Yangtze Showdown Page 23

  Brind had gone to his office early and given instructions that Kerans was to appear before him that morning in uniform, with his sword and medals. A message was sent to Amethyst to get the uniform, sword and medals delivered to Admiralty House. Kerans duly appeared before a furious Brind and was given a severe reprimand. The incident was reported to the Admiralty. It was decided that Kerans should still be allowed to bring Amethyst home – those ‘political reasons’ – but the commanders-in-chief of the operational areas that the ship would pass through were told to take all necessary action to avoid the possibility of another scandal.

  Amethyst’s next port was Penang, followed by Colombo, Aden, Port Said, Malta, Gibraltar and finally Plymouth. ‘What a voyage, everywhere a wonderful welcome,’ Coxswain Frank wrote.

  25

  Welcome Home – ‘Up To Standard’

  ON THE EVENING OF 31 October, Amethyst was spotted heading towards Lizard Point and the English Channel on the last stretch of her journey to Devonport. Sailors rushed on deck when two RAF Sunderlands from the mainland flew overhead. In one of the planes was Flight Lieutenant Letford, who had made the dramatic landing on the Yangtze on 21 April. It was a poignant salute.

  As Amethyst cap tallies were fixed to blue rather than white caps, the crew were facing a new round of celebrations, starting in Devonport and continuing with home events and finally a tribute in London. Brynley Howell, a 25-year-old stores assistant, who was among the wounded on 20 April, had not been to his home in Haverfordwest, Pembrokeshire, for three years. He was told that the town would be holding a civic reception in his honour and declaring a school holiday. Anthony Silvey, from Camberwell, South London, another stores assistant who had been wounded, wanted to get home for two reasons – ‘to see my mother and to see Chelsea beat Pompey on Saturday’. Chelsea soon learned of their fan’s devotion and invited Silvey to Stamford Bridge to meet the players, who presented him with an autographed football.1

  At the Foreign Office in London, the Soviet spy Guy Burgess was once again complaining about publicity that would embarrass the Communists. He told colleagues: ‘The BBC seem to be going to fall over backwards in the coming weeks to give the Chinese Communists prestige reasons for complaint. Given Hong Kong, these weeks are not well chosen. We have constantly asked the Admiralty to be more silent about their service and its feats of navigation, but on top of the now irreversible appearance of Amethyst’s unfortunate crew in a Lord Mayor’s show, it now appears that they will be on air, constantly.’ Burgess took particular exception to the BBC’s plans for the ship’s homecoming. The corporation had sent a correspondent, Frank Gillard, and an engineer to meet Amethyst at Gibraltar. They would be on board as the ship neared home waters, and Gillard planned to make a live broadcast when he was within range of a shore transmitter. Coverage would continue throughout the day of Amethyst’s arrival, with other reporters on Plymouth Hoe and at the dockside. Wynford Vaughan-Thomas, a well-known broadcaster, had been chosen to do the main commentary. This was all too much for Burgess, who suggested that a letter ‘at the highest level’ should be sent to the BBC urging cancellation of the coverage. He pointed out: ‘It must be remembered that the corporation is universally held abroad to be even more official than The Times is wrongly supposed to be. The difference is, we can stop the BBC.’ The threat to censor the BBC in such a blatant way did not appeal to Burgess’s superiors, with one stating: ‘Although we can – and do – advise the BBC overseas services, we can not interfere with what they say in the home programmes.’2

  However, as Amethyst neared Devonport, the sailors were warned not to say anything critical of the Chinese Communists. The Foreign Office told the Admiralty:

  We are very anxious that nothing should be said which might unnecessarily complicate the present difficult situation in China. We are particularly anxious to ensure that criticisms of the behaviour of the Communists towards the Amethyst (outrageous though it undoubtedly was) are not allowed to become a part of the publicity programme. It could easily be explained to the ship’s company that any criticism of the Communists in the press or on the radio would be likely to react unfavourably on their fellow countrymen still remaining in China.

