the bill quite well. The other vessel up for consideration, and in my view the most likely, is the Cardiff trawler Asama, sunk during an aircraft attack on 21 March 1941. She was 131 feet long and so is closer in size to our wreck.

The Kingston Coral, sister ship to the Kingston Alalite.

The Kingston Coral, sister ship to the Kingston Alalite.

The trouble is that these small trawlers were sunk allover the place during the war, and usually their positions are just guestimates. The other problem is that so far nothing with any markings has been found that might give us a clue. The wreckage really only consists of the hull section, and I suspect that quite a lot of that is hidden in the sand. There is no sign of the superstructure, which is a shame because this would give us a good idea as to the builder of the vessel, and that would narrow things down quite a bit. We have now taken to drift diving off the reef that the Poulmic is on. The difference in depth is about 25 feet, and by drifting nearby, but in the direction of the Breakwater, we hope to come across some of the superstructure. If it was blown off or just came adrift, that’s the way the tide and current would have taken it. So far after a whole winter’s diving nothing of significance has come to light, so we are no further forward.

I said in that very first article on the Poulmic, that it was an interesting wreck. Well it certainly is that, and maybe one day I will find all the answers. One thing I certainly will not do however, and that is to become indifferent I because that seems to lead to blindness.

The Richard Montgomery

Tucked away in the south east corner of England is the seaside town of Sheerness. On the surface you would think that Sheerness was just another pleasant holiday town, and you would be right, because you would have to go underneath the surface to a spot some three thousand yards off the seafront to find the dangerous secret that Sheer- ness has harboured for over forty years. A secret that although buried In sand and silt sixty feet down within the rusting hull of a World War 2 Liberty ship, Is so potentially hazardous that nothing is allowed nearer than five hundred feet.

The Montgomery, with Navy Diver's inspecting the ammunition.

The Montgomery, with Navy Diver’s inspecting the ammunition.

When that Liberty ship , the Richard Montgomery, sank all those years ago it contained over seven thousand tons of explosives, enough to blow Sheerness and all its neighbours sky high, and In credibly its still all there like some giant time bomb ticking relentlessly away. The trouble is that nobody can seem to agree whether the clock has stopped, or is just about ready to strike. With today’s attitudes on all things ‘green’ it seems absurd that the Montgomery’s cargo was not made safe years ago, but absurdity and incompetence often go hand in hand, and incompetence certainly seems to have been the hallmark of this story right from the start.

Location of the Richard Montgomery.

Location of the Richard Montgomery.

The Richard Montgomery started life as the seventh ship in a production line of eighty two Liberty ships built by the St John’s River Shipbuilding Company in Jacksonville, Florida, and was launched in July 1943. She was named after an Irish soldier, who after getting himself elected to the American Congress fought in the war against the British in Canada and was killed in the final assault on Quebec In 1775. Only a year after her launch In August 1944, the Richard Montgomery, on what was to be her final voyage loaded up with over seven thousand tons of bombs and munitions at Hog Island, Philadelphia and slipped quietly from the Delaware River and crossed the Atlantic to the Thames Estuary where she was to await a convoy for Cherbourg. At Southend she came under the orders of the Thames Naval Control and the Kings Harbour Master ordered her to anchor in a berth just off the north edge of the Sheerness Middle Sand. Considering the fact at low water there was only about thirty foot of water atthisanchorage and the Richard Montgomery drew just over thirty one feet, it was fairly obvious that the Kings Harbour Master had made a grave error of judgement. So obvious was this that the Assistant Harbour Master refused to carry out the order unless it was put in writing.

The wreck still sticks out of the water.

The wreck still sticks out of the water.

A noisy argument ensued which attracted their superior officer who sided with the . Kings Harbour Master and told him to confirm the order. The Assistant stormed out and was posted to another position two days later. Significantly his evidence was not heard at the resulting board of enquiry which did not even mention the difference of opinion. Early on Sunday morning, August 20, lookouts on the ships anchored near the Richard Montgomery saw her swinging towards the shoal as the tide flowed in and frantically sounded their sirens in warning. The Chief Officer who was on watch did nothing to save his ship, not even bothering to wake his Captain who was peacefully asleep in his cabin. Soon the tide pushed the Liberty ship right onto the top of the Sheerness Middle Sand where she became completely I stranded. As the tide ebbed the ship settled down more firmly on her silty bed and buckled some of her plates, causing them to emit cracking noises that sounded like loud gunshots. The crew. not unnaturally apprehensive about their cargo suddenly decided that they all wanted to be landlubbers and deserted the ship in a flurry of lifeboats and rafts. Since the Montgomery had stranded on a neap tide she could not be refloated for about two weeks, and even then only if most of her cargo was removed.

Drawing showing how she lies.

Drawing showing how she lies.

Immediately an emergency operation was put together and the next morning unloading started using the ships own cargo handling equipment which was still intact. At this stage there was liffie damage to the ship and all the cargo hatches were still securely in place. Twenty four hours later however. disaster finally struck when the strain on the hull became too much and it cracked like an eggshell at the front end of No 3 hold. Flooding quickly swept though No 1 and No 2 holds. and early the next day the Richard Montgomery completely broke her back. Salvage continued until all of No 4 and No 5 holds. which were still above water. were emptied. The unloading was aban- doned when it became obvious that the ship was now a total loss. Decaying, unstable explosives With the war reaching its final crescendo there were plenty of other ships that needed attention and the Richard Montgomery was deserted In the fond hope that ‘somebody’ would do something later on after the war was over. But nobody ever did, and the remaining cargo, some three and a half thousand tons of decaying unstable explosive Is still there today buried in her hull.

Layout of the ship.

Layout of the ship.

So what are the risks? Well most people agree that If the Richard Montgomery blew up, it would be the largest non-nuclear explosion in history. Would Sheerness and the nearby oil refinery on the Isle of Grain be swamped by a huge tidal wave, or engulfed by an awesome fireball as some experts have predicted? Would terrorists use the terrifying potential of the ship to hold the Government to ransom by threatening to eradicate the population of a small town as some journalists have suggested? Or has the vessel’s cargo now decayed to a point where it has become a minimal risk as various Government surveys have suggested? Curiously the answer lies in a mix of all these. Of the three and a half thousand tons of explosives left, most contain TNT and are impervious to seawater. It is highly probable that their fuses have long since deteriorated and would therefore need something else to set them off. Unfortunately on the deck above these are approximately one hundred and seventy five tons of fragmentation cluster bombs fully armed and ready to go. These are considered to be the main danger, because if the decking collapses these bombs could fall on top of the others and set the whole thing off.

The wreck might still pose a risk.

The wreck might still pose a risk.

This is not as far fetched as It might seem, Already the ship is broken into three pieces and In 1980, after an underwater survey Norman Tebbitt, then Minister of State for Trade said that the ” risks of removing bombs from the stricken wreck were unacceptable.” This statement supports the view taken way back in 1948, and later in 1967 when the American Government, still nominally the owners of the vessel, offered to make the Montgomery’s cargo safe, The Government of the day refused point blank on the grounds that it was too dangerous and that the bombs would get ‘safer’ the longer they were left alone.

In August 1981 a thorough under- water survey was carried out by Navy divers, including going right into the holds containing the bombs After nearly a month their verdict was that although the bombs were still potentially dangerous, it would be safe to remove them from the ship. Said Des Bloy, Moorings and Salvage Officer at Chatham, “it would take one hell of a detonation to make that ship blow up”.Apart from malicious or terrorist action, one of the most likely causes of detonation are the huge amount of ships that pass daily close to the wreck.

Over the years twenty four near misses have been recorded, and once a cargo vessel actually hit the wreck knocking down one of her guns and demolishing a ventilator. What the consequences of a large passenger ferry hitting the wreck would be God only knows, but repeated appeals to the Authorities for a solution have come up against a stone wall of indifference and worries about the cost of a safety operation. So there the Richard Montgomery lies, gently rusting away, probably safe, but still a huge potential threat to the communities that surround her. As one Sheerness councillor bitterly said, “If this boat had gone down outside the Houses of Parliament, something would have been done long ago. How far down the river do you have to go before a dangerous wreck becomes acceptable?”

Love Me, Love My Lump

About six years ago, half buried in a hold deep within the James Egan Layne, I came across a cast iron lump about four feet long, topped off with a large solid brass cap. Now I say that I found it, by judging by the gouges and scratch marks in the brass cap, I would think that I was far from the first diver to have seen it, and obviously many others had tried to obtain the brass cap for themselves. After quite a few attempts on my part, I began to realise why they had been unsuccessful, and became convinced that short of blowing the cap off, the only other way was to lift the whole thing out of the water. There were however two major obstacles in the way of this approach. The first was the fact that the lump weighed just about a ton and a half.

Finally coming up.

Finally coming up.

This in itself was not insurmountable, but the second obstacle seemed to be. The lump you see was stuck in a hold two decks down. In order to remove it, you would have to lift the lump just off the bottom of the hold, move it about fifty yards sideways, and then guide it through various ragged openings on its upward journey to the surface. This did not seem a very feasible proposition to me, and for the next three years or so I contented myself with occasionally visiting ‘my’ lump to make sure that nobody else had nicked it. It was to be a series of severe winter storms that eventually gave me my opportunity to have a go at raising ‘my’ lump. Over a period of two years, massive waves that had threatened to destroy entire coastal villages in Devon and Cornwall has also wreaked havoc on the wreck of the Egan Layne. Massive cracks had appeared in her sides, and large chunks of her top deck and superstructure had been wrenched off and flung into the sand sixty feet below. After one particularly violent storm I visited the wreck, and to my delight saw that a hole had been opened up almost directly over where the lump was positioned. Now I could finally have a go.

Topping up the lifting bags.

Topping up the lifting bags.

I am not a great one for detailed planning, I much prefer just to slap on some lifting bags, sit back and await developments. This sort of ‘suck it and see’ approach usually gets results, but this time all it produced was a total disaster. The lump was resting on a pile of assorted debris at the bottom of the hold right near a bulkhead. My buddy and I fixed on three lifting bags and filled them full of air. Nothing happened so more air was pumped in and everything started to quiver. Even more air was pumped in, and although the bags were stretching the ropes bar taut, the lump refused to move. Now we knew that the lifting bags were capable of raising the lump, so we thought ‘what the hell’ and shot all the remaining air into the bags. The ropes holding two of the bags parted with an almost audible twang, and the bags hurtled to the surface in a great roar of escaping bubbles, frightening both of us half to death. Obviously the ‘suck it and see’ principle was not going to work so off I went to enlist the aid of the professionals.

Roger, on right, giving a briefing.

Roger, on right, giving a briefing.

The professional I had in mind has a large boat, Excalibur, wears a red hat, and goes by the name of Roger Webber. His usual response to my schemes is to rush around crying “don’t be daft, it can’t be done”. This time however I appealed to his expertise in planning. After all I reasoned, not only have we got to lift this lump but we also have to tow it all the way back to Queen Anne’s Battery, not an easy task. Roger fell for this subtle approach and a few days later I found myself back on the Egan Layne with him and Steve Carpenter from Sound Diving, who provided the lifting bags. After showing Roger proudly around my lump, we returned aboard Excalibur and Roger disappeared into his wheelhouse happily muttering about tidal vectors, lift capacities, towing speeds and other technicalities.

