Casualty of the Truculent disaster, H.M.Submarine "Truculent" which sank in the Thames Estuary. Edward was a Leading Telegraphist in the Royal Navy; Service Number JX 162131. He was 26.
His name is included on the Armed Forces Memorial and on the Roll of Honour
During WWII, HMS Truculent sank U-308 north of the Faroe Islands.
Truculent was sunk at approx 51 degrees, 31 mins north, 1 degree 5 mins east which puts her in a region known as the Oaze Deep to the north of Whitstable. The Admiralty statement on the loss went as follows:
"On the evening of 12th January 1950 HMS Truculent was proceeding on the surface from the submarine exercise area to Sheerness on completion of Dockyard trials, for which a party of Chatham dockyard officers and men were also on board. The SS Divina, with a Trinity House pilot on board, was on passage from the Port of London to Ipswich and at the time of the collision, shortly after 7pm, was in the vicinity of the West Oaze Buoy, a narrow part of the Thames estuary.For some time before the impact each vessel had the lights of the other in sight....".
The subsequent Board of Enquiry report states that: (The submarine) entered the Thames Estuary through Princes Channel, thence passing between Red Sand Sheal and Shivering Sand Fort on course 280 degrees. Her speed was about 9 knots through the water. In Oaze Deep, course was altered to 261 degrees. The collision occurred with SS Divina in position one mile bearing 287 degrees from Red Sand Tower.
This section of information came from: George Malcolmson Archivist submuseum Haslar.
Extract from Weekend magazine, November 1983
MY MIRACLE ESCAPE FROM DOOMED SUBMARINE
By Frederick Henley
Picking a delicate way through the dark waters of the Thames Estuary at a steady 10 knots, our submarine, HMS Truculent, was almost in sight of home. With any luck, some of us might even have a few hours ashore that night. But, although we didn't know it, Truculent's luck was running out fast. We had left Sheerness at 8.30 am on January 12, 1950, for engine and snorkel trials. We had cruised around underwater off Margate and Ramsgate, coming to the surface in late afternoon. It had been an uneventful day. With 18 civilians aboard – fitters, electricians from the naval dockyard – we mustered 79 men. Few would survive the horror that was to come. I was a Leading Seaman (Torpedoes, Anti-submarine) at the time, and the Royal Navy was my life. After two or three years on subs, I thought I knew the ropes. But when the order came from the bridge to bring up the Manual of Seamanship, I was a bit surprised. I had never known anybody to want that particular textbook – a pretty hefty volume – before. Certainly not our captain, Lieutenant Charles Bowers, a highly experienced submarine officer who had been mentioned in dispatches during the Second World War. Altogether, it was a strange order but, after rummaging through the chart cabinet, I found a copy of the manual and managed to obey it. It was just before 1900 hours on the Control Room clock when I left to climb the conning tower ladder to the bridge. I handed the manual to young Sub-Lieutenant Frew – it was his first submarine posting – and watched as he leafed through the pages, opened it, and handed it to the navigation officer. Lieutenant Humphrey-Baker and the Captain. It was a cold, dark night, the sky pricked with brightly shining stars. I didn't see the tanker ploughing inexorably towards us. I took a last, grateful gulp of fresh air and turned to go down the ladder from the conning tower. I had hardly grasped the rungs when I heard the Captain issue a stream of urgent orders. He didn't raise his voice but I knew that, somehow, Truculent and all aboard were in deep trouble. I had no means of knowing that the officers on the bridge had been puzzled by the arrangement of lights on an approaching ship and had sent for the seamanship manual to check them. As events were to prove, the manual did not help either them or HMS Truculent – but it certainly saved my life.
There was an almighty crash and I was pinned to the side of the conning tower as Truculent keeled over at a crazy angle. There was a sickening lurch and, in seconds, we sank like a stone to the seabed 80 feet below. The conning tower was flooded and I knew that somehow I had to get clear. I managed to squirm round the periscope standards and, remembering my crash drill, breathed out as hard as I could. I found myself on the surface, swimming aimlessly in the darkness. The water was icy cold. I could hear men calling for help but couldn't see them. I lost all sense of time. Vaguely, I realised that the tide was on the ebb and that I was being swept slowly out into the North Sea. I was almost past caring when a boat from the Dutch freighter, Almdijk, picked me up. It turned out that I had been in the water for over an hour. It was only later, when they told me that 64 of my shipmates had perished, that I remembered the unusual order to find the seamanship manual. If I hadn't gone aloft with it, I would almost certainly have drowned. Footnote: HMS Truculent had collided with the 600-ton Swedish tanker Divina, a vessel with specially strengthened bows for Arctic conditions. The submarine suffered a massive gash forward on the starboard side and sank rapidly. At a subsequent courts-martial, Lieutenant Bowers was found not guilty of negligently losing his ship, but was severely reprimanded on the lesser charge of negligently hazarding her.
