Thomas C. Sanger

The German Enigma encryption device scrambled electrical impulses so that a different letter lit up than the letter on the key struck by the operator. Photo credit: Los Angeles Times

The Mystery of Enigma

by Thomas Sanger • Thomas C. Sanger • Leave a Comment

During World War II, German armed forces communicated via the now famous Enigma cipher device. The machine, about the size of a typewriter, encrypted messages that could not be deciphered except by another Enigma device. Both machines had to be calibrated with the same three-letter code for the system to work.

The Germans were so confident of their encryption system that they believed their enemies were incapable of breaking the Enigma code. Here’s why.

Enigma had a keyboard resembling that of a typewriter. Above the keyboard, where a typewriter’s keys would move to strike a letter on paper, the Enigma had a “lightboard.” The lightboard had the same arrangement of letters as the keyboard, with each letter able to light up individually. Striking a key on the keyboard caused a different letter to light up on the lightboard. This was because the keyboard key sent an electric impulse through a series of scrambling elements inside the Enigma before it reached a letter on the lightboard.

Above the lightboard, where a typewriter would have a platen roller to receive a piece of paper, Enigma had three wheels mounted side-by-side on a spindle. Each wheel was nearly four inches in diameter and had twenty-six electrical contact points that corresponded to the letters of the alphabet. The internal wiring of the wheels differed, so that one wheel might receive an electrical impulse through its letter “H” and output the impulse through a different letter, say its “C.” Each wheel thus scrambled the signal to change the letter.

The first wheel advanced to its next letter every time a key was struck on the keyboard. At some point in its rotation, the first wheel caused the second wheel to advance to its next letter. Likewise, the second wheel had a tripping point that caused the third wheel to advance one letter. After the impulse passed through the three wheels, a “reflector” sent the impulse back through the wheels via a different route. The reflector function made Enigma self-reciprocal, so that a receiving machine set up identical to the sending machine could decrypt the message.

The Enigma operator had five wheels from which to choose the three to place on the spindle. The wheels were designated by Roman numerals and each day, the wheels and their order on the spindle was changed, as was the starting letter setting for each wheel.

To complicate matters even more, Enigma had an additional scrambling element called a plugboard, which was located below the keyboard and resembled a small telephone switchboard. The plugboard mirrored the keyboard, with the twenty-six letters of the alphabet, each with a plug receptacle below it. The operator could randomly pair two letters by plugging a cable into each letter’s receptacle. As many as ten pairs of letters might be connected for the day’s setting.

Before the electrical impulse from the keyboard reached the first wheel, it went through the plugboard, where it might be changed to a different letter. Likewise, after the impulse went through the wheels it returned through the plugboard, possibly changing letters again, before going to the lightboard to cause a letter to light up.

The operator sending the message copied down the letters from the lightboard and transmitted them via Morse code in four- or five-letter groups. The operator on the receiving end keyed the letter groups into an Enigma machine with identical settings and copied down the letters appearing on the lightboard to decrypt the message.

The number of possible configurations totaled 3 X 10 with 114 zeros behind it. Small wonder, then, that the Germans considered their communications to be unbreakable.

Nevertheless, the Enigma code was broken. It was an effort that involved spies, cryptographers, mathematicians, and daring-do on the high seas, as we will see in succeeding blogs.

U-30 commander Fritz-Julius Lemp Photo credit: Harry Turtledove Wicki

Lemp’s Fatal Decision

by Thomas Sanger • Thomas C. Sanger • Leave a Comment

When the German submarine, U-30, sank an unarmed British passenger ship on Sept. 3, 1939, a few hours after England had entered the war, the U-boat’s commander said he thought he was attacking a warship.

This was an important distinction because his operational orders forbade him to attack a passenger ship. The Grand Admiral of Germany’s navy at the time, Erich Raeder, believed a German U-boat attack on the British passenger ship Lusitania turned world opinion against Germany in World War I, and he wanted to avoid a similar situation in the coming conflict.