Carting off the 'lump' to its trailer.

Carting off the ‘lump’ to its trailer.

With Roger safely out of the way I assumed the mantle of Project Director and directed Steve to go down and fix on the .lifting bags. “Just fill them half full of air” I said importantly, “then I will nip down and take some photographs”. With a time honored gesture that I generously took to be one of acceptance, Steve disappeared over the side. Shortly after Roger emerged from his wheelhouse issuing a string of instructions for the correct fixing of the lifting bags, towropes, etc. When he realized that Steve had beaten him to it, Roger contented himself with uttering dire warnings about people who got too impatient and did not plan things out properly. As Project Director I gravely ignored all this and gazed in what I hoped was a knowing way at the calm surface of the sea.

'Excaliber'

‘Excaliber’

Right on cue the water started to boil and three bright yellow lifting bags shot out of the water like Polaris missiles. In amongst them was a red faced Steve Carpenter still clutching the air bottle that had caught in the ropes! Apparently after fixing on the bags, Steve had filled them to half capacity as instructed, when suddenly the lump stood up on its base, gave a sort of shudder and rocketed to the surface with a petrified Steve still hanging on to the air bottle whose line had become entangled at the bottom of one of the bags. As he came back on board I gave Steve a ‘hard stare’ and before Roger could say “I told you so” I said in my best Project Director’s voice, “well done lads, I just love it when a plan comes together”. Exit Roger to make the tea. After all that, the rest of the day passed uneventfully. Roger rigged a very long towrope and we commenced the tow back to the slipway at Queen Anne’s Battery.

The final resting place. Come and look anytime.

The final resting place. Come and look anytime.

Contrary to my expectations the lifting bags lost very little air, and apart from periodic ‘safety’ topping up they provided no sudden emergencies. Roger had done his tide calculations perfectly, and we arrived back at the Battery at high water so we were able to dump the lump right at the top of the slipway. The next morning we borrowed a bulldozer and a large trailer, and transported the lump to its final resting place, my front garden. If you are ever in Plymouth, please feel free to come and see it. If you ply Roger with strong drink, he might even show you the video he made. It is very funny, but the Project Director doesn’t come out too well.

Coast Guard Log Entry

This is the Coast Guard Log entry for the time that the J.E.Layne was torpedoed and sank. It was provided by Nigel Bunker of Tamar Coast Guards (see Links) here in Plymouth.

Entry 1

Entry 1

Attention was drawn to S.W. by heavy explosion which was assumed that ship was dropping depth charges. On making enquiries discovered that a ship was torpedoed aprox 070 Eddystone Lighthouse 6 miles and boarding(?) ships were launching. Plot showed me that little was required knowing that naval Authorities & L.B. (lifeboat ? ) was informed and taking action. Station was also aware that a convoy was due about that time and in that position on an ——- course. During the hunting operations by escort vessels several ships from Plymouth proceeded to join in. Up till dusk (?) explosions of depth charges were heard at frequent intervals. Received information that ship was being taken in tow by ships were to proceed to Cawsand Bay.

1700 Received telephone message from ——— that Plymouth L.B. (lifeboat ?) was proceeding to sea on service.

2000 Sig. of Watch at PWSS informed me that ship was proceeding round Rame Head. He thought ship was close in Western Gear.

Entry 2

Entry 2

2032 Leaving instructions with my wife as to ant telephone messages Mr. Beal and I proceeded with torches and megaphone to investigate, nothing in the meantime having been heard of ships——– since the explosions.

2100 Arrived in the vicinity of ——- CG (Coastguard ?) heard voices of men from ship the weather being dense fog with thick drizzle. Unable to contact vessel by megaphone or flashing with ———- vessel gradually drifted towards beach off Polhawn and getting further from us. As it would have endangered our lives to follow further we decided to return and inform Polhawn who was already on watch to try and contact vessel. Polhawn rang up to say that vessel had anchored aprox 1 mile from Polhawn Station.

0800/23 Fog lifted, vessel observed anchored, stern underwater bearing 300 Rame Head. Name of vessel U.S. Liberty Ship James. E. Layne with 3 ships —— standing by.

0810 D.O. (duty officer ? ) Polhawn informed of situation, that large quantities of material was washed ashore with more floating in.

0840 Message from D.O.——— instructing Coast Guard staff to proceed, collect and take charge of salvage

Entry 3

Entry 3

0900 Message from PWSS from Admiralty Salvage officer to CinC informed as ship was aground engine room flooded not advisable to enter he was proceeding with Master to make full report.

1000 Proceeded to Polhawn along rocks to Tregantle—patrol showed 30 or 40 planks 50 to 60 feet long 6" thick and 12" wide also several cases approx 2ft square. also several hatchways spread across on area behind Polhawn, Tregantle Fort. The work of salvaging this material is beyond the powers of aux coastguard to remove in consequence work by CG was withdrawn leaving aux CG in charge to stop any person from—(pilfering?) Informed DO—-ship—who concerned.

Entry 4

Entry 4

1700 Returned to station made following message to CinC Plymouth repeated DO Polhawn(?) A quantity of large planks several heavy cases 5ft square ashore behind Polhawn Cove Tregantle Fort which can only be removed by WP221655

0000 Ship still at anchor with tugs in attendance.

 

Jeremiah O’Brian

Of the 2700 Liberty Ships built between 1941 and 1944, this is the only one left in its original and full operating condition.It can be seen at its berth in San Francisco, and even does trips around the Bay at certain times.I have reproduced this info from its own pamphlet.All photo’s were taken by Steve Carpenter of Sound Diving

The Jeremiah O'Brian at her berth in San Francisco.

The Jeremiah O’Brian at her berth in San Francisco.

Like most ships at the time, the 0 ‘Brien was built for a government agency known as the War Shipping Administration (WSA). The WSA then chartered the vessel to Grace Line (a commercial steamship company) to operate for them under a contract known as a General Agency Agreement. This took place in June of 1943. During the period July 1943 to October 1944, the Jeremiah 0 ‘Brien made four voyages between the United States and Great Britain. On these trips the ship traveled as part of a convoy. Convoys were found to be an effective deterrent to submarine attack as far back as World War I. In World War II they were no less effective. On her fourth voyage the O’Brien was diverted into a shuttle run between England and the newly taken Omaha and Utah beachheads at Normandy.

One of the eletrical boards. You used to be able to see these in the Layne before the deck collapsed.

One of the eletrical boards. You used to be able to see these in the Layne before the deck collapsed.

Making her first run just four days after D-Day, the ship completed 11 such trips before returning to the States. Former crewmen report the O’Brien’s gunners engaged enemy aircraft during the Normandy campaign and that she was the possible target of at least two bomb attacks and one torpedo.

You can still see the top of this.

You can still see the top of this.

The O’Brien’s fifth voyage, beginning in October of 1944, went from New York through the Panama Canal to Chile and Peru, returning to New Orleans. Her sixth voyage was a quick trip to the Philippines and back, although this time she returned to San Francisco. Our gallant ship’s seventh voyage, her last, took place from July 1945 to January 1946. Sailing from San Francisco, she went to Australia, Calcutta, Shanghai, Manila and then returned to San Francisco. On the final return voyage the 0 ‘Brien carried 11 Australian war brides to the United States to join their new American husbands.

View of the deck.

View of the deck.

While there were no passenger accommodations on board, with the war over, the war brides were able to use the vacant gunner’s quarters in the after deck house as a dormitory. The SS Jeremiah 0 ‘Brien earned six decorations for wartime service: the Merchant Marine Combat Bar, the Atlantic, the Pacific, the Mediterranean/Middle East War Zone Bars, the Philippine Liberation Medal and the Victory Medal. With the war over there were far more ships than needed for peacetime trade routes. The O’Brien, along with hundreds of her sisters was put in mothballs at Suisun Bay near San Francisco. She entered that fleet in February, 1946. It would be 33 years before she returned to service. As time passed, the ships in the reserve fleet were disposed of. Some were sold to foreign countries or went into commercial service under the American flag, others were scrapped and still others were sunk as artificial fishing reefs.

The Bridge, every wreckers dream.

The Bridge, every wreckers dream.

In the 1960’s a plan was conceived to save a Liberty Ship for posterity. Untouched and in excellent condition, lay the SS Jeremiah O’Brien. She had the added attraction of being unaltered. In 1978, the National Liberty Ship Memorial, Inc., a California non- profit corporation was formed to restore, preserve, maintain and present to the public, an original, unaltered Liberty ship. That ship would be the Jeremiah O’Brien. Since then, an enormous amount of work, mostly by volunteers, has gone into restoring and preserving the ship. The first annual cruise was on May 21, 1980 and she has been sailing ever since. Much more needs to be done and there is an ever present need for spare parts, tools of all sorts, and various technical services. Anyone able to help in these areas is encouraged to contact the NLSM in San Francisco at 415-441-3101. Help keep our history alive!

Outside control area.

Outside control area.

WHO WAS JEREMIAH O’BRIEN?

A Scotch-Irish lumberjack from Machias, in the “Province of Main,” Jeremiah O’Brien was the off- spring of a family that settled in that area in 1765, Ten years later trouble with the British Crown boiled over. The residents of Machias were firmly pro-Colonist. In the spring of 1775 a shipment of Machias pine was loaded into two of Captain Jones’ sloops. Normally the lumber would be sold in Boston, but unsure of the situation there, the townspeople instructed Jones to sell the lumber along the coast. Capt. Jones, anxious to move his family away from Boston and out of harm’s way, ignored the instructions and went directly there. He made a deal with the British. In exchange for the promise that he would. return to Boston with a load of lumber to build barracks for British troops, he was allowed to move his family.

Loading his sloops with badly needed supplies for Machias, Capt. Jones sailed from Boston. Admiral Graves of the British Navy wanted to be sure the Colonist kept his word. He instructed the armed schooner Margaretta to escort Jones’ ships. When the ships arrived and the townspeople heard of Jones’ deal, they became angry. In protest, they erected a Liberty Pole. When Captain Moore of the Margaretta saw it he ordered it taken down, threatening to fire on the town if his order wasn’t followed. After several town meetings, a plan was formulated to capture the British ship. One of Jones’ vessels, the Unity, was seized for the purpose and on June 12, 1776, with Jeremiah O’Brien in command went in pursuit of the Margaretta. He successfully captured it. This was the first naval battle of the Revolutionary War.

An early type of washing machine?

An early type of washing machine?

The James Egan Layne

In 1940 Britain was fighting alone against an all conquering German war machine. Europe was completely crushed, and in the Atlantic more than one hundred and fifty ships, totalling more than a million tons had been destroyed. It soon became obvious that the U boats were sinking ships faster than we could build them. In desperation a British Merchant Ship Building Mission went to the USA to try and order the ships which were so urgently needed if the battle of the Atlantic was to be won.