June 18th 2007 the following is from Eric Bennett:
On 12th January 1950 I was serving as a Senior Ordinary Seaman on the Eagle Oil Shipping Co tanker 'San Gaspar'. We had discharged cargo at Shell Haven and was outward bound in the Thames Estuary on an ebb tide on our way to Falmouth. I was the helmsman on the evening 8 til 12 watch, the pilot, the ship's master and the third mate were on the bridge when the wireless operator came into the wheelhouse and announced that there was an SOS from the Almdijk that there had been a collision with a submarine. He gave the position and it appeared that we were only 4 miles to the east of that position at the time of receiving the SOS. As the old San Gaspar's top speed was only 8 knots we must have been upstream of the position at the time of the collision. On receiving the SOS our captain informed the pilot who remarked ' This ship is too large to turn around in this channel isn't it captain'. Our captain replied 'Yes I think so pilot' and we continued on our way.
We paid off at Falmouth on the 16th January 1950 and then learned more of this tragedy. It has haunted me ever since as I often think of those 64 sailors who escaped but did not survive from a warm submarine into that icy January water only to be swept away with the tide. Why did we not drop anchor, swing with the tide and launch our lifeboats? We might have saved many of these men.
• Displacement: 1,090 tons (surfaced), 1,573 (submerged);
• Length: 275ft
• Beam: 26ft 6ins
• Draught: 12ft
• Speed (knots): 15.25 (surfaced), 8 (submerged);
• Armament: One 4" gun; three .303" ;
• Torpedo Tubes: Ten 21" (8 forward, 2 amidships),
16 torpedoes;
• Complement: 56 T Class First Group
His name is included on the Armed Forces Memorial and on the Roll of Honour
During WWII, HMS Truculent sank U-308 north of the Faroe Islands.
Truculent was sunk at approx 51 degrees, 31 mins north, 1 degree 5 mins east which puts her in a region known as the Oaze Deep to the north of Whitstable. The Admiralty statement on the loss went as follows:
"On the evening of 12th January 1950 HMS Truculent was proceeding on the surface from the submarine exercise area to Sheerness on completion of Dockyard trials, for which a party of Chatham dockyard officers and men were also on board. The SS Divina, with a Trinity House pilot on board, was on passage from the Port of London to Ipswich and at the time of the collision, shortly after 7pm, was in the vicinity of the West Oaze Buoy, a narrow part of the Thames estuary.For some time before the impact each vessel had the lights of the other in sight....".
The subsequent Board of Enquiry report states that: (The submarine) entered the Thames Estuary through Princes Channel, thence passing between Red Sand Sheal and Shivering Sand Fort on course 280 degrees. Her speed was about 9 knots through the water. In Oaze Deep, course was altered to 261 degrees. The collision occurred with SS Divina in position one mile bearing 287 degrees from Red Sand Tower.
This section of information came from: George Malcolmson Archivist submuseum Haslar.
