8. “OPERATION DYNAMO”: THE SWEEPERS AT DUNKIRK
Although the chief duty of the fleet sweepers is to clear dangerous areas, there have been times when they have responded to a call which was beyond their normal experience and made the utmost demand upon their endurance.
Such was Operation Dynamo: the evacuation of Dunkirk. Among all the ships which brought the British and French troops to safety the minesweepers have a proud record.
The “Smoky Joes” were there, among them H.M.S. Pangbourne (Commander Douglas Watson, R.N.), a veteran of the last war. When she reached Dunkirk on the afternoon of her first day she went alongside the mole and embarked 200 unwounded British troops. Later, under shell-fire all the time, she moved to the jetty on the south side of the harbour where a long line of ambulances was waiting. The cot cases were stowed side by side on the quarterdeck; the walking cases found room where they could. There were fifteen men each officer’s cabin, others in the baths, round the funnel and round the “bandstand” of the gun.
It was still dark when the Pangbourne steamed out of harbour, expecting to take her direction from a green light outside. Unknown to Commander Watson, the buoy had been bombed. He followed what turned out to be the starboard light of a steamer, and the ship ran aground on a sandbank. Fortunately the tide was flowing and she backed off two hours later. The exhausted soldiers did not realize that they had been aground.
The Pangbourne reached Ramsgate, disembarked the troops, and returned for more. One sergeant, who had tucked himself away in a corner, slept so well that he found himself back at Dunkirk.
S.S. Clan MacAlister, which had been bombed at anchor outside the mole, was on fire aft and the German gunners were ranging on her. The Pangbourne took off the Master and twelve men. This time Commander Watson sent his whaler and motor boat to the beach. A score of dive-bombers circled overhead, peeling off one by one to attack their targets. One dropped five bombs close to the Pangbourne. The explosions lifted her out of the water, and the men in the boats thought she had gone. Four of the gun’s crew were killed, and the gun would not train. The First Lieutenant and the Sub-Lieutenant were wounded. A second aircraft bombed the ship beam on, but the only damage was from the splinters, which tore up the degaussing gear and holed the hull in over a hundred places above and below the water-line.
Commander Watson then gave the order to weigh, while the engineers plugged the holes with chips of wood. The boats brought off a number of soldiers. Many French and Belgians, most of them wounded, climbed aboard from small boats. There was no surgeon on board, but they were made as comfortable as possible.
By that time it was 7 p.m. Commander Watson decided to return to Dover. On the passage he fell in with the Gracie Fields, a new paddle-sweeper which had been hit in her engine-room. The Pangbourne took off most of her people, leaving a skeleton crew aboard, and began to tow her with the sweep-wire. Her rudder was jammed, so that she towed out on the starboard quarter, sinking slowly. After an hour she had to be abandoned. The Pangbourne took off the skeleton crew, and since her compass had been knocked off the board by the bombing she steered by “lamp-post navigation”—from buoy to buoy—for darkness had fallen.
She approached Dover in the misty dawn, to be told that magnetic mines had been laid during the night in the harbour approaches. Her degaussing gear being wrecked, she had to steam in a circle until trawlers had swept the channel, but was able to disembark her troops later in the morning.
Meanwhile the paddle-sweepers were playing their parts beside the “Smoky Joes.” The first on the scene came from Dover. They arrived each day at dusk, spent the night filling up with troops and tried to sail before daylight. There was no time for organized meals, but although they had only enough food on board for their crews, somehow every soldier was given at least a bowl of soup and a hunk of bread.
The senior ship of the flotilla, the Sandown (Commander K.M. Greig, R.N.) had a dachshund who became known as “Bombproof Bella.” The ship was bombed repeatedly on every passage, but was never hit, and the ratings ascribed her preservation to their mascot. Two other ships of the flotilla were not so fortunate. The Gracie Fields, which the Pangbourne tried to save, sank on her second trip. The Brighton Belle struck a wreck on her first return passage. As she was sinking, the fourth ship of the flotilla, the Medway Queen (Lt. A.T. Cook, R.N.R.), went alongside and took off all the survivors. The Medway Queen herself made seven trips to and from Dunkirk, which was the sweepers’ record.
Another flotilla of paddle-sweepers, consisting of the Waverley, Marmion, Duchess of Fife and Oriole, reached Dunkirk from Harwich. On the first day the Waverley (Lieutenant S.F. Harmer-Elliott, R.N.V.R., Senior Officer) had embarked 600 troops when twelve Heinkels made a concentrated attack on her from a height of 8,000 feet. For half an hour she evaded the salvoes showered upon her crowded deck, but finally a bomb struck her on the port quarter and after wrecking the Ward Room flat passed through the bottom of the ship, leaving a hole six feet in diameter.