Launching the James Egan Layne.

Launching the James Egan Layne.

Although America was still neutral, they were well aware of the problems facing us, and after some initial wrangling with the ship builders it was decided to prefabricate ships to a British design as this would speed up their building and ultimate delivery. Unfortunately the ships were not very pretty to look at, and there were many critics including President Roosevelt who called them ‘dreadful looking objects’. However you cannot go about giving ships a bad name, and soon somebody hit on the idea of calling the ships a Liberty Fleet.

The idea rapidly caught on and soon the ships themselves were being called Liberty Ships. They could not have picked a better name because Liberty Ships is exactly what they turned out to be. In their hundreds these ships ferried men and materials all over the world. Without them the war could have been lost simply because the Allied supply lines would have been stretched beyond breaking point through lack of sufficient ships. In 1945 the tide had started to turn for the Allies, but still the Liberty ships kept transporting those vital war supplies.

Filming inside the hull.

Filming inside the hull.

One of the ships involved in these trans shipments was the James Egan Layne. Built in By the Delta Shipbuilding Company of New Orleans she was 400 feet long and weighed just over 7000 tons, and during March 1945 she was engaged on a voyage from Barry in Wales to Ghent, loaded with United States Army engineering stores. By the afternoon of 21 March the Layne was about seven miles from the Plymouth Breakwater, just on the edge of one of the most profitable of all the U boat hunting grounds. She must have been spotted very quickly, because at 2.35 that same afternoon U-boat 1195 hit the Layne with a torpedo, which sliced a great hole in her side.

Gun mounting found in bottom hold.

Gun mounting found in bottom hold.

Her holds quickly flooded as did her engine room, but the Layne was not going to sink without a fight. For nearly eight hours the crew kept the vessel afloat, but the Captain realising that she was finished set course as best he could for the shore hoping to beach her. He very nearly made it. By now the Layne was taking in water faster than the crew could get rid of it. So at half past ten that night the ship gently went aground in seventy feet of water, snugly held firm on the sandy bottom of Whitsands Bay. Thankfully there were no casualties, and eventually most of the cargo was salvaged. In the end the loss to the war effort was minimal, but the gain to the future generations of sports divers was to prove considerable.

Looking through a hole in the hull. Check out the gear, circa 1970.

Looking through a hole in the hull. Check out the gear, circa 1970.

In the early sixties diving in England was just starting to take off. Even so it was an expensive business, and not many wrecks had been discovered that were suitable for the amateur diver. It is hardly surprising then that the James Egan Layne, situated in relatively shallow and clear water should become so popular. Here was a wreck within easy reach of the shore by small boat. Her masts and part of her superstructure still showed above water, making her exact location childsplay. The wreck was on an even keel and virtually intact. You could swim through the holds and down into the engine spaces. The gash where the torpedo struck was plain to see, and the whole wreck looked like something from a Hollywood film set. No one who dived on the Layne could forget it, and over the years it became the most famous and dived on wreck in all England.

The bow is still in good shape.

The bow is still in good shape.

Today the James Egan Layne still lies upright on her sandy bed, but her superstructure and masts have long been swept away by the winter storms to lie scattered around her on the sandy bottom. The wreck after some thirty-five years is starting to break up, but still it is possible to see what she was once like. The bows are still intact and their flair is still well defined, as are the sides of her hull which loom out of the sand like black cliffs. Ironically the storm damage over the last few years has actually made the inside of the wreck more accessible. The holds are jammed with twisted iron plates, pipes, old ladders and all the other paraphernalia of a wrecked ship. Even so there is little danger of getting lost, as you can easily see an exit hole either from the hold that you are entering, or in the side of the ship itself.

One of the masts lies across the hull.

One of the masts lies across the hull.

If you want souvenirs, one of the holds contains hundreds of pickaxe heads all neatly lined up in rows. If that doesn’t appeal you can take your pick of various locomotive wheels or pulley wheels. Near the stern the ship is virtually cut in half where the torpedo hit it, and again there is a mountain of metal debris with one of the masts hanging out from the ships deck and supported by the rest of the wreckage. Once more there are lots of holes and caverns to explore, but here some care should be taken as quite frequently pieces of metal fall from above into the holds and could cause a nasty accident. This whole area is littered with bollards, winches, coils of wire hawser, and many other deck fittings, and over all this preside the fish.

Liberty ship layout.

Liberty ship layout.

All wrecks have an abundance of marine life, but the Layne seems to have more than its fair share. The holds are often full of silver bass, whilst the bows are patrolled by watchful shoals of pollack. Pouting make up most of the bottom cover, weaving over all the debris like a brown zebra crossing, and lurking almost underneath the keel are some very large ling. Wrasse in all shapes and colours, large green and pink plumrose anemones, small starfish with colourful coats, the list is endless. On a summers day this wreck is better than a tropical reef and almost as colourful. Visibility is often forty to fifty feet, and one of my most enduring memories is of vaulting over the guardrails on the main deck, and slowly descending sixty feet down the side of the ship watching my exaust bubbles rising to the surface, after being trapped by the light coating of dead mans fingers that now cover the rusting plates. It was a magical experience, but only one of many that can be had on this fantastic wreck.

Liberty ship plan.

Liberty ship plan.

Since the Sixties many other wrecks have been discovered all over the British Isles. But not withstanding their popularity, the Layne has become almost a national dive site, and very many divers have a special regard for her. So much so that recently when Trinity House thought to disperse the wreck with explosives, there was such a howl of protest that they were forced to reconsider. Time however will soon do the job for Trinity House. So if you want to dive on a piece of history do it now, because soon only the legend will remain.

Herzogin Cecillie

When I was a child some of my favourite stories were about the great Australian grain races, and the Tea Clippers sailing across the oceans from China. The photographs and drawings of these huge sailing ships fascinated me, and no doubt countless others, because today, ‘Tall Ships’, as they are now called, draw enthusiastic crowds in much the same way that steam trains do. People nowadays put this crowd pulling down to nostalgia, but even in their heyday these massive sailing ships with their graceful lines and billowing sails drew even bigger crowds, and many had songs and stories woven around their legendary voyages.

The wreck of the Hertzogin Cecelie.

The wreck of the Hertzogin Cecelie.

Probably the very last of these ships to be wrecked on the south coast of England was the Herzogin Cecilie, or as she was more affectionately known, the Duchess. She was a four masted steel barque built by Rickmers of Bremerhaven in 1902 as a school ship for the North German Lloyd Line, and was 314 feet long with a gross tonnage of 3242 tons. When the Great War started the Herzogin Cecilie was interned in Chile for the duration, and afterwards she was allocated to France by the War Reparations Board. The Germans tried to repurchase her but were turned down flat, and eventually she passed into Finnish ownership, being bought and commanded by Captain Gustaf Erickson of Mariehamn. Under his ownership the Herzogin Cecilie carried cargo’s all over the world, but it was the Australian Grain Races that made her famous, winning eight of them in succession.

In 1936 the ‘Duchess’ started what was to be her last voyage and her last Grain Race. From Port Lincon in Australia to Falmouth took her just 86 days, comfortable beating her nearest rival, the Pommern, by seven whole days. Her orders at Falmouth were to proceed to Ipswich to discharge her cargo of grain, but two days later, early on the morning of the 25 January, in thick fog and rough seas the Herzogin Cecilie struck the Hamstone just a few miles from Salcombe. Holed in the forpeak, the ship pounded fiercely then settled by her head with her well decks awash.

Coastguards rigging a rope ladder.

Coastguards rigging a rope ladder.

When dawn broke just about everybody and his aunt had turned up to view the wreck, and quite a lot thought that they should also go on board. This considerable hampered the rescue operation, but in the end the Salcombe lifeboat took off twenty-two of the crew, leaving just the Captain, his wife, and six crewmembers. A breeches buoy was rigged up to take off all the luggage and personal belongings, but most of this was quickly stolen when it landed by members of the public, who had by now degenerated into something of a mob.

Inside one of the metal tunnels.

Inside one of the metal tunnels.

For seven weeks the Herzogin Cecilie lay stranded on the Hamstone whilst her four and a half thousand tons of grain rotted and fermented. The stench was appalling and fears of it polluting the beaches around Salcombe kept the owner and the local council arguing fit to bust. Every day huge crowds gathered to view the ‘Duchess’ and local farmers made a fortune charging people to cross their land for a better look. Eventually the grain became so swollen that it started to crack the decks, and this seemed to galvanise the salvage attempts. By 7 June enough of her rotting cargo had been removed to allow the installation of powerful pumps, and on each high tide tugs repeatedly attempted to pull her off. At first it looked as if the ‘Duchess’ was stuck fast, but finally, on 19 June the Herzogin Cecilie floated clear of the Hamstone. The local council still would not let her be towed into Salcombe, fearing all manner of disease, so in the end the ‘Duchess’ was beached in Starhole Bay just at the entrance to the harbour. Unfortunately what appeared to be a ‘safe’ sandy bottom, concealed rocks, and in the July gales she broke her back and her masts soon tumbled down into the sea. It was the beginning of the end. Ironically, if the Salcombe authorities had allowed her into harbour she would have been saved unloaded and on her way long before the gales came. As it was the thing that the council feared most happened. The grain washed out of the wreck and fetched up on all the beaches. However it didn’t cause any pollution because the seagulls eat most of it, and the rest got washed away. So much for the experts.

The Duchess was refloated and towed around to Starehole Bay.

The Duchess was refloated and towed around to Starehole Bay.

In the ensuing months all the fittings were stripped from the wreck, the beautiful figurehead sent to a museum in Finland, and the remains sold to a local scrap merchant for the princely sum of £225. A sorry end for a marvellous ship.

Today at low tide, the remains of the ‘Duchess’ just about show. In the summer there is always a buoy attached to the wreck, (at the bows) and it is prominently marked on all the carts, so you really cannot miss it. Still if you do, just ask. Everybody knows about her, and most will be glad to point her out. The wreckage lies in less than 25 feet of water on a sandy bottom, and I had been told that there was just a jumble of iron plates, and that the wreck was hardly worth diving on. Not so. The Herzogin Cecilie must be one of the prettiest wreck sites going. Part of the bows is angled over to form a sort of cave into which you can easily swim to play with the many wrasse that lurk there. Stray light twinkles in from various small jagged holes backlighting the interior with a soft glow. Marvellous for underwater photography. There is a huge amount of iron plating and decking lying across the sand and also pushed down into the sand. There is still quite a lot of material from which the sails were made buried in the sand, but what I really like about this wreck are the tunnels. Various parts of the deck and hull have fallen down in such a way as to make iron tunnels along the sand. They are not really that long and you can usually see to the end, but they are a bit special. In the tunnels, the seaweed catches the light and the current as it wafts in and out of the ragged openings, along with a myriad of small fish. It really is most enjoyable, and on one dive we all spent at least twenty minutes just swimming in and out of these tunnels. The rest of the wreck stretches out along the bay, and it is still possible to find wooden decking, and the iron pulleys that once held the ropes that hoisted up the great sails.

The begining of the end.

The begining of the end.