Extract from Weekend magazine, November 1983
MY MIRACLE ESCAPE FROM DOOMED SUBMARINE
By Frederick Henley
Picking a delicate way through the dark waters of the Thames Estuary at a steady 10 knots, our submarine, HMS Truculent, was almost in sight of home. With any luck, some of us might even have a few hours ashore that night. But, although we didn't know it, Truculent's luck was running out fast. We had left Sheerness at 8.30 am on January 12, 1950, for engine and snorkel trials. We had cruised around underwater off Margate and Ramsgate, coming to the surface in late afternoon. It had been an uneventful day. With 18 civilians aboard – fitters, electricians from the naval dockyard – we mustered 79 men. Few would survive the horror that was to come. I was a Leading Seaman (Torpedoes, Anti-submarine) at the time, and the Royal Navy was my life. After two or three years on subs, I thought I knew the ropes. But when the order came from the bridge to bring up the Manual of Seamanship, I was a bit surprised. I had never known anybody to want that particular textbook – a pretty hefty volume – before. Certainly not our captain, Lieutenant Charles Bowers, a highly experienced submarine officer who had been mentioned in dispatches during the Second World War. Altogether, it was a strange order but, after rummaging through the chart cabinet, I found a copy of the manual and managed to obey it. It was just before 1900 hours on the Control Room clock when I left to climb the conning tower ladder to the bridge. I handed the manual to young Sub-Lieutenant Frew – it was his first submarine posting – and watched as he leafed through the pages, opened it, and handed it to the navigation officer. Lieutenant Humphrey-Baker and the Captain. It was a cold, dark night, the sky pricked with brightly shining stars. I didn't see the tanker ploughing inexorably towards us. I took a last, grateful gulp of fresh air and turned to go down the ladder from the conning tower. I had hardly grasped the rungs when I heard the Captain issue a stream of urgent orders. He didn't raise his voice but I knew that, somehow, Truculent and all aboard were in deep trouble. I had no means of knowing that the officers on the bridge had been puzzled by the arrangement of lights on an approaching ship and had sent for the seamanship manual to check them. As events were to prove, the manual did not help either them or HMS Truculent – but it certainly saved my life.
There was an almighty crash and I was pinned to the side of the conning tower as Truculent keeled over at a crazy angle. There was a sickening lurch and, in seconds, we sank like a stone to the seabed 80 feet below. The conning tower was flooded and I knew that somehow I had to get clear. I managed to squirm round the periscope standards and, remembering my crash drill, breathed out as hard as I could. I found myself on the surface, swimming aimlessly in the darkness. The water was icy cold. I could hear men calling for help but couldn't see them. I lost all sense of time. Vaguely, I realised that the tide was on the ebb and that I was being swept slowly out into the North Sea. I was almost past caring when a boat from the Dutch freighter, Almdijk, picked me up. It turned out that I had been in the water for over an hour. It was only later, when they told me that 64 of my shipmates had perished, that I remembered the unusual order to find the seamanship manual. If I hadn't gone aloft with it, I would almost certainly have drowned. Footnote: HMS Truculent had collided with the 600-ton Swedish tanker Divina, a vessel with specially strengthened bows for Arctic conditions. The submarine suffered a massive gash forward on the starboard side and sank rapidly. At a subsequent courts-martial, Lieutenant Bowers was found not guilty of negligently losing his ship, but was severely reprimanded on the lesser charge of negligently hazarding her.
June 18th 2007 the following is from Eric Bennett:
On 12th January 1950 I was serving as a Senior Ordinary Seaman on the Eagle Oil Shipping Co tanker 'San Gaspar'. We had discharged cargo at Shell Haven and was outward bound in the Thames Estuary on an ebb tide on our way to Falmouth. I was the helmsman on the evening 8 til 12 watch, the pilot, the ship's master and the third mate were on the bridge when the wireless operator came into the wheelhouse and announced that there was an SOS from the Almdijk that there had been a collision with a submarine. He gave the position and it appeared that we were only 4 miles to the east of that position at the time of receiving the SOS. As the old San Gaspar's top speed was only 8 knots we must have been upstream of the position at the time of the collision. On receiving the SOS our captain informed the pilot who remarked ' This ship is too large to turn around in this channel isn't it captain'. Our captain replied 'Yes I think so pilot' and we continued on our way.
We paid off at Falmouth on the 16th January 1950 and then learned more of this tragedy. It has haunted me ever since as I often think of those 64 sailors who escaped but did not survive from a warm submarine into that icy January water only to be swept away with the tide. Why did we not drop anchor, swing with the tide and launch our lifeboats? We might have saved many of these men.
• Displacement: 1,090 tons (surfaced), 1,573 (submerged);
• Length: 275ft
• Beam: 26ft 6ins
• Draught: 12ft
• Speed (knots): 15.25 (surfaced), 8 (submerged);
• Armament: One 4" gun; three .303" ;
• Torpedo Tubes: Ten 21" (8 forward, 2 amidships),
16 torpedoes;
• Complement: 56 T Class First Group
Casualty of the Truculent disaster, H.M.Submarine "Truculent" which sank in the Thames Estuary. Edward was a Leading Telegraphist in the Royal Navy; Service Number JX 162131. He was 26.