Oberleutnant Fritz-Julius Lemp, U-30’s commander, was well aware of this caution as well as the general restrictions of the London Submarine Protocol, which Germany signed in 1936. The protocol required him to warn any un-armed, un-escorted merchant ship of his intent to attack unless the ship stopped and allowed a boarding party to inspect its cargo. If the cargo contained contraband, the ship could be sunk but only after its crew was evacuated.

To complicate matters, the British Admiralty in the summer of 1939 had begun to convert certain merchant ships into “armed merchant cruisers” by adding naval guns to their decks. These ships were intended to supplement the Royal Navy’s protection of the sea lanes that were critical to the British Isles’ existence.

Oberleutnant Lemp had been warned specifically of the threat posed by armed merchant ships, a concern undoubtedly on his mind as he weighed the decision whether to attack. An armed enemy ship would be a legitimate target that would not require him to give warning.

The protocol was problematic for submarine warfare. Advances in radio transmission, the advent of the aircraft carrier, and the increasing range of aircraft all added to the dangers a submarine faced while on the surface of the water when it was most vulnerable.

The British Admiralty could not be certain Germany would follow procedures set out by the submarine protocol. Days before war was declared, the Admiralty asked all British merchant ships to sail blacked out at night. In the event of war, ships were further advised to sail in a zigzag pattern to make it more difficult for U-boats to target them.

Indeed, the passenger ship Athenia was adhering to the Admiralty’s advice when she was torpedoed without warning by U-30 the evening of Sept. 3.

When Lemp discovered via Athenia’s distress signals that he had torpedoed a passenger ship, he is reported to have remarked, “What a mess,” and wondered aloud why the ship had been sailing blacked-out.

Were Lemp’s remarks self-servingly constructed after the fact, or had he really been shocked to learn of his mistake? And if it was a mistake, did the Admiralty’s directives to merchant shipping contribute to Lemp’s decision to attack?

We will never know the answers to these questions. Oberleutnant Lemp did not survive the war, and nearly all of the members of U-30’s crew who did survive have died in the seven decades since the war ended. While it seems possible the Admiralty’s actions weighed on Lemp’s decision, the British hardly can be faulted for taking such precautions.

In his short time as a U-boat commander (slightly more than ten months), Lemp had acquired a reputation for bravado. But it seems unlikely he would have ignored a standing order prohibiting attacks on passenger ships. We’re left with the most likely conclusion that his eagerness led him to see a legitimate target in his periscope’s cross-hairs on that long-ago September evening. His rash decision forever changed his life and the lives of 1,418 men, women, and children aboard Athenia.

Signature of Gustav "Gus" Anderson appears on sworn document claiming Athenia carried munitions when it was attacked. Photo credit: U.S. National Archives

The Curious Case of Gustav Anderson

by Thomas Sanger • Thomas C. Sanger • Leave a Comment

The presumed discovery of the British passenger ship Athenia’s wreck site holds the potential to resolve a brief controversy that flared in the wake of the ship’s sinking on Sept. 4, 1939. As noted in an earlier blog, Germany denied that one of its submarines had torpedoed Athenia the evening of Sept. 3, the same day Britain entered World War II.

While the German claim sounded preposterous, the U.S. had declared its neutrality and the strength of popular isolationist sentiment made American officials hesitant to jump to conclusions. In an effort to sort out the cause of the sinking, the U.S. State Department asked surviving American passengers to submit their observations in the form of affidavits explaining exactly what they saw.

The affidavits provided many dramatic and vivid accounts of the explosion that shook Athenia. Most of the American passengers did not see a submarine, but a dozen or more declared they saw its silhouette and a few even said the U-boat fired its deck gun at the ship. One passenger, however, had a perspective different from all the rest and it captured headlines for several days in American, British and German newspapers.

The testimony came from Gustav Anderson, who lived in Evanston, IL, and operated a tour agency. Anderson had taken tours to Europe every summer for many years and had sailed so often aboard Athenia that he was well known to the ship’s officers and several members of the crew.

