Yangtze Showdown Page 17

  The echo sounder, the only navigation aid, behaved ‘magnificently’. Soundings gave Kerans time to move to deeper water, with three fathoms the lowest reading. It was sufficiently light to make out the banks on either side and he kept the ship mainly in the centre of the channel throughout and as far from battery positions as possible. Only about 50 per cent of the buoys that should have been in the river were in position.

  Amethyst slipped past Rose Island, scene of the tragedy on 20 April, surprisingly without incident. But as she approached Kiangyin, the former Nationalist naval base, there was another challenge with flares and the ship came under heavy fire. Kerans sent a flash signal reporting the new attack. There were no hits and the frigate carried on, laying a smoke screen and opening the range.

  The next hurdle was a nearby boom. This was a relic of the Sino-Japanese War in 1937, a line of sunken merchant ships across the river, all below the surface. There was a narrow gap, normally marked by two flashing buoys. When Amethyst approached, only one buoy was flashing but Kerans chose the right side and she got through. Guarding the boom were Oerlikon batteries and a patrol craft, which opened fire but this was ‘ineffectual’.

  At 0149 on 31 July Amethyst had gone half the distance and at 0243 Kerans reported ‘100 up’, marking the first 100 miles. Brind replied: ‘A magnificent century.’ Kerans knew that the destroyer Concord, positioned at the mouth of the Yangtze, had been detailed to help him. At 0309 he asked Concord to give him cover at Woosung. He was well aware that he could be almost in sight of freedom, open seas, but then face his biggest hurdle, the heavy guns of the forts at Paoshan and Woosung.14

  Coxswain Frank had been in the wheelhouse since 2130 the previous evening. At about 0400 he got the order ‘Hard a starboard’ and then seconds later ‘Hard a port’. Amethyst had sliced through a junk, which was seen at the last moment. Hett said: ‘The Union Jack was still flying [at the bow]. The lookout on one side did report something ahead and we thought he’d seen the flag fluttering. It wasn’t until we were right on top of it that we realised it was a junk and cut it in half. One half went down one side of the ship, the other half down the other side. I dare say there was loss of life but it was an accident.’ There were probably no survivors. Amethyst was undamaged.15

  Kerans would soon experience ‘one of the worst moments’. He saw the searchlights at Woosung sweeping the area. Twice Amethyst was exposed to the glare of a searchlight but she was not fixed. The frigate sped on and, surprisingly, the big guns never opened up. First light broke at 0510 and Amethyst passed the quarantine buoy at Woosung. She had escaped. It was a thrilling moment for her weary crew. Frank probably summed it up: ‘We had done. I cannot explain how I felt when the captain told me down the voice pipe. I don’t really know whether I wanted to let the tears roll out of my eyes, jump for joy or just fall over. I do know that I felt jubilant.’

  At 0532 Kerans sent the flash signal: ‘Have rejoined the fleet. South of Woosung. No damage or casualties. God save the King.’ Brind replied: ‘Welcome back to the fleet. We are all extremely proud of your most gallant and skilful escape and that the endurance and fortitude displayed by everyone has been rewarded by such success. Your bearing in adversity and your daring passage tonight will be epic in the history of the navy.’ Brind and Madden were not the only ones who had been following Amethyst’s dash down the Yangtze. Signals were being read through the night in Whitehall, Singapore and ships of the fleet. King George VI always took a close interest in naval matters and would get angry if he was not kept fully informed of events. He was told about Amethyst and sent the following signal to Brind: ‘Please convey to the commanding officer and ship’s company of HMS Amethyst my hearty congratulations on their daring exploit to rejoin the fleet. The courage, skill and determination shown by all on board have my highest commendation. Splice the mainbrace.’ There were also messages of congratulation from the Admiralty – a much-relieved First Sea Lord – and the prime minister, Clement Attlee.

  Lieutenant Commander William Tapp of the Royal Australian Navy had been due to take his frigate Shoalhaven, (below), to Nanking in April 1949 to act as guardship, but the Canberra government stopped the voyage. Amethyst was ordered to go instead. Australian War Memorial

  Ben Chifley, Australia’s blunt prime minister. With an election looming, he did not want his sailors put in danger so close to Anzac Day.

  Keith Officer, Australia’s ambassador in Nanking. The cautious Gallipoli veteran sent warnings to his foreign minister.

