British passenger ship Athenia sinks after being torpedoed by a German U-boat. Photo credit: ww2today.com

Details Lost to History – and to Subterfuge

by Thomas Sanger • SS Athenia • Leave a Comment

It’s time to revisit one of my earlier blog posts about the number of torpedoes U-30 commander, Oberleutnant Fritz-Julius Lemp, launched at Athenia when he sank the British passenger ship on the first day of World War II. Various accounts of this action have Lemp firing two, three, or four torpedoes. Why the discrepancies? U-30’s war diary (log book) was altered. More about that later.

U-30 carried 11 torpedoes; one loaded in each of the four forward tubes, one in the aft tube and six in the forward torpedo room. Of those six torpedoes, four were stored under the decking while two were suspended in reload positions on the port and starboard side of the torpedo room. This meant that at least four bunks had to be stowed until two torpedoes were launched, which is why U-boat sailors who slept in the forward compartment always eagerly awaited their boat’s first action.

While it was not unusual for a U-boat to fire a fan of four torpedoes when attacking a convoy with a horizon filled with targets, it seems unlikely that Lemp would have expended more than a third of his boat’s torpedoes at a single target on his first attack run of the war. The most likely case is that he fired two torpedoes at Athenia. We know from nearly all accounts of the action that one of his initial shots was a misfire, described as either “running wild,” or being stuck in the U-boat’s torpedo tube.

Okay, it’s time now to address these discrepancies.

Lemp brought U-30 to the surface after nightfall to see how fast the ship was settling. While he was on the surface, Lemp learned he had torpedoed a passenger ship, exactly the kind of ship his operational orders told him he could not attack. He made the decision to leave the scene without reporting his actions to his headquarters. Because of this decision, the German Navy was caught off guard the next day when British media began reporting the Nazis had torpedoed a passenger ship and killed innocent civilians. To save face, the Navy responded that a U-boat could not have been responsible because none had reported any action in the area where Athenia had been sunk, conveniently leaving out the fact that they had not heard from all the U-boats that had been deployed.

Even after Oberleutnant Lemp returned to his base and immediately reported his mistake, German High Command continued to deny responsibility. They stuck to this story throughout the war, and made the decision to alter the first two pages of U-30’s war diary to show the boat had been more than a hundred miles from the scene on the night Athenia was attacked. In doing so, the only contemporaneous account of the attack was lost. Twenty months later, Kapitanleutnant Lemp died when is U-boat was damaged by depth charges and had to be abandoned.

It wasn’t until the Nuremburg Trials in 1946 that Germany admitted its role in Athenia’s sinking. By then, the carnage of World War II seemed to overwhelm any interest in the details of the attack that had begun the Battle of the Atlantic.

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.

U.S. oil tanker Dixie Arrow burns after being torpedoed by a U-boat off Cape Hatteras in March 1942. Photo credit: newenglandhistoricalsociety.com

World War II on Our Doorstep

by Thomas Sanger • War History • Leave a Comment

Following the attack on Pearl Harbor in December, 1941, Americans feared Japanese assaults on the west coast of the United States. Indeed Japanese submarines shelled targets in California and Oregon, and Japanese soldiers invaded the Aleutian Islands in Alaska for a brief time in 1942. But many Americans might be surprised to learn that during the first half of 1942, far more damage was caused by German submarines in waters off the East and Gulf coasts.

When Germany declared war on the U.S. four days after Pearl Harbor, Hitler sent a small fleet of U-boats to the East Coast. They quickly began sinking American cargo ships, many within sight of some of the nation’s largest cities. From February through May, 1942, U-boats sank 348 ships and killed an estimated 5,000 merchant seamen.

U-boat crews were surprised that the American freighters were not traveling in convoys and that cities and towns along the eastern seaboard were not blacked out. As a result, U.S. vessels were silhouetted at night by the bright city lights that made them easy targets.

In spite of the carnage taking place in U.S. waters, the Navy appeared reluctant to establish a formal system of convoys along the east coast. One reason for this was a shortage of warships. The limited number of U.S. destroyers were already helping protect convoys in the North Atlantic and fighting the Japanese in the Pacific. The U.S. Maritime Service called for coastal cities to adopt blackout conditions at night, but city fathers were reluctant to do so because blackouts were seen as bad for business.

In May, 1942, coastal centers agreed to a “dim-out” of their lights, but this was only partially effective, due to arguments over what constituted “essential lighting” for a city or town. It wasn’t until July 7 that the U.S. Government ordered blackouts for coastal cities. After that the U-boats moved on to more prolific hunting grounds in the Caribbean and Gulf of Mexico.