Under questioning by three members of Congress, Anderson swore under oath that he had spoken to Athenia Chief Officer Barnet Copland, who said the ship was carrying guns and ammunition for Canadian coastal defenses in its holds and added that the ship would be outfitted as an armed merchant cruiser for her return sailing. The fact that Athenia’s decks had been “stiffened” so that she could be converted to an armed cruiser, Anderson said, was common knowledge among the passengers. He also claimed Athenia was ultimately sunk by gunfire from the British destroyers that arrived shortly before sunrise, Sept. 4, to assist rescue operations. Regardless of who was responsible for sinking Athenia, Anderson’s assertions that the ship had been carrying munitions meant that it would have been a legitimate wartime target.

The British government reacted immediately to Anderson’s testimony, categorically denying each of his assertions. Chief Officer Copland filed a sworn statement that, while he was acquainted with Gustav Anderson, he had never spoken to him about the subject of guns being carried in the ship’s hold, and that in fact the ship had carried no munitions whatsoever.

After the story of Anderson’s testimony gained wide circulation in the press beginning in late October 1939, several Athenia survivors came forward to dispute his assertions. In a letter to the New York Times, passenger Cathleen Schurr said she had spent a great deal of time with Anderson aboard the rescue ships Southern Cross and City of Flint, and in all that time she never heard him say anything about there being guns aboard Athenia.

Other passengers offered similar observations in sworn statements, noting Anderson never mentioned the presence of guns even when they specifically discussed the reasons why their ship might have been attacked. None of the passengers heard naval guns firing before Athenia finally sank late in the morning of Sept. 4. They also said they never heard any mention of Athenia’s decks being stiffened, disputing Anderson’s claim that this was “common knowledge” among passengers.

Even City of Flint’s captain, Joseph Gainard, raised questions about Anderson’s veracity. According to Captain Gainard, Anderson claimed he saw the torpedo approaching Athenia and was very anxious to radio a story to the press when he came on board Sept. 4. But a month later, Anderson said in his affidavit that he was in the dining saloon when the torpedo struck.

As City of Flint made its way to Halifax, Nova Scotia, with 236 survivors crowded on board, Gainard blocked Anderson’s efforts to radio his “eye-witness” account of the Athenia disaster to a New York newspaper. The captain gave priority to messages between survivors aboard ship and their loved ones in Glasgow and Galway.

The question remained why Anderson concocted such blatantly false accounts of events? One answer might have to do with his personality. Many persons who knew him or traveled with him described the man as someone who loved being in the spotlight. His exaggerations could be seen as innocent attempts at self-aggrandizement or even as efforts to publicize his travel business.

But his sensational charges may not have been so innocent. Anderson reportedly enjoyed good connections with key German government officials. On board City of Flint he told Captain Gainard that he had done a great deal of espionage work for Idaho Republican Sen. William Borah, an avowed isolationist, although he did not explain the nature of the work. By raising questions about the circumstances under which Athenia was attacked, Anderson’s statements gave cover to the isolationists who wanted the United States to remain neutral, even though Americans lives had been lost. Ultimately America stayed out of the conflict for two more years until the Japanese surprise attack on Pearl Harbor.

Merchant seamen enjoy a quiet moment at sea aboard the Liberty ship. Photo credit: National Museum of American History

World War II’s Invisible Heroes

by Thomas Sanger • Thomas C. Sanger • Leave a Comment

World War II generated, and continues to generate, an avalanche of history books, novels, movies, and TV documentaries. But in all the words and images honoring, and rightly so, the heroism and sacrifices of the men and women who served in the United States’ war effort, one group is largely overlooked in these accounts – those who served in America’s Merchant Marine.

Merchant sailors’ acts of heroism were no less valorous and their sacrifices no less tragic than those of their brothers and sisters in arms, but their stories have been lost in the grand sweep of the war’s chronicle. The question is why?

The answer may lie with several stereotypes that marked merchant sailors during World War II. One popular misconception held that the dregs of society crewed merchant ships, since patriotic able-bodied young men volunteered for the armed services.

In fact, it was true that the U.S. Merchant Marine took some men who suffered from heart disease, who were missing one limb or had only one eye, factors that disqualified them from the fighting services. Boys 16 and 17 years old and men in their 60’s and 70’s served on merchant ships during the war. Some may not have been as able-bodied as Navy recruits and some may have been too young or too old for the draft, but they volunteered to serve their country nonetheless.