Four soldiers were killed and several wounded. The attack continued for another fifteen minutes, the bombers machine-gunning the upper deck, but the Waverley kept up a rapid fire with her 12-pounder and Lewis guns, supplemented by rifle-fire from the troops. No further bombs hit the ship, and Lieutenant Harmer-Elliott had hopes of keeping her afloat until he fell in with another vessel to which he could transfer the troops. Soon, however, she became unmanageable and would not answer the wheel; then began to sink rapidly by the stern. Within one minute of the order “Abandon Ship” she had disappeared.
Lieutenant Harmer-Elliott went down with her, holding on to the bridge rails, and kicked himself free of obstructions as she heeled over to port. When he came to the surface he saw many of the troops trying to keep afloat, but the numbers thinned out within twenty minutes. The first ship to arrive was a French destroyer. Later, guided by aircraft, several drifters and a tug picked up more survivors. Lieutenant Harmer-Elliott was rescued after being in the water for 45 minutes, but many of his ship’s company perished and with them between 300 and 400 of the troops. He paid a high tribute to the soldiers, who behaved “with the highest courage and calmness and obeyed all orders implicitly,” and of one of his own men he wrote, asking that the survivors might be allowed to serve together again, “It has been my privilege to command one of the finest ship’s companies.”
The Marmion (Lieutenant H.C. Gaffney, R.N.V.R.) and the Duchess of Fife (Lieutenant J. Anderson, R.N.R.) fared better, each making three trips and bringing back over 2,000 British and French troops between them. Lieutenant Gaffney mentioned the fine spirit shown by his officers and men, many of whom were under shell-fire for the first time, in what he called “the somewhat arduous conditions,” and Lieutenant Anderson reported that when he had sent his seaboats off to the beach to embark troops his junior engineer, Mr V.N. Wood, volunteered to take the 13-foot skiff ashore. In this way Mr Wood and the Second Engineer, Mr A.R. Japp, with the Coxswain, Petty Officer A. Brassington, brought off 30 men in parties of six at a time.
Lieutenant E.L. Davies, R.N.V.R., who was commanding the Oriole, finding on his arrival that there was a scarcity of power boats, and having none himself, took the responsibility of deliberately running his ship ashore, so that he could be used as a pontoon to evacuate the men on the beach. In this way he distributed 3,000 troops among the vessels in the offing, although the Oriole was being continually straddled by bombs. He refloated his ship in the evening during another severe bombing attack, returned to England with 700 soldiers and nurses on board, and then went back.
The Captain M.S., Harwich, wrote of the Oriole’s company:
“There was no question of their requiring rest, but only a burning desire to get their ship coaled and turned round in order that they might get back to Dunkirk in the shortest time.”
During these operations the men in the three surviving paddlers of the flotilla worked for four days and nights without sleep, almost without food, and between them brought 4,755 troops safely home.
Some of the minesweeping drifters also took part in the evacuation. Towards the end of 1939 H.M.S. Vernon had specially equipped a flotilla of five East Coast herring drifters with the object of recovering ground mines by trawling. The flotilla consisted of the Lord Cavan, Silver Dawn, Fisher Boy, Jacketa, and Formidable, whose name was subsequently changed to Fidget, a blow from which her skipper never fully recovered. In May, 1940, this flotilla, which had come to be called “Vernon’s Private Navy,” was operating from Ramsgate under Lieutenant-Commander A.J. Cubison, D.S.C., R.N., with Lieutenant R.S. Armitage, R.N.V.R., as Second-in-Command. The individual ships were commanded by Skippers, R.N.R., from the Grimsby and Hull deep-sea fishing fleets, and carried a crew of ten: mate, chief engineer, signalman, cook, four deck-hands and two stokers.
When the evacuation began, the Mine Recovery Flotilla was sent over to Dunkirk with orders to act as ferry vessels between the harbour and the larger ships lying outside. On the evening they arrived they warped up to the East Mole, where the troops were lined up ready for embarkation. The drifters took 150 men each and then set out to unload them into such larger ships as they could find. This proved difficult in the darkness. For a while they made determined efforts to discharge their troops into as merchant ship and were aggrieved at her apparent lack of interest, until they discovered that she was aground on a sandbank and had been abandoned. Eventually they succeeded in finding suitable ships, and returned to the harbour for a second load.
It was then decided that the Lord Cavan should remain at Dunkirk with Lieutenant-Commander Cubison, and that Lieutenant Armitage, in the Fidget, should sail the remainder of the flotilla back to Ramsgate with the troops. On the two following days the four drifters continued their work, sailing from Ramsgate in company, splitting up on the other side, collecting men as and how they could, and returning independently as soon as each ship was loaded. Although their instructions were to limit their loads to 100 men, they usually took over 200, the record being made by Silver Dawn, who on one passage carried 312. Such loads would have been unsafe in anything but calm weather, but even so a number of soldiers who had swum out to the ships had to be refused passage. Lieutenant Armitage described these men as being “amazingly philosophical,” and they swam back to the beach with cheerful comments on the wetness of the water.
Although subjected to incessant bombing attacks the only one of Lieutenant Armitage’s drifters to suffer damage was the Silver Dawn, who lost a propeller blade on some wreckage in Dunkirk harbour on the third day, but succeeded in reaching Ramsgate with her troops on board.