His name is included on the Armed Forces Memorial and on the Roll of Honour
During WWII, HMS Truculent sank U-308 north of the Faroe Islands.
Truculent was sunk at approx 51 degrees, 31 mins north, 1 degree 5 mins east which puts her in a region known as the Oaze Deep to the north of Whitstable. The Admiralty statement on the loss went as follows:
"On the evening of 12th January 1950 HMS Truculent was proceeding on the surface from the submarine exercise area to Sheerness on completion of Dockyard trials, for which a party of Chatham dockyard officers and men were also on board. The SS Divina, with a Trinity House pilot on board, was on passage from the Port of London to Ipswich and at the time of the collision, shortly after 7pm, was in the vicinity of the West Oaze Buoy, a narrow part of the Thames estuary.For some time before the impact each vessel had the lights of the other in sight....".
The subsequent Board of Enquiry report states that: (The submarine) entered the Thames Estuary through Princes Channel, thence passing between Red Sand Sheal and Shivering Sand Fort on course 280 degrees. Her speed was about 9 knots through the water. In Oaze Deep, course was altered to 261 degrees. The collision occurred with SS Divina in position one mile bearing 287 degrees from Red Sand Tower.
This section of information came from: George Malcolmson Archivist submuseum Haslar.
Extract from Weekend magazine, November 1983
MY MIRACLE ESCAPE FROM DOOMED SUBMARINE
By Frederick Henley
Picking a delicate way through the dark waters of the Thames Estuary at a steady 10 knots, our submarine, HMS Truculent, was almost in sight of home. With any luck, some of us might even have a few hours ashore that night. But, although we didn't know it, Truculent's luck was running out fast. We had left Sheerness at 8.30 am on January 12, 1950, for engine and snorkel trials. We had cruised around underwater off Margate and Ramsgate, coming to the surface in late afternoon. It had been an uneventful day. With 18 civilians aboard – fitters, electricians from the naval dockyard – we mustered 79 men. Few would survive the horror that was to come. I was a Leading Seaman (Torpedoes, Anti-submarine) at the time, and the Royal Navy was my life. After two or three years on subs, I thought I knew the ropes. But when the order came from the bridge to bring up the Manual of Seamanship, I was a bit surprised. I had never known anybody to want that particular textbook – a pretty hefty volume – before. Certainly not our captain, Lieutenant Charles Bowers, a highly experienced submarine officer who had been mentioned in dispatches during the Second World War. Altogether, it was a strange order but, after rummaging through the chart cabinet, I found a copy of the manual and managed to obey it. It was just before 1900 hours on the Control Room clock when I left to climb the conning tower ladder to the bridge. I handed the manual to young Sub-Lieutenant Frew – it was his first submarine posting – and watched as he leafed through the pages, opened it, and handed it to the navigation officer. Lieutenant Humphrey-Baker and the Captain. It was a cold, dark night, the sky pricked with brightly shining stars. I didn't see the tanker ploughing inexorably towards us. I took a last, grateful gulp of fresh air and turned to go down the ladder from the conning tower. I had hardly grasped the rungs when I heard the Captain issue a stream of urgent orders. He didn't raise his voice but I knew that, somehow, Truculent and all aboard were in deep trouble. I had no means of knowing that the officers on the bridge had been puzzled by the arrangement of lights on an approaching ship and had sent for the seamanship manual to check them. As events were to prove, the manual did not help either them or HMS Truculent – but it certainly saved my life.
There was an almighty crash and I was pinned to the side of the conning tower as Truculent keeled over at a crazy angle. There was a sickening lurch and, in seconds, we sank like a stone to the seabed 80 feet below. The conning tower was flooded and I knew that somehow I had to get clear. I managed to squirm round the periscope standards and, remembering my crash drill, breathed out as hard as I could. I found myself on the surface, swimming aimlessly in the darkness. The water was icy cold. I could hear men calling for help but couldn't see them. I lost all sense of time. Vaguely, I realised that the tide was on the ebb and that I was being swept slowly out into the North Sea. I was almost past caring when a boat from the Dutch freighter, Almdijk, picked me up. It turned out that I had been in the water for over an hour. It was only later, when they told me that 64 of my shipmates had perished, that I remembered the unusual order to find the seamanship manual. If I hadn't gone aloft with it, I would almost certainly have drowned. Footnote: HMS Truculent had collided with the 600-ton Swedish tanker Divina, a vessel with specially strengthened bows for Arctic conditions. The submarine suffered a massive gash forward on the starboard side and sank rapidly. At a subsequent courts-martial, Lieutenant Bowers was found not guilty of negligently losing his ship, but was severely reprimanded on the lesser charge of negligently hazarding her.