The generous physical and age requirements for service were the only way to meet the demand for crews to sail in the rapidly expanding fleet of civilian cargo ships authorized by Congress in 1936. The number of merchant seamen went from 55,000 in 1940 to 250,000 at the height of the war.

Another stereotype claimed that merchant sailors enjoyed higher pay than Navy sailors. This may have been true in some isolated categories, but overall pay grades between military and civilian sailors were comparable. The claims ignored the fact the Navy offered benefits unavailable to merchant sailors – paid leave, disability and death benefits, plus free medical care for service personnel and their dependents and a generous retirement pension.

By comparison, merchant mariners were paid when they signed on to a ship and their pay stopped as soon as their voyage ended or their ship was sunk. They received no travel allowance and had to pay for their uniforms.

Merchant seamen were among the first Americans killed in the war as their ships struck floating mines or were attacked in Allied convoys in 1940 and 1941. Indeed, 243 U.S. citizens died on American cargo ships sunk before the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor. During the war, some 9,000 merchant seamen were killed, a number dwarfed by the more than 400,000 killed in the U.S. armed services. But the picture changes when considering the death rate for each service: 1 in 26 for the U.S. Merchant Marine, 1 in 34 for the Marines, 1 in 46 for the Army, and 1 in 114 for the Navy.

At the end of the war, returning veterans received benefits from the G.I. Bill, including education, unemployment support, home and small business loans, priority for postwar jobs and medical care for disabilities. None of these benefits were available for those who served in the Merchant Marine. It wasn’t until 1988, when Congress extended veteran status to merchant seamen, that these civilian sailors received recognition for their service. By then, however, it was far too late for many World War II veterans of the merchant fleet.

Survivors aboard City of Flint wave to photographers as ship approaches Halifax.

Rhoda’s Story, Part 7

by Thomas Sanger • Thomas C. Sanger • Leave a Comment

In Part 6 of Rhoda’s Story, my grandmother and 235 other Athenia survivors sailed on to Canada aboard an American freighter, The City of Flint, after their passenger ship had been sunk by a German submarine. Early Sunday morning, Sept. 10, a young girl, who had suffered injuries when Athenia was attacked, died aboard the freighter. She was 10 years old. “We all felt terribly sad when we heard it,” Rhoda wrote in her brief memoir. The final installment follows.

Sunday morning [U.S.] Coast Guard cutters arrived and brought supplies and took off the injured and sick. They acted as escorts after that, and it was quite a consolation to us to look out and see them steaming slowly along, one on each side of us. It made us proud that Uncle Sam had sent them out to protect us and bring us in. We knew we were bound for Halifax and it did not improve matters, as we knew Canada had declared a state of war [on Germany].

Among the supplies the Coast Guard cutters brought were some newspapers containing names of the survivors. I noticed a young man scanning the list and asked him if he would see if my name was there, hoping my family had heard I was safe. When I told him who I was and where I was from, I was delighted to learn he was from Rochester, too. He was Mr. John Garland. After that we became good friends.

There was a radio in one of the officer’s cabin and every day we listened to the war news [about] England. One day as I was listening, I heard Bing Crosby’s voice and I cried for joy because then I knew we were getting near home.

Monday night a rumor went around that a submarine was sighted off Newfoundland and the effect that it had on the passengers was awful. One woman had nervous prostration and the doctor had to give her a sleeping pill. Even the sight of the cutters on each side of us didn’t seem to calm their fears. However, that night we had another awful storm, worse than the last, and that seemed to take our thoughts off the submarine. It was another terrifying night, some of us sat up all night and everyone was glad when morning came, and with it the calm.

The next day, Tuesday, an airplane flew over us, taking our pictures for one of the newspapers. We were all thrilled and happy as we felt we were nearer home. We eagerly looked forward to landing and could hardly wait for tomorrow when we should dock. Next day we were all up early and it wasn’t long after breakfast before we could see Halifax. As we came nearer, we heard the booming of guns and discovered it to be a 21-gun salute they were firing in our honor.