  The Admiralty sent the warning to Kerans: ‘It is politically desirable that nothing should be said by ship’s company which might aggravate present difficulties of HM Government in their relations with Communist China. For this reason criticisms of behaviour of Communists towards Amethyst should be avoided in interviews with the press and references to Communist behaviour should be limited to statements of fact.’ The message was also sent to the Commander-in-Chief, Plymouth, Admiral Sir Robert Burnett.3

  On the chilly, grey morning of 1 November, crowds gathered on shore to watch Amethyst sail into Plymouth Sound. At Devil’s Point there were chants of ‘We want Jack. Where’s Jack French?’ The hero telegraphist had plenty of admirers. Thousands of spectators gazed out from the Hoe. At Devonport the frigate, flying her battle-scarred ensign, berthed astern of the battleship HMS Vanguard, which signalled, ‘Welcome. Well done.’ Hundreds of relatives and friends were at the dockside, along with thousands of workers.

  The Times reported: ‘Every movement of her commanding officer, Lieutenant Commander Kerans, and of her crew as she berthed was visible as if she had been a pleasure steamer coming alongside a seaside pier. That was the first slight shock for the onlookers and a second was the youth of her crew, though experience proclaimed itself here and there in a war ribbon.’

  Among the first to go aboard Amethyst were repatriated members of the crew who had been badly wounded. In a wheelchair was Leading Seaman Cyril Williams, who lost his legs in the attack. The official welcoming party, which included the First Lord of the Admiralty, Lord Hall, and the First Sea Lord, Admiral Fraser, was piped aboard, but ‘the thin notes of the bosun’s pipe could hardly be heard above the siren blasts from every ship in the harbour, the engines of low-flying planes and the cheering of people ashore and in small boats grouped round the frigate’. Then relatives swarmed on board. In his cabin Kerans was reunited with his wife Stephanie and three-year-old daughter Charmian and his mother.

  In a speech punctuated by cheering, Lord Hall said:

  With your comrades in HM ships Consort, London and Black Swan, you were confronted on the Yangtze with a situation and perils not to be expected in time of peace – an ugly situation which caused the loss of a number of precious lives. The tragic loss of gallant men we all deeply deplore. The dash down the Yangtze has fired the imagination of the entire Commonwealth and indeed of the free peoples of the world. It was inspiring and outstanding and in every way a very gallant exploit. But we know that your great test and ordeal came earlier when you were isolated in the river, confined to your ship, suffering many physical discomforts and, which was the worst, a period of great uncertainty. The Royal Navy during its centuries of existence has passed through troublesome times, but whatever tasks have been pressed upon it the British people have had implicit faith that the navy will do its job and do it well. You have yet again justified this trust. The qualities of steadfastness, initiative and courage of the Royal Navy today are as great as at any time in the past.

  Tens of thousands of people, some standing twenty deep, lined the route as Amethyst’s officers and men, led by a Royal Marines band, marched from the dockside to Royal Parade, where they were formally welcomed to Plymouth by Lord Mayor Francis Leatherby and Admiral Burnett, who declared: ‘Amethyst, well done. Up to standard.’ The ship’s company carried on marching to the landmark Duke of Cornwall Hotel for a civic lunch. With them was Dr Fearnley, who had left the RAF after his national service. Children waved flags and mothers cheered ‘till they cried’.

  At the hotel reception, where Drake’s Drum was on display, emphasising the tradition of the Royal Navy, Kerans stressed: ‘From the very word “go” in the Yangtze it has been co-operation, and the essence of all naval service is team work. Without that loyalty and cooperation behind me I s
hould never have been able to achieve what has been achieved.’ One report noted: ‘Plymouth and Devonport gave the ship’s company a reception such as has not been given to any other within memory. It was even greater than that accorded to the Ajax and Exeter after the Battle of the Plate.’4

  That evening Jack French arrived back at his home town of Ashburton, Devon, where hundreds turned out to greet him. There was another civic reception, and French admitted he was ‘lost for words’. Later relatives and friends crowded into his parents’ cottage, where the telegraphist signalled, ‘Now for a nice cup of tea, mum.’ His admirers had sent him 300 letters, forty telegrams and a dozen parcels.5

  On 16 November it was the turn of a foggy London to salute Amethyst and some of the sailors from Consort, London and Black Swan. At Horse Guards Parade 270 officers and men representing the four ships were inspected by Prime Minister Attlee, Minister of Defence Alexander, Lord Hall and Admiral Fraser. There were thousands of spectators. The sailors marched to nearby St Martin-in-the-Fields for a memorial service, which cost the Admiralty one guinea – for the organist. Then, led by Royal Navy and Royal Marines bands, they continued along the Strand and Fleet Street, which were lined with enthusiastic crowds, to Guildhall for a lunch hosted by the Corporation of London.

