A rare and early Second World War D.S.O., inter-war M.V.O. group of nine awarded to Commander E. L. Woodhall, Royal Navy, who, having been decorated for his gallant services as a destroyer C.O. in anti-U-boat operations, died in an open boat after his command, H.M.S. Cape Howe, actually the decoy (or ‘Q’ ship) S.S. Prunella, was torpedoed off Land’s End in June 1940 - a loss that led to Churchill cancelling the decoy ship project

Distinguished Service Order, G.VI.R. 1st issue, the reverse of the suspension bar officially dated ‘1939’; The Royal Victorian Order, M.V.O., Member’s 4th Class breast badge, the reverse officially numbered ‘1307’; British War and Victory Medals (Mid. E. L. Woodhall, R.N.); 1939-45 Star; Atlantic Star; Defence and War Medals; Jubilee 1935, very fine and better (9)
£3000-3500

This lot was sold as part of a special collection, A Collection of Medals The Property of a Gentleman.

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D.S.O. London Gazette 23 December 1939:

‘For successful actions against enemy submarines’.

M.V.O. London Gazette 2 January 1933.

Eric Langton Woodhall, who was born in December 1899, entered the Royal Navy as a special entry Midshipman in January 1918 and served in the cruiser H.M.S. Glorious from June 1918 until the end of hostilities. Gaining steady advancement in the 1920s, he was awarded his M.V.O. while commanding the minesweeper Tiverton during the royal visit to Cowes in 1932, and, in the following year, received his first destroyer command, the Acasta. Having then been awarded the Jubilee Medal in 1935 (the official roll confirms), and been appointed Provost Marshal at Tamar in Hong Kong in 1937, he returned to the U.K. in July 1939 to assume command of the destroyer Eclipse, in which ship he won his D.S.O. for early anti-U-boat operations that year.

Advanced to Commander in November 1939, Woodhall was next appointed to the command of the decoy (or ‘Q’ Ship)Cape Howe (a.k.a. S.S. Prunella). One of a number of special service vessels or freighters which were commonly known as 'Q' ships after their predecessors in the Great War, the Prunella operated in northern waters and the western approaches, but spent much of March and April 1940 at Portsmouth for repairs and modifications.

An early incident on her return to sea, on 5 June 1940, was her sighting of two enemy ships 300 miles W. of Trondheim, H.M. Ships Renown and Repulse departing Scapa to intercept. But the Prunella's service was to be short-lived for, on 21 June, when about 120 miles W.S.W. of Land's End, she was attacked by the U-28, one torpedo hitting her on the port side under the forward end of the bridge - although the ship showed no signs of sinking, the boats were lowered immediately and, observing these proceedings with suspicion from periscope depth, the U-boat commander ordered another attack, this torpedo hitting the Prunella on the starboard side, amidships. On Hazardous Service - The Suicide Squadron, by A. Cecil Hampshire, takes up the story:

'By mid-morning most of the gun and torpedo tube positions had had to be abandoned, the men gathering in the wrecked wardroom in order to keep out of sight. One of the officers on his way aft to organise some food and cigarettes for them, noticed that the wireless set in the emergency radio room appeared to be undamaged, although the main cabinet and aerials had been destroyed by the second torpedo. He told Woodhall, who ordered the radio operators to rig up a jury aerial and send off a second appeal for help. Giving the Prunella's name and position again, this ran: ‘Torpedoed twice without sighting submarine. Ship cannot steam but can be towed. Require assistance. Ship's company grand but disappointed.’

Unknown to Woodhall his earlier signal had been picked up by the Commander-in-Chief, Western Approaches, who promptly ordered two of his corvettes which had been escorting a convoy to hasten to the freighter's position and attack the U-boat. But they were many hours' steaming away, and the agony of the Prunella had to be endured alone.

By noon it was obvious that the freighter could not remain afloat much longer. Reluctantly Woodhall recalled the panic party boats and ordered preparations to be made for abandoning ship. All official books and documents were destroyed, and the ship's ledgers and cash -amounting to some 3,000 in notes and coins - were put into the largest boat along with the injured. Later the money had to be jettisoned together with other excess weight.

The depth charges were set at 'safe', while Relph and his Second Engineer went back to the flooded engine room and released the compression on the safety valves to allow the remaining steam to escape. The D.E.M.S. gun on the poop were still kept manned in case the U-boat should appear.

Finally the last of the officers left the floundering ship, Woodhall bringing up the rear to the spontaneous cheers of his devoted crew. The Prunella's end was now very near and she had become so greatly down by the bows that her propeller was clear of the water. Even as the last boat rowed away she dipped under, rearing up almost on end for her final plunge. In addition to the two lifeboats which had contained the panic party, it had also been possible to launch the undamaged starboard jolly boat, a large wooden raft and two Carley floats. The sea was calm, though with a four-foot swell running, the sun shining, there was plenty of food and water in the boats, and everyone was cheerful and in good spirits. Within a few hours, however, all this was to change.

The weather freshened from the north-west and a heavy sea quickly arose. Gradually the boats lost touch with one another. For a time the raft, a weighty contraption of planks and barrels with fourteen men on board,was towed by one of the lifeboats. The latter was under the command of Lieutenant-Commander Pottinger, R.N.R., whose role it had been to accompany the panic party as fake Master of the Prunella after she was attacked. But as conditions worsened the raft finally broke away despite all efforts to secure it and disappeared. The Carley floats, with six men in each, were being towed by the other two boats, in the smallest of which was Commander Woodhall. None of these was ever seen again.

Crowded into Pottinger's lifeboat were thirty officers and men, some hands having been taken aboard from the raft before it broke away. Wind and sea continued to increase with frequent violent hailstorms. Since many of the survivors were insufficiently clad they were soon suffering from cold and exhaustion, and some of the weaker spirits reached a state bordering on delirium. One man, the Fourth Radio Officer, actually went out of his mind and threw himself overboard. At dusk on the 22 June they sighted a warship several miles off, which may have been one of the searching corvettes despatched to the aid of the Prunella. But their signal flares were damp and would not ignite, and their frantic efforts to attract attention by waving and firing their revolvers brought no response. Luckily, however, late in the afternoon of the following day, the boat was spotted by a patrolling aircraft which guided a French steamer to its position. With great difficulty because of the mountainous seas running, the weak and exhausted men were hauled on board and taken to Falmouth.

The ordeal of the men on the raft was far worse and more prolonged. Lacking oars or sail and with little food and water, they drifted helplessly for nearly a week. On the fifth day after the sinking a U-boat surfaced and circled around them. When they shouted and waved, the Germans merely waved back before the submarine made off. Finally they were sighted by a passing British destroyer, which picked them up and landed them at Devonport. Five months later all those who had been listed as missing from the Prunella were officially presumed dead. They totalled well over half her company.’

The U-28 was commanded by Kapitanleutnant Gunter Kuhnke, who was awarded the Knight’s Cross of the Iron Cross in September 1940; sold with a file of research.