The pilot had come aboard and as the ship pulled in, hundreds were on the docks to meet us – newspaper men, cameramen, nurses, doctors, Mounties, telegraph boys, and Boy Scouts – all clamoring to hear our experiences and to help us if possible. We went ashore, and what a grand feeling it was to be on land again. We went through some procedure with the immigration officials then the Red Cross took us over and clothed those that were in makeshift clothes and gave us toothbrushes, combs and toilet articles that we were badly in need of.

There is not much more to tell, our train ride to Montreal was uneventful. We were sorry we couldn’t tip the porters, but we had lost all our personal belongings, money and everything. I guess they understood. At St. Hubert’s Airport, Montreal, I was overjoyed at the news that the Gannett plane would be there to meet Mr. Garland and myself, and in that way we would arrive home much quicker than by train. [Note: Gannett published the Rochester Democrat & Chronicle newspaper]

I can’t describe the joy at meeting my family again, and I think it will be a long, long time before I shall consult another sailing list or book my passage to Europe.

My Grandmother’s Memoir of Survival: Rhoda’s Story, Part 6: 

by Thomas Sanger • Thomas C. Sanger • Leave a Comment

A Passenger dances the hula for a talent show aboard the American freighter, The City of Flint Photo credit: New York Daily News

In Part 5 of Rhoda’s Story, my grandmother’s lifeboat was rescued by a luxury yacht after her passenger ship, Athenia, was torpedoed by a German submarine on the evening of Sept.3, 1939. The next morning, she transferred along with 235 other survivors to an American freighter, The City of Flint, to sail on to Canada. Her story continues in Rhoda’s own words: 

The City of Flint had about 12 passengers who had been taken on at [Liverpool]. They were Americans eager to return home. I mention this because they were so kind to us, waiting on us with food and coffee that never tasted better. They gave away nearly all their clothing and worked so hard to make us as comfortable as possible under the circumstances. There was a young doctor who worked night and day attending the sick and injured, and it was by no means easy as there weren’t adequate hospital supplies aboard. He treated my hand, which I had burned rather badly holding up lighted flares in the lifeboat.

As for the captain, officers and crew of the ship, I never saw such self-sacrifices as they made. They gave up their beds, their cabins, spare clothes, blankets and even their food, working hours overtime and putting up with all kinds of inconveniences for our sake. There were ordinarily accommodations for 40 [passengers and crew]. Bringing 220 more [people on board] took some figuring as to where to sleep us all. There was cargo space not in use, so they found mattresses, cots and blankets, and 150 of us lay down as best we could. I lay on the floor with a lifebelt for a pillow and we all slept in our clothes.

That first night on the freighter was awful. The sea was so rough and stormy, and the passengers had not forgotten their terrible experience of the night before. Some of them put their lifebelts on and all of us sat up; some praying, some crying, terrified and fearful. I pretended not to be scared and began to relate a terrible crossing I had once experienced on the old Adriatic. It was much worse than this, I told them. They were silly to be upset over this. Why these freighters battled storms a lot harder than this one. They were built especially for rough seas. Then the captain came down and told us not to be scared, everything would be alright, so we began to settle down, but there was little sleep that night.

It was surprising how good the food was, and we had enough. But we had to be very careful as the water was scarce and they asked us not to take showers or wash out clothes if we could help it. The days passed, but we dreaded the nights. We still feared the submarines. A Church of England minister on board conducted a service most every night and we sang hymns, which helped a lot.

The sailors set about making little shoes out of rope for the children that hadn’t any, and one day they gave the kiddies a birthday party with a huge cake they baked and found a candle to put on it. They dug up candies and cookies from somewhere and the kiddies sang songs and had a good time. The youngest was 11 months old, the daughter of Ernst Lubitsch, the movie magnate. She was traveling with her nurse, who had charge of her.