It’s a great jigsaw of a wreck, and you can either put it together, or just poke and prod about. The Herzogin Cecilie will always be remembered as one of the great square riggers, but it is as a wreck that she really lives up to her old nickname, the ‘Duchess’ a real charmer.

This book tells you all about the Wreck, ‘click’ on it to learn more

 

Diane Woolner, a survivor’s tale

I met Diana Woolner back in 1997, and although she was in her eighties, she was a sharp as a tack and very charming. At first she declined to be intervieved, but after chatting to my wife, changed her mind and let me film her as she spoke to us. Her eyes sparkled as she told us the tale, and it was obvious that her memory was as clear as if it had happened just yesterday instead of all those years ago. She even remarked on the fact that when they went back to the wreck to collect personal belongings, the sea was so flat and calm that she could see the marble blocks from the wreck of the lying on the sand twenty feet below.

Diana lived in Bradley manor which she had given to the National Trust back in the thirties and we had a lovely time looking around the house which dates from the 15th century. As we were about to leave her Daughter came out and said that Diana wanted to show us something else. In the back pantry was the ship’s wheel from the Hertzogin Cecilie.

Diana Woolner in 1997.

Diana Woolner in 1997.

Sadly Diana passed away a couple of years later but not before she had seen the remains of the Hertzogin Cecilie lying on the seabed. Our team had videoed it a year or so before and it featured in the Devon Shipwreck video.

Soon we will be able to get the interview in full with video and sound onto the website, but untill then here is Diane Woolner’s own account written by her. Enjoy.

One fine morning in April 1936 I received a telephone call from an old school friend. She was now married to a sea-captain commanding one of Gustav Erikson’s fleet of great sailing ships that yearly brought corn from Australia in the “grain race”. Sven Eriksson (no relation to the owner) came from the Aland Islands in the Baltic Sea. and although now subject to Finland, the sea-faring islanders claim to be the true descendants of the Vikings. Pam Eriksson, who sailed with her husband. was herself an experienced hand, and loved his beautiful four-masted barque almost as much as her husband did.

Bradley Manor.

Bradley Manor.

The Erikssons invited me down to Falmouth, where they had just arrived from Australia, for a few days holiday ashore. So to Falmouth I went. They met me an the quay with the news that Sven had received immediate sailing orders for Ipswich. Our little holiday had to be cancelled. but since I was there why not come with them. as their guest to Ipswich? Thus it was that I came to be a passenger on what was to prove the last voyage of the Herzogin Cecilie. Pam took me to my cabin and gave me a pair of her serge trousers and a thick white sweater of her hustand’s. “Change straight away” she said “Sven will not have any woman on board in skirts. He says it is "not fair on the Finnish boys”. This referred to the youths from the mainland learning their trade in sail.

Sven Erikssons and Paik.

Sven Erikssons and Paik.

Next I was introduced to Paik. Paik was a very formidable alsatian that Sven had taken some years before when his former owner could not marage him and feared he would have to have him put down. He adored Sven but only tolerated Pam. Paik was standing in the door of his master’s cabin; Pam had to call “Sven. we want to go into the cabin: speak to Paik!” But once Sven had introduced me all was well. After the wreck the R.S.P.C.A. took Paik away in a crate; what they made of him in the quarantine kennels I have no idea, but he was reunited with his beloved master on the family farm in the Aland Islands and became the devoted bodyguard of the baby Sven who was born not so long after these happenings. Before going to bed Pam took me on deck. She said “‘You must come and see, it is so beautiful.. The night was fine if a bit misty, there was a gentle swell, and I had that one brief experience of the stillness, the beauty of the huge sails above us, the gentle sound of the water along the ship’s sides. I could even believ’e that in this ship I might not be seasick; no smell of oil,. no throbbing engines, and a feeling that the ship was moving naturally through the water. I was tired, the sea air made me sleepy; I slept soundly.

The rotting grain being removed from the wreck.

The rotting grain being removed from the wreck.

Pam shook me awake. “Get up quickly and put on warm clothes. we’ve hit something”. She then took me round the cabins and we tied all the men’s personal possessions in blankets to be put in some place of comparative safety. Pam said “These little things mean so much to them. they are away from home for so long”. I was again taken on deck, but now all was different. It was still dark and there was a thick fog; the smooth strong motion had gone: there was a sickening jolting as the heavy swell carried the now helpless ship further on to the rocks. Sven appeared out of the night; he took me and bade me sit on a large wooden hatch cover and to stay there. As the sky lightened I looked up and saw the mass of spars and rigging, black against the grey, shaking and shivering with every shock of the hull grinding on the rocks, as slowly the helpless ship was being carried broadside to the foot of the cliffs. She had no auxiliary engines and no wireless equipment whatsoever.

Sven and Pam Eriksson.

Sven and Pam Eriksson.

Coastguards appeared on the cliffs above us and I learnt afterwards that a line was fired over the ship, so that a breeches-buoy could be secured to one of the masts. Sven led me to the foot of the ratlines and bade me look up. “Could you climb up there if you had to?” he asked me. I looked; an interminable black Jacob’s ladder ascending into a very grey heaven, but after all it was only a ladder. “Yes” I said, “I could if I had to “. That satisfied him. Then he said “Come with me”. He took me into the chart house and said “I want you to see this”. He showed me the chart with our course marked upon it. He showed me how we should have been miles out in the Channel, he showed me where, having a hunch that we were too near the coast, he altered course out into the Channel still further. Yet here we were on the cliffs. The mystery has never been satisfactorily cleared up; and there was a lesser mystery: no one that night ever saw the Eddystone Light though we must have passed very close indeed to that famous rock.

Collecting belongings a day or so after the wrecking.

Collecting belongings a day or so after the wrecking.

Finding that we were in shouting distance of the coast guards on the cliffs I asked where we were: “On the Devon coast” they said. I knew that but everyone thought I had come from Australia, and couldn’t understand that I wanted to know exactly where we were. At last one of them said “Halfway between Bolt Head and Bolt Tail”. That was what I wanted to know; it was somehow comforting to hear that I was only about 30 miles from home. As Pam and I were standing on deck watching water rising in the waist of the ship, now stuck fast on the rocks, when one of the men came plunging through the water stark naked. He had forgotten there were ladies on board. Overcome with confusion he vanished as suddenly as he had appeared. I think he had been sent by the Captain to slaughter the chickens to save them fro!n drowning miserably. Poultry were carried on these long voyages for fresh eggs and they also carried a pig for fresh meat: but they had eaten the pig before reaching Falmouth so piggy’s carcase didn’t go to feed the fishes like the poor hens.

This wheel is now at Bradley Manor.

This wheel is now at Bradley Manor.

When the lifeboat came I think Sven was heartily glad to be relieved of the responsibility for his “passenger”, and I was unashamedly relieved to be leaving a scene so strange and so uncomfortable. One of the mates who was on crutches, having injured his leg on the voyage over, was also sent ashore, much to his disgust, and all the Finnish boys came too. At the last minute someone handed my bag of knitting down into the lifeboat.The motion of the lifeboat was abominable; I was very sick right into a lifeboatman’s yellow oilskin sou-wester. 1 felt bad about that, and I hope he bore me no grudge. At Salcombe we were met by the representative of the Shipwrecked Mariners Society who arranged everything for us admirably.

At last 1 could get to a public telephone when 1 had made it understood 1 had not come from Australia, but lived at Newton Abbot and wanted to reassure my Mother before the news broke allover the country. Pamela Eriksson wrote the whole story of the ship in a book she called “The Duchess” (Herzogin means Duchess) where may be read an account of all the salvage attempts and the final abandonment of the hulk after the charming figurehead, all the fittings of the Captain’s cabin and much else had been taken to the Nautical Museum at Mariehamn in the Aland Islands. As the life-boat drew away from the tragic ship I looked up at the sad face of my school friend. Many people were surprised that she stayed on board with her husband, but anyone knowing Pamela Eriksson would have been very suprised if she had done otherwise.

 

Per Hjelt, the helmsman’s story

Mid way during 2000, I was contacted by a journalist from a Danish magazine. His name was Hannu Holvas and he was doing a story about the Hertzogin Cecilie. He had been shown around the area by Malcomb Darch, (who features in the Deventia story)and wanted to know if I had some underwater shots.

These I gladly gave him and when he asked ‘how much’ I said ‘any other information that I did not have’. Straight away he asked if I knew about Per Hjelt, who at just nineteen years of age, had been the man at the wheel when the Hertzogin Cecilie crashed into the Hamstone Rock.

Per Hjelt.

Per Hjelt.

I was astounded. I had presumed that all the crew were long in their graves. But Per, just going into his eighties was still alive, but seriously ill. Hannu gave me his telephone number and I rang his wife to see if he could speak to me. When he realized that I had seen the wreck underwater he wanted to hear all about it. I described it as best I could and promised to send him a video.

In light winds, one person could steer.

In light winds, one person could steer.

I could hear how tired he was and did not want to intrude but he was very interested in all I could tell him. I then asked him what it was like to be on the Hertzogin Cecilie He said it was very hard. The Captain and the first mate Elis Karlss used to beat and kick the men, and nobody seemed to care for the ship or about its safety or maintenance. The crew apparently hated and feared the Captain and his Mate, but every body liked his wife Pam.

Pulling up the port mainbrace by hand.

Pulling up the port mainbrace by hand.

I then asked him why the ship hit the Hamstone. He told me that if the Captain told you to do something you did it. He was told to steer the course he did, and when the rock hove into view he shouted out but was told to do as he had been ordered. So he did, and the Hertzogin Cecilie crashed into the rocks.

I arranged to go out to see him the following year, but I was too late as Per lost his battle with his illness and passed away shortly after I spoke to him.

Sailing on the port tack.

Sailing on the port tack.

Diane Woolner disputes that the Captain was a tyrant, but it is worth noting that attitudes change. The Grain Races were big money ventures, and to attain the speeds needed the ships needed storm force winds. It was not unknown for the ships officers to order their men up the mast at gunpoint as they battled through mountainous seas with hurricane strength winds. You would not get away with it now, but as I say, times change.

 

Aland Museum

The cabins and other artefacts from the Hertzogin Cecillie are hosed in the excellent maritime museum on the Aland Islands, about 200 km from Stockholm. They are easily reached by a car ferry ( www.eckerolinjen.fi ) and are a most attractive set of small islands full of rustic charm and very friendly but slightly odd people. Forinstance, our hotel had a large Elvis Billboard outside because the owner liked giving Elvis impersonations. It was fun, but …odd.

The Figurehead.

The Figurehead.
Bits and Pieces.

Bits and Pieces.
Bits and Pieces.

Bits and Pieces.

Anyway the museum is fine and the staff extremely helpful. They have all the artefacts from the Hertzogin Cecillie, including the Captains cabin, his office, and the Captains saloon, all rebuilt from the remains salvaged from the wrecked ship in Salcombe. The figure head is there hanging on a wall.

Captains Cabin.

Captains Cabin.

b

The Capstan.

The Capstan.
Captains Pantry.

