222069 Chief ERA2. Henry Wilson Hanlon Royal Navy HMS Bergamont from:20 Seymour, Venue Lipson, Plymouth “Fatal Thirteenâ€
Many accounts of the “bags†made by or Q boats have appeared in the Press in the course of the few months. All of our Special Service Ships however were not so successful, and the following narrative related by a survivor of one of the ill-fated ones, may prove interesting reading, as well as giving the British Public an idea of the hazardous service on which these ships were engaged.
On the 13th July 1917, one our new pattern Q-boat sloops was commissioned on the Tyne. The trials etc. having been accomplished successfully, we started off to our future “base†at Buncrana (a small town on the shores of Lough Swilly). With the exception of a few submarine scares nothing eventful happened for a few weeks.
One Monday forenoon, however, we left Buncrana on what proved to be our last patrol. At 8 pm I came off watch from the Engine room. My quarters were for ‘a’d, and it was getting on towards 8:30 before I was washed + sat down to supper. The Chief & Petty Officers all lived for’a’d - luckily for us – and a fair percentage of them were “turned inâ€. Nothing was further from our minds than the catastrophe which was at hand. Suddenly we felt a fearful rending crash followed by the escape of hissing steam. All the lights went out at once, & for a moment or two pandemonium was let loose, as everyone in our compartment crowded to the one means of exit-an iron ladder to the upper deck.
I was one of the last to get up, & immediately made my way to the bath room where my life jacket was. By the time I forced the door (which had been jammed) found & donned it, all but a few had gone to the boat deck. From my position I could see nothing of the effects of the explosion as the after part of the ship could not be seen from there – that it was caused by a torpedo was only too evident. The ominous lurching of the ship to Port as she settled down, warned me that it was high time to get out of her, so without further hesitation I rushed to the boat deck only to find that both the midship lifeboats were at least three hundred yards away. However, near by I saw one of the rafts, quite near the stern which was slowly tilting upwards. It was only then that the full magnitude of the disaster appealed to me. Previously I had acted as one in a dream.
The after well deck was flush with the water & the ship quickly breaking in two. The torpedo had struck her on the Port Side,- entered the Auxiliary Engine Room & burst the divisional bulkhead between it & the Main Engine Room, blowing the dynamo to pieces. The watch keepers had a narrow escape in the latter compartment, the E.R.A. managing to reach the ladder before he was overwhelmed by the inrush of water. The two stokers floated up!! & all three were eventually saved. Unfortunate, however, were the occupants of the Aux. Engine Room. The Leading stoker was killed while the Storekeeper was severely cut on the head & didn’t regain consciousness till he found himself floating in the sea. He also was saved.
The Officer’s Quarters suffered severely, the Chief Engineer, Chief E.R.A., a lieutenant, and the Paymaster being drowned or killed. The 1st lieutenant was picked up unconscious by one of the boats - wounded in the legs & head. The fate of these, of course, I learned afterwards.
To return to my story - I hadn’t been on deck for more than a few moments when a sudden lurch made me lose my footing & I was thrown into the sea. On coming to the surface I struck out for the raft. The ship's end was drawing very near. Her stern & bows had reared themselves in the air & as I reached the raft a tremendous explosion took place probably through the depth charges exploding. The raft turned “turtle†& I again went under water. The concussion caused a sickening sensation in my stomach and for a few moments I thought my end had come. However, it soon passed away & coming to the surface I regained the raft. Several times it overturned through ill balancing on the part of the occupants. Later one of the boats took a couple on board greatly to our relief as we had been greatly exhausted by the frequent submersions.