Another day someone organized a fashion show, which was very amusing. One of the men impersonated “Monsieur Schiaperelli,” and described the emergency costumes that had been made from various articles of clothing. I remember one baby had stockings made out of strips of toweling and wound around her legs to keep her warm. A young dancing teacher made herself a Hawaiian costume to resemble a grass skirt out of rope and did a hula hula dance for us. The music was furnished by tom toms made by stretching canvas over two garbage cans, so you see we had comedy mingled with tragedy.

In my next blog: Home at last!

Rhoda’s Story – Part 5: The Rescue!

by Thomas Sanger • Meet the Character, SS Athenia, Thomas C. Sanger, Without Warning Book • Leave a Comment

The Steam yacht Southern Cross rescued Rhoda and 375 other survivors. Credit: Yachting Magazine

In Part 4 of Rhoda’s Story, my grandmother climbed down a rope ladder into a lifeboat after her passenger ship, Athenia, was torpedoed by a German submarine on the evening of Sept.3, 1939, while sailing to Canada. Once in the lifeboat, Rhoda held a baby under her warm coat to keep the child out of the cold wind and misty rains. Her story continues: 

We saw a light way off in the distance. It seemed to come close and we believed it to be a rescue ship, so we tried to pull closer; as we did so, we were able to discern other lifeboats close to it. There were a number of lifeboats trying as we were to pull toward that ship but [they] couldn’t seem to make it. I guess the tide was against us.

Then in the moonlight, I saw one of the boats capsize and all its occupants thrown into the [rescue ship’s] propeller. It was awful; they were crying for help and struggling for their lives, and little children screaming….Our boat was crowded and we just had to row away as they would have pulled us over, and so many in our boat had no lifebelts on. I seemed to go all to pieces then; the sight of those poor people in the water completely unnerved me.

We were all about to give up, when suddenly a bright light appeared. It was a searchlight from another ship and they were flashing it right on us. We heard shouts of “ahoy there” and they were coming toward us. We lit more flares and the ship came closer. As we drew up alongside, the sailors threw ropes and one by one we were pulled up out of the lifeboat. By that time I was half fainting, but I heard a voice saying, “You are safe on a private yacht.” When they laid me down I could see people all around me and knew then that they had already rescued a good number. There, too, I saw the baby I had held under my coat. It wasn’t long before a frantic mother claimed it. She had been taken off on another boat.

It was breaking daylight then, almost 4 o’clock, but they kept on pulling the people in, and then brought hot soup and milk around. The sight of some of those poor [survivors] was awful. Some had been in the water and were covered with black oil, some were in nightgowns, some were cut and bruised and half-crazy with fright, and many children and babies were naked, frightened and crying. Some children were separated from their parents. One little girl about three years [old] was crying for her mother, but she wasn’t there.

As time passed we discovered we were on a Swedish yacht, the Southern Cross, owned by a millionaire named Wenner-Gren. They had picked up about 400, and we learned that a Norwegian vessel had rescued quite a lot more and some were picked up by a British destroyer. Later on that morning, we heard that an American freighter, The City of Flint, was on her way to give aid and to pick up the Americans and Canadians who wanted to continue [on] to America….

It was good news to me. All I could think of was home and family, and I would have been willing to travel on a cattle boat as long as it was headed for the U.S.A. I should like to say here how wonderful the passengers and crew of Southern Cross were to us. They couldn’t seem to do enough for those who were without clothes. They donated all kinds of wearing apparel: shoes, socks, sweaters, coats, pants, blankets, shirts, pajamas, etc. The women and children seemed to need them the most and they were glad to get them.

In my next blog, Rhoda experiences life aboard The City of Flint.

Such a honor to tell my grandmother’s story!

Go to www.thomascsanger.com to read previous posts.