Captains Pantry.
The Captains Saloon.

The Captains Saloon.

It’s painted all white now which is different to when she was attached to the ship. There is also a capstan ( another is supposed to be on the quay at Exeter ), one of the great steering wheels and the ships binnacle.

Ships Wheel.

Ships Wheel.
The Binacle.

The Binacle.

They have recreated the poop deck as well, but with bits from other ships. There are loads of photo’s and paintings, and all sorts of little bits and pieces, like the trailing log and the lead echo sounder.

The Poop Deck.

The Poop Deck.

For those not familiar with the sheer size of these ships, the Museum has alongside the massive Pommern, another of Gustav Erricson’s ships. The Hertzogin Cecille is slightly bigger, but even so this is a very big ship. 95 metres long, 13 metres wide with a mast topping around 50 metres. Very impressive.

The Pommern

The Pommern

On board her are many photo’s depicting the ships life and a movie of what it was like to sail in her. ( not an easy experience ) The ships storage area’s are vast, I really had no idea that they were so big. The Pommern is beautifully preserved and in order to save some of the traditional skills volunteers have made a complete set of sails for her using the old ways and old materials.

Gustav Erricson's house and gates.

Gustav Erricson’s house and gates.
Gustav Erricson's house and gates.

Gustav Erricson’s house and gates.

Nearby in the town of Marienheim is the house of Gustav Erricson with its distinct sailing ships on the gates. Erricson in his heyday had the biggest fleet of sailing ships in the world, with between fifteen and eighteen big clippers of which the Hertzogin Cecillie was the biggest, most beautiful, and his flagship. Great days.

Log Book

It is quite rare to be able to handle the log books of the shipwrecks that to dive on, so I was delighted when the museum allowed me to handle and read the log book of the Hertzogin Cecillie. Naturally it was all in Swedish so I was none the wiser, but the museum staff translated bits of it for me and pointed out the alterations (corrections ?) made on the day before the stranding.

Opening Page

Opening Page

Whether they are significant or not I am not competent to judge. However a great many ships have been wrecked on the Hamstone, especially in fog, and better sailors than Sven Ericsson have made more or less the same mistakes.

Pages for 23 and 24 April 1936

Pages for 23 and 24 April 1936
Pages for 23 and 24 April 1936

Pages for 23 and 24 April 1936

In her book ‘The Duchess’ Pamela Ericsson tried to make a bit of a mystery about it all, but the sad fact is that somebody just made a miscalculation in the navigation.

Pages for 25 April 1936.

Pages for 25 April 1936.
Pages for 25 April 1936.

Pages for 25 April 1936.

All this would only have been an embarrassment for Sven if the Salcombe Authorities had done their jobs properly, instead of making such a hash of it. By their neglect they managed to turn a minor stranding into a full blown wrecking, thus depriving us of the ‘Duchess’, and Sven Ericsson of the one thing he probably loved most of all. At thirty three his career was over. Gustav Ericsson never forgave him for the loss of his flagship, and would have nothing to do with him. Sven emigrated to South America with his family and became a farmer.

Freyja Darby

Sven Ericsson lived in a house in Lemland (Aland Islands). We got directions from the museum and decided to go and have a look even though it was closed for the off season. The house was set amidst farm land, and as we got out of the car we saw a woman trying to herd some sheep into a barn. She turned out to be Freyja Darby, the daughter of Sven and Pamela Ericsson. After we helped to corral the sheep (well Joyce did) we told her about our interest and how I had dived on the ship and met Diane Wolner.

The Ericsson House.

The Ericsson House.

She was very interested in all this and insisted that we look around the house which is kept as a museum, partly to Sven, and partly to a way of life that is long gone. The house was a nice spacious place with great porcelain stoves in the corners of the rooms. Even so it must have been freezing in the winter, and Freyja said that when the north winds blew all the mats and rugs lifted off the floor.

Most of the area is farmland.

Most of the area is farmland.

One of the things she told us about was how the Ericsson fleet came into being. It seems that most of the men were farmers but when that started to fail Sven got the idea of going into shipping. He did not have any money, so he got all the farmers to buy shares in the ships which he bought very cheaply, because by now motor vessels were in the ascendance, and you could hardly give sailing ships away. As the shipping prospered it breathed new life into the little communities and enabled Sven to buy more ships. In the end the proceeds from the shipping brought in far more money than the farming ever did.

Joyce and Freyja.

Joyce and Freyja.

After we had seen the house, Freyja took us back to her house for tea. We met her husband Peter, a real gentleman, and her two young grandchildren who showed us their collection of worms. Freyja had some great family photos dotted around and showed us a fantastic album of photos taken by Sven and Pam on board the Hertzogin Cecillie. I would have love a copy of some but they were too personal and I could not bring myself to ask. Freyja remembered Dianne Wolner and showed me a great photo of her and Sven together on the cliffs above the wreck.

Last Resting Place.

Last Resting Place.

As we said our goodbyes she gave us directions to the little church where Sven and Pamela are buried. Full circle. It was strange to walk in the same footsteps of people who lived such a different life from me and had such a passion for the sea. I have dived on the ship, met some of the people and seen where they live. The sailing ships have all gone now but the memory of those days will last a long, long time. Amazing times.

Final Resting Place.

Final Resting Place.

Herzogin Cecilie

When I was a child some of my favourite stories were about the great Australian grain races, and the Tea Clippers sailing across the oceans from China. The photographs and drawings of these huge sailing ships fascinated me, and no doubt countless others, because today, ‘Tall Ships’, as they are now called, draw enthusiastic crowds in much the same way that steam trains do. People nowadays put this crowd pulling down to nostalgia, but even in their heyday these massive sailing ships with their graceful lines and billowing sails drew even bigger crowds, and many had songs and stories woven around their legendary voyages.

The wreck of the Hertzogin Cecelie.

The wreck of the Hertzogin Cecelie.

Probably the very last of these ships to be wrecked on the south coast of England was the Herzogin Cecilie, or as she was more affectionately known, the Duchess. She was a four masted steel barque built by Rickmers of Bremerhaven in 1902 as a school ship for the North German Lloyd Line, and was 314 feet long with a gross tonnage of 3242 tons. When the Great War started the Herzogin Cecilie was interned in Chile for the duration, and afterwards she was allocated to France by the War Reparations Board. The Germans tried to repurchase her but were turned down flat, and eventually she passed into Finnish ownership, being bought and commanded by Captain Gustaf Erickson of Mariehamn. Under his ownership the Herzogin Cecilie carried cargo’s all over the world, but it was the Australian Grain Races that made her famous, winning eight of them in succession.

In 1936 the ‘Duchess’ started what was to be her last voyage and her last Grain Race. From Port Lincon in Australia to Falmouth took her just 86 days, comfortable beating her nearest rival, the Pommern, by seven whole days. Her orders at Falmouth were to proceed to Ipswich to discharge her cargo of grain, but two days later, early on the morning of the 25 January, in thick fog and rough seas the Herzogin Cecilie struck the Hamstone just a few miles from Salcombe. Holed in the forpeak, the ship pounded fiercely then settled by her head with her well decks awash.

Coastguards rigging a rope ladder.

Coastguards rigging a rope ladder.

When dawn broke just about everybody and his aunt had turned up to view the wreck, and quite a lot thought that they should also go on board. This considerable hampered the rescue operation, but in the end the Salcombe lifeboat took off twenty-two of the crew, leaving just the Captain, his wife, and six crewmembers. A breeches buoy was rigged up to take off all the luggage and personal belongings, but most of this was quickly stolen when it landed by members of the public, who had by now degenerated into something of a mob.

Inside one of the metal tunnels.

Inside one of the metal tunnels.

For seven weeks the Herzogin Cecilie lay stranded on the Hamstone whilst her four and a half thousand tons of grain rotted and fermented. The stench was appalling and fears of it polluting the beaches around Salcombe kept the owner and the local council arguing fit to bust. Every day huge crowds gathered to view the ‘Duchess’ and local farmers made a fortune charging people to cross their land for a better look. Eventually the grain became so swollen that it started to crack the decks, and this seemed to galvanise the salvage attempts. By 7 June enough of her rotting cargo had been removed to allow the installation of powerful pumps, and on each high tide tugs repeatedly attempted to pull her off. At first it looked as if the ‘Duchess’ was stuck fast, but finally, on 19 June the Herzogin Cecilie floated clear of the Hamstone. The local council still would not let her be towed into Salcombe, fearing all manner of disease, so in the end the ‘Duchess’ was beached in Starhole Bay just at the entrance to the harbour. Unfortunately what appeared to be a ‘safe’ sandy bottom, concealed rocks, and in the July gales she broke her back and her masts soon tumbled down into the sea. It was the beginning of the end. Ironically, if the Salcombe authorities had allowed her into harbour she would have been saved unloaded and on her way long before the gales came. As it was the thing that the council feared most happened. The grain washed out of the wreck and fetched up on all the beaches. However it didn’t cause any pollution because the seagulls eat most of it, and the rest got washed away. So much for the experts.

The Duchess was refloated and towed around to Starehole Bay.

The Duchess was refloated and towed around to Starehole Bay.

In the ensuing months all the fittings were stripped from the wreck, the beautiful figurehead sent to a museum in Finland, and the remains sold to a local scrap merchant for the princely sum of £225. A sorry end for a marvellous ship.

Today at low tide, the remains of the ‘Duchess’ just about show. In the summer there is always a buoy attached to the wreck, (at the bows) and it is prominently marked on all the carts, so you really cannot miss it. Still if you do, just ask. Everybody knows about her, and most will be glad to point her out. The wreckage lies in less than 25 feet of water on a sandy bottom, and I had been told that there was just a jumble of iron plates, and that the wreck was hardly worth diving on. Not so. The Herzogin Cecilie must be one of the prettiest wreck sites going. Part of the bows is angled over to form a sort of cave into which you can easily swim to play with the many wrasse that lurk there. Stray light twinkles in from various small jagged holes backlighting the interior with a soft glow. Marvellous for underwater photography. There is a huge amount of iron plating and decking lying across the sand and also pushed down into the sand. There is still quite a lot of material from which the sails were made buried in the sand, but what I really like about this wreck are the tunnels. Various parts of the deck and hull have fallen down in such a way as to make iron tunnels along the sand. They are not really that long and you can usually see to the end, but they are a bit special. In the tunnels, the seaweed catches the light and the current as it wafts in and out of the ragged openings, along with a myriad of small fish. It really is most enjoyable, and on one dive we all spent at least twenty minutes just swimming in and out of these tunnels. The rest of the wreck stretches out along the bay, and it is still possible to find wooden decking, and the iron pulleys that once held the ropes that hoisted up the great sails.

The beginning of the end.

The beginning of the end.

It’s a great jigsaw of a wreck, and you can either put it together, or just poke and prod about. The Herzogin Cecilie will always be remembered as one of the great square riggers, but it is as a wreck that she really lives up to her old nickname, the ‘Duchess’ a real charmer.