  A rare picture of Amethyst starting her voyage up the Yangtze in April 1949. Imperial War Museum Collection

  Amethyst’s captain, Lieutenant Commander Bernard Skinner, who was mortally wounded on the bridge.

  First Lieutenant Geoffrey Weston, who took over from Skinner despite being badly wounded.

  Leslie Frank, who was in the wheelhouse but unable to stop Amethyst running aground.

  Telegraphist Jack French played a crucial role in keeping communications open.

  Shell and machine gun damage to part of Amethyst’s superstructure. Stewart Hett/Imperial War Museum Collection

  The gaping hole in the aft ‘X’ turret left by a direct hit. Stewart Hett/Imperial War Museum Collection

  The destroyer Consort went down the Yangtze at speeds of up to 27 knots in an attempt to rescue Amethyst. She suffered heavy casualties.

  The cruiser London was an easy target in the confines of the Yangtze.

  Lieutenant Commander John Kerans, an assistant naval attaché in Nanking and unlikely hero who had not endeared himself to his superiors, managed to reach Amethyst after a difficult journey and was given command.

  Flight Lieutenant Michael Fearnley of the Royal Air Force landed in a Sunderland on the Yangtze near Amethyst and was able to give much-needed medical help. Stewart Hett/Imperial War Museum Collection

  Commander-in-Chief Admiral Sir Patrick Brind. The attack on Amethyst shocked him. National Portrait Gallery

  The second in command, Vice Admiral Alexander Madden. He gave the order to sail. National Portrait Gallery

  The First Sea Lord, Admiral of the Fleet Lord Fraser. He tried to stop Amethyst’s escape. National Portrait Gallery

  Ambassador in Nanking Sir Ralph Stevenson. He ordered the Concord cover-up. National Portrait Gallery

  Sailors who escaped to safety from Amethyst after the attack on 20 April 1949, arriving in Shanghai.

  Kerans with senior members of the crew during their captivity. The ship’s dog, Peggy, was not interested in being snapped. Front row, left to right: Leonard Williams, Stewart Hett, John Kerans, George Strain, Michael Fearnley, William Freeman. Middle: Alfred White, Lionel Chare, Trevor Rees, John McCarthy, George Griffiths. Back: Hugh Blomley, Albert Garns, William Venton, Eric Holloway, Vernon Irwin, Ian McGlashen, John MacNamara, George Logan. Stewart Hett/Imperial War Museum Collection

  Primed for action. Shells for the ready-use lockers on board Concord – proof that the destroyer would have retaliated if the big guns of the Woosung forts had opened fire. The Ministry of Defence has always insisted that the ship was not in any danger. Derek Hodgson of Concord

  Amethyst alongside Concord, which transferred some personnel and supplies. Derek Hodgson of Concord

  Amethyst arriving in Hong Kong without the aid of tugs on 3 August 1949. Imperial War Museum Collection

  Kerans on the bridge making sure that his ship berths smoothly. A waiting Admiral Brind paid him the compliment, ‘Manoeuvre well executed.’

  Amethyst under repair in dry dock showing the large shell hole in her stern. John Kerans/Imperial War Museum Collection

  A shipshape Amethyst homeward bound, leaving Hong Kong after repairs on 9 September 1949 on the first leg of her voyage back to Britain. Imperial War Museum Collection

  Amethyst arriving home in Devonport on 1 November 1949 astern of the battleship Vanguard.

  Among those on the quayside to welcome her home were Amethyst sailors who had returned to Britain earlier after b
eing wounded.

  Kerans reunited with his wife Stephanie, who brought along their three-year-old daughter Charmian.

  Boy sailor Sydney Horton receiving a warm welcome from family and friends.

  Amethyst’s battle-scarred ensign seems to symbolise the courage and fortitude of the ship’s company. Imperial War Museum Collection

  Marching along Fleet Street, London, on 16 November 1949. Leading the sailors are, left to right, Commander Robertson of Consort, the newly promoted Commodore Cazalet of London and Lieutenant Commander Kerans. The building on the left is the headquarters of the Press Association and Reuters, which reported extensively on the Amethyst story.

