The Restless Sea, page 49
I can find no records of Germans escaping from Great Britain in the Second World War, although two prisoners-of-war did manage to steal a training aircraft in November 1941, and only failed to escape as they ran out of fuel. I like to think that Hans would have checked the fuel gauge before he took off. There are reports of Nazi spies and sympathisers.
Jack’s training ship is based on the Vindicatrix, a wooden training ship for boys joining the Merchant Navy, which was moored on the Sharpness canal, although none of the teachers or characters are based on real people. The Vindi’s figurehead is on display at Gloucester Waterways Museum. The Sailors’ Home in Liverpool was demolished in the 1970s, although the Pearly Gates were preserved, and can be seen at Liverpool One, a memorial to all the merchant sailors who passed through the home’s doors.
I have kept the place names ‘Polyarnoe’ and ‘Archangel’, which would have been used at the time; they are now called Polyarny and Arkhangelsk.
There were many Wren training establishments in Scotland, but Olivia’s is fictional. Olivia requests to become a boarding officer in the summer of 1942, but this option would only have been available to her from 1943.
Survivors of PQ17 did use sheets to disguise their ship in the icepack, and some survived in lifeboats for days, some refused to be rescued, fearing they would only be attacked again, some made it to Novaya Zemlya, some even cooked seabirds, and the American ship SS Winston-Salem ran aground on the island. It took two weeks before anyone knew what had happened to many of the men, despite searches by aircraft and ships. Stalin thought the Western Allies were lying about how many supplies they had really sent because he could not believe so much could have been lost.
The American merchant ship Greylock was attacked and sunk on the homebound convoy RA52 at the end of January 1943. The entire crew was rescued, but none of its RN destroyer escorts was holed at the time, and nor did any aircraft carrier launch a Swordfish to assist picking up crew from a Royal Navy destroyer or a merchant ship.
The Dreadnought Seamen’s Hospital was established at Greenwich in 1870. It seems to have remained there until 1986, but I can find no records of injured merchant sailors using it during the Second World War – this could be because nearly all pre-1948 records were destroyed when the hospital was bombed. It still exists to provide care for seafarers, but now as the Dreadnought Unit at St Thomas’s Hospital.
The real Trojan Horse escape at Stalag Luft III was in October 1943; I have mentioned it earlier. The Great Escape was in March 1944, while the William H Welch wreck was February 1944.
I would like to add that while the characters Olivia and Nancy bear the same names as my great-aunt and great-great-aunt, who were at Loch Ewe in 1939, they are in no way meant to be anything like them and are entirely fictitious characters – as are all the persons in this book. I just wanted to pay homage to my ancestors.
Loch Ewe is still used as a refuelling place by NATO ships, as well as for maintenance of warships. Wreckage from the SS William H Welch can still be seen at Black Bay, as can the old gun placements and pillboxes dotted around the loch. At the end of the track beyond Cove, there is a memorial stone commemorating those who sailed from Loch Ewe and never returned. The Russian Arctic Convoy Museum Project hopes to build a multi-site museum around the area as a lasting legacy to all who took part in the campaign, which would be wonderful.
Acknowledgements
There are very many people who I would like to thank – veterans, researchers, historians, librarians, museums, families, authors, and websites – who helped me in my research, but their names would fill another book. However, I would like to say a special thank you to the following:
The Russian Arctic Convoy Museum Project – and George Milne in particular – for their help, and for trying to provide a converging point for anything to do with Arctic convoys. They are guardians of some incredible artefacts and stories.
Lieutenant Commander Chris Götke, Mr Neil ‘Fraz’ Fraser and Katrina Campbell at the Royal Navy Historic Flight, RNAS Yeovilton, who let me admire the Royal Navy’s Fairey Swordfish – one of only three in the world that are currently flying – and who answered technical questions.
Commander James Ekins for further technical expertise and incisive suggestions, and who brought the Navy to life with his boatswain’s call and rum barrel.
Susan Watt, editor and publisher, who somehow saw and understood what I was trying to do, and who worked tirelessly to get me there (a job not dissimilar to holystoning an endless expanse of deck).
My agent, Heather Holden-Brown, for her no-nonsense advice and support over the years.
My grandmother Amelia and great-aunt Barbara, and their sisters, Olivia, Mary and Kathy, for their indomitable spirit, ability to tell stories and love of the countryside, particularly Scotland.
My husband and three children, who have followed me around many museums and chilly naval trails without complaining once.
Most particularly ‘my’ veterans: Bob Selley, Fleet Air Arm pilot, whose humorous chats and anchovies on crackers I miss enormously; David Chance, Royal Navy translator, whose experiences of life in Russia imbued me with a sense of love for that country and its people; and my neighbour Jock Fison, who kept meticulous records, and is the only veteran I know who sneaked a camcorder on to his ship hidden under his coat. All three of them have crossed the bar, but their wonderful writings, drawings and recordings will live on.
And finally, to all the men and women who fought for our freedom on land, at sea and in the air – and especially the Merchant Navy, without whom the outcome would have been very different.
We, Who Live Now
Who can blame us,
We, who live now,
For taking all we can, with both hands,
For living to the utmost of our capacity,
For being thoughtless of others,
When the future is for us a thing uncontemplated,
A shadow in a fog,
A quicksand,
A mirage.
We have nothing to build our lives on,
We who live now,
Knowing that the cliff crumbles under our feet
And that the sea beneath is fathomless.
Do not blame us,
Who snatch what we can,
Our lives are different to our past lives,
And more frightening,
For even if the cliff holds
There is still a very long way to go.
Olivia FitzRoy, 1943
About the Author
Vanessa de Haan is a freelance journalist and editor. She has worked mostly for the Spectator but also for Channel 5, the Daily Telegraph and the Western Morning News. She now lives in Devon with her husband, children and a variety of animals. She is currently writing her second novel.
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Vanessa de Haan, The Restless Sea