This book tells you all about the wreck – click the cover to learn more

Diane Woolner, a survivor’s tale

I met Diana Woolner back in 1997, and although she was in her eighties, she was a sharp as a tack and very charming. At first she declined to be intervieved, but after chatting to my wife, changed her mind and let me film her as she spoke to us. Her eyes sparkled as she told us the tale, and it was obvious that her memory was as clear as if it had happened just yesterday instead of all those years ago. She even remarked on the fact that when they went back to the wreck to collect personal belongings, the sea was so flat and calm that she could see the marble blocks from the wreck of the lying on the sand twenty feet below.

Diana lived in Bradley manor which she had given to the National Trust back in the thirties and we had a lovely time looking around the house which dates from the 15th century. As we were about to leave her Daughter came out and said that Diana wanted to show us something else. In the back pantry was the ship’s wheel from the Hertzogin Cecilie.

Diana Woolner in 1997.

Diana Woolner in 1997.

Sadly Diana passed away a couple of years later but not before she had seen the remains of the Hertzogin Cecilie lying on the seabed. Our team had videoed it a year or so before and it featured in the Devon Shipwreck video.

Soon we will be able to get the interview in full with video and sound onto the website, but untill then here is Diane Woolner’s own account written by her. Enjoy.

One fine morning in April 1936 I received a telephone call from an old school friend. She was now married to a sea-captain commanding one of Gustav Erikson’s fleet of great sailing ships that yearly brought corn from Australia in the “grain race”. Sven Eriksson (no relation to the owner) came from the Aland Islands in the Baltic Sea. and although now subject to Finland, the sea-faring islanders claim to be the true descendants of the Vikings. Pam Eriksson, who sailed with her husband. was herself an experienced hand, and loved his beautiful four-masted barque almost as much as her husband did.

Bradley Manor.

Bradley Manor.

The Erikssons invited me down to Falmouth, where they had just arrived from Australia, for a few days holiday ashore. So to Falmouth I went. They met me an the quay with the news that Sven had received immediate sailing orders for Ipswich. Our little holiday had to be cancelled. but since I was there why not come with them. as their guest to Ipswich? Thus it was that I came to be a passenger on what was to prove the last voyage of the Herzogin Cecilie. Pam took me to my cabin and gave me a pair of her serge trousers and a thick white sweater of her hustand’s. “Change straight away” she said “Sven will not have any woman on board in skirts. He says it is "not fair on the Finnish boys”. This referred to the youths from the mainland learning their trade in sail.

Sven Erikssons and Paik.

Sven Erikssons and Paik.

Next I was introduced to Paik. Paik was a very formidable alsatian that Sven had taken some years before when his former owner could not marage him and feared he would have to have him put down. He adored Sven but only tolerated Pam. Paik was standing in the door of his master’s cabin; Pam had to call “Sven. we want to go into the cabin: speak to Paik!” But once Sven had introduced me all was well. After the wreck the R.S.P.C.A. took Paik away in a crate; what they made of him in the quarantine kennels I have no idea, but he was reunited with his beloved master on the family farm in the Aland Islands and became the devoted bodyguard of the baby Sven who was born not so long after these happenings. Before going to bed Pam took me on deck. She said “‘You must come and see, it is so beautiful.. The night was fine if a bit misty, there was a gentle swell, and I had that one brief experience of the stillness, the beauty of the huge sails above us, the gentle sound of the water along the ship’s sides. I could even believ’e that in this ship I might not be seasick; no smell of oil,. no throbbing engines, and a feeling that the ship was moving naturally through the water. I was tired, the sea air made me sleepy; I slept soundly.

The rotting grain being removed from the wreck.

The rotting grain being removed from the wreck.

Pam shook me awake. “Get up quickly and put on warm clothes. we’ve hit something”. She then took me round the cabins and we tied all the men’s personal possessions in blankets to be put in some place of comparative safety. Pam said “These little things mean so much to them. they are away from home for so long”. I was again taken on deck, but now all was different. It was still dark and there was a thick fog; the smooth strong motion had gone: there was a sickening jolting as the heavy swell carried the now helpless ship further on to the rocks. Sven appeared out of the night; he took me and bade me sit on a large wooden hatch cover and to stay there. As the sky lightened I looked up and saw the mass of spars and rigging, black against the grey, shaking and shivering with every shock of the hull grinding on the rocks, as slowly the helpless ship was being carried broadside to the foot of the cliffs. She had no auxiliary engines and no wireless equipment whatsoever.

Sven and Pam Eriksson.

Sven and Pam Eriksson.

Coastguards appeared on the cliffs above us and I learnt afterwards that a line was fired over the ship, so that a breeches-buoy could be secured to one of the masts. Sven led me to the foot of the ratlines and bade me look up. “Could you climb up there if you had to?” he asked me. I looked; an interminable black Jacob’s ladder ascending into a very grey heaven, but after all it was only a ladder. “Yes” I said, “I could if I had to “. That satisfied him. Then he said “Come with me”. He took me into the chart house and said “I want you to see this”. He showed me the chart with our course marked upon it. He showed me how we should have been miles out in the Channel, he showed me where, having a hunch that we were too near the coast, he altered course out into the Channel still further. Yet here we were on the cliffs. The mystery has never been satisfactorily cleared up; and there was a lesser mystery: no one that night ever saw the Eddystone Light though we must have passed very close indeed to that famous rock.

Collecting belongings a day or so after the wrecking.

Collecting belongings a day or so after the wrecking.

Finding that we were in shouting distance of the coast guards on the cliffs I asked where we were: “On the Devon coast” they said. I knew that but everyone thought I had come from Australia, and couldn’t understand that I wanted to know exactly where we were. At last one of them said “Halfway between Bolt Head and Bolt Tail”. That was what I wanted to know; it was somehow comforting to hear that I was only about 30 miles from home. As Pam and I were standing on deck watching water rising in the waist of the ship, now stuck fast on the rocks, when one of the men came plunging through the water stark naked. He had forgotten there were ladies on board. Overcome with confusion he vanished as suddenly as he had appeared. I think he had been sent by the Captain to slaughter the chickens to save them fro!n drowning miserably. Poultry were carried on these long voyages for fresh eggs and they also carried a pig for fresh meat: but they had eaten the pig before reaching Falmouth so piggy’s carcase didn’t go to feed the fishes like the poor hens.

This wheel is now at Bradley Manor.

This wheel is now at Bradley Manor.

When the lifeboat came I think Sven was heartily glad to be relieved of the responsibility for his “passenger”, and I was unashamedly relieved to be leaving a scene so strange and so uncomfortable. One of the mates who was on crutches, having injured his leg on the voyage over, was also sent ashore, much to his disgust, and all the Finnish boys came too. At the last minute someone handed my bag of knitting down into the lifeboat.The motion of the lifeboat was abominable; I was very sick right into a lifeboatman’s yellow oilskin sou-wester. 1 felt bad about that, and I hope he bore me no grudge. At Salcombe we were met by the representative of the Shipwrecked Mariners Society who arranged everything for us admirably.

At last 1 could get to a public telephone when 1 had made it understood 1 had not come from Australia, but lived at Newton Abbot and wanted to reassure my Mother before the news broke allover the country. Pamela Eriksson wrote the whole story of the ship in a book she called “The Duchess” (Herzogin means Duchess) where may be read an account of all the salvage attempts and the final abandonment of the hulk after the charming figurehead, all the fittings of the Captain’s cabin and much else had been taken to the Nautical Museum at Mariehamn in the Aland Islands. As the life-boat drew away from the tragic ship I looked up at the sad face of my school friend. Many people were surprised that she stayed on board with her husband, but anyone knowing Pamela Eriksson would have been very suprised if she had done otherwise.

 

Per Hjelt, the helmsman’s story

Mid way during 2000, I was contacted by a journalist from a Danish magazine. His name was Hannu Holvas and he was doing a story about the Hertzogin Cecilie. He had been shown around the area by Malcomb Darch, (who features in the Deventia story)and wanted to know if I had some underwater shots.

These I gladly gave him and when he asked ‘how much’ I said ‘any other information that I did not have’. Straight away he asked if I knew about Per Hjelt, who at just nineteen years of age, had been the man at the wheel when the Hertzogin Cecilie crashed into the Hamstone Rock.

Per Hjelt.

Per Hjelt.

I was astounded. I had presumed that all the crew were long in their graves. But Per, just going into his eighties was still alive, but seriously ill. Hannu gave me his telephone number and I rang his wife to see if he could speak to me. When he realized that I had seen the wreck underwater he wanted to hear all about it. I described it as best I could and promised to send him a video.

In light winds, one person could steer.

In light winds, one person could steer.

I could hear how tired he was and did not want to intrude but he was very interested in all I could tell him. I then asked him what it was like to be on the Hertzogin Cecilie He said it was very hard. The Captain and the first mate Elis Karlss used to beat and kick the men, and nobody seemed to care for the ship or about its safety or maintenance. The crew apparently hated and feared the Captain and his Mate, but every body liked his wife Pam.

Pulling up the port mainbrace by hand.

Pulling up the port mainbrace by hand.

I then asked him why the ship hit the Hamstone. He told me that if the Captain told you to do something you did it. He was told to steer the course he did, and when the rock hove into view he shouted out but was told to do as he had been ordered. So he did, and the Hertzogin Cecilie crashed into the rocks.

I arranged to go out to see him the following year, but I was too late as Per lost his battle with his illness and passed away shortly after I spoke to him.

Sailing on the port tack.

Sailing on the port tack.

Diane Woolner disputes that the Captain was a tyrant, but it is worth noting that attitudes change. The Grain Races were big money ventures, and to attain the speeds needed the ships needed storm force winds. It was not unknown for the ships officers to order their men up the mast at gunpoint as they battled through mountainous seas with hurricane strength winds. You would not get away with it now, but as I say, times change.

 

George Holmes

One of the reasons that I like doing this website is the feedback I get from my visitors. Quite often they provide me with information about a wreck, or the people involved, that you just would not turn up in research, mainly because at the time it was incidental to the main event. Even so these ‘incidentals’ after the passage of time give you a different slant on things, and often help you to more fully understand the wreck and its times. One such piece of information has been supplied by Brian Pegden and his wife, Nancy.

George taking a rest.

George taking a rest.

Nancy was the daughter of a salvage diver George Holmes, who worked on the Herzogin Cecillie when she was in Starehole Bay. In his scrapbook she found these photo’s of the ‘Duchess’. Whilst the photos are great, what really caught my attention was the short account of his career. You don’t get a lot of information about hard hat divers nowadays, as they are largely a forgotten breed, so I asked the Family for more information, and permission to put it on the site. So here it is, together with a few news articles of various other jobs that George was involved with.

One of his more famous jobs.

One of his more famous jobs.

George Holmes joined the Royal Navy in 1914, and served on the Battleship Prince of Wales, H.M.S. Lysander, and in the Dardanelle’s, and trained as a Ships Diver. George left the Navy in 1929 and got two seasons work with the Mallet Salvage Co. working on a war wreck called the Cawbank off Anglesey. His job was to retrieve copper ingots from the wreck, and for this he was paid ? per week and two shillings for every ingot he brought up.