  Amethyst’s first lieutenant, Geoffrey Weston, was forced to leave the navy because of his shrapnel wound. He ended up joining the army and rising to the rank of brigadier. Weston family

  The end. Amethyst at a Devonport breaker’s yard in 1957. Getty Images/Hulton Archive

  20

  Salute to Amethyst

  IT IS NOT CLEAR WHY the big guns of Woosung failed to open fire on Amethyst. The Nationalists may have put them out of action before retreating, or it is possible that the Communists occupying the forts feared a massive retaliation by British warships in the vicinity.

  Amethyst carried on at speed to the Kiaotun light vessel, whose crew appeared on deck to greet the battered frigate, as did the ship’s company of a Nationalist destroyer anchored close by. Freedom had come after 101 days. Shortly after 0800 Amethyst dropped her remaining anchor and asked the accompanying Concord to refuel her. But the swell was too great for the destroyer to come alongside, and Kerans decided to make for Alacrity anchorage. Amethyst was forced to continue at a slow speed because she was so low on fuel, and many of the men in the engine room were ‘on their last legs’, some having fainted. She eventually anchored at a sheltered spot and Concord refuelled her.

  Concord’s first lieutenant, John Roe, went across to Amethyst and asked what the frigate needed in the way of victuals. He did not get a warm reception from the captain. ‘Kerans was almost dismissive of my enquiries,’ Roe recalled. ‘Yes, they would like beer and a few essentials but, no, there wasn’t really anything else. A very cool, unforthcoming man who did not match up with the Amethyst we had known so well.’1

  Kerans also asked for the loan of some engine room personnel, a signalman, a telegraphist and a watchkeeping officer. ‘Concord did everything to supply our immediate needs and was most helpful in every way,’ he reported later. After resting his men – Lieutenant Hett was close to exhaustion – Kerans decided to sail at 2000, destination Hong Kong. The destroyer HMS Cossack replaced Concord as an escort.2

  News of Amethyst’s escape was spreading quickly. Admiral Brind had taken the unusual step of ordering a press release during the early hours of 31 July when the ship was still in danger. The statement began: ‘HMS Amethyst has been held hostage on the Yangtze since April 20, and has been on half rations since the beginning of July. At about 10pm last night she hauled her cable in defiance of her jailers to escape down river. She immediately came under heavy fire from shore batteries, which had been watching her for months and had frequently threatened her destruction.’ It ended: ‘At 2.30am she was still on her way down river. Although our hopes are high and all are indeed proud of her feat, she still has danger to negotiate.’3

  In those early hours the Far East Station rang the main news agencies to give them the story. There was no answer at the Associated Press or United Press International. A clerk at the offices of Reuters said he could do nothing and suggested they phone correspondent Monty Parrott at his home. Parrott was asleep when his phone rang. He picked it up, listened briefly and then put it down. He thought he was dreaming. But it may have been a sobering moment because shortly afterwards instinct made him call back. Did you really ring me?

  ‘Yes.’

  And so Reuters got the scoop.4 Later that day Brind sent a message to the Admiralty saying he thought Kerans was worthy of immediate advancement and a decoration for his services during Amethyst’s detention and his brilliant escape. On 1 August it was announced that the King had approved an immediate award of the Distinguished Service Order.

  Amethyst’s exploit would make headlines around the world. Frank Goldsworthy, a reporter on the Daily Express, had managed to get himself aboard the cruiser HMS Jamaica, which was steaming to meet Amethyst off the coast of China. Also on board was Vice Admiral Madden, who may have given an unofficial briefing. From the cruiser Goldsworthy filed a detailed story that became the front-page splash of the Express on 1 August. The first paragraph read: ‘The little ship Amethyst owes her safety to two men. Now that the 1,430-ton frigate is back with the fleet, the secrets of her historic escape can be told.’ The reporter named the two men as Kerans and Chief Engine Room Artificer Leonard Williams. Kerans apparently had been studying his only Admiralty chart – No 2809, Shanghai to Nanking – for three months, ‘memorising every twist of the treacherous river so that his piloting would not fail in the great night dash’. In fact, Hett had been the navigator, and some of the crew felt he did not get enough credit.

  Hett would later explain: Kerans was at the pelorus, conning the ship, I was beside him on the chart table navigating. We had lookouts and a messenger with us. Conducting a ship down a river at night in the dark without radar is a tricky job and we were fully occupied. For a normal ship in these circumstances there would be four or so officers on the bridge, a full communication staff plus lookouts, messengers and boatswain’s mates.