By effectively targeting tankers carrying oil from Texas and Louisiana ports, U-boats sank nearly a third of the existing U.S. tanker fleet. Their success not only threatened to cut off vital supplies bound for the British Isles, but also supplies of heating oil for eastern cities. The U.S. Navy was finally galvanized into action.

Using Coast Guard ships and armed trawlers on loan from the British Admiralty, Navy officials organized a “bucket brigade” convoy system. The convoys put in at ports along the Gulf and East coasts during nighttime, the period when U-boats did their greatest damage. Sinkings dropped dramatically in 1943, and most U-boats were reassigned to the North Atlantic.

U.S. industrial might slowly began to assert itself. Airplanes, warships and cargo ships began rolling off assembly lines as America’s military might steadily grew. But few in the U.S. Maritime Service would ever forget the six months when German U-boats had been the undisputed masters of American waters.

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 4 The SS Athenia is Torpedoed…

by Thomas Sanger • Interviews, Meet the Character, SS Athenia, War History • Leave a Comment

Photo credit:   wreckhunter.net

 In Part 3 of Rhoda’s Story, my grandmother boarded Athenia in Liverpool, England, on Sept. 2, 1939. The next day, Sept. 3, word reached the ship that Britain had declared war on Germany. While Rhoda was concerned about the danger posed by German submarines, she and many other passengers believed they would be out of danger before anything might happen.

Her story continues: 

Just before the evening meal, I went down to my cabin, washed, and changed my dress for dinner. I took my coat and hat with me as I decided to come back up on deck right after. Mrs. Townley said she didn’t feel well, but she ate dinner and we both went up on deck and found a seat [on the] starboard side of the hatchway. About fifteen or twenty minutes past seven, as we sat there,  a terrific explosion suddenly occurred. Something struck the port side of the ship, and she seemed to keel over on her side and the water came over the deck. The lights went out all over the inside of the ship and a dense cloud of gas-filled smoke seemed everywhere. I was thrown down and as I picked myself up and turned around, I saw out on the water about a half a mile away, a long-shaped dark object with black smoke around it, and in a flash I knew what had happened.

The panic, the screaming and cries of the women and children [were] terrible. …The officers and men were shouting and hurrying to get the lifeboats lowered. I just stood there, knowing the ship was doomed and thinking of my home and family and wondering if I should ever see them again, and yet I didn’t seem to be afraid and felt quite calm. I turned to a panic-stricken woman, put my arms around her and said, “Don’t be afraid, God will save us; let us put our faith in him.”

She said, “If there is a God, why did He let this happen?”

I said, “This is the devil’s work, and God is mightier than the devil. He’ll save us,” and I led her to the side of the ship, and saw her get into a lifeboat.

I cannot describe all the scenes around me just then. It seemed such a scramble and so much shouting and screaming, especially when we heard another shell fired which seemed to burst overhead. I only remember climbing over the side of the ship and down a rope ladder, [then to] drop off the ladder into the lifeboat. I also remember hearing a boy cry, “There’s my mother on the ladder. Oh, please wait for my mother.” But they said the boat was overloaded and pulled away. I turned around to see a gray-haired woman clinging to the ladder, and her two children, a boy, 15, and a little girl, nine, pulling way in our lifeboat. They both cried for their mother all night long.

After we got clear of the Athenia, it became very dark and began to rain, and we found water coming in the boat. …We found a pail in the boat and started to bail out the water. …I was glad I had a warm coat on, as there were those in the boat that only had a thin dress on and some only night clothes, and it was very cold. I took the bottom part of my coat and wrapped it around a poor shivering woman who stood by me crying, with just a thin dress on… [I] tried to comfort her by repeating the 23rd Psalm. By that time, I was standing ankle deep in oil and water. Then someone asked me to please take a baby under my coat to keep it warm, as it had only a little shirt on. I took the baby; I  judged it to be about eighteen months old. The baby was asleep.

The sea was heavy and at times I thought we would capsize. …I got very tired. [T]he baby lay a dead weight in my arms, and as I was standing, every time the boat lurched, I had difficulty keeping my balance, then one of the boys [who was] rowing called for someone else with a coat to take the baby and give me a rest. Finally a girl sitting on the other side of the boat took [the infant] from me.

In my next blog, Rhoda witnesses a tragedy.

Need to catch up on the story?  Please visit www.thomascsanger.com

 

“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