Night was now coming on fast & to add to our troubles the form of a large submarine loomed up in the near distance. No. 1 lifeboat was now about 2 miles away, while No. 2 had the two rafts in tow, on one of which was our captain. A hail came from the German craft asking where he was. We replied “In the other boat, sir.†Both her guns were trained on us & we feared the worst but the German carried on her way after No. 1 lifeboat. It seems that he went close alongside her & hauled the ships steward on board, he being the only one who had a collar & tie on, & so looked most like an officer. Our fate hung in the balance for some time as the U boat commander closely questioned the steward as to the particulars of our ship, where bound to, etc. He, however, kept his head & managed to deceive the pirate as to her nature. Finally he was told to go back to the boat, the commander giving him a cigarette & also transferring to her a wounded man the submarine had picked up. He was given a glass of a port wine, & with a farewell “See you after the war†she vanished in the night mists.
We in No.2 lifeboat (the captain having ordered the occupants of the rafts to transfer to her) having lost sight of No. 1 took it in turns to pull at the oars (there being no breeze), a course being shaped towards Lough Swilly about 100 miles away. When I say that there was 48 of us in this boat some people may be inclined to turn skeptical. However, it remains a fact & can be proved if inquired into. The boats her Admiralty order contained a supply of biscuits, a couple of tins of corned beef & a small keg of water each. As there was so many of us the captain decided to dole out a gill of water & two or three biscuits per man, daily. Tuesday morning broke cold & cheerless, but towards midday a slight breeze sprung up so we got the sail up & made better headway. The sun also came out which dried out clothes somewhat. That evening the wind freshened a lot, but owing to our cramped positions & the boat being heavily laden, we shipped a lot of water & got wet through again.
Wednesday morning found us still forging ahead but no land in sight & it wasn’t till midday we were electrified by a shout from the signalman-who had been continually scanning the horizon with his glasses – “Land on the starboard beam, sir.†The captain took the glasses & verified his statement which of course put new life in us.
Unfortunately, the wind had partly died down & 5 pm. Found us still all 5 miles from the mouth of Lough Swilly as it proved to be. All hands however were feeling stronger & more cheerful as the captain had all the remaining provisions & water served out. About 6 pm we managed to draw the attention of a large trawler the “Lord Listerâ€- & shortly afterwards were helped aboard, her crew showing us every kindness. The captain collapsed on reaching her deck. He had stuck to the task of steering the boat ever since that fatal Monday evening & had to be taken to hospital along with four others, on reaching land. He deserves a large need of praise for his skill & endurance, but as far as we know has received no recognition from the Admiralty so far, for the simple reason I suppose, that there was no one of superior rank to recommend him.
No.1 lifeboat reached the rocky shores of South Donegal about 2 am. On the Thursday, where they were kindly treated by the coastguards, all survivors finally being dispatched to England & Barracks.
One word more as regards the heading of this article. Our ship was built in thirteen weeks, commissioned on the 13th July 1917, torpedoed at 13 minutes to 9 on the 13th August 1917 and lost 13 hands.
H.W.H.
My grandfather’s name was Henry (Harry) Wilson Hanlon. I think he had an Chief ERAII rating at the time. His official number was M1525 if you care to look at his naval records which I have a copy of. “Grandy†wrote his story out on 5 pieces of yellow legal paper, and I typed it exactly as he wrote it many years ago. My grandmother wouldn’t let him publish it as she felt it would be “too pretentiousâ€. Well, I think it is time to let the world know how courageous he and his fellow seamen were.
He was pensioned off 1 September 1934, but because of his experience he was mobilized on 28 September 1938 by the Navy to serve his country again during W.W.II.
He died naturally in his sleep, in a nursing home run by a retired navy man, at 89 years of age in Plymouth, England in the 1980’s. I live in the United States but was able to visit him twice a year until he died. I am so pleased that he knew who I was until the very end. My mother, his daughter was already deceased, so I asked him to come to the U.S., but like I thought, he said he wanted to die in his own country that he had served so proudly.
Additional Information: | My Grandfather, William James Jones, was 'that' signalman who had scanned the horizon with his binoculars. The binoculars are still within our family.
He died on 13th August, 1973, in Cornwall.Richard Jones
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