With the centenary of the outbreak of World War One almost upon us, many thousands of events must be planned all over Europe and indeed beyond. Here I shall be involved in two - one at the Everyman Theatre in Cheltenham next week and one with the Charlton Kings Community Players in October. At both, in different ways, I shall be telling the story of, and paying tribute to, my uncle, my father's oldest brother, killed in action at sea in 1917.
The Everyman event takes place in Matchams Bar next Thursday evening, July 31st, at 6pm. The poets Jennie Farley and Eley Furrell will be reading poetry written by servicemen and - most significantly for me - by women, both those at home and those working at the front in various theatres of war as nurses, doctors, ambulance drivers and providers of other essential services. Several years ago now I discovered many of their poems in "Scars Upon My Heart" (ed. Catherine Reilly, Virago) - an incredibly moving and thought-provoking collection. Thought provoking too will be poet David Clarke's contribution next week - he'll be reading some German poetry and his own translations of it. The second part of the programme will have poems, prose readings and anecdotes from a variety of actors and other poets.The venue, if you don't know it, is quite small and intimate - so if you're free to come, do get a ticket soon.
An outline of John's story -
In 1915 the reality hit
home that it was not invasion but starvation that could bring Britain
to her knees; U boats attacking merchant shipping had to be dealt
with. Churchill's “decoy ship” plan was sanctioned; he wrote to
the Commander in Chief “A small or moderately sized steamer should
be … fitted very secretly with two 12 pounder guns ... concealed
with deck cargo. She should have an intelligence officer, a few
seaman and two picked gunlayers, all .. disguised. If a submarine
stops her she should … sink her by gunfire. The greatest secrecy is
necessary to prevent spies becoming acquainted with the
arrangements”.
Thus when my grandparents
received the telegram informing them of their oldest son John's death
in January 1917 they had no idea of the detail of his demise. Only
when a shipmate visited after hostilities ended did they learn the
story.
John was the signalman on
HMS Penshurst, known as Q7 and the most successful of all the decoy
ships. Off Portland Bill on a winter's afternoon the ship encountered
UB37. In accordance with the agreed policy, a “panic party”
appeared to abandon ship, leaving on board the hidden skeleton crew.
The U boat fired off a couple of rounds at the bridge before
cautiously approaching the supposedly empty vessel. There was no sign
of life.
But on board two men lay
dead and two were severely wounded. This was the supreme test for a Q
ship's crew – it took bravery and immense courage to maintain
absolute silence until the order came to fire despite your own
horrific injuries. Mercifully on this occasion the wait was short.
Within ten minutes the U boat came into range broadside, the
commander pressed the bell for action. The sides of the dummy
lifeboat fell away, the false deck-houses collapsed. John, 21 the
week before, staggered to his feet and ran up the white ensign. Their
first shot spelt the end of UB37. Penshurst steamed back to
Portland as fast as the commander could get her there but it was too
late for John.
When John's colleague visited my grandparents almost two
years later he brought with him a canvas bag. In it was a brass shell
fashioned into a dinner gong. He handed it to my grandfather with
the words “This is for you, sir, for you and Mrs Garrett. We made
it on the ship in memory of John, the bravest, the most conscientious
one of us all”.
That gong we still have in our dining room, a salutary reminder almost a hundred years later of the tragedy of millions of wasted lives.