  The Daily Telegraph reported: ‘From the November gloom the crews passed into the mellow light of Guildhall amid whose splendours they were given the hospitality traditionally accorded by the City to Britain’s illustrious men.’ The guest list included seventeen admirals, Field Marshal Sir William Slim and Marshal of the Royal Air Force Lord Tedder. So much for previous attempts to keep the celebrations low key. The Lord Mayor, Sir Frederick Rowland, told the sailors their ‘victory could not have been won but for a display of grit determination and devotion to duty which had moved the whole world to wonder’.6

  The next day all the officers and men, many probably nursing hangovers, headed to Buckingham Palace for a presentation of awards. They were paraded in three sides of a square in the ballroom, with the fourteen to be decorated drawn up in front. A Guards band played the national anthem as King George VI, wearing the uniform of an admiral of the fleet, and the Queen entered. The King and Queen walked along the ranks, pausing frequently to engage in conversation.

  They spoke to Gerard Devany, the air gunner of the Sunderland that swooped on the Yangtze to deliver Dr Fearnley. Before the palace visit Devany had been told to report to the Air Ministry for a briefing, which was also attended by Group Captain Jefferson, who had helped to organise the Sunderland mission, the pilot, Flight Lieutenant Letford, and other members of the crew, and Fearnley. ‘Someone with rings on his sleeve and up to his elbow told us how to behave,’ Devany recalled.

  I don’t know the reason but it was most important that we did not have any guns on board. This was a joke because we were fully armed and we used them. Dr Fearnley was now a civilian and he just laughed out outright. But chief high and mighty turned quite nasty and told us to do as we were told. Next he came out with the real joke of the century. He said, ‘You are going to the palace to receive the DFC [Distinguished Flying Cross] from the King. Flight Lieutenant Letford will go up to the dais to receive it, but it is for all of you’. More suppressed mirth.

  The King asked Devany if he had opened fire during the Yangtze mission. ‘No, sir,’ he replied.7

  Before presenting the awards the King gave a speech in which he said: ‘In these difficult times it is not always easy to feel confidence regarding the ideals by which we try to live. By your conduct you have shown that the old qualities which have sustained this country through the centuries are still alive. Your bearing has been that which I expect from all ranks and ratings of the Royal Navy, and has given strength to the faith of many people throughout the world.’

  Kerans received the Distinguished Service Order, as did Commander Robertson of Consort. The newly promoted Commodore Cazelet of London was given a Bar to his DSO. Lieutenant Weston received a Bar to his Distinguished Service Cross, and the medal was awarded to Lieutenant Berger, Commissioned Gunner Smith of London and Dr Fearnley. The DSC was an unusual award to a former RAF officer. Flight Lieutenant Letford was already a holder of the Distinguished Flying Cross and he received a Bar. Among the others honoured were the Amethyst men French, Frank and Williams, who were each given the Distinguished Service Medal.8

  With the exception of the Bar to the DFC for Letford, Admiral Brind made the recommendations for awards. Surprisingly, the First Sea Lord thought Vice Admiral Madden should have been honoured. Madden had admitted that he blundered in sending Amethyst up the Yangtze, and he also ordered the rescue attempts by Consort, London and Black Swan. But the Admiralty accepted that it was right to make these attempts, which were ‘gallantly and correctly carried out’. In Admiral Fraser’s view it therefore followed that ‘credit is surely due in the first place’ to Madden, who was, of course, on board London. Fraser thought that any award to Madden should not be less than the DSO, which was awarded to the captains of Consort and London. He was also keen that Madden should become the Second Sea Lord.