June 18th 2007 the following is from Eric Bennett:
On 12th January 1950 I was serving as a Senior Ordinary Seaman on the Eagle Oil Shipping Co tanker 'San Gaspar'. We had discharged cargo at Shell Haven and was outward bound in the Thames Estuary on an ebb tide on our way to Falmouth. I was the helmsman on the evening 8 til 12 watch, the pilot, the ship's master and the third mate were on the bridge when the wireless operator came into the wheelhouse and announced that there was an SOS from the Almdijk that there had been a collision with a submarine. He gave the position and it appeared that we were only 4 miles to the east of that position at the time of receiving the SOS. As the old San Gaspar's top speed was only 8 knots we must have been upstream of the position at the time of the collision. On receiving the SOS our captain informed the pilot who remarked ' This ship is too large to turn around in this channel isn't it captain'. Our captain replied 'Yes I think so pilot' and we continued on our way.
We paid off at Falmouth on the 16th January 1950 and then learned more of this tragedy. It has haunted me ever since as I often think of those 64 sailors who escaped but did not survive from a warm submarine into that icy January water only to be swept away with the tide. Why did we not drop anchor, swing with the tide and launch our lifeboats? We might have saved many of these men.
• Displacement: 1,090 tons (surfaced), 1,573 (submerged);
• Length: 275ft
• Beam: 26ft 6ins
• Draught: 12ft
• Speed (knots): 15.25 (surfaced), 8 (submerged);
• Armament: One 4" gun; three .303" ;
• Torpedo Tubes: Ten 21" (8 forward, 2 amidships),
16 torpedoes;
• Complement: 56 T Class First Group
His name is included on the Armed Forces Memorial and on the Roll of Honour
During WWII, HMS Truculent sank U-308 north of the Faroe Islands.
Truculent was sunk at approx 51 degrees, 31 mins north, 1 degree 5 mins east which puts her in a region known as the Oaze Deep to the north of Whitstable. The Admiralty statement on the loss went as follows:
"On the evening of 12th January 1950 HMS Truculent was proceeding on the surface from the submarine exercise area to Sheerness on completion of Dockyard trials, for which a party of Chatham dockyard officers and men were also on board. The SS Divina, with a Trinity House pilot on board, was on passage from the Port of London to Ipswich and at the time of the collision, shortly after 7pm, was in the vicinity of the West Oaze Buoy, a narrow part of the Thames estuary.For some time before the impact each vessel had the lights of the other in sight....".
The subsequent Board of Enquiry report states that: (The submarine) entered the Thames Estuary through Princes Channel, thence passing between Red Sand Sheal and Shivering Sand Fort on course 280 degrees. Her speed was about 9 knots through the water. In Oaze Deep, course was altered to 261 degrees. The collision occurred with SS Divina in position one mile bearing 287 degrees from Red Sand Tower.
This section of information came from: George Malcolmson Archivist submuseum Haslar.
