Orders, Decorations and Medals

An extremely rare Second World War “Operation Chariot” D.S.M. awarded to Lieutenant P. Brady, Royal Australian Navy: as Coxswain of M.L. 443, he steered home one of just three “little ships” to return from the epic raid on St. Nazaire in March 1942 - a fortuitous outcome indeed, for as his skipper later recalled, “the Hun was going very strong”

Distinguished Service Medal, G.VI.R. (P/MV. 37 P. Brady, L. Smn.), officially impressed naming, extremely fine £12000-15000

Just 24 D.S.Ms were awarded for the St. Nazaire Raid in March 1942, of which only a handful have ever appeared on the market.

D.S.M. London Gazette 21 May 1942:

‘For great gallantry, daring and skill in the attack on the German naval base at St. Nazaire.’

The original recommendation for an immediate award - approved by Commander R. E. D. Ryder, V.C. - states:

‘Highly recommended for his devotion to duty and complete imperturbability at the wheel during the whole period of the raid, and while the ship was under very heavy fire.’

Patrick Joseph Brady, who was born in London in August 1917, would appear to have been a pre-war member of the Royal Australian Naval Volunteer Reserve. Be that as it may, he enlisted in the Royal Australian Navy at Port Melbourne in March 1941, and was seconded for service in the Royal Navy.


Motor Launch 443 in “Operation Chariot”

0100 hours on 28 March 1942 found Brady at the helm of M.L. 443 between the narrowing banks of the Loire Estuary, ready to play his part in “Operation Chariot”, the daring assault on St. Nazaire. Under the command of Lieutenant K. Horlock, R.N.V.R., 443 was charged with delivering a Commando demolition party under Lieutenants P. Basset-Wilson and J. A. Bonvin, and a protection team under Lieutenant J. B. Houghton, to the port’s Old Mole.

Up ahead, slightly to starboard, was the force leader M.G.B. 314, carrying the operation’s two senior officers, Lieutenant-Colonel A. C. Newman and Commander R. E. D. Ryder - both shortly to be recipients of the Victoria Cross. And in the wake of M.G.B. 314 followed the other 18 vessels that made up “Force Chariot”, including the former American destroyer H.M.S. Campbeltown, laden with four and a half tons of explosives, the whole designed to blow apart the southern lock-gates to the only dry dock on the Nazi-occupied Atlantic seaboard - a dry dock capable of berthing the mighty Tirpitz. During the final run in to St. Nazaire it was actually the Coxswain of M.L. 160 who so neatly summarised the dangers that lay ahead, for, in response to his skipper Lieutenant Tom Boyd’s observation that “It was a queer do”, he retorted, “It’ll soon be a bloody sight queerer, sir”: and so it proved, the glare of searchlights turning night into day and the din of battle being pierced by the intermittent screams of the wounded under a merciless point blank fire.

Notwithstanding the ferocity of the awoken enemy defences, Campbeltown and her consorts gallantly maintained course, the former smashing into the dock gates with such force at 0134 hours that 36 feet of her bows were torn back - and her captain, Lieutenant-Commander Beattie, assured the Victoria Cross. Meanwhile, amidst this general scene of carnage, the starboard and port columns of M.Ls attempted to land their Commandos, but very shortly all that could be seen of them was a mass of burning hulks. Peter Scott takes up the story in Battle of the Narrow Seas:

‘Astern of Wallis in the port column was Lieutenant K. Horlock, R.N.V.R., in M.L. 443. As the force came in, he overshot his destination. He realised this when he had drawn abreast of some cranes, and he went about at once, turning to port. “The night was now as light as day,” he says, “and I saw the Mole in silhouette about a mile away. I was angry with myself for missing it. Lieutenant Verity, the Naval Beach Master, was on the bridge with me, and when we saw it we both laughed; it seemed extraordinary that we got through all that heavy fire and then missed the place. At that moment I had a feeling of absolute certainty that I was going to come out of this all right.”

As he returned towards the Mole, his boat maintained a heavy fire on the gun positions and knocked out one on a house-top. “Blocking my way to the Mole,” he continues, “was a burning M.L., probably Lieutenant Platt’s. I opened fire on the two gun positions on the Mole. The Hun was going very strong. I saw no signs of life on the burning M.L. which had prevented me from getting alongside, and there were no M.Ls alongside the Mole where they ought to have been. My gunfire seemed to be making no impression, and I thought that the German gun positions were probably protected by pillboxes. Lieutenant Shields was in charge of my forward gun and, try as we would, we could not quench the enemy’s fire. It was then that I realised that this part of the operations was a flop.”

The landing on the Old Mole had failed. The decks of the M.Ls had been devastated by the enemy’s automatic guns, of which there were far more than had been expected, and uncontrollable fires had been started on board too many of them. The balance was further tipped against them by a well-armed German ship whose position alongside in the submarine basin enabled her to fire on the approaches to the Old Mole, adding to the tornado of bullets which swept the area.’





Three came home - just

Here, then, Horlock’s modest account of the terrifying ordeal that ended so many lives, the vast majority of the raid’s 169 fatalities being claimed in the “river battle” - indeed of 16 M.Ls employed in the raid, just three made it back home, namely 160 under Tom Boyd, 307 under Lieutenant N. B. Wallis, R.A.N.V.R. and 443 with Brady still at the helm. The latter was first sighted by the destroyer H.M.S. Cleveland, whose captain reported:

‘On closing her it was seen that her upper deck was crowded with men, and that she appeared to be making about 10 knots. Communication was established with difficulty and a request was made by the M.L. for medical aid, and she also reported that she was leaking. Unfortunately, no assistance could then be given, owing to the urgent neccessity of pressing on to the assistance of Atherstone and Tynedale without delay, who, from signals intercepted, were still believed to be in action with enemy destroyers.’

It was shortly after this point that 443 joined up with the other survivors, 160 and 307, but the ordeal of “Chariot” was not yet over, for during the forenoon the small flotilla was attacked by a Heinkel 111 and a Blohn & Voss seaplane. Lieutenant Tom Boyd of 106 takes up the story:

‘As the Heinkel came down to have a closer look everything opened up. The first rounds hit him in the glasshouse and he crashed at once. It was a fine sight to see the iron crosses smash into the sea and the plane break up. We all cheered and I gave the boys two rations of rum. The shooting of the other two boats was very, very good. We turned north at five in the evening and were attacked again at dusk by a seaplane which dropped a 1,000lb. bomb just astern of me ... we were not troubled further, though I feared surface craft would get us before we got round Ushant. But our luck held, and next morning about 10 a.m. we picked up the Lizard - a place well known by me - and pushed on into Falmouth with a little over an hour’s petrol left.’

After no less than three days and three nights away, the three battered M.Ls were finally home, the recommendation for the D.S.M. awarded to 443’s Motor Mechanic revealing that ‘the engine room was penetrated by cannon fire in several places’.

For his own part, Brady received his decoration at a Buckingham Palace investiture held on 29 February 1944, and was discharged in the rank of Lieutenant from H.M.A.S. Lonsdale in April 1946.