On their outward passage on the last day the remaining three drifters came up with a large troopship, the Scotia, which had sustained five direct hits from bombs, and was lying on her side burning fiercely. The sea was full of French troops, whom German aircraft were machine-gunning as they struggled in the water. Having rescued everyone left alive, the three drifters turned back with the survivors, most of whom were severely wounded.
In all, the four drifters brought back 4,085 soldiers. The Lord Cavan was sunk by shell-fire, but the entire ship’s company returned safely.
The trawlers also did valiant work, although many of the skippers were over fifty years of age and most of the junior officers and ratings had previously seen nothing of war. Eight trawlers alone brought back 1,606 British, French and Belgian troops. Losses were severe. One Skipper, as he was picking up soldiers from the water, saw a bomb strike a sister ship. There was no sign of her when the smoke of the explosion had cleared away. Another sank near the East Pier alongside the wreck of a British destroyer, her White Ensign still flying just above the water throughout the evacuation.
Perhaps H.M.T. St. Melanté had the most varied experience of all. She had been sweeping off the Hook when the Germans invaded Holland. A near miss from a bomb wounded both the Skipper, the Second Skipper and three seamen, and flung Second Hand (now Skipper) F. Hayward violently on his back. Hayward gave the men first aid and took them to hospital. He refused to remain himself, although in great pain, since there was no one else to take charge of the ship. Next day the Germans captured the hospital and his shipmates became prisoners of war.
The St. Melanté, with her consort the Arctic Hunter, then went to Flushing, where she was bombed and raked by machine-gun fire, and later reached Zeebrugge. The water was thick with mines, and ships were going up every hour. The trawlers swept the harbour approaches and took on board the crew of a bombed Greek ship, then were ordered to return to their Base. On arrival both ships’ companies were given five days’ leave. An hour later leave was cancelled and the St. Melanté was told to proceed to Dunkirk.
There was no need to look at the chart, for over Dunkirk hung a pall of smoke which could be seen for miles. Bombs were dropping as the trawler reached the quay, where she embarked 600 troops. The men were worn out but revived once they were on board, under the impression that they were “safe with the Navy.” They were distributed along the deck, in the cabin, in the stokehold, and on the gun-platform. The ship was bombed the whole way back to Dover, but there were no casualties.
The St. Melanté’s next duty was to sweep at Le Havre. As she approached the harbour the oil tanks were blazing, and on arrival she was ordered to St. Valery, where 6,000 troops were believed to be surrounded on a strip of beach. The relief force consisted of a score of small vessels: trawlers, sloops and a destroyer. They reached the rendezvous at midnight and sent the boats in. But the beach was empty. When dawn broke there was no sign of troops. All had been taken prisoner. During the night the St. Melanté found a French yacht adrift. She was intact, but everyone aboard was dead. They looked as if they had been mudered.
The St. Melanté then returned to Portsmouth and was ordered to St. Nazaire in company with the trawler Asama. They reached the harbour to find the quay lined six deep with troops, who extended as far as the eye could see. The St. Melanté took 670 on board. The Asama, a destroyer and a French tug took others, and ferried them to transports waiting in the harbour. The ships were bombed all the way out, but the soldiers stood the ordeal unflinchingly.
This work went on for three days and nights. There seemed no end to the troops. The St. Melanté’s men found themselves “napping on their feet,” as Skipper Hayward put it. They saw the Lancastria go down.
Skipper Hayward was beginning to lose the use of his legs from the effect of his fall, but he refused to go to hospital. Then a fleet of trawlers arrived, with civilian crews and their fishing gear still on board, and the evacuation was at last completed. But the troopships had still to be taken safely out of harbour, the approaches to which were suspected of being mined. Skipper Hayward was told, “Although your crew are off their feet, you must sweep us out.”
At dawn the St. Melanté and the Asama went ahead of the great convoy—twenty merchant ships packed with troops, with ten fishing trawlers and the destroyer escorts. They swept from the lock gates into the open sea; then took up their position on either side of the convoy and steamed with it to Plymouth.
That, so far as Skipper Hayward was concerned, was the end of what he called “all that bother across yon side.”
He was loud in his praise of his men. They were all landsmen except the Leading Seaman, a giant with ginger hair, who, when he sighted enemy aircraft, would man the gun and bawl out imploringly, “Come over ‘ere! Just come over a little closer!”
“Yes, the men behaved as though they had a job,” said Skipper Hayward.
[Caption] THE SWEEPERS WERE THERE. With all the other “little ships,” vessels of the Minesweeping Service helped to bring home the British Army from Dunkirk. These men are safe on the deck of the drifter Fidget.
[Caption] THE END OF THE SCOTIA. From this large troopship, wrecked by enemy bombs, everyone alive was rescued by three drifters usually employed for mine recovery by H.M.S. Vernon. These three drifters and two others (one was the Fidget) were known as “Vernon’s Private Navy.”
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