“Rhoda’s Story” Part 3 – Boarding the SS Athenia

by Thomas Sanger • Interviews, Meet the Character, SS Athenia, Thomas C. Sanger • Leave a Comment

 

British schoolchildren await evacuation to the countryside on Sept. 1, 1939, to escape cities that might become targets in wartime.
Photo credit: BBC

In Part 2 of Rhoda’s Story, my grandmother took a train on Sept. 1, 1939, headed to Liverpool, where she would board the passenger ship Athenia the next day to begin her journey home to Rochester, NY. That same day, Sept. 1, Germany invaded Poland and England began a long-planned evacuation of school children to the countryside from large cities likely to be targets of German bombers. As Rhoda’s train passed through stations in the countryside, she recorded her observations: 

At Gloucester, we saw the first group of evacuated children. I shall never forget it. Torn away from their homes, all with their little knapsacks on their backs, their gas masks over their shoulders, and bands with numbers on their arms, in [the] charge of one or more teachers from different schools; little tots not knowing what it was all about, some crying and some laughing, unconscious of the danger they were fleeing from. It was then all the women in my compartment gave way to tears and we began to realize how serious the situation had become.

The next day, Saturday, Sept. 2, Rhoda boarded Athenia just before noon and found the ship was “terribly crowded” with many children and babies. Her narrative continues:

A lot of extra help had been taken on, but even then they seemed to have difficulty in coping with so much more luggage and so many more passengers than usual; everything seemed to be off schedule and out of the ordinary. I was fortunate in having a very nice cabin with three other ladies. One of them had only been over four days and seemed very unhappy to have to return so soon, as she hadn’t seen her people for twenty-five years….

At the noon lunch, we sat where we could find room, but as there was to be three sittings, we had to line up for our place cards at meals, and I was fortunate to be at the first sitting. That evening the orders had been posted up that all the lights on the ship would be blacked out, and positively no smoking or striking of matches would be allowed on deck. I stayed on deck with another lady named Mrs. Townley for a little while after dark, then decided to go down to my cabin and go to bed. I didn’t sleep much that night, I don’t know why. It wasn’t that I was afraid, but I had left my friends and relatives so hurriedly, and with the thought of war so close to them, I guess I had lots to think about.

The next morning was Sunday. I got up, dressed and went up on deck quite early. After breakfast I became acquainted with more passengers and learned we were to have our passports examined, so I had to go up to the lounge and wait my turn for this procedure. I stayed on deck all morning. The weather was fair, the sea a little heavy, but I felt fine, although … quite a number of passenger had started to be seasick.

At lunch the steward told us war had been declared and when we came upstairs we found a bulletin posted outside the purser’s office to that effect. We all felt rather blue and I must admit that try as I would, I could not help thinking of the German submarine danger. I guess we all thought alike but were of the opinion that we should be out of the danger zone before anything could possibly happen. After all, we argued, why would Germany want to attack a passenger ship with so many Americans aboard and Germans too. It was silly even to think about it.

In my next blog, the unthinkable happens.

Catch up on Parts 1 and 2:  www.thomascsanger.com

Rhoda’s Story, SS Athenia – Part 2

by Thomas Sanger • Interviews, Meet the Character, SS Athenia, Thomas C. Sanger • Leave a Comment

In Part 1 of Rhoda’s Story, my grandmother was visiting her relatives in the town of Street in Somerset, England, in August, 1939, when Germany announced it signed a non-aggression pact with Russia. The pact cleared the way for Germany to invade its neighbor, Poland, a nation England had previously agreed to defend. War in Europe suddenly seemed a greater possibility. Rhoda’s account of these events continues: 

That evening I heard over the radio the warning to American citizens in Great Britain to leave for home immediately. I called the American Consul and asked his advice, and he told me if I could make arrangements to leave, to do so at once, for, he said, if war broke out and the American government sent ships to evacuate their citizens, we would be allowed to bring only one piece of hand luggage, and would be expected to carry warm clothing and enough imperishable food to last over a week. Having paid my return fare and having bought and packed numerous presents and souvenirs, and clothes I had brought with me in case cold weather set in before I got back in October, I thought the best thing I could do would be to try and make arrangements with the Cunard Steamship Line to transfer me to the earliest possible boat they could. Then I could bring my luggage with me.

Rhoda contacted her steamship company to arrange passage home to New York as soon as possible. After being transferred to a ship whose sailing was cancelled, she received passage on the Athenia, sailing Sept. 2 from Liverpool to Montreal. She arranged to take a train from Street to Liverpool on Friday, Sept. 1.