Extract from Weekend magazine, November 1983
MY MIRACLE ESCAPE FROM DOOMED SUBMARINE
By Frederick Henley
Picking a delicate way through the dark waters of the Thames Estuary at a steady 10 knots, our submarine, HMS Truculent, was almost in sight of home. With any luck, some of us might even have a few hours ashore that night. But, although we didn't know it, Truculent's luck was running out fast. We had left Sheerness at 8.30 am on January 12, 1950, for engine and snorkel trials. We had cruised around underwater off Margate and Ramsgate, coming to the surface in late afternoon. It had been an uneventful day. With 18 civilians aboard – fitters, electricians from the naval dockyard – we mustered 79 men. Few would survive the horror that was to come. I was a Leading Seaman (Torpedoes, Anti-submarine) at the time, and the Royal Navy was my life. After two or three years on subs, I thought I knew the ropes. But when the order came from the bridge to bring up the Manual of Seamanship, I was a bit surprised. I had never known anybody to want that particular textbook – a pretty hefty volume – before. Certainly not our captain, Lieutenant Charles Bowers, a highly experienced submarine officer who had been mentioned in dispatches during the Second World War. Altogether, it was a strange order but, after rummaging through the chart cabinet, I found a copy of the manual and managed to obey it. It was just before 1900 hours on the Control Room clock when I left to climb the conning tower ladder to the bridge. I handed the manual to young Sub-Lieutenant Frew – it was his first submarine posting – and watched as he leafed through the pages, opened it, and handed it to the navigation officer. Lieutenant Humphrey-Baker and the Captain. It was a cold, dark night, the sky pricked with brightly shining stars. I didn't see the tanker ploughing inexorably towards us. I took a last, grateful gulp of fresh air and turned to go down the ladder from the conning tower. I had hardly grasped the rungs when I heard the Captain issue a stream of urgent orders. He didn't raise his voice but I knew that, somehow, Truculent and all aboard were in deep trouble. I had no means of knowing that the officers on the bridge had been puzzled by the arrangement of lights on an approaching ship and had sent for the seamanship manual to check them. As events were to prove, the manual did not help either them or HMS Truculent – but it certainly saved my life.
There was an almighty crash and I was pinned to the side of the conning tower as Truculent keeled over at a crazy angle. There was a sickening lurch and, in seconds, we sank like a stone to the seabed 80 feet below. The conning tower was flooded and I knew that somehow I had to get clear. I managed to squirm round the periscope standards and, remembering my crash drill, breathed out as hard as I could. I found myself on the surface, swimming aimlessly in the darkness. The water was icy cold. I could hear men calling for help but couldn't see them. I lost all sense of time. Vaguely, I realised that the tide was on the ebb and that I was being swept slowly out into the North Sea. I was almost past caring when a boat from the Dutch freighter, Almdijk, picked me up. It turned out that I had been in the water for over an hour. It was only later, when they told me that 64 of my shipmates had perished, that I remembered the unusual order to find the seamanship manual. If I hadn't gone aloft with it, I would almost certainly have drowned. Footnote: HMS Truculent had collided with the 600-ton Swedish tanker Divina, a vessel with specially strengthened bows for Arctic conditions. The submarine suffered a massive gash forward on the starboard side and sank rapidly. At a subsequent courts-martial, Lieutenant Bowers was found not guilty of negligently losing his ship, but was severely reprimanded on the lesser charge of negligently hazarding her.
June 18th 2007 the following is from Eric Bennett:
On 12th January 1950 I was serving as a Senior Ordinary Seaman on the Eagle Oil Shipping Co tanker 'San Gaspar'. We had discharged cargo at Shell Haven and was outward bound in the Thames Estuary on an ebb tide on our way to Falmouth. I was the helmsman on the evening 8 til 12 watch, the pilot, the ship's master and the third mate were on the bridge when the wireless operator came into the wheelhouse and announced that there was an SOS from the Almdijk that there had been a collision with a submarine. He gave the position and it appeared that we were only 4 miles to the east of that position at the time of receiving the SOS. As the old San Gaspar's top speed was only 8 knots we must have been upstream of the position at the time of the collision. On receiving the SOS our captain informed the pilot who remarked ' This ship is too large to turn around in this channel isn't it captain'. Our captain replied 'Yes I think so pilot' and we continued on our way.
We paid off at Falmouth on the 16th January 1950 and then learned more of this tragedy. It has haunted me ever since as I often think of those 64 sailors who escaped but did not survive from a warm submarine into that icy January water only to be swept away with the tide. Why did we not drop anchor, swing with the tide and launch our lifeboats? We might have saved many of these men.
• Displacement: 1,090 tons (surfaced), 1,573 (submerged);
• Length: 275ft
• Beam: 26ft 6ins
• Draught: 12ft
• Speed (knots): 15.25 (surfaced), 8 (submerged);
• Armament: One 4" gun; three .303" ;
• Torpedo Tubes: Ten 21" (8 forward, 2 amidships),
16 torpedoes;
• Complement: 56 T Class First Group
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