  Williams had performed wonders in the engine room. The Communists knew that Amethyst was built to do 20 knots. But they thought that because the ship had been so badly damaged she would not be capable of more than 12 knots in any escape attempt, ‘which meant that one of their batteries would be bound to catch her in daylight, and could blow her out of the water’. Williams had sweated in the engine room to bring the speed up to more than 20 knots. In the event Amethyst touched 24 knots at one stage, helped by the current. At her home in Felixstowe, Suffolk, Williams’s mother Elizabeth was quoted as saying: ‘He’s a chip off the old block. His father was in the navy in the First World War and joined up last time in the RAF at the age of 55.’ Her husband Charles said: ‘The whole neighbourhood is celebrating.’ The parents of the telegraphist Jack French were also celebrating at Ashburton, Devon, along with the other locals. French’s mother Elsie put up a large sign, perhaps prematurely, saying: ‘Welcome home to our Jack DSM.’

  In a comment piece that referred to the Dunkirk evacuation of 1940, the Express saluted the Little Ships: ‘The men of the Little Ships smile knowingly to one another today. They share the delight, but not the surprise, of the landsmen whose hearts have been given a great lift by the news that the Amethyst is safe. Both the deed and the signal that announced it are in the tradition of the Little Ships of Britain, which specialise in tackling impossibilities with success.’ The piece added: ‘And a story speeds round the world that somehow more than makes up for the errors of policy which first put the Amethyst in her plight.’

  The Daily Telegraph gave a full account of the 140-mile dash to freedom. It also carried a story from its Hong Kong correspondent:

  It is expected here that the escape of the Amethyst will have a tremendous psychological effect on the Chinese masses, who have come to regard the Communists as invincible. But fears are expressed in some quarters that the Communists will not take the matter lying down, and pressure may be increased against Britons in Shanghai. The Amethyst’s exploit has provided a great morale raiser among British and other western nationals in Hong Kong. The thrill of pride felt in the frigate’s escape was clearly evident on the faces of most Britons in the streets and the feat formed the sole topic of conversation.

  In a comment piece the Telegraph stated: ‘To have navigated 140 miles of the treacherous Yangtze in the dark at high speed would have deserved praise; to have done so under almost point-blank range from shore batteries with the necessity of sm
ashing a boom of unknown strength is a feat at which praise yields to something near astonishment.’

  The Times noted: ‘Had failure ensued and the Amethyst now be lying a wreck on the river bank, critics would have been quick to be wise after the event.’ The newspaper reminded its readers of the decision to send the ship up the Yangtze on the eve of a major military offensive and ‘this was asking for trouble’. The Daily Mirror referred to Kerans’s ‘Nelson touch’, stating that he had acted without orders from either the Admiralty or the commander-in-chief.5

  At 1600 on 2 August, north of Formosa, Amethyst and Cossack were met by Jamaica. Six hundred cheering sailors lined the upper deck of the cruiser, and a Royal Marines band played Cruising Down The River. Vice Admiral Madden sent a message to Amethyst: ‘I am most proud that my flagship shares the honour of escorting your valiant ship to Hong Kong, where the commander-in-chief is waiting to welcome you back to the fleet.’ Kerans replied: ‘Thank you. It is a great moment.’ The band struck up again with See The Conquering Hero Comes and For He’s A Jolly Good Fellow. Jamaica ran up signal flags reading ‘Welcome Back Tiddyoggie’. Then the sailors lining the upper deck kept roaring the West Country battle cry ‘Oggie! Oggie!’ A tiddyoggie is a pasty, and navy men from the West Country are nicknamed ‘Oggies’ by their shipmates. Devonport was the home base of both Amethyst and Jamaica. The loudest roars came from 25 Amethyst men who had escaped after the 20 April attack. Lieutenant Berger, who had been badly wounded, was transferred to Amethyst, along with a large quantity of mail. Petty Officer William Freeman commented: ‘We reckoned it was a hundred to one against escaping both shellfire and sandbanks but everyone was ready to go … It is a wonderful feeling to be free.’ Kerans had made a special request. He wanted to sail into Hong Kong harbour with the seventy-two men who had shared his ordeal of more than three months on the Yangtze, and Madden agreed.6