  The First Sea Lord was advised that it would ‘not look good’ to give Madden a knighthood ‘which is about all that can be done’. The vice admiral already had a CB (Companion of the Order of the Bath) and a CBE (Commander of the Order of the British Empire) and ‘was well down the scale for a ration’.9 The matter was left open. But the following year Madden was appointed the Second Sea Lord, and in the King’s birthday honours of June 1951 he was knighted – Knight Commander of the Order of the Bath. In September 1952 he was promoted full admiral.

  The attack on Amethyst produced a four-legged hero, Simon, and the cat was honoured during the ship’s time in Hong Kong. He was awarded the Dickin Medal, the ‘animal Victoria Cross’, by the People’s Dispensary for Sick Animals. It was the first time a cat had received the honour ‘for conspicuous gallantry or devotion to duty’ while serving with the armed forces. Simon’s citation read: ‘Served on HMS Amethyst during the Yangtze Incident, disposing of many rats though wounded by shell blast. Throughout the incident his behaviour was of the highest order, although the blast was capable of making a hole over a foot in diameter in a steel plate.’ Kerans apparently wrote the citation. The medal had been instituted in 1943 and awarded sparingly, pigeons and dogs being the main recipients. The PDSA sent a length of the medal ribbon attached to an elastic collar for Simon to wear ‘pending the award of the actual medal’. The cat quickly became a celebrity and pictures of him went round the world. Letters, gifts and toys poured in for him. When Amethyst returned to England the cat had to go into quarantine for six months. An anonymous letter to the Admiralty warned that Simon was so famous he was in danger of being stolen ‘and exhibited in the black market’. But Simon would suffer a different fate. He picked up a virus and, weakened by his wounds, died on 28 November. Cards, letters and flowers arrived at the quarantine shelter in Surrey ‘by the truckload’. The Dickin Medal was due to have been presented on 11 December at a ceremony attended by Maria Dickin, the PDSA’s founder, and the Lord Mayor of London. Able Seacat Simon was buried with ‘naval honours’ at the PDSA’s animal cemetery in Ilford, Essex. He had also been awarded the Blue Cross Medal ‘for useful services to human beings when in difficulties’.10 Jack French was critical of Britain’s strict quarantine laws: ‘I think Simon died because he lost the company of sailors. He was quite content to be aboard the ship. They could quite easily have left him on the ship and he could have gone on the next commission. I firmly believe he died of heartbreak. He pined away.’11

  The euphoria over Amethyst was not shared by everyone. Admiral Sir Hugh Tweedie, who had once been the senior naval officer on the Yangtze, urged ‘a commonsense review of the facts and remember that we are not really celebrating a victory, but the last of many unhappy defeats in the Far East’. He added: ‘To those who have served on the river and remember the days when the White Ensign was the symbol of law and order and justice on it
s whole 2,000 miles of water [sic], not only for the foreigner but for the thousands of Chinese who make their homes on the banks – it is hard to understand why the rather ignominious dismissal of that same White Ensign should be treated as a victory.’12

  On 21 November 1949 the Chief of Naval Information, Captain Clarke, thought it necessary to remind the First Sea Lord of how well Kerans had been handling all the publicity. When Clarke first met Kerans, he noticed that he was ‘under a nervous strain’. Clarke explained: ‘Since then I suggest he has continued to keep on an even keel, and he has displayed admirable qualities of modesty and self restraint. I certainly know how hard he had worked to ensure that his officers and men came up to scratch, what trouble he took with his speeches and over all the other details of the unavoidable public appearances of himself and his company. In all this the poise, charm and natural behaviour of his wife also struck me and others.’ There had not been any reports of ‘incidents’. Clarke suggested that a personal note of appreciation from the First Sea Lord would be ‘a comfort and an encouragement to them’.13 Admiral Fraser did send a brief note congratulating the couple on the ‘dignity and ability’ with which they had handled the publicity. He told Kerans: ‘I appreciate that your officers and men have also borne themselves well which reflects great credit on you.’14