On Thursday [Aug.31], over the radio came the news that all the danger zones in England were going to evacuate their children [Sept. 1], and that people traveling by train were required to put off their trips if possible, as so many trains were to be taken over by the government for this purpose. I decided I would go by car. I believe it’s about 270 miles from Street to Liverpool, which is quite a journey by car in England.

However, I got in touch with an old acquaintance of ours who owned and operated a garage with cars for hire and they gave me a price, which I accepted, and after talking it over, I decided I would travel all night Friday to arrive in Liverpool early Saturday morning. …Thursday night I went to bed reconciled to the fact that the next night would see me traveling the first lap of my journey home. I don’t think I need try to tell you of the nervous tension we all were under, not knowing from day to day what the next dreaded news would be, trying to keep cheerful and be optimistic about everything. I kept telling my relatives that I knew God would protect us and all would be well.

Sept. 1, 1939, just before dawn, the German army began its invasion of Poland, making war in Europe almost inevitable.

Friday morning about 10:30, the father of the young man who was to drive me to Liverpool, called to tell me his son had been called for military duty and would not be able to drive the car. He told me he would telephone and find out if the Pine Express would be running that day, and if so, the best thing for me to do would be to try to catch it at Shepton Mallet, 13 miles away, where it would go through about 12 o’clock. He was assured that it was running as scheduled, and as quickly as I could I got ready, and without saying goodbye to most of my friends and relatives, I rushed off to try to catch the Express. We just made it. The train was crowded with people returning unexpectedly from their vacations, all looking doubtful as to the future, but trying to be brave and calm. As I think about it now, and remember how unified they were and how unresentful and reconciled to their fate, ready to do and to give up all their country demanded, I [have] to admire their courage.

Part 3: Rhoda boards Athenia, and wonders how the crowds of women and children will all find accommodation on the ship.   

Rhoda’s Story, Part 1: Joy of Reunion — Then ‘A Thunderbolt’ 

by Thomas Sanger • SS Athenia, Thomas C. Sanger, War History • Leave a Comment

Rhoda with her brother, Albert Fisher, in Street, Somerset, August 1939.
Photo credit: Family picture

My grandmother, Rhoda Thomas, was a passenger aboard the British liner Athenia when the ship was torpedoed by a German submarine Sept. 3, 1939, at the start of World War II. She survived the attack, was rescued, and returned home to her family in Rochester, NY, where she later wrote an account of these events she titled “Experiences of an Athenia Survivor.” My next several blogs will be devoted to Rhoda’s story, in her own words. 

July 29, 1939, I sailed on the new Mauretania from New York. It was with some misgivings that I said goodbye to home and family, especially my husband. As the ship sailed out of New York, something seemed to rise up and choke me and I wished I had never made up my mind to go. I felt like walking off the ship and returning home. Perhaps it was a foreboding of the terrible happenings that were to follow. However, it passed, and I soon found myself getting acquainted with my cabin mates and other passengers, and telling myself how foolish I had been to allow such a state of mind to possess me.

Rhoda arrived in England August 5th and was met by her brother and niece. They drove back to Street, the town in southwestern England where she had been born and raised. There she spent nearly three weeks gathering with relatives and old friends, enjoying shopping, teas, days at the seaside, and driving trips to the country. 

The time passed all too quickly. Our conversation and talks at time would center on topics concerning the possibility of war, and very few were of the opinion that there would be war. They had passed through such a crisis a year ago, worse than this and were sure a peaceful settlement could be reached. Therefore, they refused to worry over Hitler’s claim to Danzig and the Polish Corridor. England was negotiating with Russia and all in all they were sure Hitler would be afraid to start anything against such a powerful opposition. Then August 24, just like a thunderbolt, the news came that Germany had signed a non-aggression pact with Russia.

It was like a stab in the back for the English people. They seemed stunned, speechless, not knowing whether to blame their government or lay it to the treachery of Hitler and his aids. But one thing was certain:  that was war was inevitable.

In my next blog, advice from the U.S. Embassy sends Rhoda scrambling for passage back to America.

Contact Tom for speaking engagements: tomsanger@msn.com

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