Great photo taken by George.

Great photo taken by George.

After that he joined the Liverpool and Glasgow Salvage Co. based at Falmouth in 1931. He stayed there based on board the tug Restorer until 1935, when the company moved to Liverpool. (He must have been re-engaged by them to work on the ‘Duchess’) George then moved to his home town of Southampton and became well established as a salvage diver, working on many Southern Railway Port facilities, and examining many of the props, shafts and keels of all the big transatlantic liners, the last being the Canberra, the Great White Whale of Falklands fame.

George Holmes retired in 1964 aged 65, and he was still diving.

Below are a selection of newspaper cuttings describing the different jobs George did.

George's Jobs.

George’s Jobs.
George's Jobs.

George’s Jobs.
George's Jobs.

George’s Jobs.
George's Jobs.

George’s Jobs.

 

Cottage Hotel, Hope Cove

 

Hope Cove, Cottage Hotel

Hope Cove, Cottage Hotel

www.hopecove.com

Hope Cove is a delightful place, and the Cottage Hotel sits neatly across the front of the Bay. You can’t miss it. Built in 1890, it now looks much as it did in those times, and although modern in its outlook, it still has the charm of a hotel seen in all those Agatha Christie films. During the Second War it was used by the Airforce as quarters for the personel maning the Radar at the nearby fighter station at Bolbery Down.

Now used as a Snug.

Now used as a Snug.

Quite how the chart room got to the hotel is a bit of a mystery. Probably gathered up by fishermen, or sold of by Sven to defray expenses. Even so its a lovely little thing to see and has loads of great photos of the Hertzogin Cecillie and other local shipwrecks.Lunch is pretty good as well so book early.

The Duchess in the Dock.

The Duchess in the Dock.

Sunderland Flying Boats

If you look across the Cattewater from the Barbican you can see the huge hangars that used to be part of R.A.F. Mountbatten.The whole site was handed back to the Council some years ago, and now thriving marine businesses occupy the hangars and yuppie housing occupies the land where the air base used to be. R.A.F. Mountbatten has virtually disappeared, its task completed and the past bravery and sacrifice of its various aircrews are now just fading memories.

Mountbatten during the War.

Mountbatten during the War.

There are several articles . The first one is about the salvage of a wrecked Sunderland and the re-uniting of it, and the crew. The second is the extraordinary tale of Capt. Frederick Thornton Peters who died in the above aircrash. The third is a gallery of photos from a relative, Flight Sgt W. Granger, who served at Mountbatten in aircraft maintenance. The fourth is about Lawrence of Arabia’s time at Mountbatten and his involvement in the development of the RAF rescue boats.

  • Sunderland Flying Boats of Plymouth
  • Capt. Frederick Thornton Peters. VC
  • Flight Sgt. W. Granger RAAF
  • Lawrence of Arabia

The Soudan

In the early morning of the 27 June 1887 the Hamstone was shrouded in dense fog. Creeping up channel towards Dunkirk was the 844 ton French steamer Soudan, loaded with peanuts, ox hides, and oil from Senegal. The eight passengers and twenty four crew, now only hours from a safe landfall gazed worriedly out at the eerie, swirling fog and prayed that the Captain knew where he was. Unfortunately their prayers went unanswered because shortly before midday the Soudan ran straight out of the fog onto the Hamstone where she became firmly stuck. Still, with a flat calm sea the only casualty was the Captains pride. When the fog lifted that afternoon the eight passengers were rescued by a passing yacht, which took them to Salcombe where they reported the Soudan firmly stuck on the outer ledges of the Hamstone, with about twelve feet of water in her forward holds.

The Soudan, possibly.

The Soudan, possibly.

By that evening the tugs Vixen and Raleigh had arrived on the scene, and as the tide rose the Soudan floated free of the Hamstone enabling the two tugs to take her in tow. Although the crew had sealed off the forward holds the water was still leaking into the vessel in considerable quantities, and the Soudan became very sluggish and difficult to manoeuvre. Progress was desperately slow. By midnight the tugs had managed to tow the Soudan abreast the Mewstones and started to make the turn for the entrance to Salcombe Harbour.

With water still pouring into the forward holds passed the sealed bulkheads, the stress on the other bulkheads increased. In the end the engine room bulkhead gave way with a loud tearing noise and the tug skippers suddenly realised that they were now towing a dead weight that had the power to take them both to the bottom. Hurriedly they rushed to cut the towing hawsers now humming ominously with the strain. The Soudan seemed to catapult forward then dived bows under the waves to come to rest upright on the bottom with her mast still visible above the surface.

Somewhere near the boiler.

Somewhere near the boiler.

By the time morning came the Soudan’s cargo had started to float out of her, but the Insurers were optimistic, especially as she seemed to still be more or less in one piece. Two Belgium salvage ships, the Berger Wilhelm and the Newa, were hired to raise the wreck, and for two months they stayed on site trying every trick in the book. Air was blown into her ballast tanks, and when that failed huge air bags were placed into her holds and compressors pumped air down to them for days. Nothing happened. Next, massive chains were passed underneath her hull and secured to lifting lighters, which besides using powerful winches also used the lifting effects of the tides. But all was to no avail; the Soudan seemed determined to stay on the bottom. After a few more abortive attempts the owners and insurers gave up in despair and declared the Soudan a complete and total loss.

Today the Soudan lies in exactly the same place in about 60 feet of water on a sandy bottom. Although broken up, her stern is still reasonably intact, as are her boilers. An interesting feature of this wreck is her iron propeller with its well polished boss, a tribute to the many divers that visit her. The bows stand out of the sand with the foredeck and some bulkheads lying flat on the seabed with what appears to be part of the mainmast and boom lying across all of that. The boom leads you out onto the sand where other pieces of bulkhead and ribs lie scattered. It is an easy and compact wreck to swim around and the boilers serve as a nice central point from which to get your bearings.

Even though this wreck is very popular with visiting divers there are still small brass valves and tally’s to be found and occasionally the odd china doorknob turns up. Because of her position the Soudan is only divable for twenty minutes of slack water at both high and low tide. Even this is a bit variable and when the tide starts running it really shifts, so strict timekeeping and good boat cover are essential. The tide run also makes the visibility somewhat unpredictable. Usually it is about fifteen feet, but sometimes the tide just deposits all the rubbish from the estuary on the wreck site and the visibility can drop to very disappointing levels.

If you aim to dive in the middle of summer the boat traffic in and out of Salcombe Harbour is reminiscent of the Chiswick Flyover in the bad old days, so make sure that you have a large ‘A’ flag. In spite of all of this do not be put off. The Soudan is well worth diving, but because of the time factor a series of dives will be much more rewarding than just a single one.

Incidentally, the photo of the Soudan is not to be taken as gospel. It is the right size, right shape, and it has the right name, but I have worries about the date. Extensive research has not come up with anything better but I am still not convinced that this is the right Soudan. I offer it more as a good illustration of what the Soudan probably looked like in the hope that it will add some enjoyment to your diving.

SCYLLA

One of the last warships to be built at Plymouth, Scylla was laid down at Devonport Dockyard in 1967, and launched in August 1968.After her fitting out she was commissioned on 14 February 1970 and went on service in the Mediterranean where she assisted H.M.S. Penelope in underwater noise trials. This consisted of Penelope being towed by Scylla at the end of a mile long, eleven-inch cable at 23 knots. (I would like to have seen that.)

The Scylla being launched.

The Scylla being launched.

In 1976 she was involved in the Cod War in the waters around Iceland, and later saw service on the Biera Patrol, Belize, and as the West Indies Guard Ship. At the outbreak of the Falklands war in 1982 Scylla had just started a major refit. But this had to be put on hold as men and materials were reassigned to the battle damaged ships. So urgent was their need that parts of the Scylla were ripped out and cannibalised to speed up the repairs. Finally her refit was finished in December 1984 and she spent the next eight months becoming fully operational before taking part in a major exercise codenamed Autumn Train. Later she was a regular member of the Armilla Patrol in the Persian Gulf escorting British Merchant ships through the Straits of Hormuz at the height of the Iran, Iraq war in 1986 – 88.

The Scylla in 1985, post exocet conversion.

The Scylla in 1985, post exocet conversion.

By the beginning of the nineties Scylla was obsolete, and in 1993 she was decommissioned and left to rust. That would have been the end of the story except for the intervention of a couple of local divers, Nick Murns and John Busby, who thought it would be a great idea to bring the Scylla back to her home port and sink her over in Whitsands Bay near the James Egan Layne so that she would form an artificial reef and add another diving attraction to Plymouth.

The Scylla arriving at Plymouth for preperation.

The Scylla arriving at Plymouth for preperation.

They formed the Artificial Reef Consortium and drummed up a lot of support and interest but the project got bogged down in the inevitable tangle of red tape. In the end the National Marine Aquarium came on board, and the Scylla was bought with the assistance of the South West Development Agency for around two hundred thousand pounds. It took over five years to get all the relevant permissions and to make the Scylla ready to sink, and it is a testament to the tenacity of the two local divers and the Aquarium that the project was brought to a successful conclusion.

Scylla being towed past the Breakwater en-route to her final destination.

Scylla being towed past the Breakwater en-route to her final destination.

At last on the 27 march 2004 the Scylla was towed out of the Dockyard and around Rame Head for the last time and slowly manoeuvred into position to await the final safety checks. Amongst the crowds in the flotilla of small boats and lining the cliffs, was her last Captain, Mike Booth, who had come to say his final farewell.

Detonation. ( photo David Page )

Detonation. ( photo David Page )

The Scylla had fifty detonators placed around her hull and at around three o’clock, David Bellamy the well-known naturalist, and Daniel Green, a twelve-year-old schoolboy who had won a local competition, jointly pressed the plunger. There was a massive bang, huge balls of flame, a mass of smoke, and down she went as if grateful to be doing something useful after all those years of neglect.

Down she goes.

Down she goes.
Down she goes.

Down she goes.
Down she goes.

Down she goes.
Down she goes.

Down she goes.

( photo’s by Karen Bedford )

The Scylla is one wreck you don’t need to find as the site is buoyed with a big red buoy, and the wreck itself has three large yellow buoys stationed at the bow, middle and stern. No chance of missing it then. So what’s it like? Because it is such a recent wreck the absence of marine life is quite spooky. You normally take all that for granted so it’s a bit lonely down there.

The letters have gone.( photo Sally Sharrock ).

The letters have gone.( photo Sally Sharrock ).

The Scylla is sitting upright with a small list to starboard that is getting slightly more pronounced with each passing month. On the first dives you hardly noticed it, but you will now. This leaning will slow down though in future months as the boat settles into her silty berth. The ship has been stripped of just about all its top hamper, funnels, radar mast, and the gun went years ago when it was converted to missiles. So it is to the bridge that most people go first but even this only has a few switches. All the doors have been removed or held open and there are notices everywhere telling you to be careful and to check your air. From the bridge you can wander aft along the companionways peering into compartments and examining various tallies and switch boxes that are still around. There are also a few signatures from the towing crew and some clubs have stuck up their clubs insignia.

The Bow looms beautifully.

The Bow looms beautifully.

At the stern is the flight deck and hanger for her helicopter and you can go down and see the bronze prop shafts partly buried in the mud. If you want to go inside its quite easy as great holes have been cut in the sides to effect entry and exit points, and its fun to swim in and out of the cabins and little workshops. However it’s worth noting that there are some dead ends that you cant get out of so don’t go thinking that you can suspend your normal caution. There is a nice machine space full of valves and machinery which last week (5 June 04) was starting to fill up with small fish and I particularly liked the Burma Road as it kinks all over the place because the sinking team took out several bulkheads.

Inside the bridge.( photo Sally Sharrock )

Inside the bridge.( photo Sally Sharrock )

Because it’s so new you almost expect to see someone working as you poke your head into a cabin. Forward towards the bow it’s worth swimming along the top of the deck as there are all sorts of nooks and crannies and holes going down inside the ship. Hanging of the bow is great as you can see all of it looming out of the murk with the anchor chains sweeping down to the seabed. Also a scour has started around the bow allowing you to see right underneath it. The Scylla is a welcome addition to Plymouth’s sea bed, but it’s a great shame that so much was taken from the Scylla, as its robbed her of most of her personality. But as the fish arrive and the winter storms rearrange her, she will no doubt regain some of that and become a welcome addition to Plymouth’s seabed.

Thats me with the camera. ( photo Sally Sharrock )

Thats me with the camera. ( photo Sally Sharrock )
The Scylla Sub Alici.

The Scylla Sub Alici.

At first there was a lot of talk about getting people who couldn’t dive down to see the Scylla. To this end the National Marine Aquarium bought this small sub. Trouble was that the vis on the Scylla is not great at the best of times and there were issues of safety. Forinstance, would you have to stop all diving on the wreck whilst the sub was operating? Also it took ages for the sub to get around to the wreck, and so they decided to leave the sub there and transfer people by boat. With the low freeboard of the sub this was a tricky option.The idea had not really been thought through properly and in the end was abandoned.

The Scylla Sub Alici.

The Scylla Sub Alici.

I am gratefull to Paul Hennessey for the photos below, showing the Scylla being built.

The Scylla being built.

The Scylla being built.
The Scylla being built.

The Scylla being built.
The Scylla being built.

The Scylla being built.

The Rosehill

Two miles out from Portwrinkle lies one of the hardest wrecks to locate along this part of the coast. She is the armed merchantship Rosehill. Built in 1911 by S.P. Austin and Son of Sunderland, she was first launched as the Minster by her owners Stephen Clarke and Company. 314 feet long with a gross tonnage of 2733 tons; the Minster was fitted with a triple expansion engine made by the Sunderland firm of NorthEastern Marine Engineering. In 1914 she was sold to a Welsh Steamship Company called W.J. Tillet and was renamed the Rosehill. At the outbreak of the First World War she was requisitioned by the Admiralty as a collier and armed with a small gun, probably a four pounder.

Looks like a small ammo box.

Looks like a small ammo box.

During September 1917 the Rosehill was enroute from Cardiff to Devonport when the German submarine U 40 torpedoed her and she sank in about 100 feet of water at the edge of a reef, surrounded by large outcrops of rock. This fact conspires to fool many a person with an echo sounder, and the only effective way to find her is to use the marks, which will put you right on the boilers. However the marks can be most elusive and I will come back to them in a moment.

Because the Rosehill lies so far along the coast from Plymouth, and because of its difficult marks, the Rosehill is not extensively dived. Often the visibility is not much more than ten feet, and sometimes a lot less, so most of the charter skippers prefer the Egan Layne because it is nearer and has much better visibility. Whilst the marks are easy enough to spot on the land, the telegraph poles in the first mark tend to vanish on a clear sunny day. Even binoculars cannot bring them back, but sometimes a good set of Polaroid sunglasses can. So ideally you want a calm clear day with a touch of cloud.

I know you can use GPS, but try these, go on.

I know you can use GPS, but try these, go on.

The first mark is the one to use for the main approach, and the ‘stopper’ is the second mark. Now this mark is a real pain because you have to adjust its position for the state of the tide. (Yes really). It took me two years to realise this, because we always had dived it before at the low range of the tide. No special reason, just coincidence, but the marks always worked perfectly. One day we went out to the wreck on a spring high and I just could not find it. After nearly two hours of looking the crew were about ready to lynch me, when a local fisherman came up and told me that his buoy (a fairy liquid bottle) was right on it. It looked right out to me but by now I was desperate. A diver went down to check it out, and there she was, correctly positioned on the first mark but much further along the ‘stopper’ mark. I have never come across this sort of mark before, and I can’t say I care very much for it, but I have tried all sorts of other marks and they just do not work, so I guess I am stuck with it.

Looks like a small ammo box.

Looks like a small ammo box.

Still after all the hassle the Rosehill is well worth it. This was the first wreck I ever dived with a gun on it, and that is only one of its many attractions. The ship is lying almost upside down in parts and it takes some time to get your bearings, especially as the visibility is usually not very good. Still there is plenty of brass on this wreck, but you will need to come well prepared for most of it is well bolted on. On my first dive on the Rosehill there was no entrance into her engine room except for a small crack in the hull. Over the years however, this crack has turned into quite a gaping hole, and although not quite big enough to get into properly, you can certainly see enough to hope that the hole gets a lot wider. Around the boiler is a huge jumble of metal, parts of the hull and pieces of the deck all lumped onto one another. In amongst all this are some brass valves bolted to the plating, and some fairly large bearing blocks. At the bows is an anchor and chain and part of a mast complete with the pulleys that must have helped support the derricks that loaded and unloaded the ship.

Two brass valves. The trick was to find them on each dive.

Two brass valves. The trick was to find them on each dive.

Somewhere amongst all this is the gun. I must confess that I never can quite put my finger straight on this, and usually have to be led to it by one of my partners. Still I do like looking at it, even though I am not too sure what type it is. Nice big barrel, elevating and training wheels, mounting with calibration ring, the lot almost ready to fire. Great.

Besides the brass and the gun, there are also an awful lot of fish as well. Pouting and Pollack you would expect, and they are here in huge numbers. The exception is Bass. I was surprised to see them here on one dive and maybe they were only visiting. A few years ago there were sensational stories in the press about a giant conger eel attacking divers thighs, (I always wondered about that) and although there are congers on the wreck I can’t say that I noticed any of them attacking divers. But then, as I have already said, the visibility is not all that good.

Check out the conger's mate.( courtesy of Sally Sharrock).

Check out the conger’s mate.( courtesy of Sally Sharrock).

Once you have dived the Rosehill a few times you begin to make some order out of the jumble, and you begin to notice that things are missing, and that is what makes this wreck really interesting. Forinstance, where is the bridge? Is it underneath the upturned part of the hull, or has it been torn off and is now lying some way away from the wreck? If I find out be sure I will let you know. Better still, you find it and let me know.

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Submerged Books and DVDs

The Wreckers Guide To South West Devon Part 1
The Wrecker's Guide To South West Devon Part 1
The Wreckers Guide To South West Devon Part 2
The Wrecker's Guide To South West Devon Part 2
Plymouth Breakwater Book
The Plymouth Breakwater Book
The Plymouth Breakwater DVD
The Plymouth Breakwater DVD
Shooting Magic DVD
Shooting Magic DVD
Devon Shipwrecks DVD
Devon Shipwrecks DVD
The Silent Menace DVD
The Silent Menace DVD
The Tragedy Of The HMS Dasher DVD
The Tragedy Of the The HMS Dasher DVD
Missing  DVD
Missing: The Story Of The A7 Submarine DVD
HMS Royal Oak DVD
HMS Royal Oak DVD
Bombs And Bullets DVD
Bombs And Bullets DVD
Bay Watch DVD
Bay Watch DVD

Search Submerged

Devon Shipwrecks

  • Blesk
  • Bolt Head To Bolt Tail
  • Cantabria
  • HMS Coronation and the Penlee Cannons
  • Deventure
  • Dimitrios
  • Elk
  • Empire Harry
  • HMS Foyle
  • Fylrix
  • Glen Strathallen
  • Halloween
  • Herzogin Cecillie
  • Hiogo
  • James Egan Layne
  • Jebba
  • Liberta
  • Louis Shied
  • Maine
  • Medoc
  • Nepaul
  • Oregon
  • Persier
  • Plymouth Breakwater
  • Poulmic
  • Prawle Point
  • Ramillies
  • Riversdale
  • Rosehill
  • Skaalla
  • Soudan
  • Sunderland
  • Flying Boats
  • Scylla
  • Totnes Castle
  • Vectis
  • Viking Princess
  • Yvonne

World Shipwrecks

  • Narvik
  • Scilly Isles
  • Scapa Flow
  • Truk Lagoon
  • Falmouth
  • Other World Wrecks
  • South Africa
  • Tombstones
  • Submarines
  • The Ones That Got Away
  • Bombs And Bullets
  • Marine Archeology
  • Wreck Walks

Shipwreck Book Reviews

  • Neutral Buoyancy – Tim Ecott
  • Admiral Shovell’s Treasure-R.Larn & R.McBride
  • The Silent Service – John Parker
  • Scapa Flow In War And Peace-W.S.Hewison
  • This Great Harbour-W.S.Hewison
  • The Duchess-Pamela Eriksson
  • Stokers Submarine-Fred &Liz Brencley
  • The Wreck at Sharpnose Point – J.Seale
  • Business in Great Waters – John Terraine
  • Submarine in Camera – Hall & Kemp
  • Autumn of the Uboats – Geoff Jones
  • Under the Red Sea – Hans Hass
  • To Unplumbed Depths – Hans Hass
  • Goldfinger – Keith Jessop
  • Custom of the Sea – Niel Hanson
  • Stalin’s Gold – Barry Penrose
  • Pieces of Eight – Kip Wagner
  • The Man Who Bought a Navy – Gerald Bowman
  • The Treasure Divers – Kendall McDonald
  • The Deepest Days – Robert Stenhuit
  • The Wreck Hunters – Kendal McDonald
  • Sea Diver – Marion Clayton Link
  • The Other Titanic – Simon Martin
  • Falco,chief diver of the Calypso – Falco & Diole
  • World without Sun – J.Y.Cousteau
  • Ship of Gold – Gary Kinder
  • Seven Miles Down – Piccard & Dietz
  • The Living Sea – J.Y.Cousteau
  • The Undersea Adventure – Philip Diole
  • Life and Death in a Coral Sea – J.Y.Cousteau
  • Dolphins – J.Y.Cousteau
  • Whale – J.Y.Cousteau
  • Shark – J.Y.Cousteau
  • Sea Lion- Elephant Seal and Walrus – J.Y.Cousteau
  • Octopus and Squid – J.Y.Cousteau
  • Shadow Divers – Robert Kurson
  • A Time to Die, the story of the Kursk – R. Moore
  • The Sea Around Us – Rachel Carson

© 1999–2025 Peter Mitchell and Chris Mitchell. All rights reserved.